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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of With Edge Tools, by Hobart Chatfield-Taylor
+
+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: With Edge Tools
+
+Author: Hobart Chatfield-Taylor
+
+Release Date: August 24, 2010 [EBook #33528]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH EDGE TOOLS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Clarke, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           WITH EDGE TOOLS
+
+                      BY HOBART CHATFIELD TAYLOR
+
+
+CHICAGO
+A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY
+1891
+
+COPYRIGHT,
+BY A. C. MCCLURG AND CO.
+A. D. 1891.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+       I. THE STATEN CLUB
+
+      II. CROSS FIRE
+
+     III. TWO WOMEN
+
+      IV. IN AN OPERA BOX
+
+       V. A CHALLENGE
+
+      VI. SPANISH CASTLES
+
+     VII. THE PATRICIANS
+
+    VIII. GATHERING CLOUDS
+
+      IX. OAKHURST
+
+       X. "I WILL LAUGH, TOO"
+
+      XI. UNDER THE WILLOWS
+
+     XII. UNREST
+
+    XIII. DERBY DAY
+
+     XIV. DANGER
+
+      XV. A GAME OF SKILL
+
+     XVI. IN THE LIBRARY
+
+
+
+
+WITH EDGE TOOLS.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE STATEN CLUB.
+
+
+In the world of clubs the "Staten" held its head proudly. It was a
+social union comprising the most exclusive men of family and fashion.
+Though its outward walls differed little from those of other clubs which
+lined the avenue, its muster-roll was sacredly guarded by the governors,
+and posted at the hall desk was a long list of waiting aspirants, each
+to undergo in his turn the scrutiny of the committee-room, where all
+antecedents must be known and approved before his card could bear
+"Staten Club" in the left-hand, lower corner. Other club buildings there
+were, in New York, of greater stateliness, with marble walls and
+galleries, and well filled libraries, but the "Staten" cared for none of
+these, and proudly pointed to its members' list, where were inscribed
+five hundred names which no other club could ever hope to equal. Three
+rooms, the restaurant, café, and billiard room, received their share of
+patronage, while the lounging room, upon the avenue, where a few papers
+were kept for respectability's sake, and others for use, was the daily
+haunt of some of the choicest spirits. In the early days of the club's
+history, to be sure, a thoughtless governor had inspired the foundation
+of a library. A room upstairs somewhere (few of the members knew where)
+was selected, and into this were placed a set of Dickens, the
+"Britannica," an atlas, a history or two, a dictionary, and perhaps a
+hundred other books, which together formed the nucleus of a store of
+knowledge. But no one went there except Simkins, Rynder and McLaughlin.
+They were a queer lot; none of the men could make them out; it was their
+families that got them elected, and they never seemed to have anything
+better to do than cuddle over musty books. But the choice clique were
+those whose names were most often signed to the wine-room tickets. It
+was they who ran the club and made it the popular place it was.
+
+On a particular January afternoon, of a year not long since passed, one
+of the broad, front windows of the lounging room was occupied by three
+intimates of "the set." There was Rennsler Van Vort, whose ancestor had
+been a red-faced burgher at the time when old Peter Stuyvesant
+rigorously ruled New Amsterdam. His fortune was his name, for the family
+was too old to be wealthy and too proud to be in trade; yet he never
+lacked a berth on a yacht or a room in a country house, and wherever he
+went, he brought a collection of rare tales and a song or two which made
+him the friend of all. Like his burgher ancestor he had a red, round
+face and was bald, but behind his glasses there were two queer, little
+eyes which shone with kindly humor, and from lips half hidden by stubby
+black hairs, bright, timely words were sure to come. Rennsler was the
+senior by several years of his companions, and, if the truth were known,
+he probably cared little for them, but Roland Waterman owned the
+"Phrygia," and Clifford Howard-Jones was a coaching man with a shooting
+box and other convenient accessories.
+
+It had been snowing in the morning, but the sun had turned the snow to
+slush, and the three men, for lack of more exciting sport, were
+watching the omnibus horses slide and struggle down Murray Hill, and the
+pedestrians splash and spatter in their vain efforts to dodge the cabs
+and reach the curbs with unsoiled feet. If the unfortunate wayfarer
+happened to be a woman, and a pretty one at that, the three friends
+would smirk and nudge each other, as the little feet tripped daintily
+from puddle to puddle, or splashed her white skirts with great mud
+blotches, while the owner folded them about her and pattered rapidly on
+her heels, foolishly fancying the more speed the less mud. An occasional
+witticism from Rennsler's lips would heighten the grotesqueness of a
+luckless passer's struggles. The other two would laugh and Howard-Jones
+would add some strained gibe, with the flat effect that forced wit
+always has. Perhaps half an hour was thus passed, when Howard-Jones
+spied a woman leaving a house in a side street. A carriage was waiting
+at the curb, and a footman was vainly endeavoring to protect her
+feathers from the rain; but forgetting the servant and his umbrella, she
+gathered her skirts up frantically and rushed from the bottom step to
+the carriage door, which, of course being closed, left her no
+alternative but to stand patiently in the drenching rain until the
+marked precision of the footman's steps brought relief and the umbrella.
+
+"Look at that action!" shouted Howard-Jones. "Great for park work but
+too high for the open. Easy, my beauty, or you will come a cropper at
+the curb. By Jove, fellows, it is Mrs. Harry Osgood."
+
+"So it is," replied Waterman. "I wonder what she is mousing about that
+street after? She must be searching for her Duncan. Dear girl, how
+pathetically lonesome she looked at Sherry's last night when Grahame
+left her to dance with Mrs. Rossy Platt."
+
+This remark was hailed by Howard-Jones with the world-wise chuckle with
+which a man of narrow sympathy and ill-spent life invariably receives a
+pointed insinuation against a woman's character. Broad sentiments and
+heroic impulses are seldom nursed in clubs, and Howard-Jones had learned
+his ethics within the limits of the world in which he moved.
+
+"If I were Osgood, I would go gunning for Grahame," he retorted. "A
+rounder like Duncan never hovers about a bird so long for nothing."
+
+"He had far better give up dogs and horses and bestow a little attention
+on his wife," Rennsler Van Vort replied. He had the persuasive sympathy,
+possessed by few men, which told him that a woman's heart, though easily
+won by flattery may be as easily lost by neglect. The lack of fortune
+had brought him into contact with the petty meanness of life and if he
+had made friends whose hospitality helped out his meagre purse, he knew
+that without his postprandial accomplishments and unquestioned ancestry
+few boards would have a place for him. He did not imagine that a moral
+truism would deeply affect his companions, but his broad instincts
+prompted him to add that "when a married woman goes astray it is usually
+the fault of her mother or her husband."
+
+"Nonsense, old chap," retorted Howard-Jones. "Mrs. Osgood is a pretty
+woman, and a pretty woman must have admiration. Duncan used to admire
+her, but Osgood had the money and she married him. Duncan Grahame keeps
+right on admiring her and Osgood doesn't, so there you are."
+
+The argument thus incited might have been continued were it not for the
+interruption caused by the familiar voice of a man, who had just
+entered, hailing the group at the window with the somewhat pithy
+expression: "What are you sportsmen doing there? Staring at nothing,
+I'll wager, and I don't believe you have had one drink between you for a
+week."
+
+The men at the window turned, and were startled to see standing in the
+door the man of whom they were speaking, Duncan Grahame. His clothes
+showed that he had just come from the city. His trousers were turned up
+and muddy, and his hat was sprinkled with rain. The merry familiarity of
+his expression told, however, that he had not heard the remark just
+made, but Howard-Jones, a trifle abashed at finding one of the objects
+of his insinuations appear so inopportunely, and feeling that something
+had better be said to remove the embarrassment, took it upon himself to
+reply. "I don't believe we have, but you are just in time to stir us up.
+Rennsler has been preaching and we are awfully dry; just punch that
+bell, won't you."
+
+The appearance of the servant caused the four friends to draw as many
+chairs about a small cherry wood table, supplied with the usual
+complement of bell, match-box and ashtray, and as the servant put the
+familiar question--"What is the order, sir?" it was followed by the
+habitual meditative silence. Grahame threw himself back in his chair and
+pushed his hat back, doubtfully. "I have got a Sahara thirst," he
+finally said, "so I suppose it will have to be a long drink. Bring me a
+whiskey and soda."
+
+"Split the soda with me, won't you?" interjected Howard-Jones.
+
+"Couldn't think of it, my love," Grahame replied; "I have not had a
+drink to-day. Went to lunch with the senior partner and he ordered
+nothing more stimulating than unfiltered Croton. He took me out to talk
+business, and I nearly expired under the strain." Howard-Jones finally
+decided to indulge in a whole bottle of Delatour, but when Rennsler Van
+Vort quietly told the servant he would take an Apollinaris lemonade
+without sugar, it was too much for the dashing Duncan. "When do you take
+orders, old man?" he said. "All you need is a cowl and sandals, for
+nature has kindly tonsured your locks for you. I suppose you will soon
+be leading the singing at noon prayer meetings."
+
+"I am off my liquor," Van Vort replied; "but if I do come to noon
+meetings I feel sure I'll do better with Sankey hymns than I do now with
+comic ditties."
+
+"Don't start Rennsler preaching," Howard-Jones interjected, "he's primed
+with moral bosh and the atmosphere is too depressed already. What brings
+a hard-working man like you uptown at four o'clock? I thought you didn't
+knock off until five."
+
+"I don't," Duncan replied, "but I am going out to Chicago to-morrow and
+I am taking a half holiday to prepare my nerves for the strain."
+
+"Going to Chicago," the three interposed almost in a breath.
+
+"Yes, and, worse luck, I don't know when I shall get back. I am going
+out for an English syndicate we have in tow. The Britons have bought all
+the breweries and stock-yards out there, and now they are after
+elevators."
+
+"'Elevators'", exclaimed Waterman, "I should think they do need a few
+in London; those beastly 'lifts' they have in the hotels there are about
+the only British institution I don't admire. But what have you got to do
+with elevators?"
+
+"Don't be an ass, Roland," Duncan replied. "It is about time you knew
+that the chief industry of 'the city of the future', as some fool
+journalist calls Chicago,--pork of course excepted,--is grain, and
+elevators are the warehouses where it is stored. I am going out to work
+a scheme to buy them all up, make a trust, and sell the stock in London.
+Our house are the middlemen between Chicago and the Britons. Now do you
+see?"
+
+"Well, I'm deuced glad I didn't go into Wall Street," Roland replied. "I
+shouldn't care to be shut up in that beastly hole, Chicago. I don't
+believe there is a sportsman in the place. I stopped there a day once on
+my way to Minnesota, grouse shooting, and I never saw such a rum place.
+I put up at the biggest hotel in the town, and there wasn't much to
+complain of in the size of it; but the dirt and the niggers were too
+much for me. I had to eat dinner at two o'clock and I wish you could
+have seen how they managed it. I was met at the door by a six-foot black
+man in a waistcoat that was perhaps white in the year one, and a coat
+made in the days of Henry Clay. He waltzed us down the room with the
+airs of a drum major and put us at a table with a drummer and a cow-boy.
+There we were given in charge of another colored gentleman who polished
+off the plates with a greasy towel, and placed big tumblers of iced
+water at each place. He took our orders and brought us the soup in
+fairly good shape, except that his black fingers got into all the
+plates; but you ought to have seen the rest of the dinner. He started
+from the kitchen at a record-breaking pace, spinning a tray on the
+forefinger of his right hand. He galloped past us and deposited his
+implements on a side table, then he commenced to sling canary birds'
+bath tubs, filled with heaven knows what, across the table like poker
+chips, until we had a perfect collection of samples of the most
+villainously cooked truck I ever tasted. I tried to make out a 'feed',
+but I gave it up when the black gentleman appeared with all sorts of
+pie, floating island, ice cream and jelly. I then fled in despair and
+went out for a walk, but I didn't find anything but mud, smoke, and
+cable cars. I tell you, Duncan, old man, you don't know what Chicago is,
+or you wouldn't look so beautifully unconcerned."
+
+A burst of laughter greeted Waterman's recital of his pathetic
+experience, and then Duncan, who little relished his coming exile,
+mournfully asked if any of the fellows knew some people of the right
+sort in the place.
+
+"No one but a charming creature of the vintage of forty-nine whom I saw
+at the Pier last summer," retorted Howard-Jones. "She must ride sixteen
+stone, but she canters about like a yearling and plasters her hair all
+over her face in little curlycues, to say nothing of her voice, which
+used to run an effective opposition to the steam horn at the lighthouse.
+But speaking of lighthouses, you should have seen her diamond earrings;
+the light on Point Judith wasn't a circumstance to them. When the heat
+was too much for her, she used to mop her face with a piece of chamois
+and puff like a crippled hunter. The papers called her 'the beautiful
+and accomplished leader of Chicago society.' I tell you, old man, she is
+the girl for you; she'll enliven your weary hours."
+
+Another laugh greeted this effusion, but Van Vort felt compelled to
+interpose an objection. "I don't believe any of you fellows know the
+first thing about the West," he said. "Your ideas are bounded by Bar
+Harbor on the north and Washington on the south, and as for their
+western limits, they don't extend beyond Orange County."
+
+"Come, old chap, you're getting into deep water. Didn't I tell you I had
+been in Chicago?" objected Waterman.
+
+"You went out West after chickens, and you didn't get beyond a Minnesota
+shooting club. As for Chicago, you admit that you were there on a muggy
+day and didn't stir two squares from an hotel which, I wager, wasn't the
+best in the place. As for the people, one of the best mannered women I
+ever met came from Chicago."
+
+"Who was she?" Duncan interrupted. "If there is anybody decent in the
+place I want to know her."
+
+"Her name is Mrs. Sanderson. I met her in Washington last winter. Her
+uncle was in the State Department and she was visiting him. She had a
+friend with her who is also from Chicago, I think, and they both of
+them were better read and had less affectation than any women I have met
+for a year, at least."
+
+"That sounds encouraging," replied Duncan. "I think I have heard Sibyl
+Wright talk about that Mrs. Sanderson. If there is any sport in Chicago
+I am bound to have it. My old college chum, Harold Wainwright, has been
+living out there for three years and he must know the town by this
+time."
+
+"I say, Duncan, won't you have some more liquor? You need it to fortify
+your nerves for that voyage of discovery."
+
+"I think you are right, Roland," Duncan replied. "By Jove, though, I
+don't believe I have time; I have got a date before dinner."
+
+"Oh, yes you have; just one more for luck. Here, waiter, take the
+orders."
+
+The glasses were soon removed and freshly filled ones took their place.
+"When are you off?" said Waterman.
+
+"To-morrow on the 'Limited'" was the reply.
+
+"Then let's drink to the great Duncan and his success among the
+pork-packers," said Howard-Jones.
+
+The four men quickly drained their glasses and Duncan took a hurried
+leave of his friends. "Good-by, Duncan, good-by," were the exchanged
+partings. Duncan hurried through the hall, hailed a cab at the door,
+gave an uptown address to the driver, jumped into the cab, and was off.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+CROSS FIRE.
+
+
+Duncan was dressing. It was already five minutes past the hour named for
+dinner on his invitation, but if Duncan were not late at dinner, it
+would deprive the guests of one stock topic of conversation, and he had
+never yet been so inconsiderate. No one waited for him, and when he
+finally appeared with some trumped up excuse, it was greeted with a
+round of laughter, and served to enliven the naturally trifling _entrée_
+conversation; so no one,--least of all the hostess,--blamed him. One who
+has been in an engine house when an alarm of fire is turned in can form
+some idea of Duncan's dressing accomplishments. There were, to be sure,
+no clanging gongs, stamping horses, and scurrying, half-dressed men, but
+there was the same instantaneous assumption of perfect order out of
+bewildering chaos. His servant was his faithful assistant, and when
+Duncan's steps were heard upon the stairs, he would seize a shirt in
+one hand and a pair of trousers in the other, which he held waiting for
+the arrival of his master. Duncan would make a wild rush through the
+door, and his top coat, coat and waistcoat would fly across the room at
+random, while Parker pulled off one pair of trousers and assisted him on
+with another. A dive into a face bath would give Parker time to change
+the odds and ends in Duncan's pockets; while on would go the shirt, and
+the tie would be adjusted and his hair smoothed while the servant
+replaced the muddy boots with evening shoes. Coat and waistcoat would go
+on together, hat, umbrella and overcoat be seized, and off Duncan would
+start in the official time of three minutes and seventeen seconds.
+
+On the present occasion he desisted from his dressing long enough to
+read a small, blue note which he found upon his dressing table. It was
+worded as follows: "The coast is clear at nine, and will be so till
+after midnight. I will see you if you come." There was no signature or
+address. It had been left by a maid in the usual way, so Parker said,
+but even unsigned and non-committal as it was, it did not please
+Duncan. "I wish I could forget that woman," he muttered to himself. "But
+I suppose I will be there and play the fool, just as I always do. I have
+a mind to break away from her, though." Then, turning to Parker, he
+continued audibly, "I am going to Chicago to-morrow morning. Have my
+portmanteau and shirt box packed. You know about what I want, but put in
+plenty of shirts as I may be gone some weeks."
+
+"Very good, sir," replied the taciturn Parker. "Hi suppose you will want
+your hulster for the journey, sir."
+
+"Yes," replied Duncan; then putting on his coat and hat, and seizing a
+pair of gloves and a stick, he rushed down the stairs without stopping
+for that apartment elevator which was never running, jumped into the cab
+he had left waiting, and was off uptown to his dinner. He was only half
+an hour late but his rudeness was punished, for he was placed between a
+débutante and a dowager, and condemned for two mortal hours to endure
+alternately insipid zephyrs and chilling blasts of small talk.
+Stiff-backed chairs were there and stiff-backed people were in them.
+Shaded candles threw a flickering light upon a mass of plate and
+flowers, bonbons, almonds, fruit and glasses. Around the table was a
+circle of bare necks and diamonds, white shirts and ties; and behind the
+chairs solemn footmen silently moved from place to place passing the
+endless courses. Some of the guests were bright and others solemn; some
+brilliant and others stupid; but they were the component parts of a
+fashionable dinner. There was a banker, a broker, a yachtsman, a
+diplomat, a merchant, and a sprinkling of dawdling men of leisure, and
+their wives, daughters, and cousins. The forks rattled and the tongues
+clattered, while each strove to hide his inner nature behind an
+effective pose. The clever succeeded and the stupid failed. Coffee was
+brought; the women arose, a man or two sprawled beneath the table to
+find some fan or glove, and then the women filed slowly out to gossip
+and dissect their neighbors, and the men remained to drink and smoke and
+drink again, while a ribald wag related some choice but scandalous tale,
+and ardent sportsmen took sides in vain disputes about the "Poseidon's"
+time allowance and "Salvador's" Suburban chances.
+
+Duncan was moodily indisposed for banter or dispute. His buoyant and
+careless spirit seldom deserted him, but this dinner only claimed his
+presence because his senior partner was the host, and none of his
+_intimes_ being there, he fell readily into a state of passive
+ill-humor. He dosed over his glass of port, carelessly puffed his cigar
+and occasionally proffered an opinion with a superior air incited by his
+social ascendency over most of the men present. Duncan Grahame was a man
+whose dominant characteristic was assurance, tempered only by an
+intuitive knowledge of the social amenities. He was often bold but never
+vulgar. He was rude in the manner of most society men, but his rudeness
+was a pose prompted by the mannerisms of the age, and designed, as was
+his coat, after the latest London model. He possessed the rare fortune
+of being considered handsome both by men and women. His beauty was of
+the vigorous type, which wins admiration by its manliness rather than
+its perfection. His eyes were great, grey wells, which gave to women a
+Narcissus-like reflection of their own impulses. They charmed by their
+seeming sympathy, but were really the artful tools of conscious power.
+To most men's minds curly hair is a blemish which barbers' shears and
+bristly brushes may remove, but to women Duncan Grahame's short; crispy
+black curls were a seldom failing charm. Although his eyes might deceive
+even one who knew the countless evidences of breeding and career, his
+mouth, partly hidden by a short moustache, betrayed the hard,
+unmistakable markings of indulgence, and a student of life would have
+mentally described him by the trite, though significant expression, "a
+man of the world." And such was Duncan Grahame,--no better and no worse
+than scores whose names adorn the blue books of metropolitan life. There
+was once a time, not many years before, when he had been an innocent and
+confiding boy. He had gone to school and then to college,--a dangerous
+experiment at best, but, with a boy like Duncan, who had been brought up
+within the strictness of a Connecticut home and turned upon the world
+without a knowledge of it, pretty sure to result as it had turned out in
+his case. It was the old story of weakness, ignorance, and a desire to
+emulate his upper classmen and be a man. The first step was not taken
+without a struggle, but one by one the cards of which the Puritan moral
+structure was built were blown away, and, left without support, the
+edifice collapsed. What other result could be expected? His Christian
+ethics were but the expurgated teachings of the pulpit, tempered by
+dogmas and doctrines, and in his home the faintest whisperings of the
+real world brought blushes to his parents, and stilted, meaningless
+words of warning. His first intimations of worldly ways were gathered
+surreptitiously in the streets, and his first knowledge of the nature of
+sin came with the temptation. The struggle was brief; perhaps it was as
+strong as could be expected; and soon he was the careless, fearless
+leader of the mischievous, rollicking set to be found in every college.
+He became, he thought, a man, and knew the world. He left college and
+after two years in London and Paris came to New York. His family was
+excellent, his appearance attractive, his manners good, and his
+assurance unbounded,--all that was needed, except money, to win social
+success in the metropolis. Money he did not have, but he resolved to
+make it, so into Wall Street he went, and was so successful there, that
+at the end of three years he became the junior partner of a great
+brokerage house and was entrusted with the furtherance of many delicate
+schemes. In society he had won his way to a leadership in not the best,
+but the best advertised, set in New York. The plunge into the cold
+torrent of Wall Street deception was sufficient to chill even a stronger
+optimistic ardor than Duncan's, but when he was carried on into the
+whirling, flashing eddies of smart society, only to be left shivering
+upon the cruel reefs of selfishness and debauchery, every chivalrous
+sentiment was gone, and when he gathered courage for the second plunge,
+it was as a designing, selfish disciple of utility.
+
+To return to the dinner. The men had left their coffee and cigars and
+the lucky ones had singled out attractive adversaries, with whom to
+thrust and parry bright, sharp phrases in those exhilarating
+practice-bouts of love, sure to precede the desperate encounters where
+mask and buttoned foil are cast aside. Others, to whom fortune was less
+kind, were striving to cull from unsympathetic neighbors some evidences
+of interest and intelligence, or had resigned themselves to the
+melancholy fate of being bored. Duncan wandered restlessly about awhile.
+He found no one to interest him, and being too selfish deliberately to
+resign himself to another dowager, he remembered that his intended
+journey to the West offered a plausible reason for retiring, so, making
+his excuses to the hostess, he took his departure, feeling, as he folded
+his muffler about his neck and buttoned his great-coat, that for a
+successful dinner more depends on the choice of guests than the choice
+of wines.
+
+The little blue note found upon his dressing table turned his steps
+still farther uptown. The thaw of the afternoon was over; it was
+snowing, and cold blasts blew the flakes against his face, biting his
+cheeks and chilling his humor, so that when he had trudged the three
+squares he had to go, he felt the ill-temper which a raw wind invariably
+produces in one whose moods change with the barometer. He approached the
+particular flight of brown stone steps he sought, and observing that
+the street both ways was free from passers, and that the curtains of the
+adjoining houses were drawn, he ascended and rang the bell; a servant
+soon opened the door and he entered quickly. The door closed, and,
+instead of darkness and snowflake blasts, there was warmth and light,
+and a pretty woman standing just inside the drawing-room door, murmuring
+playfully in a soft tone: "Duncan, you cold, naughty fellow, I was
+willing to lay a dozen bottles of Houbigant that this wind would have
+blown away what little was left of your flighty heart."
+
+"Don't chaff me. I'm in no mood for it. I wish you had sat out a stupid
+dinner and afterward had tramped three blocks in the snow."
+
+"I actually believe that the usually serene nature of Mr. Duncan Grahame
+is a trifle, that is to say only a trifle, ruffled," she ironically
+replied. "I fancied that while Henry Stokes Osgood, Esquire, whom the
+laws designate my lord and master, was attending the Yacht Club
+election, Mr. Grahame might deign to amuse me. If I was not mistaken,
+his lordship, when he has removed his outer garments, can find me in the
+back drawing-room."
+
+Duncan was left standing in the hallway. He had silently permitted her
+to retire because he had been unable to find a ready reply to her words.
+He had made up his mind to be disagreeable, and it angered him to have
+his guns silenced after the first fire.
+
+He was in the habit of bullying women, but such tactics had invariably
+proved useless against Helen Osgood. When he was away from her he felt
+ashamed to think that her's was the stronger nature. He fancied, at
+times, that he did not care for her, and was resolved for policy's sake
+to break away from her influence, but each attempt of his to anger her,
+instead of producing tears and pleadings, ended, as he feared this
+would, in a meek surrender on his part. "That woman understands me," he
+muttered as he removed his great-coat. He was never sure of his ability
+to read her subtle blue-black eyes; even her soft, olive cheeks never
+changed their delicate shading, and her thin, languid lips were often
+determined and cold. Her hair was of a lustreless black, and her figure
+was delicately, but superbly, formed. She was the blended type of Celt
+and Creole, her father being Scotch and her mother of Louisiana French
+descent. In her the cold cunning of the North bridled the reckless
+warmth of the South. Her acts were prompted by impulse but masked by
+design, and if Duncan seemed at times to reach her Southern heart, the
+canny Scotch nature quickly veiled her feelings, and he was left at a
+loss to know whether he had inspired passion or merely aroused
+amusement.
+
+But it was not his nature to analyze deeply or reflect long. He removed
+his coat, walked slowly down the long hallway, and entered the back
+drawing-room door. Mrs. Osgood was gracefully ensconced in the corner of
+a divan from the Orient, and her eyes were fixed apparently upon the
+latest work of Paul Bourget. A tall, bronze lamp was at her side and its
+rays were tempered by a carefully selected shade of the most becoming
+tinge. The other lights were dimmed, and beyond could be seen the
+subdued forms of graceful plants, while beneath her feet the yielding
+fur of an Arctic bear half hid two tiny bronze-tipped slippers and just
+enough of scarlet silk.
+
+Duncan stood silently before her. Uncurbed natures are the most
+capricious, and as he gazed his anger turned to admiration, and he
+softly sat down beside her, took her hand, and said winningly, "Nell,
+dear, let's be friends."
+
+She pushed him away, and with a quick, proud toss of her head coldly
+said, "Not till my lord Duncan has humbly sued for pardon."
+
+"Pardon for what?"
+
+"For intended flight to the West without permission and leave-taking."
+
+"Am I not, then, the master of my actions?" Duncan replied in a somewhat
+ruffled tone.
+
+"Not if you expect my favor." Then, lowering her large, black eyes, and
+pointing authoritatively to the floor, she continued: "Down on your
+knees and confess you were attempting to act without my knowledge."
+
+Duncan started angrily. He was nettled at the tone of authority she
+assumed, so he replied: "I will do nothing of the kind. I see no reason
+why my actions should be accounted to, much less pardoned by, you."
+
+"You big, foolish fellow," she laughingly said. "You have been spoilt by
+women. You expect that a declaration of independence delivered with so
+much bluster will anger me. Down on your knees and ask forgiveness."
+
+Duncan jumped to his feet and paced the floor. He was too angry to speak
+at first, but he finally said in defiant tones: "I should think that my
+intended departure without your being informed of it, would be
+sufficient to advise you that your possible feelings on the subject were
+of supreme indifference to me."
+
+"Indeed!" she replied, carelessly tossing aside the Bourget novel. "So I
+am to infer that Mr. Duncan Grahame, being weary of the woman upon whom
+he has previously pretended to bestow his favors, imagines that the
+easiest, and of course the most manly, way to rid himself of her is
+surreptitiously to steal away and leave her to discover his change of
+heart as best she can. Very well, so be it. But I really wish you would
+not molest that poor bear's head with the toe of your boot. If you have
+no regard for me, you should, at least, consider the feelings of my
+rug."
+
+She quietly commenced reading her book, and the careless and continued
+tapping of the little bronze-toed slipper on the rug seemed to emphasize
+her apparently complete absorption in the words of the French romancer.
+There is no man--or woman either--who will not chafe under the strain of
+indifference, and Duncan was no exception to the rule. Open war he
+relished, but to be dismissed with peremptory coldness when he had
+intended to be the aggressor was humiliating to the strongest sentiment
+of his nature, his pride. He silently watched her, trying, meanwhile, to
+formulate some plan of action. Angry words rose to his lips but were
+checked by prudence. He had lost his temper too much, he thought. His
+eyes carelessly wandered toward the book she was reading; "Coeur de
+femme" were the words printed across the yellow cover leaf. "If that
+Frenchman understands his subject," he thought, "she will read somewhere
+in that book that a woman's heart adores its master and detests its
+slave. Bourget is an analyst of nature, they say. Could he teach me
+more than that submission can never be success. Thank you, Monsieur
+Bourget; your yellow cover has given me an idea." Then, assuming an air
+of mock humility, he said: "I have been waiting to hear if you have
+anything further to add to your discharge."
+
+She slowly raised her eyes from her book and said coolly, "Nothing
+whatever. I think you understand me perfectly; if you are satisfied I
+am." Then she turned again to the book, apparently vexed at the
+interruption.
+
+"Very well," he replied. "Since the understanding is mutually perfect,
+please accept the conventional expressions of leave taking, and permit
+me to say 'adieu'."
+
+"That is a favor you can easily obtain," she replied. "But pray spare me
+the task of calling a servant; this book is intensely amusing, and I
+feel sure you know all the doors of the house."
+
+"By Jove, you are a keen one," Duncan muttered to himself; then he
+slowly walked to the door, put on his coat, took his hat, turned up his
+collar, opened the door, and descended the steps. "That woman," he
+thought, "is a sportsman to the bone, but it will do her good to leave
+her for a while. She's a thoroughbred, though, and I wish I didn't love
+her."
+
+Mrs. Osgood listened quietly until the door had shut and the sound of
+his steps had died away. "So he expected me to act like a school-girl,"
+she said, half aloud. "Some women are fools, I suppose. I am glad he did
+not bluster any more. I hate a man who loses his temper. So, Mr. Duncan,
+you want to leave me. You have my permission; but you will soon be back,
+and then perhaps you will hear me tell you that I--no you won't, for I
+want to keep your handsome, curly head all for myself."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+TWO WOMEN.
+
+
+We have all seen a manly young fellow go up to college. Full of life and
+vigor, he sees the world before him; but the thought of all its battles
+rouses no fear in his young heart, and, though his pranks are boyish and
+his manners rough, he stumbles good humoredly and persistently on into
+success. His upper classmen patronizingly smile upon him, while his
+natural enemy, the Soph, taunts and teases him, but is sometimes brought
+down and punished by his strong, young arms. Youthful, growing Chicago
+reminds one of this college boy. She has left the school of preparation
+and has taken her place among the great cities of the earth, where, full
+of energy and life, she is fighting her way to the front. Her mature
+colleagues of the Old World smile patronizingly at her efforts, but
+doubt her powers; while the cities of the East, seeing in her a young
+rival, taunt and ridicule her with jealous anger. She is young; but
+strong and active; and if she is sometimes carried away by the very
+energy of her youth, she is never daunted, and the older cities of the
+East have already felt the vigor of her sinewy grasp. Chicago, with her
+broad avenues and stupendous buildings, her spacious parks and stately
+homes, her far-reaching railways and towering chimneys, her bustling
+marts and busy, surging crowds of active men and women, is the archetype
+of American energy,--the creation of yesterday and the marvel of to-day.
+But the mortar is scarcely dry and the stones are still undimmed by
+time. She is as the mason, the carpenter, and the builder have left
+her--crude and fresh, without the dignified stains of age, without the
+majestic polish which time alone can give. Her social structure, like
+her brick and mortar buildings, is solidly laid and firmly built, but
+new. Her people built Chicago and she is the best memorial of their
+energy. They are still young and vigorous; in them the ardor of the
+pioneer is scarcely dead; the lethargy of long-held wealth has yet to
+come.
+
+In the library of an imposing, but new, grey stone mansion on Chicago's
+Lake Shore Drive two women were dawdling together over Petrarch's
+"Canzoniere" in the original. A well-thumbed dictionary was in the lap
+of one, and by the other's side lay Volume IV. of Symond's "Renaissance
+in Italy." It was cold January, and the broad, low window showed the
+angry lake dashing against the great sea wall and splashing the
+sparkling spray far over the roadway. The moaning north wind furiously
+rattled the long casements and sent occasional puffs of smoke and
+cinders out from the brightly blazing hearth fire; but these outward
+signs of winter were unable to affect the inviting coziness of the
+apartment. Fortunately the decorator's work had stopped at the walls;
+so, although artistically arranged, it was also a room to live in.
+Though the chairs were carved to match the panels, they were
+also--pardon the term--sittable; and though the bindings on the low
+book-shelves blended well with the tapestries and rugs, the books
+themselves were readable. The same judgment which had chosen the books
+had selected bronzes and porcelain, tiles and tapestries, and the
+tasteful arrangement of the art objects at once bespoke the dilettante.
+
+The elder student of Italian lyrics, glancing up from the "Rime in vita
+e morte" said interrogatively to her friend: "I wish I knew, Florence,
+whether Madonna Laura were once a living woman or merely the divine
+creation of the poet's soul."
+
+"I am sure she must have been a fancy," the other replied. "She is too
+ideal for flesh and blood, and besides, she was married. I don't think
+it is natural for any man so sincerely to love another man's wife."
+
+"You horrid girl! You forget that Petrarch was a poet."
+
+"No, I don't, my dear Marion; but so were Shelley, Byron, de Musset, and
+scores of others. The same broad collar and velvet jacket often cover
+both an artistic temperament and a fleshly nature. Now I, for one, don't
+believe in pardoning in genius what we condemn in mediocrity. If Laura
+was an inspiration of Petrarch's soul, the poet has my admiration; if
+she was merely another man's wife with whom he was enamored,--no matter
+how delightfully he may have sung of her,--I lose respect for
+Petrarch."
+
+"You have no appreciation of the beautiful, Florence."
+
+"I appreciate the beautiful, but I also respect virtue. There is enough
+that is beautiful in this world but not enough that is good."
+
+"O, you Philistine. How can you go on reading these exquisite lyrics and
+not soar above Puritan casuistry in the enjoyment of beauty for its own
+sake?"
+
+"You misunderstand me, my dear. I never said that I did not appreciate
+the beauties of this rhythm and the subtleties of this language. What I
+mean is that I see no reason why a poet's errors should be pardoned
+because his quatrains are above criticism. Now Petrarch, by his own
+confession, was not exceptionally well-behaved, but whatever his morals
+may have been they should not be judged by his lyrics. Nor, for that
+matter, should his lyrics be judged by his behavior."
+
+"You have lived in a New Hampshire village too long to view the world
+through the broad lenses of cosmopolitanism."
+
+"I have been away from a New Hampshire village long enough to look
+through the sordid spectacles of worldliness, and I was glad enough to
+return to my Puritan blue glasses."
+
+"Stop talking such nonsense, Florence. I don't believe a word of it.
+Here you are not quite twenty-four years old. You have had the same
+education I had; we went to the same school, studied the same books,
+lived in the same room, traveled about Europe together for nearly a
+year, met the same people, have almost the same tastes, and have spent a
+winter in Washington together, to say nothing of our countless letters
+to each other in the interim. The only real difference between us is
+that you were born in Fairville and I in Chicago, that I am married and
+you are not, and that I am fourteen months your senior; yet with all
+this affinity of tastes and education, you deliver a bit of
+straight-laced Calvinism which makes me shudder and smell sulphur and
+roasting flesh."
+
+"I deny the implied accusation, although, if finding fault with the
+recklessness of life of the present day constitutes being a Puritan, I
+fear I shall be compelled to plead guilty. They say one's face is an
+index of one's character, so I suppose mine is as long as the one
+hundred and nineteenth Psalm, and as narrow as it is long."
+
+"No, Florence, you are a dissembler, for your sparkling blue eyes,
+bright cheeks, and soft brown hair are more Parisienne than Puritan, to
+say nothing of those white teeth and that sweet little mouth. No, my
+dear, there is nothing narrow about your face; in fact, I think it is
+almost round enough for a Breton peasant."
+
+"You cruel woman! I shall never forgive you for such an insulting
+remark. You could say nothing worse except to call me buxom. I know I am
+not classic, or antique Etruscan, or Ptolemaic, but I don't think you
+need tell me to my face that I am _paysanne_."
+
+"Don't lose your temper, dear. If I told the truth, I should say that
+your beauty is of that charming eclectic type which only America can
+produce. Intelligence and fidelity shine in your deep blue eyes, and any
+woman would give ten years of her life for your coloring, to say nothing
+of your superbly tall figure."
+
+"I feel a trifle better, but I can't quite forgive you for the round
+face."
+
+"If Miss Florence Moreland is still provoked, she may have revenge by
+telling me exactly what she thinks of my personal appearance and
+character as interpreted by my features."
+
+"Mrs. Roswell Sanderson is most formal, but I assure her that if I
+speak, it will be to tell the truth."
+
+"Come, Florence, I am really in earnest, and I promise not to be angry.
+I should so like to know exactly what you think of me."
+
+"I think you are the dearest friend I ever had, and I don't intend to
+lose you by criticism."
+
+"Nonsense, Florence, I promise not to be angry, and I feel that it will
+actually do me good."
+
+"Well, if you will hear things quite as disagreeable as 'the round
+face,' here goes. I shall begin with your eyes. I believe novelists call
+them the lanterns of the soul. You have superb, dreamy, black eyes; eyes
+to fill a woman with envy or a man with love,--but they are both
+absent-minded and ambitious; they show a restless longing after
+unattained hopes. In other words, they are dissatisfied and cold, but
+from an artistic standpoint that only enhances their attractiveness."
+
+"You horrid creature! But I promised to be quiet, so go on."
+
+"So much for the eyes; now the nose. It is exquisitely moulded and
+classic. I shall dismiss the nose as perfect."
+
+"O, thank you so much."
+
+"Now the mouth. It has a cupid's bow and it droops at the corners. I
+like your mouth, but I think it also looks dissatisfied. An artist would
+rave over it, but when his eyes fell on that transparently white
+complexion, and that glossy hair so artistically knotted at the back, I
+am sure he would think you were a creation of Phidias lost from the
+Elgin rooms of the British Museum. If you did call me eclectic, I must
+admit that your type is pure, unalloyed Greek; but I won't let you off
+altogether, for I consider your figure a trifle too stubby. Does that
+pay you up for 'the round face'?"
+
+"I promised to keep my temper, so I will spare you; besides, I must
+confess that I did not come off so badly after all. 'The creation of
+Phidias' was quite flattering; but what makes you think I look
+dissatisfied?"
+
+"I am sure you should not look so, for of all women in the world you
+have the least to make you discontented."
+
+"O, Florence, don't talk that way. You, who have been my best friend and
+my only confidante, ought to know that even the brightest surroundings
+have their shadows." Then Marion looked out over the angry, grey waters,
+and Florence saw in her deep, black eyes just the dissatisfied, longing
+look she had described.
+
+"I think," said Florence, "that what you call shadows on your bright
+surroundings are but tarnish which neglect has left there. A little
+extra care will make all bright."
+
+"I want sympathy, not sermons, Florence. I was brought up on texts and
+tracts, and the Westminster catechism was my daily nourishment."
+
+"Why, Marion, dear, I don't want to preach; I want to help you; but it
+is hard for me to understand why you should not be perfectly happy. Your
+husband adores you; he is rich and denies you nothing; you are a leader
+in society, young, handsome and admired. What more do you want?"
+
+"I don't know, I really don't. If some fairy queen were to appear in a
+blaze of light and spangles out of that coal-scuttle and promise to
+fulfill any wish, I should be at a loss to tell her what I really want,
+but I am not happy. To myself I find fault with everything and
+everybody. Some people bore me, some people upset my nerves; at times I
+feel utterly lifeless, and at times I get into such a state of mind that
+I almost scream, and all over nothing at all. When I go out and meet the
+same old set over and over again,--and such a narrow, prosaic set at
+that,--it seems as though I should fairly go mad. What I want is a
+change. I am perfectly contented away from this depressing place. When I
+was in Washington last spring, I felt almost like another woman; in fact
+I don't believe it is anything but the provincialism of Chicago which is
+putting me in such states of mind."
+
+"Don't be foolish, Marion. As though such a cause could make you
+discontented. If it does, then you don't appreciate your native city. I
+like Chicago and I would rather visit here than in any place I know."
+
+"Perhaps it is because your old friend, Harold Wainwright, lives here,"
+said Marion insinuatingly. Just a tinge of color rose in her friend's
+cheeks, but she did not reply, so Marion continued: "You don't have to
+live here nine months in the year, and you don't know all the
+intricacies and peculiarities of our society."
+
+"Perhaps I don't, but to me the peculiarities are all in Chicago's
+favor. I love the go-ahead spirit, and I love the lack of affectation
+among the people one meets."
+
+"The go-ahead spirit you love," Marion replied, "is but an insatiable
+craving for the 'mighty dollar', and the lack of affectation resolves
+itself into a lack of _savoir faire_."
+
+"Why, Marion, how can you say such things. You have friends here with as
+much knowledge of the world as any one."
+
+"Yes, but how many? Perhaps fifty, or be liberal and say a hundred, and
+they were all brought up away from Chicago, or, like myself, have lived
+away from here a good many years of their lives. If they remain here
+long enough they will stagnate like the natives."
+
+"You unpatriotic rebel. I have almost a mind to denounce you to the
+people you are slandering."
+
+"I am not slandering them. I am only speaking my convictions. You think
+I am captious, but I merely understand the subject, and I ought to, for
+heaven knows I have had a long enough experience. One has the choice
+here between parvenu vulgarity and Puritanic narrow mindedness. The one
+makes us the butt of the comic papers and the other is simply
+unbearable. I was brought up in the latter, and of course all ancient
+families,--that is to say, those dating from before the fire,--come
+under that eminently respectable classification, but I actually believe
+one would find the pork-packers more distracting."
+
+"What do you call Puritanic narrow-mindedness, Marion?"
+
+"I call it that carping sanctimoniousness which makes certain people
+throw up their hands in horror at the slightest appearance of advanced
+and civilized ideas. It is scarcely more than five years since a woman
+who wore décolleté evening gowns was one of the chosen of Beelzebub, a
+warm meal on Sunday night was a sacrilege, and wine at dinner the
+creation of the Devil himself; but the people who hold such ideas will
+talk scandal by the hour while making red flannel shirts for heathen
+babies. I don't believe you know how a few of us have struggled to
+liberalize this city and raise its society a little above that of a
+country village."
+
+"You are too bitter, Marion."
+
+"No, I am not. You should have witnessed the tussle I had with mama,
+before I was married, in order to get livery on our coachman, and to
+abolish the anachronism of a one-o'clock dinner."
+
+"It seems to me, Marion, that your criticisms apply to the Chicago of
+the past and not to the Chicago of to-day. I am sure I never endured a
+noon dinner, and as for the turn-outs one meets, many of them are quite
+as well appointed as one could desire."
+
+"I grant you that, but then it is the same limited few that have wrought
+all these changes, and, improved as the city is, we have had to overcome
+almost insurmountable prejudices. I grant you that Chicago has passed
+the chrysalis age. It is no longer a village but it is far from being a
+metropolis."
+
+"You have everything here which makes a city: opera, theatres, parks,
+drives, shops, art galleries, libraries, restaurants, and even races.
+What more do you desire?"
+
+"People, Florence; people. We want people with the instinctive sense of
+the fitness of things, people with refined tastes and cultivated minds,
+people whose souls are not bound up either in dollars or in psalms."
+
+"Why, Marion! I can name you, off-hand, twenty as advanced and
+cultivated people as I ever met."
+
+"Of course you can, and perhaps fifty more, but there you will have to
+stop. Three or four score of people do not make society."
+
+"If you talk that way I shall believe you are more bigoted than the
+sanctified families you have just described. I really believe you go
+about conjuring up imaginable faults in your friends merely to carry out
+your ideas."
+
+"Don't be nasty, Florence."
+
+"No, my dear, I love you too much for that; but it is really dreadful
+for you to get into such states of mind. I think I understand what you
+feel; you have led a nomadic existence, and you were educated in a
+different atmosphere. An acquaintance with three languages, a season in
+London, a winter in Washington, and a strong love of variety all combine
+to make you discontented with the life here. You want a kaleidoscopic
+existence, an ever shifting scene, and because you are here, a thousand
+miles from the nearest city worthy of the name, it is quite natural that
+you should tire of meeting the same people day after day. You think of
+London, New York, and Washington, where society is continually shifting,
+where new people come and go, where every one does not know or care
+about his neighbor's business; but, Marion, granting all this, are you
+not a little too bitter?"
+
+"Perhaps; but just think of the lack of _savoir faire_ that one finds
+here; the striving to do a thing correctly and missing it just
+sufficiently to ruin the effect."
+
+"That is a criticism which might be applied to American society in
+general. It is only a poor imitation of the English model. For my part,
+I almost wish we could go back to pumpkin-pie and Johnny-cake. I wish
+we could go 'buggy riding with our beaux' and 'spark in the back
+parlor.' It was all more original, and, what is more to the point, more
+American."
+
+"You fairly make me shudder, Florence. Where did you get such
+Jeffersonian ideas?"
+
+"In my New Hampshire home, perhaps; but despite my patriotism, I
+recognize that the buggy and the back parlor have gone never to return.
+I don't regret it, either, for I am just as fond of refinement as you
+are; but what I do object to is the introduction of extraneous ideas
+which are contrary to the spirit of Americanism. I love Chicago because
+it is fairly American, and represents more truly than the older cities
+the Yankee spirit which made us a free people. You may have vulgar
+parvenus here, but where are they not to be found? This may be the only
+large city where New England Puritanism affects society, but it is, at
+least, American, and better than European immorality. There may be only
+a few people here who are initiated into the esoterics of manners and
+manias, but how many good husbands, loving wives, and happy children
+are there among your rich! you may dine at seven o'clock and go to
+dances at ten; some of you may talk with a twang and pronounce _u_ like
+double _o_; but how many snobs and sycophants, how many unemployed and
+dissipated men, how many intriguers and gamblers have you in Chicago
+society? For my part I love refinement and _les petits soins_ as much as
+you do, Marion; but if we can't have the good of European life without
+the bad, if we can't cultivate manners without vices, better far go back
+to sewing bees and church sociables, and keep our morals pure; better
+have baked beans and blue laws than truffled capon and depravity. There,
+I feel quite exhausted, but I have had my say."
+
+"Really, Florence, you almost take my breath away. I have not heard such
+a screeching of the American eagle since I can remember. It ought to
+make me very much ashamed, I suppose, but somehow the flapping of the
+bird of freedom's wings never did inspire me."
+
+"I positively refuse to quarrel any more, but I do wish you could feel
+different; you would be so much happier," Florence replied.
+
+"O, it is of no use. I am discontented by nature, I suppose. My ideals
+are too high, my realities too low. Success among people of rank,
+reputation, and intellect, is what I desire; a position among merchants,
+manufacturers, and shop-keepers is what I have. For intellectual variety
+I read a few papers before the Renaissance Club, and meet such
+occasional notables as stop over here long enough to view the
+stock-yards. I am the wife of a Chicago banker with all the prerogatives
+of that position, but nothing more, and with no prospect of being
+anything more."
+
+"Nothing short of a coronet and a Court appointment would satisfy you, I
+fear. As for merchants and shop-keepers, all American society is
+composed mainly of them or their spendthrift children. But I am firm in
+my intention not to argue any more, so let us go back to Madonna Laura.
+If you want to feel better satisfied with Chicago, think about the
+sickening spectacle of Roman society at the time of Petrarch, and the
+futile efforts of his friend, Rienzi, to regenerate it."
+
+"We sha'n't have time either for reading or discussion before dinner.
+There is Roswell's key in the door, and he was never known to leave the
+office before six o'clock. What gown are you going to wear? Something
+charming, as usual; but don't forget that the drapery in the Auditorium
+is old gold plush."
+
+"Why, Marion, I had quite forgotten we were going to the Opera to-night.
+Tamagno in 'Otello': that will be a treat."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+IN AN OPERA BOX.
+
+
+A long and motley line of carriages was slowly arriving at the
+Auditorium entrance. A surging, gaping crowd was jostling the few
+policemen on duty and trying to catch a glimpse of the brilliant dresses
+of the women hurrying into the lobby. Long, furry wraps and covered
+heads, perhaps a gleam of hidden diamonds, were all they saw; but it was
+a passing glance into a forbidden, dazzling world. Footmen scurried,
+doors were slammed, horses stamped, and husky-voiced policemen called
+out orders to the coachmen. A long awning covered the carpeted walk, and
+electric lamps shed a brilliant light upon the muffled comers and the
+eager faces of the waiting crowd. It was not a wan, hungry crowd of
+starving beggars, such as often surrounds a foreign theater; it was not
+a silent, wondering crowd; but American-like, it was cheerful and
+humorous, envious, perhaps, but merry in its envy. It laughed and gibed
+at every novelty, and its jokes were shared alike by the smart English
+coachmen and the driver of the antiquated family "carry-all." It was
+impudent, too, but it was the impudence of the great Republic,--the bold
+assertion of freedom and prosperity.
+
+In the crowded lobby long lines of people were depositing wraps at the
+cloak-room windows, some were standing in little groups, and hundreds of
+others were passing up the grand marble staircase into the hall above;
+Libretto sellers' cries and the scurrying tread of many feet upon the
+hard mosaic mingled with the distant strains of music, and scores of
+glittering lights shone upon the marble walls, and the countless,
+brilliant dresses of the moving throng. On into the great hall the
+people went. Five thousand seats were being filled, and, tier above
+tier, they rose like a section of a Roman theatre. Two rows of boxes
+lined the sides. Delicate wall tints and carefully toned lights blended
+softly with pretty faces and many colored gowns. The colors were an
+artist's work and masterly was it done. Up from the stage rose a mass
+of faces. An unbroken multitude it was, grand and impressive. Down at
+the front a little man was frantically leading an army of skilled
+musicians, whose rhythmical efforts filled the noble audience-room with
+the overture of Verdi's masterpiece, and as the last note rolled far
+away, up into the balcony loft, and was lost amid the subdued
+whisperings and rustling programmes, the lights were dimmed, the stately
+curtain slowly rose, and ten thousand hands applauded a welcome to the
+great singer from distant Italy. Thousands of music lovers wonderingly
+listened to the amazing power and range of Tamagno's voice, hundreds
+stood at the back of the amphitheatre, and even the little swinging
+gallery away up in the eaves was crowded with humble enthusiasts. But
+there were a conspicuous few whose whisperings and laughter mingled with
+the artist's notes; a few whose bids were highest at the auction sale of
+boxes, and whose tardy, noisy coming accentuated their social prominence
+and exasperated every lover of good music and good manners.
+
+Among these was Mrs. Roswell Sanderson, who, with her husband, Florence
+Moreland, and Mr. Walter Sedger, had just entered a box, in the upper,
+left-hand tier.
+
+"What a superb audience-room," said Florence Moreland as she put aside
+her fur-lined cloak and took her opera glass out of its case. "How
+beautifully it lights up. I don't think I ever saw a finer sight."
+
+"Do you think so, Florence?" replied Marion Sanderson. "To me it is just
+like everything else Chicago produces, stupendous and gaudy. They have
+tried to make an opera house, a concert hall and a convention room, and,
+consequently, have produced a building which is neither fish, flesh, nor
+fowl."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Florence.
+
+"I mean that as an opera house it is a woful failure. They have shoved
+two tiers of boxes off at the sides and have given the entire house up
+to seats; they have put in a hideous organ where the proscenium boxes
+ought to be, and have invented all manner of machines for lowering the
+roof and shutting off the galleries; and as for those miserable little
+columns holding up that balcony, they are simply ridiculous."
+
+"Marion very seldom admires home productions," Roswell Sanderson
+interposed.
+
+"That is just the trouble," added Florence. "For my part I admire the
+progressive spirit which prompted the architect to depart from
+conventional ideas. If there are no boxes at the back, every one can see
+and hear, and I think that mass of people rising gently from the stage
+one of the most superb sights one could wish to see. The effects of the
+Paris and Vienna opera houses are not to be compared to it."
+
+"Don't be so disagreeably contradictory to all I say," retorted Marion.
+
+"I sha'n't for the present, dear, because I wish to hear some of that
+glorious music. You must not take what I say seriously."
+
+Then they were silent, for, unconsciously, they were brought under the
+spell of the great tenor's art.
+
+"What a divine voice that man has," said Florence, as the curtain slowly
+fell after the first act. "I fairly held my breath during that high _C_.
+Mr. Sedger, please applaud, and help bring him out. There he comes!
+Bravo, bravo, Tamagno!"
+
+"I did the best I could, Miss Moreland," Walter Sedger said, after the
+applause of two recalls had died away. "But do you really enjoy this
+music so much? For my part I prefer opera-bouffe."
+
+"I admire your frankness, Mr. Sedger," she replied. "There are so many
+people who adore Wagner because he is the fashion, and sneer at Verdi
+and the Italian school, when, if the truth were known, they have not the
+slightest conception of the good qualities of either. For my part I like
+any music from a hurdy-gurdy up, though an extended term of suffering
+under a German professor has finally produced a taste for such music as
+Verdi has given us in 'Otello', which seems to me quite as remarkable as
+some of Wagner's masterpieces."
+
+"Well, I am glad you enjoy it, Miss Moreland, but I fear my education
+did not extend beyond the 'Mikado' and 'Ermine'; so when it comes to
+grand opera I must confess my pleasure is confined to the _entre acte_.
+I love to see the people, and if it were not for being rude I think I
+should be tempted to run down to the club while the curtain is up."
+
+"You have my permission, Mr. Sedger, but tell me who is that
+good-looking man with Mr. Wainwright, coming down this way?"
+
+"He is a New Yorker; Duncan Grahame is his name. I met him at the club
+this afternoon."
+
+"What is he doing here? One always seems to ask what a stranger is doing
+in Chicago: I don't know why, I am sure."
+
+"He is out here on business in connection with an elevator trust. He
+seems to be a capital fellow, and, as he is a member of the Staten Club,
+I suppose he needs no further patent of respectability. But here he
+comes, so you can judge of him for yourself."
+
+The two men of whom they were speaking entered the box. Harold
+Wainwright spoke to the ladies and introduced his friend. Mrs. Sanderson
+offered Duncan a seat beside her and said: "I have heard of you quite
+frequently, Mr. Grahame, from a friend in New York, Miss Sibyl Wright,
+and I think you should be grateful for having such an enthusiastic
+admirer."
+
+"Doubly so considering that she is a woman and it was to you she spoke.
+I also have heard of you from scores of people in the East, and I made
+Wainwright introduce me at the first opportunity. I arrived only this
+morning, and I assure you I am quite without a guiding hand."
+
+"You make me smile and frown by turns," she replied. "I was tempted to
+feel flattered at the first part of your speech, but if it is a question
+of any shade in the desert, I shall not feel strongly inclined to offer
+you my protection in the Chicago wilderness."
+
+"I think it would be advisable to interpret my speech as a compliment,
+as I seldom make them."
+
+"Really, Mr. Grahame, I am tempted to call you rude."
+
+"It is not rudeness but frankness, I assure you, and I spoke the truth.
+I have really been most anxious to meet you, and now that my desire has
+been gratified I trust you will not be so cruel as to let the frown
+remain. There goes the curtain. I am going to beg permission to return
+after the next act."
+
+"You deserve punishment for your rudeness, so I refuse to grant it. As a
+penance for your offense I shall expect you to remain where you are
+during this entire act and devote your energies to amusing me."
+
+"I suppose I must submit, but please talk to me, as I am not bold and
+feel sure that your friend is a musical fiend who is quite prepared to
+cast furious glances at me should I be audacious enough to speak above a
+whisper."
+
+"I see you are an analyst of character."
+
+"Rather more of a synthesist, I imagine. I collect what both enemies and
+friends say of an individual and then build his character from those
+materials."
+
+"How horrible! I trust you will never try your method on me."
+
+"I have done so already."
+
+"You wretch! What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I have heard considerable about you in New York, and that I
+dined with six men at the City Club this evening. You were the one
+person in Chicago I was most desirous of meeting, so I managed to
+collect some most useful materials from which I have built my estimate
+of your character."
+
+"I must call that the boldest piece of assurance I ever heard of."
+
+"Why any more so than for me to judge you by my own impressions? My
+method is more judicial. As in a court of law, I hear both sides of a
+case, and do not permit myself to be biased by personal charms."
+
+"You are a clever pleader. I feel tempted to throw myself on the mercy
+of the court and receive its verdict."
+
+"Before the verdict can be given the court must be cleared of reporters;
+as that seems impracticable, sentence must be deferred."
+
+"Is it then so horrible? If so, I shall feel tempted to 'jump bail'."
+
+"I think you have nothing to fear; but how did you acquire such a
+knowledge of the law?"
+
+"At one time I had a passion for reading accounts of trials, and I even
+went with a party to see the Anarchists when they were on trial."
+
+"What a morbid curiosity!"
+
+"Another impertinence."
+
+"If it is so considered, I humbly ask pardon, and meanwhile I move that
+the court take a recess which shall be employed in instructing me in the
+intricacies of Chicago society."
+
+"I see you want more material with which to construct characters; if so,
+we had far better listen to the opera."
+
+"O, bother the opera! It is vulgar to listen to an opera; it shows a
+lack of conversational powers. Don't you think so?"
+
+"One can easily see that you came from New York, and, like all New York
+men, I suppose you expect to be pampered."
+
+"Of course I expect it, so please tell me about those people in the
+opposite boxes. You need not fear to speak the truth, as I am an entire
+stranger."
+
+"If I do, as a friend I shall expect you to let my opinions go no
+further."
+
+"_Cela va sans dire._"
+
+"You must first understand, then, that every man here has an employment.
+We have absolutely no 'unemployed rich'."
+
+"Idleness must be at a premium."
+
+"On the contrary it is tabooed. However, though we are all in trade we
+have distinctions as intricate as the most ancient aristocracy."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"In the peculiar meshes from which society is woven. For example: a
+wholesale dry-goods merchant is an aristocrat, a retailer a plebeian; a
+hotel keeper may be a lord, a restaurant keeper a commoner; a car
+builder is a prince, a carriage builder a burgher; a brewer may be a
+count, a beer seller a churl; and so on, although even if a member of a
+certain trade is in society, his _confrères_ may be without the pale."
+
+"Much the same as in New York, only there hotels and dry goods are
+commoners, while tobacco and skins are lords."
+
+"Yes, but at least society is older there. The skins have been buried
+for a generation or two."
+
+"In some cases, yes, but in others they are still uncured. I am a
+working man myself, and I must defend my class."
+
+"But surely you have respect for established institutions."
+
+"Yes, but not for dead ancestors. Suppose I search through the dusty
+archives of the Herald's College for a drop of Norman blood; I find that
+it was spilt on Saxon land by some hireling freebooter, or landgrabber,
+who followed at the heels of a conscienceless adventurer."
+
+"You are republican enough to please the taste of my friend, Miss
+Moreland."
+
+"I fear you misunderstand me. I am not patriotic, or republican, or
+anything else, for that matter."
+
+"Except the incarnation of contrariety."
+
+"I hate polemics, so I will cry _touché_ as one does in fencing after a
+thrust, and end the contest."
+
+"You mean you would rather thrust than parry. You men are all alike. You
+told the truth when you expressed a fondness for being pampered, and, as
+it is the duty of our sex to be compliant, I await your pleasure."
+
+"If I am to be so indulged, I confess to feeling a craving to hear the
+promised lecture about those people across the way."
+
+"I would willingly comply but that falling curtain says it must again be
+deferred. On second thought, perhaps it would be better to give you an
+object lesson, so if you will come and see me to-morrow about five, I
+will take you to a tea where you may meet them all and judge for
+yourself."
+
+"I see you mean to prevent my favorite method of character study. I fear
+you will succeed, as the enticing preventive you suggest cannot possibly
+fail to be effectual. I willingly submit to your cure and will come to
+you at the appointed hour."
+
+The fall of the act drop was followed by a confused fluttering of
+dresses and hum of voices; people stretched and rose, talked, or
+wandered toward the foyer, while hundreds of glasses were leveled at the
+boxes, and every one of mark or notoriety was scrutinized by hundreds of
+eyes and criticised by hundreds of tongues. Society was there paraded in
+two rows of little pens, labeled and ticketed at so many millions per
+head, to be gazed upon by the curious and envious of that great throng.
+Society was the operatic side-show, and society paid dearly for the
+privilege of being seen.
+
+"Do you like to be gazed at by a crowd, Mr. Grahame?" said Florence,
+after a momentary silence.
+
+"Yes, I think I do," he replied. "It makes one feel so superior to be up
+above, looking down on the 'madding crowd'."
+
+"Do you think so? I always feel like a caged animal at a menagerie,
+where each one who pays the admission fee can gratify the curiosity he
+has about me, and poke me with his umbrella if he does not like my
+looks."
+
+"How absurd; but I understand you are democratic in your feelings and
+object to class distinctions."
+
+"Not in the least; on the contrary I believe in them. Nature herself has
+decreed that no two creatures can be equal. What I object to are
+inflated distinctions which rest on no foundation, and collapse
+completely when pricked by sound opinion."
+
+"Miss Moreland believes in an aristocracy of merit," interposed Harold
+Wainwright.
+
+"Yes," replied Florence, "but where is it to be found?"
+
+"Not in a republic," retorted Duncan. "A democracy is a breeding ground
+of plutocrats."
+
+"Perhaps, when its Government discourages every intellectual pursuit,"
+replied Wainwright. He felt strongly the ungratefulness of republics, as
+his father had been a Federal judge on a miserly salary, with no pension
+after years of faithful service.
+
+"I quite agree with you, Harold," replied Florence, "and I only wish I
+were a man."
+
+"Why?" interposed Mrs. Sanderson, who had just finished interchanging
+polite platitudes with Walter Sedger.
+
+"So that I might express my views about the evils of our political
+system."
+
+"And be called by that expressive word which is not in the dictionary,
+'a crank'," said Duncan ironically. "That is the reward of a reformer."
+
+"John Bright and Wendell Phillips were both 'cranks' in their day," was
+the reply, "but I would not object to their reputation. By the way, here
+comes a 'crank' whom I almost love," she added, as a stout, kindly
+faced, elderly man, whose features wore the sweet expression of earnest
+and well guided intelligence, approached the box.
+
+"Who is he?" asked Duncan, following her eyes.
+
+"Dr. Maccanfrae, physician and philanthropist, missionary and moralist,
+and the dearest man in the world, besides," she replied. "He does more
+good in a day than twenty Poor Boards do in a week, and has more genuine
+Christian charity in his soul than a score of average parsons, although
+he is an evolutionist and a pantheist combined."
+
+"A most flattering description," said Duncan. "I hope he deserves such
+adulation."
+
+"He certainly merits it all," added Wainwright.
+
+Dr. Maccanfrae entered the box and Walter Sedger improved the
+opportunity to slip away and visit some friends. The Doctor spoke to
+Mrs. Sanderson, then moved toward the corner occupied by Florence
+Moreland, while Duncan dropped quietly into the seat left vacant by Mr.
+Sedger.
+
+"What can bring so industrious a man as Dr. Maccanfrae to the opera?"
+said Florence as the Doctor took the seat beside her.
+
+"The opera itself, Miss Florence. I am devoted to music and never lose
+an opportunity of hearing it well rendered. Isn't Tamagno doing grandly
+to-night?"
+
+Her reply was interrupted by the appearance of a tall, plainly dressed
+woman, who, pencil and paper in hand, entered the box door. Her face was
+refined, though careworn, and bore the mark of better days. She
+hesitated for a moment, as though realizing fully her intrusive calling,
+then advanced toward Duncan. "May I ask you, sir, to give the names of
+your party for the _Morning Stentor_?" she finally said.
+
+"What does she mean?" said Duncan, turning to Mrs. Sanderson for an
+explanation.
+
+"It is one of the peculiarities of Chicago life," she replied. "It is
+for to-morrow's society column."
+
+"And do you give them the information?" he asked.
+
+"O, yes, it is better to have it right, as they publish it anyway, right
+or wrong," she replied, and then she told the reporter the names.
+
+"Might I trouble you to describe your dress?" was the next question
+asked. "I am sorry to be so intrusive, but it is the city editor's
+orders, and we have to do the best we can."
+
+"You are a woman, and understand such matters, so I think you had better
+do that yourself," Mrs. Sanderson replied.
+
+The reporter thanked her and withdrew. When she had gone Duncan said
+wonderingly: "We have society reporters in New York, but they never go
+quite so far as to ask one to describe oneself. Who reads such
+particulars anyway?"
+
+"Ask Dr. Maccanfrae, he is wiser than I," she replied.
+
+"Dr. Maccanfrae, who should you say read the society columns of the
+newspapers?" he asked.
+
+"People who expect to find their names in print, and people who think
+their names ought to be in print, to say nothing of those who read
+society columns, as they do society scandals, in order to get a
+reflection of the tinsel and tarnish of an unknown world."
+
+"That must include a great portion of newspaper readers," replied
+Duncan.
+
+"Precisely; that is why society scandals and fashions occupy so large a
+portion of our papers," the Doctor replied. "But there comes the
+conductor, so I must get back to my place."
+
+"Won't you remain here, Doctor?" said Mrs. Sanderson.
+
+"No, I thank you. I only came in to pay my respects, and, as I have a
+musical friend with me, I must get back to him."
+
+The Doctor hurried away and the little man away down in front lifted his
+baton. Ninety musicians watched the beat of the first bar, and, as the
+baton fell, sixty bows moved in unison, and trumpets, horns, trombones,
+and reeds, added their strains, while the act drop slowly rose
+disclosing the great stage, gorgeously set as Otello's audience-chamber.
+
+"I must tell you an amusing tale about 'Otello,'" whispered Mrs.
+Sanderson to Duncan Grahame. "I was in Rome when the opera was brought
+out there, and went with the American minister and his wife. Revere was
+their name and they came from Tallahassee. He had been a congressman,
+but she had never been away from home until she went as the wife of our
+representative in Austria, so you can imagine her ignorance of the
+world. She watched the opera quietly until she noticed that the black
+Otello bore some relation to the white Desdemona. That made her hem and
+fidget, but when Otello embraced his wife, she put up her fan in
+disgust, and said indignantly to me: 'How outrageous! I assure you such
+conduct would not be tolerated in Tallahassee.'"
+
+Grahame laughed, and then they listened to the grand music of Verdi for
+a while, but it was not the opera which inspired their interest, for the
+subtle spell of similarity seemed to arouse the sympathy of kindred
+taste. Bright phrases and pleasing words flashed between them, and
+quickly another act passed. Again the people rose and talked, again
+visitors came to the box and uttered conventional insipidities. Finally
+Roswell Sanderson himself returned. He had passed the evening in the
+manager's office with some friends, but his wife did not even express a
+curiosity to know it. The curtain rose on the last act. "Come," said
+Wainwright to Duncan, "we must go back to our seats. Good-night, Mrs.
+Sanderson." "Good-night, Mr. Grahame." "_A demain_," said Duncan, and he
+was off. Another act of the opera was rendered, then the great house was
+slowly emptied, and hundreds of carriages bore their occupants away. The
+lights went out, the weary artists hurried home, the Auditorium was left
+cold, silent and deserted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+A CHALLENGE.
+
+
+Marion Sanderson's surroundings kept her in a continual state of
+irritation. Her fancy created an ideal life with harmonious environments
+and sympathetic friends, but the reality was what she termed "an utterly
+commonplace existence." From early childhood her parents and
+acquaintances had jarred upon her, so that her fanciful mind had carried
+on incessant warfare with her prosaic surroundings. Her father and
+mother were respectable representatives of practical Calvinism, who,
+endeavoring to make their child a pillar of the Church, had persistently
+combated her natural tendencies. For days at a time, during her younger
+years, the poor child would obediently follow the routine of prayer
+prescribed for her until worn out by the drastic Scotch tenets; then
+rebellious tears would flow, and she would permit some natural
+sentiments to escape from her impulsive heart. Such outbursts most
+frequently occurred on Sunday, and they invariably called from her
+mother's lips the time-tried reproof: "I think, Marion, you forget the
+day. Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy." Resentful and disgusted
+the child would expostulate, only to be frigidly denounced as one
+possessed of an evil spirit; then she would rush to her room and remain
+for hours sobbing and yearning for sympathy. "Fox's Book of Martyrs,"
+"The Church at Home and Abroad," and "Baxter's Saints' Rest" were her
+literary diet, but she managed to devour, surreptitiously, romance after
+romance, and her greatest pleasure was to live over, in fancy, the lives
+of those she had read about. Thus for fifteen years the restless child
+tugged unsuccessfully at the parental tethers till relief came from an
+unexpected quarter.
+
+Marion's mother, despairing of her child's spiritual welfare, decided
+curiously enough, to send her abroad to the care of her sister-in-law,
+the wife of the United States minister to France. This aunt, being a
+woman of broad sympathies and experience, questioned the girl about her
+education, and, finding that it had been confined to the three R's and
+the Westminster catechism, decided to send her to school. So Marion was
+forthwith ensconced in a select _pension_ patronized by the Faubourg St.
+Germain nobility. Here a new life was opened to Marion, and, freed from
+her childhood's restraints, she eagerly sought companionship with these
+girls of a different world. She learned a new language and new
+sentiments, and though novels were forbidden in the school, the pages of
+Balzac, Mérimée, Sand and Gautier, surreptitiously read, fed her fancy
+with new impressions and created new aspirations. Florence Moreland was
+the only other American in the school, and to her Marion was attracted
+by the very oppositeness of her nature. The frank practicality and keen
+perception of Florence fascinated her, and although the two girls
+disagreed on most subjects, a warm affection always kept their hearts
+united.
+
+Marion left the _pension_ at the age of seventeen. By that curious
+process of expatriation which few but Americans can successfully
+undergo, her childhood's sentiments had been removed, and European ideas
+had been engrafted in their place. Her aunt, who during Marion's
+_pension_ days had vibrated between Paris and the Riviera, now took her
+for a few months of travel. Florence was invited to accompany them, and
+after making the conventional summer-garden tour of the Continent, they
+went to Nice for the winter. There the two girls studied Italian and
+mixed in the quasi Anglo-European society of the place--certainly not
+the best for a girl first to enter.
+
+The transfer of Marion's uncle to the English mission brought them to
+London, and they were just enjoying the excitement of a first season
+when Marion's parents ordered her home. A child when she left Chicago,
+she was now a woman. Her home, which had been uncongenial before, was
+now intolerable. Her life became a continual struggle against the
+prejudices of her parents. She longed to pull down the sombre
+drawing-room curtains and pitch the stiff-backed, haircloth chairs out
+of the window; but her father, though a millionaire, would brook no
+change. Still she struggled on, demanding an alteration in the dinner
+hour, wine at table and the discarding of the family carry-all. "Do you
+want me to open the house to Satan?" her mother asked in horrified
+tones. "I want you to be civilized beings and not anchorites," she
+replied. Her mother's friends were practically limited to the
+communicants of the Knox Presbyterian Church, but such a society only
+served to exasperate her more. To her the men were stupid slaves of
+business and the women narrow-minded prudes. There was a progressive set
+whose companionship she desired, but in her mother's mind they were the
+Devil's chosen, and were consequently forbidden the house. In
+desperation Marion sought relief and it came in the shape of a husband.
+Roswell Sanderson was vice-president of her father's bank, rich,
+prominent, and,--what was more to her,--liberal-minded. He asked her to
+be his wife, and, without analyzing her feelings further than the sense
+of gratefulness which she felt, she accepted him. After a brief
+engagement they were married and her new life began.
+
+Marion's husband was a country boy who had been sent to an Eastern
+college; and possessing American energy and perception in a marked
+degree, he rapidly won a place in the first rank of Chicago business
+men. He was a man of broad ideas and sympathies, but lacked the delicate
+veneer of manners which distinguishes the cosmopolite from the
+provincial. In Marion's eyes this fault soon became greatly magnified.
+His flat pronunciation and Western inflection, his cordial, unstudied
+manner and hearty laughter so mortified her that in the presence of
+those who were capable of recognizing his shortcomings, her manner
+became apologetic. His open-hearted frankness, which made him a friend
+of high and low, so rasped her ideas of convention that all sense of
+sympathy was destroyed, and her married life was no more congenial than
+that at home had been. Roswell never criticised her actions, so she was
+enabled to seek relief in society. She saw the gradual enlargement and
+improvement of Chicago but she was able to pick flaws in the struggles
+of society to break the shackles of provincialism, and she longed to
+hasten the _metropolizing_ process. Unlike Florence Moreland she could
+not admire the vigor and freshness of Western life, but permitted
+herself to suffer from intense mortification at the faults which others
+would have passed unnoticed. Marriage and society having failed to
+supply the happiness she desired, she turned to books. Her selections of
+reading, however, were destined to intensify her restlessness, for in
+the pages of Daudet, Bourget and de Maupassant she found the anomalies
+of human weakness painted in brilliant and exculpatory colors. The
+clever portraitures of these subtle analysts created a spirit which
+caused her to explain her eccentricities of feeling by comparison with
+the emotions described in their yellow-covered records. She became a
+disciple of the modern philosophy of introspection, which, unlike that
+of the stoic and anchorite, is not intended to humble desire, but to
+create a morbid craving for the unattainable. Recognizing that the
+absorbing passion of her life was yet to come, she scrupulously analyzed
+each impulse she felt and resolved it into infinitesimal atoms of
+feeling, which again were subjectively compared with the minutest
+details of her analytical romances. The consequence was that her
+emotions were kept in a state of continual irritation, and ordinary
+pleasures becoming less and less gratifying, a desire for new
+excitements and experiences was created. It was in such a state of mind
+that Florence Moreland had found her, and, since the latter's arrival in
+Chicago she had striven unsuccessfully to dispel the spirit of
+depression which had taken possession of her friend.
+
+On the afternoon of the day following the performance of "Otello,"
+Florence, cold and rosy from tobogganing, burst into the drawing room.
+She expected to find Marion in one of her moods, and she was astonished
+to find her dressed to go out and carelessly strumming on the piano.
+Marion looked up, and, seeing Florence, burst into laughter at her
+tousled locks and red cheeks. "You had better stand over the register
+and get thawed out," Marion remarked cheerfully; then, thumping the
+piano again, she continued: "How was the slide?"
+
+"Capital! and hundreds of people there," was Florence's reply. Then,
+wondering at Marion's sudden change of spirits, she added, "Are you
+going to the McSeeney's tea?"
+
+"Yes; I intend to take Mr. Grahame."
+
+"I suppose I shall have to get there the best way I can."
+
+"You can take the brougham. What do you think of him?"
+
+"Who, the brougham?"
+
+"No; Mr. Grahame, you silly."
+
+"O, he is like many New Yorkers, one-third clothes and two-thirds
+conceit. I asked him if he thought he should like Chicago, and, knowing
+I was from the East, he confidently replied: 'It is not New York, you
+know, but I suppose one can get used to anything in time.'"
+
+"I don't care, I like him," Marion replied.
+
+"Hush, here he comes," said Florence hurriedly.
+
+A servant announced Mr. Grahame, and as Duncan entered, Marion said in a
+somewhat surprised tone, "Are you always so prompt?"
+
+"No; it is quite a mistake, I assure you," he replied. "I will not be so
+vulgarly exact next time."
+
+"It is a provincialism quite permissible in the West," said Marion.
+
+"Indeed! But I have not yet said good afternoon," replied Duncan; "have
+you recovered from the dissipation of last evening?"
+
+"Quite."
+
+"And you, Miss Moreland?"
+
+"Look at her cheeks, Mr. Grahame," interjected Marion.
+
+"I see it is needless to ask about your health, Miss Moreland, but I
+trust I may say I admire your snow costume."
+
+"You must have a fondness for brilliant colors," said Florence.
+
+"Decidedly; shades and tints were made for funerals and frowns," he
+replied.
+
+"I don't like to interrupt," interposed Marion hurriedly, "but I fear it
+is time for Mr. Grahame and me to be going."
+
+"Are you not to accompany us, Miss Moreland?" said Duncan.
+
+"Not in this costume, certainly," laughed Florence.
+
+"Then I shall say _au revoir_."
+
+"Where am I to be taken?" said Duncan, as he and Marion descended the
+steps of the house.
+
+"To meet my most bitter enemy, Mrs. McSeeney," she replied.
+
+"I admire your courage," he said.
+
+"O, there is no danger of bodily harm, as we are quite on speaking
+terms; a sort of armed neutrality, you know."
+
+"Am I to be used as an offensive or a defensive weapon?" Duncan asked.
+
+"Neither; I shall use you as a flag of truce; but whatever happens don't
+you dare to say she is good looking or brilliant."
+
+"I promise," he answered, "but please tell me who she is and what she
+is."
+
+"You ought to know her; she is a New Yorker,--at least she was three
+years ago--her husband is the president of an elevated railway company
+and made her come here to live. She hates Chicago, and takes her revenge
+by saying disagreeable things about it. For some reason she has singled
+me out as the particular object of her antipathy and you can imagine
+there is no love lost between us. But here we are at her door, so I
+can't tell you any more."
+
+They had reached an awning-covered doorway where numerous carriages were
+arriving and depositing their occupants. They ascended the steps and
+were ushered into a crowded room where a well dressed throng were
+jostling about and trying to keep off one another's toes. Near the door
+Mrs. McSeeney was undergoing the laborious experience of greeting her
+friends, while about the room Mrs. Nobody could be heard cackling loudly
+and Mrs. Somebody peeping meekly, while Mr. Smart was smirking and Mr.
+Plain was awkwardly striving to interest ugly Miss Croesus. It was a
+prattling, garrulous society. The world over it is the same,
+differentiated by race and place, perhaps, but still society.
+
+Duncan was taken about and introduced to scores of people whose names he
+did not even hear. A smile here and a word there was all he had time
+for, but he managed to meet all "the people one should know," and, being
+a new man, caused a flutter of expectation among the women. "Who is he?"
+"What is he?" "Where is he from?" were the questions asked by all, but
+they scarcely received a satisfactory answer before Marion hurried
+Duncan into an adjoining room where numerous pretty girls were
+dispensing that universal anodyne of modern life, tea. What should we
+moderns do without tea? It is the prop of society, and without this
+precious Chinese plant we might still be cupping the sack, and beating
+our wives between the draughts. In fact a noted moralist has said that
+"tea has checked our boisterous revels, raised women to a new position,
+refined manners, and softened the character of men." Perhaps! but let a
+man with a full cup of tea, and the spoon balanced on the edge of the
+saucer, try to rise from a low chair and shake hands; then ask him what
+he thinks about the effect of tea on a man's character.
+
+After responding scores of times to the question, "How do you like
+Chicago?" with the reply, "I don't know," and after answering quite as
+frequently and in the same manner the question, "How long do you expect
+to remain here?" Duncan was finally rescued by Marion Sanderson and
+taken away.
+
+"You don't often have strangers here, do you?" Duncan gasped when they
+were outside. "I seem as much of a curiosity as a white man on the
+Congo."
+
+"Not quite so bad as that," Marion laughed, "though I must confess a new
+man is an attraction here, especially at a tea, where there are at least
+two women to every one of the other sex."
+
+"I suppose the natives are frightened away."
+
+"No, you wretch, they are all in business."
+
+"Lucky beggars."
+
+Marion gave him a side glance intended to be annihilating, and silently
+walked the few remaining steps. When they reached her door she stopped
+and said, somewhat coldly: "Won't you come in, Mr. Grahame?"
+
+"I certainly will, as I cannot leave with the mercury of your manners so
+low."
+
+"You surely do not fancy that you can make it rise."
+
+"I do," he said confidently.
+
+Marion looked at him scornfully, but it was an assumed scorn; as to
+herself she admitted a fondness for assurance like Duncan's. Florence
+Moreland would have called it presumption, but Marion felt that it
+indicated a strong nature worthy of careful analysis. Her manner was
+often the naïveté of inexperience. She fancied that she knew the world,
+but her knowledge was theoretically culled from her yellow-covered
+romances. She frequently allowed men a freedom of speech which might be
+misunderstood at times, and excused herself by the thought that such
+carelessness became a woman of the world. She courted admiration
+because she felt it to be her due, and in her search for experiences of
+the world she often displayed an artlessness which was singularly liable
+to be misinterpreted by the men with whom she came in contact.
+
+Just inside the door on the right of the hall was a wee room decorated
+in _Louis Quinze_ style, and into this they went. Delicate and cozy,
+with a polished floor, a leopard's skin rug, soft tinted walls, white
+and gold woodwork, a tiny open fire, a brocade screen, a chair or two
+and a tête-a-tête seat,--it was, in fact, a delightful expression of
+Marion's taste.
+
+"Charming," said Duncan as he sat down opposite Marion on the
+tête-a-tête and looked about him.
+
+"I am glad something pleases you," she replied as she threw aside her
+jacket. "Your assurance amazes me," she continued. "Last night you told
+me you had been about collecting bits of gossip about me in order to
+understand my character, and now you coolly inform me that you are
+capable of influencing my feelings. I ought to detest you."
+
+Duncan silently looked with his large, grey eyes into her face for a
+moment and then said, "I wish you would."
+
+"Why?" she questioned wonderingly.
+
+"Because we might end by being friends."
+
+"A repellent manner of attracting, certainly," she replied.
+
+"Exactly! kindred natures always repel one another with a force equal to
+their subsequent attraction."
+
+"That sounds like a proposition in physics."
+
+"In metaphysics, perhaps," he answered. "It means that if we first
+quarrel we shall eventually become sympathetic friends."
+
+"Polemical enemies, I should say," Marion replied sharply.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I am not willing to admit I am of so changeable a nature," she
+replied.
+
+"A mediocre nature will never change; an uncommon one invariably does,"
+he said confidently.
+
+"Another slur."
+
+"A compliment, I should say, as your opinion of me will change."
+
+"On what do you base your presumption?" she said with assumed
+indignation.
+
+He was silent. She glanced about the room. It was nearly dark and the
+fire was flickering on the hearth. Unconsciously she looked up as
+though seeking an answer to her question. Again two grey eyes looked
+softly through the twilight into her own. "Because I feel certain of
+it," he said quietly and emphatically, as though in answer to her
+questioning glance.
+
+"Then you shall acknowledge yourself mistaken," she slowly replied.
+"I'll give you a fair chance. Will you dine with us on Friday?"
+
+"A day of ill luck, but I accept," he replied as he rose to go. "Shall
+it be a truce in the interim?" he added, offering his hand.
+
+"If you like," she replied.
+
+"Good-by," he said, taking her hand. "It shall be a fair game and I will
+play to win."
+
+"But you will lose," she answered.
+
+Her eyes followed him as he left the room. "An interesting nature to
+study," she thought, "but I wish he would not look at me in that way."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+SPANISH CASTLES.
+
+
+Mrs. Sanderson had arranged designedly the dinner to which she had
+invited Duncan. He had been much in her thoughts in the interim, and,
+being anxious to see what method he would adopt to overcome her assumed
+enmity, she looked forward to their next meeting with curiosity. She was
+a strong impressionist, and when she had first heard him described by
+her New York friend, Sibyl Wright, she had mentally resolved that he was
+a person she would one day meet and like. She had also formed a picture
+of him in her mind, and, curiously enough, the likeness had been exact.
+She now felt that her impression had been a presentiment, and this
+thought appealed to her peculiarly constituted nature. She wanted to
+know Duncan better and analyze his character, so she arranged her table
+to further this desire, placing him at her right, and, as Florence
+Moreland did not like him, she was given the next seat; next to
+Florence she put Harold Wainwright, feeling sure that they would both be
+oblivious to their neighbors, while about the table she maliciously
+scattered a trio of drawing-room musicians. There was Herr von
+Steubenblätter, a musical professor, Mdlle. de Longchamps, an amateur
+soprano, and Mr. John Smith, who, after studying singing in Italy and
+passing five years without an engagement, had now assumed the more
+euphonious name of Signor Frivogini. Besides these there were several
+inoffensive people who never said much, but who would consider it their
+duty to applaud the musicians and keep them employed after dinner, so
+that Marion and Duncan might talk unobserved.
+
+Unfortunately Duncan's manner was not at all what she had expected. He
+talked to her about the most conventional and trivial subjects in a most
+conventional and trivial way, until about the second _entrée_, when he
+entered into a literary argument with Florence which lasted during the
+entire dinner. Both Marion and Wainwright considered themselves very
+much abused, and Marion in particular thought that somehow her
+elaborate plans had failed and that Duncan was purposely neglecting her.
+She endeavored to listen to a discourse on the relative merits of
+canvas-back and red-head, delivered by an experienced diner on her left,
+but she felt much relieved when she was able to make the signal for the
+ladies to file out. When the men had finished their cigars and found
+their way to the drawing-room she boldly conducted Herr von
+Steubenblätter to the piano, trusting, from her experience of the opera,
+that Duncan would disregard the music and talk to her. Marion had
+provided a formidable array of drawing-room musicians, but they failed
+to serve the purpose for which they were invited. They played and sang
+in continuous succession, but Duncan, instead of taking a seat beside
+her and making the music a cloak for conversation, went to the other
+side of the room and sat down near pretty, smirking Miss Ender. There he
+chatted assiduously and made her giggle so loudly that Herr von
+Steubenblätter sent withering glances through his gold bowed spectacles
+which made the poor girl blush and stop simpering for two entire
+minutes.
+
+Marion was furious with everything, but with Duncan most of all. She
+tried to conceal her anger and listen to the insipid chatter of an
+under-graduate, but her replies were generalities, delivered without
+reference to the sophomore's platitudes, and her thoughts were entirely
+across the room. "What did Duncan mean by such negligence? Why did he
+challenge her to a verbal combat and then refuse an engagement? Why had
+he appeared to be interested in her on one day and then utterly
+indifferent the next?" It was in forming and revolving such questions
+in her mind that she passed the evening, and, meanwhile, the harmless
+college boy struggled and sputtered on.
+
+At one end of the Sanderson drawing-room was a settee placed behind a
+few palms; although it was in the room, it was sufficiently hidden to
+remove people sitting there from the observation of others. When music
+had been suggested Florence Moreland and Harold Wainwright had wandered
+toward this seat. The two had been childhood friends and in later years
+the intimacy had continued. Harold had been left an orphan without
+fortune, and Florence had always taken a deep interest in his success.
+
+After leaving college Harold had come to the western metropolis and, by
+hard and creditable work had built up a flourishing law-practice. He was
+only twenty-seven and possessed in a marked degree the best qualities of
+young American manhood. He was one of those young men so numerous in
+Western cities, whose earnest and energetic characters, untouched by Old
+World follies and vices, make them the heirs of the pioneer of the past.
+Florence had admired Harold as a sister might admire a strong, splendid
+brother. She trusted and looked up to him, and she often confided her
+thoughts to him. He was a sympathetic friend, but that was all; she, at
+least, was not a lover.
+
+"Do you know, Harold," Florence said, as they took their seats on the
+settee, "that we have not had one of our old talks since you were home
+last summer. There has been a succession of bothersome people to
+interfere ever since I arrived. Tell me, are you working as hard as
+ever?"
+
+"Yes," he replied. "I am still toiling away, but to what end I don't
+know."
+
+"That doesn't sound like you, Harold."
+
+"Why?" he asked.
+
+"Because you are not the man to mind the bumps in life's road. You can
+see beyond them."
+
+Harold was silent; he seemed thoughtful; a little sigh escaped him. "Can
+I, Florence?" he finally said. "You know me better than I know myself.
+What can I see?"
+
+"A successful career."
+
+"Is that all?"
+
+"No; friends."
+
+"Of what use are they?"
+
+"Dr. Johnson called friendship 'the cordial drop that makes the nauseous
+draught of life go down'."
+
+"He was wrong."
+
+"Why, Harold! you forget that I am your friend."
+
+"No, Florence, I don't; I wish I could."
+
+"How strangely you act to-night," she replied in puzzled tones. "I don't
+understand you."
+
+"That cordial drop of friendship is a poison, sweet, subtle, and
+deadly," he answered mournfully.
+
+Florence drew back, startled. "Harold, you forget the past," she said
+anxiously.
+
+"I wish I could," he replied sadly. "I wish you were not my friend."
+
+"Why?" she asked, frightened, and almost afraid to hear the reply.
+
+"Because I love you, Florence," he slowly and earnestly replied. "If you
+were not my dearest friend you might love me, too."
+
+She looked wonderingly into his face, almost expecting to read there
+that his words were in jest. She was so startled that the full meaning
+of what he said did not, at first, appear to her, but slowly she
+realized that this friendship that had lasted so long and had been so
+sweet must end. She covered her face with her hands as though hoping to
+hide this thought from her mind. "Why did you say it? Why did you say
+it?" she moaned. "It was so sweet before."
+
+"It was in my heart, dearest; it has been there a very long time. I have
+tried to keep it friendship, but I couldn't." Harold slowly rose and
+stood beside her. "Forgive me," he continued. "I couldn't help it,
+Florence; I couldn't."
+
+She took his hand; it was cold. "Forgive you," she said, "I have nothing
+to forgive."
+
+His hand tightened about hers. "I love you, Florence," he said. "Will
+you be my wife?"
+
+She raised her eyes and looked full into his face. "Would you marry your
+best friend?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
+
+Calmly he returned her glance. "No," he replied. "Not unless she brought
+me the same love I gave."
+
+"Then I cannot promise to be your wife," she said hesitatingly, as
+though the words were painful.
+
+He released her hand slowly. "May I hope that some day it will be
+different?"
+
+"Let us both hope so," she replied. They remained silent and motionless,
+each feeling that an epoch of life had come; each wondering what
+futurity concealed. Perhaps a minute passed, though it seemed much
+longer, then Florence spoke. "We had better not remain here, Harold, the
+world sometimes misunderstands even friends."
+
+He walked silently beside her, back to where the others were. Duncan saw
+them approaching and took the opportunity to leave Miss Ender. Harold
+felt that he could not endure the laughter and merriment about him; so
+he left Florence with Duncan and wandered off to the dark, silent
+library across the hall. Florence, too, wanted to be alone; but she
+could see no way to evade Duncan, and so she was left to talk to a man
+for whom she had an instinctive distaste.
+
+"I see you are independent in society as well as in politics, Miss
+Moreland," Duncan said, as soon as Harold had left them.
+
+"In what way?" she replied inquiringly.
+
+"Instead of remaining here to be bored by bad music, you were
+independent enough to desert."
+
+"Perhaps the bad music drove me away. Real independence cannot be
+driven."
+
+"Even in that you are original; society is not driven, it meekly follows
+its leaders."
+
+"You seem decided to have me a caprice of nature," she replied.
+
+"I think you are."
+
+"Is that impudence or irony?"
+
+"Neither. I am an evolutionist and you aid my theories. I believe one of
+the proofs of Darwinism lies in the imitative sense possessed by the
+individuals composing American society. When some strange animal from
+across the water comes among us, we try to copy every grimace and
+action, until someone else arrives with new affectations and mannerisms,
+when we begin all over again. We, as a race, are not sufficiently
+developed to possess originality; we are still a species of the genus
+ape. Now you, Miss Moreland, are the only member of American society I
+have yet discovered who is independent enough to possess original and
+patriotic ideas. You are an American of position and yet not an ape, so
+you must be a connecting link between us and the more highly developed
+societies of Europe."
+
+"I think that your conclusions are somewhat erroneous," she replied. "I
+admit that the society that you describe is typical of the descent of
+man, but not in a Darwinian sense. It marks a descension from the higher
+plane reached by the vigorous pioneers who planted and reared our social
+tree. The leaves toward the East, which have breathed the fetid air of
+Europe, have shriveled and decayed, but toward the West they are still
+kept green and vigorous by the pure, native breezes. Some people seem
+to admire the varied brilliancy of the fading foliage, but I enjoy the
+vivid native color."
+
+"_Aut Americanus aut nullus_ should be your motto," he replied.
+
+"Could I have a better?"
+
+"You might say _l'Americaine c'est moi_. No one of your sex and
+surroundings would dispute the pretension."
+
+"You compliment me, but not my sex. Millions of my country-women would
+compete for that distinction."
+
+"My observations have been confined to society in its restricted sense;
+I am not, I acknowledge, the mouth-piece of the rabble."
+
+"Since you admit your ability to act as society's mouth-piece, how do
+you define society?"
+
+"Society is a limited liability company engaged in the production of
+snobs. Formerly its shares were non-transferable, but financial straits
+necessitated the placing of the common stock upon the open market; the
+preferred stock, however, is still held by the heirs of the original
+incorporators. The Anglo-Saxon company has its head office in London,
+with agencies in the various cities of the United Kingdom, America, and
+the Colonies; Albert Edward Guelph, Esq., is chairman of the executive
+committee, and the most refined products of the corporation are sealed
+and labeled by his own hand. There are two distinct stages in the
+process of manufacture, called respectively toadying and snubbing, which
+must be successfully undergone before the perfected article is obtained.
+For instance, raw material is gathered at an American agency and after
+passing through the first toady stages it is put through the more
+intricate process of snubbing; then at a certain stage of maturity it is
+sent to the London office to be again subjected to a more refined toady
+process. Unfortunately the American material, being supplied by
+purchasers of the common stock, can never reach a more refined stage,
+so, after receiving the toady _cachet_ of the chairman, it goes back to
+America again where it is put upon the market as a superior imported
+article."
+
+"Then I am to infer, Mr. Grahame," Florence replied sarcastically, "that
+an American is doomed always to remain a toady, and can never hope to
+attain the distinction of being a full-fledged snob. I do not think your
+prospectus is sufficiently attractive to induce me to purchase stock, at
+least, not until the native industry is sufficiently thriving to
+manufacture the higher grades at home and exclude the foreign brands
+from our market." Then she left him abruptly and walked toward a group
+of girls who were discussing the coming "Patricians'" ball.
+
+When a man of Duncan's nature receives a rebuff, he is amused or
+angered, but not humiliated. Duncan regarded Florence's patriotism as a
+mere pose, and her dislike of him he considered amusing; so when she
+thus coolly left him, he merely laughed and turned away without being in
+the slightest degree offended. As for Florence, she felt in no mood for
+conversation, and had taken the first opportunity to rid herself of a
+person whom she considered actually displeasing. Duncan, feeling it was
+expedient to smooth the feathers he had purposely rumpled, approached
+Marion, and, assuming a penitent air, he sat down beside her and said
+with mock humility: "Am I not to be permitted to address you at all;
+does your hatred extend that far?"
+
+"You haven't tried," said Marion, her resentment increasing.
+
+"How could I?" replied Duncan. "You seemed so engrossed by that young
+collegian's charms, that you could scarcely expect me, whom you avow to
+be an enemy, to increase your wrath by interrupting."
+
+"I think you were mistaken," answered Marion. "You said you intended to
+make me your friend even against my will. There was no avowed enmity on
+my part; I merely considered your method of procedure somewhat
+eccentric."
+
+"Indeed! In what way, may I ask?"
+
+"It was you who challenged. Do you expect a victory without an
+engagement?"
+
+"Those were the tactics the Russians used against Napoleon."
+
+"Coldness was their chief weapon," Marion replied, "and you certainly
+are well armed with it."
+
+"You forget the fire at Russia's heart."
+
+"Was it not the fire of hate?" she asked.
+
+"No," he said. "The fire of the heart is love, and hate is but its
+ashes." His voice had softened as he spoke, and Marion felt that his
+eyes were scanning her thoughts; she turned her head away, but her eyes
+were drawn slowly back until they for a moment met his glance. The
+knowledge that anyone could so influence her frightened her; but it was
+a fascinating fear which tempted investigation. She was about to reply
+when she became conscious of the presence of others; they were departing
+guests, who announced a breaking up of the party, and Marion was obliged
+to exchange conventional civilities with her friends until the room was
+slowly emptied. Harold had hurried away alone, without even a word with
+Florence. The poor fellow had not the heart to speak to her again that
+night, and he felt that she would understand the reason for his
+rudeness. Duncan was thus left to his own resources, and, seeing that
+Roswell Sanderson and Florence had gone into the library, and that all
+the guests had departed, he made the conventional move to leave.
+
+"Don't hurry," said Marion, "it is only eleven o'clock, and you see I
+am left quite alone."
+
+"I will remain," replied Duncan, as he took a seat beside her on a
+dainty _Louis Seize_ sofa, "because I have a favor to ask."
+
+"A favor of an enemy," said Marion, with an air of astonishment.
+
+"Yes," he answered. "Like the Spartans I cannot fight when the omens are
+unpropitious, so I wish to beg the favor of a truce and to ask that
+during it the hostiles may dance the Patricians' cotillon together."
+
+"A dance of hostiles would be a war dance, would it not?"
+
+"War is a cruel word," he replied. "To me the dance is symbolic of the
+highest sentiment."
+
+"That is religion, is it not?" she asked, laughingly.
+
+"No; a higher sentiment than religion is love."
+
+"Of that there are many kinds."
+
+"There is but one kind," he answered. "Other feelings may receive that
+name, but they are base alloys of the pure sentiment."
+
+"And what is this perfect love of which you seem to know so much?"
+
+"It is the irresistible union of two similar natures."
+
+"Why irresistible?" Marion asked.
+
+"Because all organism is a union of limitless atoms, which are brought
+together out of chaos by the attraction of similarity."
+
+"That is a novel theory, but what has it to do with love?" she
+questioned.
+
+"Love is the idealization of that theory. Man and woman are the most
+perfect blending of the atoms, and love is the transcendent union of
+their two natures."
+
+"And is there no creator?" Marion asked.
+
+"None but love. Love is the symbolism of the creative power; love is
+God."
+
+Marion laughed; his theory was too absurd to be taken seriously, but
+somehow it pleased her. "Have you felt this irresistible love power?"
+she asked.
+
+"I must first find my affinity," he replied evasively.
+
+"Have you not met her yet?" said Marion, looking up with an air of
+astonishment.
+
+Duncan's eyes quickly caught her glance. "I think I have," he replied in
+a way that was at once bold, insinuating, and tender. Marion turned her
+head away quickly and a tinge of color came into her cheeks. It was
+resentment, but somehow a sense of pleasure tingled amid the anger. "You
+are an enigma," she said, ashamed at having colored. "I thought you were
+a cynical speculator, but now you seem a fanciful dreamer."
+
+"You must guess again," he replied. "I am neither a cynic nor a
+visionist."
+
+"What are you?" she asked abruptly.
+
+"I am a disciple of love," he replied.
+
+"Then I was right in calling you a dreamer, for love itself is a fantasm
+inspired by hope or memory."
+
+"You are a Philistine," he said softly. "Some day you may feel, and that
+is to believe."
+
+"_Che sarà sarà_, but I have my doubts," she replied. Duncan's glance
+was contradictory, but he did not reply. After a moment of silence he
+rose to leave. "Is the truce to be granted?" he said. "Do we dance
+together?"
+
+"Yes, if you wish it so," replied Marion.
+
+"Then to-morrow we meet at the ball. Remember hostilities have ceased.
+Good-night." Marion extended her hand and Duncan held it for a moment.
+"Don't let the hate grow too strong," he said pleadingly.
+
+"It couldn't," she replied; then she quickly withdrew her hand and
+turned away.
+
+When Duncan reached the street he stopped to light a cigar. As he threw
+the match away and returned his match-safe to his pocket, he carelessly
+soliloquized: "When a moth sees a fire, it flutters around it to see
+what it is like, and it hasn't sense enough to keep from getting burned.
+A woman is much the same: excite her curiosity by the flame called love,
+and it is ten to one she gets singed before she finds out what it is. I
+have been talking a lot of trash, but it's all in the trade. Talk sense
+to a woman and treat her decently, and she thinks you are a muff; talk
+enigmatical bosh, and knock her about, and she loves you. They are all
+alike. No, by Jove! they are not; Helen Osgood outclasses them all, and
+she has 'hands for any sort'. Oh, well, as the Frenchman says: 'if you
+haven't got what you love, love what you have.' The Sanderson is a good
+looker, and you must have sport, Duncan, old man." Then shoving his
+stick under his arm, and plunging his hands into his coat pockets, he
+started off at a swinging pace in search of a cab.
+
+Marion had remained seated where she and Duncan had been together. She
+had listened to hear the door close behind him, and then, her face
+resting in both hands, she sat thinking. Her imagination rapidly created
+a visionary structure of dazzling possibilities, but the dismal silence
+which follows in the steps of revelry came, and with it unrest. Quickly
+her Spanish castle crumbled and faded to a lonely ruin. "It is always
+so," she thought; "it is always so. Like children at a pantomime, who
+picture to their minds brilliant jewels in the fairy queen's tiara, and
+learn in after life that they were tawdry counterfeits, we imagine ideal
+gems of possibility only to find the reality of life papier maché and
+paint. Is love also a tinsel that tarnishes at the touch? So far mine
+has been so. But might it not be different? Yes, but the thought is
+wicked." Marion looked hurriedly about her as though fearful that
+someone might have seen the thought which crept into her mind. "He
+believes in love," she continued. "He says the right one exists. I
+wonder if it is true."
+
+Florence came into the room to say good-night. Marion usually enjoyed
+repeating her day's experiences, and discussing her impressions with her
+friend, and Florence knew that at such times she was expected to approve
+of every sentiment, or be called unsympathetic, but when Florence kissed
+her good-night Marion made no suggestion about talking over experiences,
+and as neither woman felt inclined for an exchange of confidences,
+Florence hurried away to her room. Marion's eyes followed her as she
+left. "She acts strangely," she thought; "I wonder if her friendship
+could change? Perhaps, for we are so different. No one understands me,"
+she sighed after a moment. "If I only had someone I could trust and
+love." A man stood in the doorway behind her. He heard the sigh, and he
+remained for a moment silently thinking of the time when she had
+promised to be his wife. Then he had drawn a hopeful picture of the
+future, a picture full of brightness and sunshine, with a loving wife
+for the central figure and happy, romping children playing about her.
+That dream had flashed like a brilliant light which blazes for a moment
+and dies as suddenly away, leaving black, charred ashes to mark its
+place.
+
+"Marion," he said gently.
+
+She looked up startled. "Is it only you?" she said, with just a tone of
+disappointment in her voice.
+
+"Yes, it is only I," he answered. "Shall I ring to have the lights
+turned out?"
+
+"O, I suppose so," she sighed.
+
+A servant came to secure the house for the night. When he appeared,
+Marion slowly followed her husband upstairs, and as they passed
+Florence's room, she saw a light burning. Usually Marion would have gone
+in to talk, but this time she went on to her own apartment.
+
+Long after Marion had passed that light continued to burn. With her
+dress loosened and her soft brown hair falling over her white shoulders
+Florence sat before the fire thinking. Between her hands was a picture.
+It was Harold's, and as she gazed at the face she seemed to hear the
+words: "Florence, I love you; if you were not my dearest friend, you
+might love me too." "Why did he say it; why did he say it," she
+murmured. Then moments from her childhood came softly back to her mind,
+and she saw Harold, her old-time playmate, grow to manhood. "Playmate,
+friend," she thought. "Why not more? Why not?" she repeated.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+THE PATRICIANS.
+
+
+Perhaps the only city of considerable proportions in which the rigorous
+proprieties of a New England village exist side by side with the
+gorgeous trappings of metropolitanism is Chicago. Its growth has been so
+marvelous that in a single generation the simple garb of provincialism
+has been exchanged for the more imposing mantle of a great city. Streets
+and boulevards have spread forth like the countless antennæ of some
+mighty monster; gigantic structures have arisen almost as at the touch
+of magic, and ten thousand lanky chimneys have begun to belch forth
+black and sooty smoke, all within the memory even of the middle-aged
+inhabitant. Fifty years ago Chicago was a frontier town; twenty years
+ago a fearful scourge laid her in ruins; to-day she stands among the
+first ten of the world's great cities. Countless forces have in a score
+of years heaped up a mighty metropolis, and, perhaps, it is not
+surprising to find almost buried beneath this gigantic pile the simple
+and pure society of the early days.
+
+During all these rapid changes the older families have altered little.
+They have built more pretentious homes, they drive more modern
+equipages, they eat more elaborate dinners, but even these innovations
+have been reluctantly received, and the hearts of the old residents have
+remained untouched by _fin de siécle_ looseness and cynicism. In no
+older city are the social lines more strictly drawn, and year after year
+the same faces appear at the select gatherings, unconscious of the rapid
+change about them. Of millionaires there are many, but the foundations
+of their fortunes were laid in the early days of pioneering, and if
+occasionally a Croesus of recent growth creeps partly in, the
+shoulders turned toward him are cold, and his golden key never quite
+unlocks the inner doors. Chicago has perhaps suffered unduly at the
+hands of cursory and captious critics, but its society should not be
+judged by a hastily written paragraph or the clanking chains of the
+parvenu's carriage. Whatever be its faults, and they are doubtless
+many, it is thoroughly American, and slow to accept the lax scepticism
+and hollow manners of the older world. It is still too young to be the
+home of art and letters, and still too sensible to breed idlers. Happy
+city, if its society could continue as it is, unaffected, progressive,
+and moral; but the naturalness of Chicago cannot endure forever; already
+Puritan simplicity has fought the first skirmish with bare-necked folly
+and been worsted. French dresses and English drags have come to stay;
+insincerity and disbelief will follow.
+
+The best society is hard to define,--especially in America,--but by some
+indescribable process people are shaken up, and so sifted into cliques
+and circles that they become mysteriously classified and labeled without
+the scrutinizing care of a satin-coated Lord Chamberlain. When the
+inhabitants of Chicago were passed through the social sieve, the finest
+particles formed a little heap labeled "The Patricians." This was the
+set that gave the most exclusive subscription dances, and, though there
+were other organizations which might feel strong enough to compete with
+this select assembly, it was noticed that the name of no Patrician was
+ever found upon another list, and no outsider ever declined to become a
+Patrician subscriber. There is a classic story which says that when,
+after their victory at Salamis, the generals of the various Greek states
+voted the prizes for distinguished merit, each assigned the first place
+of excellence to himself, but they all concurred in giving their second
+votes to Themistocles. Were the Chicagoans called upon to vote for the
+most exclusive organization of their city, each would probably cast his
+first vote for the one of which he is a member, but the second votes
+would all be given to the "Patricians." It was an ancient organization,
+dating from before the fire, and its membership list had been sacredly
+guarded ever since. Simple and informal at first, it had gradually
+assumed pretentious proportions, until it had passed from a North Side
+hall, cold suppers, lemonade and nine o'clock, to the Hotel Mazarin,
+terrapin, _brut_ champagne, and eleven o'clock. In the early days there
+had been three fiddlers and a man to call off, but now there was an
+orchestra, a Hungarian band and a cotillon: "_O tempora, O mores!_"
+"_Imitatores, servum pecus._"
+
+Marion Sanderson was a patroness of the "Patricians," and to her efforts
+the innovations were, in a great measure, due. They had been coldly
+received at first, and when the changes culminated in champagne, some of
+the stricter members withdrew their names and refused permission to
+their daughters to attend, but the foundations of the Patricians had
+been too firmly laid to be shattered even by such defection.
+
+Three evenings after the events of the last chapter the inviting French
+ball-room of the Hotel Mazarin was lighted for the first "Patricians'"
+dance of the season. The florist had arranged his last cluster, and the
+floor had received its last polishing; the dainty canary draperies were
+coquettishly caught up with garlands of flowers, while here and there
+slender palms cast their graceful shadows upon the shining floor, and
+white and gold woodwork peeped from behind smilax and roses. A row of
+waiting chairs around the room seemed to add to the stillness, which was
+broken only by the hollow, echoing steps of two managers who were taking
+a final glance at the preparations. Soon a jabbering of German, and the
+squeak of violins behind the gallery palms, announced the arrival of the
+orchestra, while down-stairs by the supper rooms the twang of a
+Hungarian cymballo proclaimed the presence of the Tzigan band.
+Chattering Frenchmen were scurrying about the tables putting on the
+finishing touches, and the usually suave and smirking _maître d'hôtel_
+was scolding an unfortunate "omnibus" hurrying upstairs with the punch
+glasses. "_Dépêche toi, Gustave, ces gens vont venir à l'instant_" he
+cried; but though an hour had passed since the time for which the guests
+were invited, the ball-room remained deserted.
+
+Down-stairs a solitary woman sat quaking in the ladies' dressing-room,
+and her husband braved the patronizing glances of the servants in the
+hall. They were from a Western town, and both were wondering what nine
+o'clock on the invitation meant. For nearly another hour they sat there,
+and then the rustling of a satin dress announced the arrival of a
+patroness who had promised to come early to receive. Soon a few men
+straggled in, another patroness arrived, and finally a little knot of
+women who had collected in the dressing-room mustered sufficient courage
+to enter the great, empty ball-room. The orchestra struck up a Viennese
+waltz, a couple started to dance, and a few others followed their
+example. The fashionable hour had arrived; men, maidens and matrons
+crowded in, the room became quickly filled with a talking, laughing
+multitude; brilliant colors and bright smiles dispelled the gloom, and a
+giddy whirling mass of tulle and cheviot announced that the ball had
+opened.
+
+Marion Sanderson was among the late arrivals. She had been unusually
+long at her toilette, but the time had been profitably spent, for when
+she entered the room her perfectly fitting gown of yellow satin and old
+lace produced an envious murmur among the women. Marion looked well at
+any time, but she was especially attractive in evening dress, for the
+lights and excitement seemed to produce an extra glow of beauty which
+few failed to notice. When she came, it was at the close of a dance, and
+a knot of men quickly formed around her, but Duncan was not of the
+number. She had expected to find him looking for her, and when she saw
+him near her, talking to her enemy, Mrs. McSeeney, she felt an
+unpleasant tinge of jealousy. After the excitement her entrance created
+had subsided, he came slowly toward her.
+
+"I believe I have to thank you, Mr. Grahame," she said, giving him her
+hand, "for these beautiful yellow roses."
+
+"On the contrary, it is I who must thank you for carrying them," he
+replied. "Besides, they are typical of jealousy."
+
+"Jealousy," repeated Marion in a wondering tone. "Were you ever
+jealous?"
+
+"A lover is always jealous," Duncan replied. Then he added gently: "I am
+a lover."
+
+"Then all the world must love you," she said laughingly.
+
+"I wish it did, for you are in the world," he answered.
+
+A glance of reproof was her only reply, for Walter Sedger came to claim
+a dance, and she had just time to promise the next but one to Duncan
+before she was whirled away into the gliding throng. Duncan's eyes
+followed her for a moment; she saw his glance and a slight tinge of
+color came into her cheek. In a moment she was lost amid the dancers.
+Mechanically she danced a waltz and a polka, scarcely noticing her
+partner's remarks, for in her heart she felt a strange apprehension that
+she could not understand. There was a fascination in Duncan's
+personality she dared not attempt to explain.
+
+When the first strains of Duncan's dance began, he came to her
+immediately, and, without speaking, quietly took her hand and placed his
+arm gently about her waist; then, catching the time of the music, they
+glided away into a dreamy waltz. It was their first dance together, and
+as he guided her gracefully and easily through the whirling maze of
+waltzers, Marion felt that she had never really danced before. Silently
+they waltzed awhile, enjoying the delicious excitement of the movement,
+then he said softly: "I have never understood the power of the dance
+before, but to-night our steps, gliding together to this glorious music,
+seem to me like the love of two natures, who feel and act in perfect
+unison."
+
+Marion looked up silently until her eyes met his glance; she grew icy
+cold, but she could feel the quick throb of each pulse beat. Duncan
+pressed her gently nearer, but she drew back and tossed her head
+forcibly away. She laughed a hollow little laugh at the fear in her
+heart, for here at least she was mistress of herself. Rhythmically their
+steps moved on to the enchanting music. Marion closed her eyes and tried
+to shut out the thoughts in her heart. In the darkness she seemed to be
+carried softly on through space, like some spirit borne away in the arms
+of dreamy happiness. Duncan drew her closer to his side; she felt a
+delicious sense of joy, such as she had never known before, and, almost
+dizzy, she glided on over the shining floor, her heart beating with
+wild, delightful pleasure. The music stopped. For a moment they danced
+on, but the dream had faded; she was back in the noisy, humming world of
+people.
+
+Marion had arrived so late that people were already flocking toward the
+supper table. She had long before promised to take supper with Walter
+Sedger, who was to lead the cotillon; but when he appeared, she
+suggested that as Duncan was alone he had better join them. So the three
+wandered down-stairs and entered the supper-room. The weird Hungarian
+_Czardas_ was being played by the Tzigans in the hallway, and it seemed
+to Marion that it did not harmonize with the clattering plates and the
+laughter. She had once heard that fantastic melody in Buda, and then it
+created strange sensations of unrest and aroused the wildest feelings of
+her nature. In her present state of mind she felt thankful for the noisy
+rattle of the supper-room.
+
+The tables were placed in a large, oblong room, and were arranged for
+parties of four or six, but Marion, being a patroness, was conducted to
+a large, round table at the farther end, reserved for the managers and
+their friends. She hoped that the presence of other people would spare
+her the necessity of talking much, but at first she was obliged to
+manufacture conversation, in order to keep her two companions amused.
+Duncan made no attempt to conceal the fact that the presence of Sedger
+was distasteful to him, and he amused himself by delivering occasional
+satirical remarks upon the latter's conversation which did not tend to
+improve the relations between the two men. Accidentally, however, both
+Duncan and Sedger were drawn into the general talk of the table, and
+Marion was left to herself. She felt lonesome, in spite of the gaiety
+around her, and realized that there is no loneliness so deep as that
+which comes amid merriment one cannot join. She looked about at the
+pretty faces and the brilliant colors made brighter by the lights; she
+saw the sparkling eyes and glittering diamonds, she heard merry laughter
+mingling with the rattling dishes and scurrying feet, but all seemed
+hollow and far away. She knew that she had just been brought under the
+influence of an unknown power, and she was faintly endeavoring to
+collect her senses and understand herself. Almost unwarned she had felt
+impetuous love flash forth in her heart, and now, in a dazed sort of
+way, she was trying to bring her mind to act. She was impressionable and
+reckless, but not so reckless as quite to forget her position. One
+thought grew strongest in her mind; it was fear. She was brought back to
+her surroundings by a remark addressed to her by Mrs. McSeeney: "You
+look quite pale, my dear, are you ill?"
+
+"Not in the least," replied Marion, smiling faintly, "but this room
+seems close. Don't you think so?"
+
+"I had not noticed it," was the answer spoken equivocally.
+
+The supper was somehow worried through. As they were leaving the table
+Walter Sedger said: "I have saved the seats of head couple for you, Mrs.
+Sanderson; if you will come with me, I will show them to you. I lead
+alone, but I hope you will permit me to take you out for an occasional
+extra turn."
+
+"I shall be delighted," Marion replied. Sedger gave her his arm, and
+Duncan, glowering more than ever, was obliged to wander on behind.
+
+The musicians' gallery did not project into the ball-room, but was
+supported by columns in the hall outside. Just under it an attractive
+nook had been arranged, with palms and foliage plants, a rug and a
+divan. The lights were kept low and the palms were so thickly placed as
+almost to conceal the people who might chance to sit there. At each side
+of this recess was a door leading into the ball-room, and as Marion and
+her two companions were passing through the one at the right, they met
+Florence Moreland and Roswell Sanderson coming out.
+
+"I am looking for my fan, Mr. Grahame," said Florence, stopping. "Don't
+you want to help me search for it?"
+
+"Of course I do, and I'll wager I find it," said Duncan, walking
+directly toward the nook just described.
+
+"You need not express your disapproval of me so pointedly," called
+Florence, protestingly. "I assure you it is not in here," she continued,
+following him until they were both concealed by the palms.
+
+"A thousand pardons for my blunder," replied Duncan. "I thought I saw
+you coming out of here after one of the dances with Dr. Maccanfrae."
+
+"I see I must confess my guilt," answered Florence, smiling; "but I
+relied on the protection of his grey hairs."
+
+"I gather you don't approve of this corner," replied Duncan. "At least,"
+he continued, looking around, "you were not so indiscreet as to leave
+your fan here."
+
+"I suppose the place has its uses," she answered laughingly, "at least
+the managers think so, if one is to judge by the care bestowed on its
+arrangement."
+
+"If I were bold," Duncan said, as they passed out, "I would say that it
+is like a fire escape, only to be used on pressing occasions."
+
+Florence frowned at this atrocious punning, and he added, meekly: "May I
+have permission to admire your gown?"
+
+"I am surprised that you like it," she replied. "This is its second
+season."
+
+"I think it is charming," he continued. "But might I inquire if it is
+ardent affection for each other which prompts you and Mrs. Sanderson to
+select the same color to-night?"
+
+"It was not a case of affection, but quite an accident," Florence
+replied. "In fact, when Marion saw me coming down-stairs arrayed so like
+herself, she wanted to make me change my gown, but it was so late that I
+refused."
+
+They reached the ball-room door, and there they met Roswell Sanderson
+with the lost fan, which he had found in the supper-room. Duncan left
+Florence with Marion's husband and went in search of his partner. He
+found Marion already in her place for the cotillon and took his seat
+beside her. A double row of chairs had been arranged around the room,
+and poor Walter Sedger was flying about trying to make people take their
+places, so that he might commence his first figure. The one occasion
+when all intelligence seems to desert the average mortal,--especially if
+he be a man,--is when he is called upon to dance in a cotillon, and
+already the leader's difficulties had commenced. When Sedger had
+succeeded in seating a group in one place, he would turn around and find
+that people whom he had fairly implored to take their places were
+wandering across the room, or that others, who were seated in the back
+row, were having angry controversies with people who had placed their
+chairs in front of them. All expected Sedger to find them seats, and all
+insisted upon being in the front row; as there were some eighty couples
+to dance, and only forty could sit in front, this, to an intelligent
+mind, would seem an impossible proposition; but not a single one of
+those one hundred and sixty people seemed to understand it. Finally poor
+Sedger conceived the brilliant idea of starting the music, and the
+people who were squabbling over places, fearing they might be left out
+altogether, scrambled recklessly after seats, and thus the floor was
+cleared. Sedger was now master of the situation, and soon he was leading
+a troup of sprawling men through a maze of pretty gowns, in the
+performance of the intricate evolutions of a cotillon figure.
+
+Duncan, instead of favoring someone, had persuaded Marion to dance the
+figure through with him. The band played a fantastic polka, and,
+catching the exciting inspiration of the Hungarian strains, they glided
+fleetly over the slippery floor. It was no longer the dreamy waltz, but
+the wild abandon of rapid motion, and as they danced Marion seemed
+carried away by the exhilarating movement. On, on, they danced, until
+the music stopped; then Duncan led her quickly out of the ball-room to
+the nook under the musicians' gallery, where, breathless from the
+exercise, she sank down on the divan. Duncan, seating himself beside
+her, rested his arm upon one of the cushions, and leaned forward so that
+he could see her face. Her cheeks glowed from the exercise, and there,
+in the soft light, her large black eyes glistening with excitement, she
+seemed to Duncan the most glorious creature he had ever seen. Delighted
+he gazed until Marion raised her eyes and met his eager glance.
+
+"Why did you bring me here?" she asked.
+
+"To say good-by."
+
+"What do you mean?" she said, with a frightened tone in her voice.
+
+"I mean that I leave to-morrow. I have been called back to the East."
+
+"Are you glad?" she asked sadly.
+
+"Yes, I am glad," he replied softly; "glad to have known you, glad to
+feel that you exist."
+
+Wild thoughts flashed impetuously through her mind. "Why?" she asked.
+
+He leaned forward till his face was near hers, and she could see his
+grey eyes, now black in the dim light, almost next her own. He took her
+hand and held it; then he whispered passionately: "Because I love you."
+
+"For the sake of both of us, don't say that," she said hoarsely, drawing
+back her hand.
+
+"For the sake of both of us I will," he replied. "What is there to
+prevent our loving?"
+
+"My husband," she said, and the words brought back fear to her heart.
+
+"I thought you were a woman of the world," he replied scornfully. "Do
+you mean to tell me that you are afraid?"
+
+"Yes," said Marion resolutely.
+
+"Then you must drown your fear in love," he answered, drawing his arm
+about her shoulders.
+
+"You must leave me," she pleaded, trying to release herself.
+
+"Not until you say you love me," was his answer.
+
+"That I do not hate you ought to tell you that; O, I can't say any more.
+Leave me, I entreat you."
+
+"I will not leave you, my Marion," he replied impetuously. "I must have
+your love." And he leaned forward and kissed her. A dress rustled behind
+the palms. Duncan heard it and quickly released Marion, who darted away
+and ran toward the ball-room; and Duncan, glancing anxiously through the
+foliage, saw a crimson gown hurrying through the other door. "Confound
+my luck!" he muttered. "I thought I knew something about this sort of
+thing, but I was a fool to take such chances."
+
+Inside the ball-room Marion found her husband, standing among a group of
+men, watching the dancing. "I am going home, Roswell," she said, taking
+his arm and drawing him away. "Find Florence, won't you?"
+
+"Yes, dear," he replied. "Are you ill?" he added, thinking it unusual
+for his wife to leave so early.
+
+"I feel tired, that is all. Tell Florence she can go home with Mrs.
+Smythe if she chooses."
+
+Roswell Sanderson went in search of Florence and soon returned with her.
+He had given her Marion's message, but Florence did not care to remain,
+so she excused herself to her partner in the cotillon and hurried away
+with Roswell. "What is the matter?" she anxiously asked Marion.
+
+"I feel a little faint and I think I will go home," was the answer.
+Florence thought Marion seemed agitated rather than faint. She wondered
+what had happened, but thinking it unwise to pursue the matter further,
+she walked on quietly beside Marion and her husband. On the stairs they
+met Duncan; Marion tried to avoid him, but he came toward her and said
+calmly: "I have been looking everywhere for you, Mrs. Sanderson. Have
+you forgotten you have a partner in the cotillon?"
+
+"No;" Marion replied. "But you must excuse me as I feel quite tired; I
+am going home."
+
+"I feel cheated," answered Duncan; "the more so as I leave to-morrow and
+must say good-by, now." He put out his hand and Marion took it. She
+tried not to look at him, but an indefinable attraction compelled her to
+raise her eyes. "Good-by," he said, softly pressing her hand.
+
+"Good-by," she answered. Then she quickly drew back her hand and turned
+away. As she descended the stairs she felt that he was still looking at
+her. She wanted to look back, but she closed her eyes and pressed
+closely to her husband's arm till they reached the cloak-room door.
+While she and Florence were putting on their wraps, she could hear the
+distant strains of music coming from the ball-room; they seemed to her
+like the last echo of the love which had flamed so brilliantly for a
+moment in her heart, and now must die and become a memory. The music
+stopped. "It is all over," she thought; then she hurried away with
+Florence and her husband down the great stairway to the street door.
+"Mrs. Sanderson's carriage," called a servant on the stairs. "Mrs.
+Sanderson's carriage," was echoed from the street. She heard a rumbling
+noise of wheels; then the street door opened, and she felt a blast of
+cold, refreshing air. "The carriage is here, ma'am," called her footman,
+and they passed out into the darkness. At the end of the awning-covered
+passage the carriage lamps burned dimly, and she could hear the restless
+champing of bits. They reached the carriage and took their places; the
+door was closed; the servant mounted the box, the carriage rolled away
+crunching the crisp snow under its wheels. Marion sank into a corner and
+tried to think. "I did my best," she said to herself again and again. "I
+did my best, but it was so hard." Over the snow-muffled stones the
+carriage rolled past massive structures, black and silent in the
+darkness. Huge, scowling ogres, they seemed to Marion, coldly frowning
+their displeasure. On through the darkened streets they went and over
+the river bridge; she could see the flickering street lamps faintly
+glistening on the ice, and she thought they were feeble hope rays
+shining through the darkness. Marion closed her eyes and listened to the
+wheels creaking through the snow. How long it was she did not know, but
+after a time she felt a sense of stillness. She opened her eyes. They
+were home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+GATHERING CLOUDS.
+
+
+"Are you going to the 'Renaissance Club' tea, Marion, dear?" said
+Florence Moreland, coming into the library on the afternoon following
+the "Patricians'" ball. Marion was sitting on the low front window seat,
+and she held a sash curtain crumpled in her hand. Her eyes were slowly
+following the numerous sleighs gliding up and down the Lake Shore Drive.
+The sun shone brightly on the glistening snow, the bells jingled
+merrily, and the waving plumes of graceful sleighs combined, with the
+rosy faces of their fur-clad occupants, to form a cheery winter picture.
+But with all this brightness before her Marion looked thoughtful and
+disturbed. Perhaps the restless lake beyond, dashing its troubled waves
+against the grey sea wall, better expressed the thoughts which caused
+the discontented wandering of her eyes. She did not reply to Florence's
+question but continued looking out over the roadway, as though unaware
+of her friend's presence.
+
+"Marion, dear," called Florence in a louder tone; "didn't you hear me?"
+
+Mrs. Sanderson slowly dropped the sash curtain and looked up. "O, are
+you there?" she said vaguely.
+
+"Yes, and I have been here an age trying to make you hear me," Florence
+replied. "What are you dreaming about?"
+
+"O, nothing much," Marion sighed; but her voice told her friend that
+this was not quite true.
+
+"You are in one of your moods again," said Florence. "You need me to
+cheer you up; but first of all tell me if you are going to the tea this
+afternoon?"
+
+"O, I fancy so," Marion replied somewhat mournfully. "I wish the
+'Renaissance Club' were in Kamtschatka, or some other such place, but
+Roswell actually promised to come home in time to take us, so I suppose
+we shall have to go. It is not time yet, though."
+
+"I know it," said Florence, "but I think I had better change my gown
+now."
+
+"You look well enough as you are," Marion replied, casting her eyes
+critically over her friend's attire. "Put on your gold-braided jacket
+and you will look as smart as any girl there."
+
+"Very well, then I shall go as I am. I would much rather talk than
+bother about dressing." Saying this Florence approached Marion and sat
+down beside her on the window seat. Marion did not notice her, but
+continued to look thoughtfully out of the window. Florence watched her
+for a moment, as though trying to read the thoughts behind her restless
+eyes; then she gently took both her friend's hands, and holding them in
+her own said inquiringly: "What is troubling you, dear."
+
+"Nothing," Marion sighed.
+
+"Then why do you seem so far away?"
+
+"Because I was thinking."
+
+"Of what?" asked Florence.
+
+"Of how like a human life the waters of that lake are."
+
+"I don't understand," said her friend.
+
+"Why, like a life they roll waywardly on until they pass to mother earth
+again, or are borne upward to the clouds. Sometimes they lie peacefully
+at rest, or they ripple merrily like children at play, only to be rudely
+awakened and lashed to angry fury in an aimless struggle with the winds.
+Like a life they are merely the agents of some greater power, helplessly
+following their destiny."
+
+"I think you theorize too much, my dear," said Florence. "If you want
+happiness, you must take life as it comes."
+
+"Happiness," laughed Marion cynically. "Happiness is like the golden
+bowl at the rainbow's base; no matter how desperately you chase after
+it, it still glitters in the distant future."
+
+"Possibly," replied Florence, "though I remember reading somewhere that
+'the reason there is so little happiness in the world is because so few
+people are engaged in producing it.' Perhaps that is why we are
+unhappy."
+
+"Do you know the formula for the production of this rarity?" sneered
+Marion.
+
+"No, but I suppose it has something to do with the time honored saying,
+'be virtuous,' and so forth."
+
+"Yes, I know; the kind of happiness that comes from the knowledge that
+one is good," put in Marion. "It is a sort of self-satisfied,
+touch-me-not happiness, with a better-than-you-are smirk about it."
+
+"Can't one have a clear conscience without being a Pharisee?" asked
+Florence.
+
+"I don't know," sighed Marion. "It is all a question of temptation, I
+suppose. Some people seem to be good from birth; they are never tempted,
+and have no charity for those who are."
+
+"I don't call such people good," replied Florence; "a St. Anthony
+without a temptation would be a sorry picture of virtuous self-control."
+
+Marion did not reply. For a moment she remained quietly thinking, as
+though Florence's words had inspired her with an idea; finally she
+spoke, in slowly chosen words: "Do you think what the Bible says about a
+mental sin being as great as the outward act can be true?"
+
+"I think it depends entirely upon circumstances," replied Florence.
+
+Marion turned her eyes thoughtfully upon the floor, then, restlessly
+twisting a cushion tassel between her fingers, she asked earnestly: "Do
+you think a woman who is tempted and resists, yet feels the subtle
+poison still in her heart, has sinned?"
+
+Florence was silent a moment, as though weighing the question in her
+mind. "I would not condemn such a woman," she finally said; "I would
+pity her."
+
+"What ought she to do?" asked Marion.
+
+"She has kept her self-respect, and I think on that foundation she
+should build the negative happiness called peace of mind."
+
+"What if the sting is too fresh, the poison too strong? What if the cup
+is still before her?"
+
+"Then she should dash it resolutely from her, and trust that time will
+heal the wound."
+
+Marion smiled faintly. She was thinking of an express train rushing
+toward the East and bearing danger farther and farther away. "Perhaps
+destiny is kind sometimes," she thought. "Were you ever unhappy,
+Florence?" she asked after a moment.
+
+"Why, what an absurd question," her friend replied. "Is there any one
+who has not been unhappy at some time?"
+
+"O, of course people have unpleasant moments which they get over,"
+Marion answered; "but what I call unhappiness is to feel that one has
+made an irreparable mistake in life, and then to be suddenly shown the
+unattainable possibility."
+
+"I should think such a person would feel something like a hungry pauper,
+gazing into a pastry cook's window. The glimpse of possibility must
+intensify his craving."
+
+"You are utterly practical and entirely unsympathetic," said Marion,
+somewhat ruffled at Florence's levity. "Sometimes I think you are a most
+unsatisfactory person."
+
+"I will not be dismissed as a person," laughed Florence. "You may call
+me anything you like, but don't subject me to the degradation of being
+styled a person."
+
+"I think you deserve it for turning my seriousness so inconsiderately
+into ridicule," said Marion with an injured air.
+
+"It is just the best thing for you," Florence replied. "You worry
+unnecessarily."
+
+"You always say that," sighed Marion, "but you don't understand."
+
+"Yes, I do. No one understands you as well as I do."
+
+"Then why don't you sympathize with me more?"
+
+"You don't need sympathy; that only panders to your discontent. What you
+need is to be shaken up and made to forget yourself."
+
+"You're a cruel girl."
+
+"I know it, and I am going home to-morrow."
+
+"Are you daft, Florence?" said Marion, amazed at her friend's
+abruptness.
+
+"No, I mean it," replied Florence. "But it is not because you have
+treated me badly, my dear. I did not mean to tell you so suddenly, but
+something happened a short time ago which makes me feel I had better
+leave. Please don't ask me about it, dear," she continued, seeing the
+questioning expression in Marion's eyes. "I only feel that it will be
+wiser for me to go away."
+
+"Why, Florence," said Marion sympathetically, "can't you trust me?"
+
+"It is not because I can't trust you, my dear," she replied. "You
+understand me, don't you? I think it would be kinder for me not to
+remain, and then," she added hesitatingly, "I want to be away where I
+can better think it over."
+
+"Yes, I understand," Marion answered. "You are such a queer girl,
+though; how could you keep so quiet about it?"
+
+"I didn't feel that I could talk about it. I am queer, I suppose, but
+you will forgive me if I go away, won't you? I have thought it over for
+three days and I feel it is best."
+
+"I will forgive you, of course, my dear; but, O, Florence, do be sure
+you are doing right. Don't make a mistake."
+
+"That is why I am going away. I will know better then."
+
+At this moment a man quietly entered the room. He had delicately cut
+features and a determined mouth, softened by gentle, brown eyes. His
+dark hair was slightly tinged with grey upon the temples, and his
+colorless complexion indicated a man whose life was little spent in the
+open air, a fact somewhat emphasized by his slightly stooping shoulders
+and thin, nervous hands. His clothes were plain and neat, but without
+any of the pronounced effects of fashion, and his entire appearance was
+decidedly that of one who is termed in America "a business man."
+
+"Why don't you speak when you enter a room, Roswell?" said Mrs.
+Sanderson, looking up suddenly, startled at seeing her husband. "Did you
+hear what we were talking about?"
+
+"I am not an eavesdropper, my dear," he said quietly. "I merely came to
+tell you that I am back from the bank. Are you ready to go to the tea?"
+
+"I had no idea it was so late," said Marion looking at her watch. "We
+must hurry, Florence." The two women went to put on their hats, and when
+they returned all three entered the carriage waiting at the door and
+were driven quickly toward the rooms of the "Renaissance Club" in lower
+Wabash Avenue.
+
+The institution which bore the name of "Renaissance Club" was a ladies'
+literary society devoted to studying the effect of humanism upon the
+literature of the world. It held meetings in its tastefully arranged
+rooms on each alternate Thursday afternoon throughout the season, and on
+these occasions original papers were read and discussed with an amount
+of erudition which astonished the members unacquainted with the usual
+works of reference, and rendered the club the admiration and pride of
+feminine Chicago. It is true that literary ability was by no means the
+first requisite for admission, and that the membership list might be
+used with impunity for directing invitations to the smartest dances; but
+despite these facts, there was a decidedly literary flavor about the
+meetings of the club, enhanced perhaps by the presence of two or three
+ladies who had actually experienced the delight of seeing their writings
+in print. Of course the talking was confined to a confident set, who
+enjoyed the excitement of a literary discussion; for as no one else
+desired to undergo the tortures of speaking in public, the vast majority
+assumed a dignified expression of wisdom, and remained discreetly
+silent. The club had discussed Dante and Petrarch, Villani and Ariosto,
+even Lorenzo de Medici; it had laughed over Cervantes and blushed
+profusely over Boccaccio and Rabelais, but the meeting to which the
+Sandersons and Florence Moreland had gone was called for no such
+intellectual purpose. Once during the season the club gave a tea to
+which men were invited, and on such occasions the entertainment was
+confined to the efforts of elocutionists and balladists. Whether the
+club dared not expose its intellectual attainments to public criticism,
+or did not care to have its literary efforts judged by the standard of
+the Board of Trade, was never sufficiently clear; but in spite of the
+fact that no literature was ever discussed at the annual tea, this
+meeting was invariably the most fully attended of any during the season.
+
+When the Sanderson party entered there was such a hum of subdued voices,
+that the efforts of a young woman engaged in singing were scarcely
+audible above the animated whisperings of the people who thronged the
+club-rooms. Numerous small tea tables supplied with all manner of dainty
+tea things were scattered about. Each of these was presided over by a
+pretty girl, and each was surrounded by a knot of black-coated youths.
+Although young men were there in abundance, those of mature years were
+conspicuously absent; but it is one of the peculiarities of a busy city
+like Chicago, that while young employés are able to appear at afternoon
+gatherings, the heads of firms are invariably detained at their
+offices.
+
+The balladist's song was followed by an uninterrupted flow of feminine
+voices, punctuated with occasional masculine laughs, coming like
+intermittent grumblings of thunder during a pattering storm of rain. The
+American girl who does not talk is a rarity, indeed, but, though
+climatic influences have parched her vocal cords, her harsh, hearty
+voice saying something is a pleasurable contrast to the subdued vacuity
+of the average English maiden of twenty. The animated clatter of an
+occidental gathering may seem discordant when compared with the
+solemnity of a London drawing-room; but in this artificial age it should
+prove refreshing to one who admits a fondness for open-hearted
+naturalness. There was an intimacy among the people gathered in the
+"Renaissance Club" rooms which is rarely met with in the larger cities.
+They were nearly all acquainted with one another, and most of them were
+people who met with such frequency that many restrictions of formality
+had passed away. A person whose life is continuously passed amid such
+surroundings may develop an inclination to magnify his own _entourage_
+to the disparagement of the great world he knows so little of; but he
+will be spared a realization of the atomic nature of a person's position
+in that world, and he will never know the fitful interest cosmopolitan
+society takes in any individual.
+
+Marion Sanderson looked upon this society as provincial, and she felt
+inexpressibly bored at the thought that she must meet absolutely the
+same people night after night, and know by premonition what each of them
+would have to say on any given subject. Her senses had once been dazzled
+by the varied glitter of the metropolitan kaleidoscope. Had she been
+given time to investigate the tawdry shams, of which it is so largely
+composed, she might have appreciated better the less brilliant world
+about her; but with her superficial experience inciting discontent,
+Marion wandered about, that afternoon, pitying the restricted resources
+of the people she met, and congratulating herself and her intimates upon
+the aid they had already rendered toward the development of Chicago
+society.
+
+Florence Moreland, however, appreciated this society, which, surrounded
+by all the appurtenances of civilization, was still so natural and
+sincere. She regretted that she had decided to leave, and she entered so
+heartily into the spirit of Western life, that she was more than once
+tempted to alter her decision; but, remembering that her presence seemed
+to torture Harold, she realized that her own peace of mind would be more
+easily attained in her New Hampshire home. She wandered about the room,
+taking leave of her many friends, who were, of course, greatly surprised
+at the suddenness of her departure, until she was accosted by Mrs.
+McSeeney. Her eyes beamed so triumphantly that Florence felt an
+instinctive dread of an encounter with a woman whom she knew to be
+Marion's enemy. Mrs. McSeeney spoke with a suavity which Florence felt
+to be entirely feigned, and she was at a loss to account for this sudden
+pleasantness of manner.
+
+"I have just heard, my dear," said Mrs. McSeeney, "that you are going
+away, and I can't tell you how deeply we shall all miss you. What
+induced you to leave so suddenly?"
+
+"I am called home because my father says he must have me there,"
+Florence replied, thinking it the easiest excuse to make. "I am the only
+child, and he gets extremely lonesome when I am long away."
+
+"You forget that while he is but one person, there are many others here.
+You are inconsiderate of the claims of the majority," said Mrs.
+McSeeney. "However, you may carry away the satisfaction that you looked
+absolutely heavenly at the ball last night in that charming yellow gown.
+How like it is to Marion's, was that intentional?"
+
+"That is the second time I have been asked that question, but I assure
+you it was quite an unexpected coincidence."
+
+"A coincidence which created a fortunate contrast," replied Mrs.
+McSeeney, with increased suavity. "Fortunate for you, at least."
+
+"What does this extreme agreeableness mean?" Florence wondered, and for
+a moment she was lost for a reply. "By the way," continued Mrs.
+McSeeney, "what has become of that charming Mr. Grahame whom Marion
+brought to my house last week? I don't see him here."
+
+"He went back to New York to-day," answered Florence somewhat coolly,
+as she wished to end the conversation.
+
+"What a pity!" said Mrs. McSeeney, speaking in a louder tone. "Mr.
+Grahame was such a delightful man, and dear Marion Sanderson must miss
+him so."
+
+Instinctively feeling that some one else might have overheard this
+remark, Florence looked hurriedly behind her, and was horrified to see
+Roswell Sanderson and Harold Wainwright standing there. She saw the
+meaning of Mrs. McSeeney's action now; she had laid this trap to injure
+Marion in the eyes of her husband, and Roswell's expression of mingled
+anger and anxiety told her plainly that he had overheard. Frightened for
+Marion's happiness she turned to Mrs. McSeeney and said angrily: "You
+have no right to connect Marion's name with Mr. Grahame's in such a
+manner."
+
+"Indeed!" Mrs. McSeeney replied with exasperating coolness. "I think
+that when a woman of Marion Sanderson's prominence is indiscreet in her
+actions, she must expect to cause comment. I happened to see Mr. Grahame
+kiss Mrs. Sanderson, under the musicians' gallery, at the ball last
+night. I think I am justified in any conclusions I may draw."
+
+Florence heard a low exclamation behind her. For a moment countless
+thoughts rushed through her brain in jumbled confusion, then she seemed
+to understand it all. Mrs. McSeeney told the truth. No woman would dare
+make such an accusation falsely, and this explained Marion's strange
+talk of the afternoon. Poor Marion! was there no way to save her? With
+the suddenness of inspiration an idea came to her. She remembered seeing
+a play in which two women were mistaken for each other by the similarity
+of their gowns; she had also been with Duncan under the musicians'
+gallery, and she knew it was too dark to distinguish faces accurately
+there. She turned quickly toward Roswell Sanderson, and seizing his hand
+drew him forward. He was about to speak but she stopped him; then,
+facing Mrs. McSeeney, she said defiantly: "You have conceived a clever
+plan to ruin Mr. Sanderson's wife. Your motive, I think, is evident to
+all who know you, but, fortunately, your statement is untrue. 'Twas I
+who was with Mr. Grahame under the musicians' gallery."
+
+Mrs. McSeeney drew back astonished at this sudden statement, but she
+quickly recovered from her surprise and said ironically: "Such a
+melodramatic sacrifice seems out of place in real life, but I suppose
+you are one of those heroic maidens who enjoy tarnishing their own
+reputation to clear a friend. I admit that the darkness and the
+similarity of your gowns may have rendered the confusion possible, but I
+assure you I was not mistaken about the facts. I suppose you are
+prepared to admit them also?"
+
+"I am," said Florence deliberately.
+
+"Well, you are ingenuous, I must say," said Mrs. McSeeney, astonished at
+Florence's determined manner. "Perhaps you will think better of your
+foolishness when you realize the position in which you have placed
+yourself before society. In the meantime I trust Mr. Sanderson accepts a
+statement which, considering my experience of the world, I believe
+extremely improbable."
+
+Roswell clenched his fists to suppress his anger. "Mr. Sanderson," he
+said slowly, "believes absolutely in the fidelity of his wife, and he
+warns Mrs. McSeeney that she must answer to him for any future slurs
+upon her character."
+
+Mrs. McSeeney's eyes flashed as she said coolly: "I am glad Mrs.
+Sanderson enjoys so absolutely the confidence of her husband." Then,
+shrugging her shoulders slightly, she turned and walked toward the door.
+It was growing so late that the distant room in which this scene
+occurred was quite empty, and fortunately no one but Harold Wainwright
+had overheard the conversation. An anxious witness of the scene, he had
+appeared at first dumfounded by Florence's self-accusation; but he now
+calmly followed Mrs. McSeeney toward the door. He quickly caught up with
+her, and speaking so quietly that she turned about somewhat frightened,
+he said: "May I speak with you a moment? I have something of importance
+to say."
+
+"Certainly," she replied, and they passed on into the next room.
+
+Florence was left alone with Roswell Sanderson. The first excitement of
+the resolution to save Marion had passed, and she now realized the
+position in which she had so suddenly placed herself, and her foremost
+desire now was to get away somewhere. Above all she dared not speak to
+Roswell. She was still holding his hand which she had grasped so
+earnestly in the midst of her excitement, and now she tried to release
+it. This action Roswell resisted, and, turning until he could see into
+her face, he said earnestly: "You are a brave girl, Florence, and I
+thank you for it from the bottom of my heart."
+
+Florence lowered her eyes. "Don't talk about it," she said anxiously,
+"and please promise not to say one word to Marion of all this. I am
+going away, and, if you can keep her from knowing about it, it will make
+me so happy."
+
+Roswell was silent a moment. A curious expression of sad determination,
+which Florence did not understand, came into his eyes.
+
+"I promise," he finally said, "but you must answer me one question now
+that we are alone. Did you speak the truth?"
+
+Florence trembled slightly. She had been expecting this question and
+felt that everything depended on her answer. She pressed his hand
+firmly, and, looking up into his face, said in tones which bore the
+resolute accent of truth: "Roswell, I assure you that Marion has been
+true to you."
+
+"I will ask no more," he replied, and she saw that determined expression
+come back again to his eyes. They heard the sound of approaching steps,
+and he quickly released her hand. Turning round they saw Marion
+approaching. "What under heaven are you doing here?" Marion said, as she
+entered the room. "Don't you know everyone has gone home, and we shall
+be late for dinner?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+OAKHURST.
+
+
+On a Saturday morning in early June, about five months after Duncan's
+visit to Chicago, Rennsler Van Vort, attired in tweeds and carrying a
+bag in one hand and a bundle of coats and sticks in the other, pushed
+rapidly past the ticket collector of a Jersey City ferry. He was on his
+way to spend Sunday with the Osgoods at their place near Morristown, and
+his haste was inspired by the knowledge that if he missed the next boat
+he would be left to wander about the most unattractive portion of New
+York for at least another half-hour. He managed, however, to reach the
+ferry-boat just before she started, and was congratulating himself on
+his good fortune, when he observed a man with a bag in each hand,
+running in hot haste down the incline leading to the boat. The iron
+gates were closed; the windlasses were clicking rapidly as the mooring
+hawsers were being wound around, and the great paddle wheels had begun
+to stir the waters of the slip to seething foam. The man at the windlass
+tried to restrain the tardy passenger's efforts to reach the boat, but
+he brushed past him and leapt onto her deck, just as she had begun to
+move out from the slip.
+
+"Great Scot! Duncan, did you drop from the clouds?" said Van Vort, as
+the breathless runner, aided by a deck hand, clambered over the iron
+gate.
+
+"No, I beat the gate-keeper," replied Duncan, as he came to a stop
+beside Rennsler and deposited his bags on the deck. "He was just
+shutting the stile, and called to me to stop, but I didn't care to bask
+on the docks for an hour, so I gave him the slip and here I am."
+
+"That explains your flying leap on the boat, but did you jump across the
+pond also?" asked Van Vort. "The last time I saw you, you were going to
+Chicago; then I heard you were in London, and now you make an amazing
+appearance on a Jersey ferry. You must have taken up jugglery, old
+chap."
+
+"An old loafer like you doesn't know anything about business; if you did
+you might appreciate my flights."
+
+"Never mind if I don't," answered Van Vort, resting his arm on the rail
+and gazing into the water as it surged under the paddle wheels. "Tell me
+what took you to London and what brought you back."
+
+"Well, I went to Chicago, as you know," answered Duncan, "to look after
+an elevator syndicate. I was there a week, got things straightened up,
+took the 'Limited' on Thursday, reached New York Friday night, spent
+Saturday morning at the office, and sailed that afternoon, on the
+Umbria, to look after the London end of the scheme."
+
+"That was last January. How have you been eluding your friends ever
+since?"
+
+"I was in London until two weeks ago. I came in on the Etruria this
+morning; we should have landed Sunday, but we broke our shaft and had to
+be towed in."
+
+"Well, Duncan, I am glad to see you back; but you must give an account
+of yourself. What did you do in London besides business?"
+
+"During February and March I was groping about in the fog after Britons
+to invest in Chicago elevators, or following the hounds in the Shires.
+London in winter is the beastliest place in Christendom, and when I
+could get away I was in the country."
+
+"Yes; I know London in the winter," put in Van Vort. "Fogs and
+suffocation, rain and muddy boots, slush and colds, sleet and influenza,
+all combine to make a dreary mackintosh and umbrella existence, which
+you can vary in-doors by shivering before fires that won't burn."
+
+"I see you've been there," answered Duncan; "but you want to add
+something about empty theatres and clubs, and say it is a city deserted
+by every person who can buy, borrow, or steal a railway ticket to the
+country. But for one guardian angel, I should not be here to tell this
+tale."
+
+"I can name that angel," said Van Vort; "it is Scotch whiskey."
+
+"Right!" answered Duncan.
+
+"I thought so. All sufferers seek the same cure; but April and May were
+better, weren't they?"
+
+"I should think so."
+
+"Did you meet many people?"
+
+"Plenty. I fell in with Lady Brock on the steamer, and she came in
+handy. I knew some people when I was there before, and took out some
+good letters; and then there is the American colony."
+
+"Yes, the American colony," said Van Vort; "who are they?"
+
+"Some of them are people one doesn't know at home, but the English don't
+mind that, so why should we? You remember Mrs. Raynor, that pretty woman
+who used to be about New York, and afterward so scandalized the prudes
+by an affair with a Russian Grand Duke that no one received her when she
+came home?"
+
+"Of course; did you run across her?"
+
+"Yes; she is in London now, the smartest of the smart; the friend of the
+prince and the envy of American turf hunters. They wouldn't have her in
+New York, but now they flock to her house because she is in the London
+smart set, and she is clever enough to receive them and forget the
+malarious past."
+
+"I suppose you went there; the malarious past didn't frighten you away."
+
+"Of course not. I was her right-hand man, and used to help entertain
+the people at her Wednesday afternoons. Not only that, but I was
+hand-in-glove with Mrs. Smallpage."
+
+"What! the wife of the late furniture dealer on Fifth Avenue?"
+
+"Yes; I didn't know her in New York, but she has a house in Mayfair and
+hobnobs with half the peerage. Good looks and money, that's all the
+Londoners care for. I heard a countess say that all Americans are alike.
+We have no aristocracy, therefore our social distinctions are absurd.
+The reception of an American in London depends on whether he is rich
+enough to entertain, good looking enough to be attractive, or queer
+enough to be amusing."
+
+"I say, Duncan, we are just getting into the slip," said Van Vort,
+looking forward, "and you haven't told me yet where you are going, and
+what brought you aboard this ferry."
+
+"Why, I met Harry Osgood this morning, just after I landed, and he asked
+me out to his place for Sunday. I hate New York on the blessed Sabbath,
+so here I am."
+
+"I am bound for the Osgoods, too," answered Van Vort. "I am in luck to
+find some one going out. But come on, we must hurry or we sha'n't get
+seats in the train."
+
+The ferry-boat brushed violently against the side of the slip, and most
+of the passengers, losing their balance, were compelled to grasp each
+other unconventionally for support. The engine-room bell clanged
+furiously; there were more jars and creakings as the boat scraped past
+the great piles and reached her moorings; then the restless van horses
+stamped, the chains rattled over the windlasses, and the passengers
+crowded forward to the bows. The iron gates were opened, and the living
+sea of people flowed rapidly up the incline toward the railway station.
+It was the mighty ebbing of the human tide which daily floods the great
+city across the river. Could one stand there, watching the weary throng
+come forth, and, like the Spanish student of old, find a willing
+Asmodæus at one's elbow, what stories of hopes and disappointments, what
+tales of trouble and misery could he not unfold for inspection. Pallid
+shop-girls and weary seamstresses were there; grimy laborers with their
+tools, tired clerks, toiling mothers with their babes, and pale,
+careworn children, early driven to the wheel, with here and there a
+face on whom prosperity had set her seal, and perhaps a few, like
+Duncan, whose lives are passed in that dazzling upper world, so
+hopelessly closed to the toiling masses. All these, and more, streamed
+off the ponderous ferry, hurrying to their homes. But Duncan and Van
+Vort had no time to moralize, and being anxious to get seats in the
+smoking car they pushed rapidly to the front of the moving mass of
+people, showed their tickets to the inspector, and passed through the
+station door to the platform.
+
+The Morristown train was drawn up on the right-hand track. They found it
+already well filled with people brought over by the first boat; and
+after wandering the entire length of the smoking car they were about
+despairing of finding seats when they were hailed by a familiar voice:
+"Hello, fellows, where are you going?" Looking around they saw
+Howard-Jones, with a yellow-covered novel under his arm and a freshly
+lighted cigar between his lips, standing on the station platform and
+looking the picture of masculine content.
+
+"We are trying to find a seat, but the place is full," said Duncan.
+"Are you going on this train?"
+
+"Yes; going out to Osgood's."
+
+"So are we," put in Van Vort, "but we don't want to stand up all the
+way. You look as unconcerned as though you were sporting a private car."
+
+"So I am," replied Howard-Jones carelessly. "Just go into the car ahead
+and find Waterman; mention the fact that you are friends of mine, and
+perhaps he will give you a seat, but be sure you speak politely.
+Waterman won't stand impertinence."
+
+"Well, if you and he have seats in there, and there are no more to be
+had," said Duncan, "you might as well make up your mind to stand up.
+Come on, Rennsler, let's see if Howard-Jones is trying to do us." Saying
+this, Duncan started into the next car and was closely followed by Van
+Vort. This car had been kept till the last moment, so they found it just
+filling up, and at the farther end they discovered Waterman, trying to
+stretch himself over four seats and convince the numerous comers that
+they were engaged.
+
+"I beg pardon, but can a lady have this seat?" said Duncan, coming up
+behind Waterman.
+
+"I am sorry, but it's engaged," grunted the latter without looking up.
+"This is a smoker anyway."
+
+"Well, this lady is going to sit on your lap, you old brute."
+
+"Hello, Duncan," said Waterman, looking up somewhat startled. "Osgood
+told me you were back; I am deuced glad to see you."
+
+"Pull down those feet and give us some room, and then I'll talk,"
+answered Duncan.
+
+Waterman made room for his friends, and depositing their luggage on the
+floor they sat down opposite him. As the train moved slowly out of the
+station, Howard-Jones sauntered into the car and took the seat
+remaining, next to Waterman.
+
+"Well, how is Chicago?" Waterman asked Duncan.
+
+"Don't talk to him about Chicago," interrupted Van Vort. "Don't you know
+he has just come from London?"
+
+"Of course I do, but I know all about London. I want to hear about Mr.
+Breezy and Miss Lakeside, and all the other queer people one reads
+about in _Life_ and _Puck_. Don't you remember the last time we saw
+Duncan? He was going gunning for elevators, and I want to hear about
+them. How are the pork-packers, Duncan?"
+
+"I didn't meet any."
+
+"What, and you went to Chicago!"
+
+"Exactly," Duncan replied. "They say there that one has to go away to
+meet them. The right sort don't seem to know them."
+
+"What were the people like, anyway?" asked Howard-Jones.
+
+"The women are dears, some of the men are queer, most of them are
+passable, and a few are the whitest chaps I ever came across. I was
+treated like a prince. I lived at the City Club, and they could not do
+enough for me there."
+
+"Did you get anything fit to eat?" asked Howard-Jones dubiously.
+
+"You must imagine the people out there eat jerked venison and dine in
+their shirt-sleeves," replied Duncan. "They don't live in wigwams, and
+buffalo don't run wild in the streets."
+
+"Don't get huffy, Duncan; I was only judging by what I had heard. You
+remember what Waterman said about Chicago."
+
+"Yes, and I repeat again," replied that worthy, "it is the beastliest
+hole it has ever been my luck to get stranded in."
+
+"Then you display your ignorance," said Duncan.
+
+"I admit I have heard something about Chicago being the centre of the
+universe," retorted Waterman, "but I thought that opinion was confined
+to the breezy inhabitants of the windy city."
+
+"Well, in my opinion," said Duncan, "Chicago isn't a half bad place.
+'Tisn't New York, of course, but you can't expect that. They've got most
+of the things there that we have, and some that we haven't. There's one
+thing about the people, too, that I like; they keep awake when the rest
+of the world is dozing, and that is bound to tell in the end."
+
+"That's right, Duncan," echoed Van Vort.
+
+"Sit down on sectional ignorance and prejudice. New Yorkers are getting
+to be as provincial as Parisians, and it is time they learned that the
+sun doesn't rise and set on Manhattan Island."
+
+"You are all wrong, Rennsler," answered Howard-Jones. "Duncan is drawing
+a big salary for booming Chicago real estate; you'd do the same thing if
+you got paid for it."
+
+"No back talk, Hyphenated-Jones," said Duncan facetiously. "Just crawl
+behind that French novel and don't let me hear from you again."
+
+"I will if you will shut up about Chicago; you make me weary."
+
+"Anything to keep you quiet," answered Duncan.
+
+The four friends gradually settled themselves behind afternoon papers or
+novels, and remained silent. The train rattled on through small suburban
+towns and now and then drew up before a dainty, vine-covered station,
+with low walls and high gabled roofs, where the brakeman put his head
+inside the door and called off some name in unintelligible accents.
+People got out hurriedly, their arms filled with packages of all
+descriptions, the door slammed, the train started, the newsboy passed
+through with the papers, pop-corn, puzzles, and everything else that
+nobody wanted, the conductor poked dozing passengers for their tickets,
+the atmosphere grew blue with smoke, and the minutes passed with the
+exasperating slowness of time spent on a suburban train.
+
+"I say, Duncan," said Waterman, yawning behind his paper, "how would you
+like to take this trip twice a day?"
+
+"I'd rather die a natural death and be done with it, if I did not have a
+private opinion that Hades is a suburban town, where the Devil tortures
+his victims by making them bolt breakfast in two minutes and run to
+catch a train, only to be brought back again after dark just in time to
+sleep and take the next train in the morning."
+
+"That's the joy of living in the country," replied Waterman. "However, I
+can tell you how to pass the time to-day."
+
+"How?" asked Duncan.
+
+"Go back and talk to the Simpson girls. I saw them getting into the last
+car, and I think they are going out to Osgood's, too."
+
+"None of that for me."
+
+"Better send Rennsler to look after them," suggested Waterman; "I think
+I can recommend him as a safe and suitable chaperon."
+
+"What's that?" said Van Vort, glancing over his paper at the sound of
+his name.
+
+"We think you had better go back and talk to the charming Miss Simpson,"
+said Duncan.
+
+"Which? The one with freckles, or the one who squints."
+
+"Both," replied Waterman.
+
+"From such a fate, good Lord deliver us," answered Van Vort contritely.
+
+"Your prayer is answered," said Duncan, "for here we are at the
+getting-off place. I never remember the name of it, so I always book
+through to Morristown, and look out for that red barn over there."
+
+The engine slackened its pace while the four friends hurriedly gathered
+their things together and walked toward the car door. When the train
+stopped they passed out and alighted on the deserted platform of a small
+country station. The village consisted of three or four houses and a
+barn, and the station was merely a covered shed and platform, without
+the usual complement of station-master, baggageman, etc. It was of so
+little importance that trains did not stop there except by signal or
+request, and the Osgoods made use of it merely because it was nearer
+their place than was Morristown. On this occasion, however, there was no
+one there to meet the travelers, and it seemed to them that they had
+been forgotten. The train had pulled out immediately, and they were left
+to their own resources in a small, New Jersey hamlet, four miles from
+their destination. There was no one in sight except the Simpson girls,
+who had alighted at the other end of the platform, and the four men felt
+it their duty to wander toward them and proffer such civilities as the
+occasion demanded.
+
+"We had no idea you were on the train," said Duncan, as they reached the
+place where the girls were standing. "I suppose you are bound for the
+Osgoods?"
+
+"Yes," replied the elder Miss Simpson, "but we seem to be stranded here.
+What shall we do?"
+
+"Wait until we are rescued," said Van Vort. "I don't believe Osgood is
+cruel enough to leave us here long."
+
+"No, by Jove! for there are his leaders," interposed Waterman, as a team
+of chestnuts and a smart char-à-bancs, driven by Harry Osgood himself,
+with his wife on the box seat, swept rapidly around the corner of
+Duncan's red barn. There were two girls sitting behind the Osgoods, whom
+they recognized as Miss Warner and Miss Reine Merrit,--two of their
+set,--and the men had just time to take off their hats before the trap
+was driven up beside the platform.
+
+"Been waiting long?" called Osgood, as he pulled up his team. "My near
+leader picked up a stone, and I have the stage timed so close that any
+delay makes me late."
+
+"It will teach you to take more time, Harry," said his wife, as, without
+accepting the proffered aid of a servant, she jumped to the ground. "How
+do you do, everybody," she continued, when she lighted on the platform.
+"Why, Duncan Grahame! Where in heaven's name did you come from?"
+
+"From London, to see you, but I don't seem to be expected," replied
+Duncan.
+
+"I forgot to tell Helen I had asked you, but it's all right," called
+Harry Osgood from his high seat.
+
+"Of course it is," replied his wife, "but I wish you wouldn't shock me
+so again. I thought I had seen a ghost."
+
+"Never mind ghosts, but get the people up," said her husband.
+
+Harry Osgood's char-à-bancs was a vehicle he had had constructed for use
+over the rough country roads. It was built somewhat like the two boots
+of a drag put together without the body, and had seats for ten persons,
+besides the servants, placed in three rows, and all facing forward,
+while its lightness rendered it very convenient for the purpose for
+which it was designed. The servants stowed the luggage away and Mrs.
+Osgood assigned places to the party. The elder Miss Simpson was given
+the box seat, the next was occupied by Reine Merrit, Waterman,
+Howard-Jones, and the younger Miss Simpson, while Miss Warner, Van Vort,
+Duncan and Helen Osgood mounted to the remaining one.
+
+"Let em go," shouted Osgood as he shoved the brake back. The grooms
+jumped from the horses heads, the wheelers sprang into their collars,
+and the trap rolled away from the station. "Oakhurst," the Osgood place,
+was a short four miles distant, and the road, a fairly good one for
+America, ran, for the most part, through a forest of maples, broken here
+and there by the country seat of some New Yorker, or an occasional farm.
+The country was quite rolling, and the road, running as it did over a
+succession of small hills, made the driving a delight to Harry Osgood.
+He was a coachman who had learned his trade in England, and having been
+a subscriber to the _Guildford Coach_ for two seasons, he was able to
+"sit his bench" like a veteran, and work his team with the smartness of
+one who has done "out of London roading"; but, with all his experience
+he was not a careful workman. He invariably made the four miles, from
+the station to his house, a galloping stage, and it was his pride to do
+the distance just under the twenty minutes; so, as soon as he turned the
+corner by the red barn, he sprang his team into a gallop, and they
+scarcely trotted another step of the way. Up hill and down the horses
+scampered, while the trap rocked like a ship at sea, now to this side
+and now to that, and when rounding the corners it often seemed as though
+the vehicle would certainly be turned over and the entire party landed
+in a hopeless muddle in the ditch; but nothing worse than a few feminine
+screams occurred until they reached the place where the road entered the
+Morristown turnpike.
+
+Here Osgood espied another team coming up the main road, and as both
+traps were about an equal distance from the fork, he considered it a
+glorious chance for a race; so, giving his horses their heads, he urged
+them into a run. The driver of the other four, as ready for sport as
+Osgood, did the same, and the two traps came furiously on to where the
+roads met. The men cheered while the women held on to their seats,
+trembling with fright; and as the two traps came together at the fork,
+the other coachman tried to crowd in front of Osgood by taking some of
+the latter's road. There was no time to pull up, and seeing that his
+only safety from a wicked upset was to beat his rival, Osgood called on
+his horses for an extra spurt. The leaders were neck and neck, and the
+stranger had crowded him so far toward the edge of the road that he felt
+his hind wheel slipping down the embankment. The women shut their eyes
+and screamed while the men prepared to jump, but Osgood, acting with
+presence of mind, hit his rival's off-wheeler across the head with his
+whip, and "toweled" his own wheelers a good stinging cut across the
+shoulders. The wheel horse of the other trap, frightened at this sudden
+attack, jumped toward the pole, and, with his weight, swayed the vehicle
+toward the near side of the road, while Osgood's own wheelers sprang
+forward under the lashing and drew the trap onto the road before it had
+time to upset. Osgood darted ahead of his rival, and the party breathed
+freer as all visions of broken limbs and mangled bodies vanished from
+their frightened minds.
+
+"Well done, old man," called Howard-Jones, who was himself a coaching
+man. "I like sport, but such a lubberly bit of work as that ought not to
+go unpunished."
+
+"A man who will do a trick like that ought not to be trusted with a
+donkey," replied Osgood, as he pulled his team together after the
+excitement of the spurt.
+
+"That's the trouble, nowadays," continued Howard-Jones. "After a lesson
+or two in the park, at team work, chaps set up as experienced
+coachmen."
+
+"Who is the duffer, anyway?" called Duncan from behind.
+
+"Jack Ashton. You know him, don't you?" replied Howard-Jones. "He has
+the place just beyond Harry's."
+
+"I ought to," said Duncan. "He was in my class at college. I didn't
+recognize him, though."
+
+"Do you always forget your friends so easily?" said Helen Osgood with an
+ironical sparkle in her blue-black eyes.
+
+"Sometimes I try to," Duncan answered.
+
+"Are you always successful?" she asked.
+
+"No, Helen," he whispered, "not always."
+
+The trap had reached the stone gateway of the Osgood place. As they
+turned in, a call was sounded on the horn to announce their coming to
+the servants, and, after passing the lodge, they could see the low,
+white country house, with rambling wings and numerous stables and
+outhouses in the rear, standing on a rise of ground at the end of the
+winding road. The place had been in the Osgood family for more than a
+hundred years. The oak-covered grounds about the house, and the green,
+rolling lawn in front, were typical of an English park; but the old
+wooden, colonial house, with its rambling additions and green blinds,
+its stately veranda and Doric columned portico, was American, of a type
+fast disappearing before the modern house decorator with his tints and
+_bibelots_.
+
+The trap dashed up to the door, a knot of servants appeared, the grooms
+placed the ladder against the steps, and the guests alighted and were
+conducted to their apartments, where, for the next hour, the house party
+was occupied in the task of dressing for dinner.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+"I WILL LAUGH, TOO."
+
+
+Harry Osgood was a man whose life was devoted to sport, and as he had
+inherited a large fortune, he was able to indulge his tastes to the
+fullest extent. Some one of his friends had said facetiously, that he
+was fond of horses, hounds, and his wife, in the order named, and no one
+who knew him well would deny that more of his life was spent in his
+stables and kennels than in his home. He had passed many years in
+England, and most of his time there was spent in a hard riding country,
+where everyone, including the parson, followed the hounds. To Osgood,
+therefore, there was no sport like hunting, and no music like the
+inspiriting cry of the pack. He had been brought up on the "pigskin" and
+felt a supreme contempt for many of the men about New York who went in
+for sport, not for the love of it, but as a pose which enabled them to
+wear the pink and talk the slang of the shires. He had seen so many
+chaps of that description come an ignominious "cropper" at the first
+fence, that he paid little attention to the talk of the clubs, and never
+passed his opinion on a would-be sportsman until he saw him in the
+hunting field. In his opinion it took something more than a pink coat to
+make a hunting man, so he endeavored to collect around him, in New
+Jersey, a few of as hard riders as ever followed hounds.
+
+The Essex Hunt had become famous for its long runs, and as few men not
+born to the saddle cared to risk their necks over the rolling country
+about Morristown, this hunt was decidedly unpopular with the
+drawing-room sportsmen. However, if the field was small at the meet, it
+diminished little at the finish. For years Harry Osgood had been M. F.
+M. of the Essex Hunt, and the pack could not have been in better hands,
+as he had a capital huntsman of long experience with the Quorn Hunt, and
+he devoted his own time, during the hunting season, entirely to the
+sport. Osgood had this peculiarity, however, he must have sport all the
+year round; so he was as much at home on the box seat, or at the
+tiller, as in the saddle. There is a popular impression that a man
+cannot be both a horseman and a sailor, but Harry Osgood had often
+refuted it. In the summer months, when there was no hunting, and it was
+too hot for driving, he went to sea, and his schooner, "Persephone," was
+one of the crack flyers of the N. Y. Y. C. fleet, while her owner was a
+qualified navigator who had taken an English Board of Trade yachtsman's
+certificate.
+
+It is, therefore, not surprising that Helen Osgood entered little into
+her husband's life, for, except when frost was in the ground, he had no
+time to devote to his wife. Helen, however, heartily approved of his
+neglect, and, except for the fact that he compelled her to reside so
+much of the time in the country, was perfectly satisfied with her
+husband. She always managed to have at least one amusing man in the
+house who did not go in for hunting, and as she never interfered with
+Harry's sport, theirs was a _ménage_ where husband and wife were both
+contented and amused. The world had been surprised at Harry Osgood's
+marriage, but probably no one was more astonished than himself. A
+country house, a rare day's sport, a good dinner, a cozy corner, a pair
+of bewitching blue-black eyes, a hasty word, and his fate was sealed
+before he had had time fully to realize the situation; but, having been
+"landed," as he expressed it, he made up his mind to bear it like a man
+and make the best of a hasty bargain. The marriage was, however, no
+surprise to Helen. She had carefully arranged it in her mind several
+months before, and Harry Osgood's proposal was but the consummation of
+her plans. He was precisely the kind of man that she considered an
+attractive, poor girl ought to marry, and women like Helen seem to
+possess a faculty for adjusting their lives according to their desires.
+She was the only woman whom Duncan Grahame had ever asked to be his
+wife, and perhaps for the reason that she had refused him, she continued
+to occupy the most central cell of his somewhat honeycombed heart. She
+had declined to marry Duncan because, at that time, he was poor, and she
+knew that he possessed too quick a perception, and too arbitrary a
+disposition, to be a suitable husband for a woman of her ambitions. She
+had, however, since her marriage, granted Duncan the privileges of a
+somewhat equivocal friendship, which, owing to a general misconception
+of Helen Osgood's character, the world often misapprehended. Her
+acquaintances fancied her unhappy in her home life, but she was
+perfectly contented. Her friends believed she was a woman of strong
+feelings and sympathies, but she was subtle and calculating. The world
+thought her friendship for Duncan must be of a serious nature, while, in
+reality, it was scarcely more than a _passe temps_. Though not harassed
+by any scruples, she was too cold really to love, and too clever
+actually to compromise herself. But she was, however, sufficiently
+selfish to receive without giving, and sufficiently vain to enjoy the
+continued admiration of so scarred and complex a heart as Duncan's. She
+had been gifted with a peculiar insight into human character, and having
+studied the nature of man as a scientist might that of a mollusk, she
+felt that she understood every masculine vagary. Prompted mostly by
+curiosity, she singled out Duncan as the specimen best calculated to
+demand the full exercise of her powers. If she had, at times, permitted
+certain familiarities which the world might not entirely approve, she
+had been careful to define the boundaries beyond which they must not
+pass; and the fact that his actions were governed in a manner so
+contrary to his wishes kept Duncan in a continuous state of irritation,
+and served at the same time to produce a continuity of affection quite
+unusual in his other experiences.
+
+For nearly four years this peculiar friendship, so galling to Duncan, so
+gratifying to Helen, had continued intermittently; and though many
+ruptures had occurred, they had all ended in Duncan's suing for peace.
+The long continuance of so unnatural a relation was rendered possible
+only by the fact that Helen Osgood had, so far, been incapable of
+experiencing the feelings of other women, and seeing no reason to
+transgress where there was no temptation, she contented herself with
+inspiring a love where others excited a passing fancy. Other women might
+amuse Duncan, but she would control him; other women might love him, but
+she would study him; other women might lose him, but she would remain
+his master. That was her analysis of the affair, and, so far, she felt
+that it had been correct. It is true she had not seen Duncan since the
+quarrel in January, and she knew that he must, in the meantime, have
+been intimate with other women; but she felt confident that he would
+come back to her and plead again for the love she had so often refused
+him. She did not believe that Duncan's passion was of a lofty nature. On
+the contrary, she doubted his sincerity just as she doubted the
+sincerity of every man of the world. She knew perfectly well the view of
+life held by the men about her, and she often said that were she a man
+she would be a freebooter too, and capture the hearts that came in her
+way. She thought that if a woman was weak enough to be trapped into
+taking a false step, she got her deserts. She, for one, would go armed,
+not because her conscience troubled her, but because she did not
+consider the game worth the risk.
+
+The unexpected return of Duncan had been somewhat of a surprise to
+Helen; but, in order to impress upon him that it was a matter of
+indifference to her, she avoided him as much as possible during the
+evening of his arrival at Oakhurst. The house party spent the evening
+playing pool in the billiard-room, and in that atmosphere of whiskey,
+soda, and smoke, where the conversation was hilarious and general, and
+often interspersed with familiar repartee and laughter, it was not
+difficult for Helen to keep Duncan at a convenient distance, while,
+however much he might chafe under the restraint, he was unable to free
+himself from his unpleasant position. There is nothing so exasperating
+to a man of Duncan's disposition and experience as to feel that he is
+being made a fool of by a woman. Though nothing had been said, Duncan
+realized the galling fact that Helen Osgood was playing with him. After
+the women had gone to bed he sat in the smoking-room, sulking over his
+"night-cap," and though Osgood and Howard-Jones carried on a heated
+discussion about the merits of perch bits, he paid not the slightest
+attention to what was being said. Waterman and Van Vort occasionally
+tried to chaff him, but he was so snappish in his manner that they
+wisely decided to let him alone. Meanwhile Duncan was thinking of the
+time, at Newport, when, jogging home after a day with the hounds, he had
+asked Helen Osgood to marry him. He had felt confident that she would do
+so, but instead, he got laughed at for his sincerity, and he had been
+laughed at ever since. He had often brought himself to the point of
+believing that he did not care for her, but the next time he was brought
+under her subtle influence he was compelled to acknowledge that he was
+still under her spell. Other women had surrendered to him with a
+facility that destroyed the pleasure of an exciting contest, but other
+women were not Helen Osgood.
+
+The next morning none of the house party put in an appearance before
+eleven o'clock, and it was not until luncheon that they all met
+together. Some of the men had, it is true, been out to the kennels, and
+Osgood and Howard-Jones had taken out a tandem--much to the horror of
+neighboring Sabbath-keepers--but Mrs. Osgood and the girls managed to
+keep secluded until the luncheon-hour. Dinner was the only formal meal
+at Oakhurst, and there was a freedom about the life that made it very
+attractive to the men. Any sort of lounging costume was permissible
+during the daytime, and the guests straggled in at luncheon without
+regard for promptness. No one waited for the others, and the last to
+come was the last to be served. The conversation was chiefly about
+horses and dogs, with social gossip for a relish, but no topic more
+intellectual than the last French novel or the latest comedy at Daly's
+was permissible. In fact, any one bold enough to inaugurate a literary
+or political discussion would have been greeted with a stare of mingled
+pity and astonishment. If any of the guests were acquainted with matters
+literary or artistic, they were usually discreet enough to remain silent
+out of deference to the host; but on one occasion a school friend of
+Helen's, from Boston, hearing some remarks about the last story of
+Bourget, took the opportunity to start a discussion upon the poetic
+psychology of Sully-Prudhomme, which was greeted in a manner that made
+the poor girl fancy she had said something very indiscreet. At the first
+favorable opportunity, however, Helen reassured her, but advised her not
+to talk about books, if she wanted to get on with the Essex Hunt.
+
+On the present occasion the conversation was confined to the stables,
+and after luncheon the house party sought amusement for the afternoon.
+Osgood suggested a drive, so a team was put to the drag, and the
+afternoon, until tea-time, was spent behind three chestnuts and a
+piebald "tooled" by the host.
+
+Meanwhile Duncan chafed under the discipline to which he felt he was
+being carefully subjected, but it was not until after an elaborately
+prepared dinner, served by the late butler of His Grace, the Duke of
+Northampton, and two footmen, that he was permitted a word alone with
+Helen. The other guests had gone into the drawing-room, at Helen's
+suggestion, to listen to Van Vort's latest comic song, and feeling that
+they would be off her hands for a while, she detained Duncan in the
+passage-way leading to the library. Between the two doors was a broad
+lounge, which had been placed there to offer an opportunity for a quiet
+talk, and Helen took the initiative by seating herself and motioning
+Duncan to a place beside her. He sat down sulkily, and remained silent
+for a while, trying to drive off the peculiarly helpless feeling which
+a man invariably experiences in the presence of a woman whose
+personality is stronger than his own. Duncan plunged his hands into his
+pockets and sank into a corner of the lounge, mentally deciding that he
+was an ass, and trying to bring his reason to control his feelings. He
+looked at Helen a moment, but when he met her glance, he winced and
+turned his eyes away, and she felt that she had not been wrong in her
+confidence that he would come back to her unchanged.
+
+"You are solemn enough for a _croque-mort_," said Helen, after a few
+moments of silence. "Aren't you going to amuse me?"
+
+"No," grunted Duncan peevishly, "you brought me here."
+
+"I didn't bring you here to sulk. I hope, for your own sake, you haven't
+been behaving this way for the past six months. I understand you, but
+strangers might not appreciate such manners." She said this in the
+indifferent manner she invariably assumed when Duncan indulged in a
+display of temper, and it was this indifference which always made his
+outbursts so abortive.
+
+"There is no need to behave so with strangers," he replied, trying to
+assume a sarcastic manner, and feeling, inwardly, that it was not
+successful. "They are usually civil to me."
+
+"O, indeed! and pray how do I treat you?"
+
+"Like a dog," he sneered gruffly.
+
+"Like a pet poodle," she replied, "whom I allow to lie about the house
+in the snuggest corners; like a pet poodle whom I fondle when he is
+agreeable, and humor when he is snappish; but take care how you behave
+or I may think you are only a puppy."
+
+Duncan jumped to his feet. "I won't be blackguarded," he muttered
+angrily.
+
+Helen leaned forward and caught his hand.
+
+"Come, Duncan, dear," she said, drawing him gently toward her, "you must
+sit down and tell me who it was that commenced this quarrel."
+
+Duncan permitted himself to be drawn to the seat beside her. His heart
+was consumed with conflicting sentiments, but he felt that the courage
+which had made the quarrel in January possible was failing, and that he
+would be compelled to sue for peace. "I am not a child," he said, as
+though to expostulate against her manner.
+
+"Yes, you are," answered Helen softly, "but a big, lovable child of whom
+I am very fond."
+
+Duncan looked into her eyes to see if he could read behind her words,
+but he only felt the deep, mysterious power which had brought him under
+her influence that day in Newport. Then he had felt a hopeful, honest
+love, for a moment, but it had been crushed out by her laughter. Before
+that he had been a thoughtless boy, taking life as only a holiday
+frolic. Had she given him her love, he felt that to him life would have
+been different; but that laughter had chilled his heart, and the
+hopeful, honest love had gone out forever. She had married and he had
+loved her again, but it was a feeling of a different sort, for the man
+who speaks of love to a married woman casts out honesty from his heart.
+He loved her with a heated longing which her coldness fanned. He wanted
+to possess her for his own, yet felt that he was balked by his stupidity
+and cowardice. In her presence he was a shrinking child with the
+yearning of a man. "Helen," he said, after a moment, "I will not be
+played with; I am too much in earnest."
+
+"You frighten me by your seriousness," she said, with a roguish tone in
+her voice. "I like you better when you are angry. It suits you."
+
+"I will not be trifled with, Helen," he said; "you have no right to
+treat me so."
+
+"I have the right of a billigerent," she laughed. "You declared war, you
+remember."
+
+"Then I sue for peace."
+
+"And I grant it," she replied softly, putting out her hand. "Come, let
+us be friends."
+
+Duncan took her hand and pressed it to his lips. He looked up into her
+tantalizing eyes and felt again the warm impulse of the old love burning
+in his heart. "I cannot be your friend, Helen," he said passionately,
+"for I love you."
+
+She drew her hand away quickly and patted his cheek disapprovingly, as
+she might have patted a child's; then with a little, playful laugh, she
+said: "don't be silly, you know I don't like it."
+
+Man of the world as he was, without scruples and usually reckless, he
+felt cowed. For a moment he sat moving his hands nervously; then he
+looked up and asked in a serious tone: "Why didn't you marry me?"
+
+"Because I liked you too well."
+
+"That is no answer."
+
+"Because I wanted to keep your love."
+
+"That is not true."
+
+"Well, because marriage is a business partnership, which, to be
+successful, requires a person of experience and a person of money. You
+had too much experience and I had no money, _le voila_."
+
+"You are a heartless flirt," Duncan said, slowly and earnestly.
+
+"That's what a man always says of a woman when he fails to make her love
+him."
+
+"You are a heartless flirt, I repeat," he answered. "You stole the best
+love in my heart; you crushed it and threw it aside like a flower which
+no longer pleased you."
+
+"Nonsense, Duncan, such poetic similes are ridiculous. Better say that
+love, to a man, is an apple of Sodom, fair to behold; but when he has it
+in his grasp it crumbles to sickening ashes."
+
+"You stole my love, Helen; a man never loves but once."
+
+"And in revenge, to use your metaphor, you have plucked and trampled
+under foot every flower within your reach. I know you, Duncan. It is
+only because I was stronger than the rest that I still bloom fair in
+your eyes."
+
+Duncan looked full into Helen's face with an injured expression in his
+eyes. "Helen," he said finally, "'tis women like you who make us men
+distrust your sex; who make us what we are."
+
+Helen returned his glance, and replied scornfully: "No; it is men like
+you who drag us down. We women must go through life armed, like
+travelers of old, against the attacks of you highwaymen. If we are weak,
+we are robbed of our best possessions, and left helpless by the way; if
+we are strong and ward off your attacks, you take your revenge on those
+who fall into your unscrupulous hands. But that is moralizing, and I am
+no moralist; I take the world as it is."
+
+"Then why not take the pleasure in it?" said Duncan insinuatingly.
+
+"Because it doesn't amuse me," she answered coldly. "I am not like other
+women, I suppose; at least, what you call pleasure disgusts me."
+
+"Then why have you let me be your friend so long?"
+
+"Because you amuse me," she replied carelessly. "I like to see you
+bluster and go away, and then come back to me. Other women pander to
+you, but I don't; other women love you, but I don't."
+
+As Duncan listened to these words, a blush of anger came to his cheek.
+He thought of how strong had been his influence over other women, and
+how weak he had always been in Helen's hands. "After all, love is a game
+of strength," he mused. He had been no better than a ball to be tossed
+about at pleasure, but he would throw off the spell of this woman, which
+had bound him so fast--he who thought he knew the world so well. An
+expression of firmness came into his face, and he said: "I loved you
+once, Helen, but I hate you now."
+
+"I am glad," she answered; "now there is a chance that your passion will
+be returned."
+
+Duncan did not reply. He left his seat beside her and walked slowly into
+the next room. Helen's eyes followed him. "Silly boy," she thought, "I
+hope he will hate me; I might love him then."
+
+Long after the lights in the smoking-room had gone out, long after the
+laughter had ceased, Duncan slowly paced his room. His hands were deep
+in his pockets and he held a briar pipe between his lips. Occasionally
+he would take a draw at the pipe, and then watch the blue smoke curl
+gently upward and fade away in long, thin streaks; but all the time he
+was thinking over the part Helen Osgood had played in his life. "She is
+right," he said, half aloud; "I do bluster and go away, and come back to
+her, and I will do it again. No, by Jove! I won't. A man can't forget
+that he has been played fast and loose with, and I would not be a man if
+I went back to that woman. I hate her. I hate her," he repeated. "She
+might have made a different man of me. I was young and might have taken
+life better, but she laughed me into the selfish brute I am. O, well,"
+he sighed, as he thought of his past, "I suppose I am no worse than
+those around me. We all worry over what might have been, but we don't
+take the pleasure that comes to us. A man's an ass to break his neck for
+any woman. There are others in the world, good looking ones, too, who
+will love for the asking." He returned his pipe to its case and closed
+it with a loud snap. "I have been in the garden before," he continued,
+"and I will go there again and pluck the flowers that come in my path. I
+will hold them for a minute; then I will crush them and cast them aside,
+and I will laugh, too."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+UNDER THE WILLOWS.
+
+
+The bell of the Fairville Presbyterian Church was slowly tolling the
+hour of morning service, and its tones, clanging out through the bright
+green shutters of the belfry on the peaceful Sabbath air, summoned the
+congregation to worship. The sun shone brightly upon the little white
+church, with its peaked roof and its tall, weather-vaned steeple, and
+its rays glanced hotly down upon the dusty roadway and wooden sidewalks
+of the long, village street. Two rows of white frame houses, fronted by
+little green patches, each enclosed by a picket fence and a swinging
+gate, extended away in the distance. Two lines of stately elms cast
+their shadows partially over the dusty street, while above them
+stretched the blue vault of the June sky.
+
+The tolling of the bell was the only sound that disturbed the perfect
+quiet of the day, for even the birds seemed to have ceased their
+chirping in deference to the Sabbath. Soon, however, in answer to the
+call to prayer, the little picket gates swung open, and far down the
+street a slender line of people began to walk, with the measured tread
+of conscious righteousness, toward the little church which gleamed so
+white in the sunshine at the end of the street. The board walk creaked
+under the squeaking tread of Sunday shoes, and solemn lips spoke in
+subdued Sunday tones, as elders and laity slowly wended along under the
+shade of the stately elms. White lawn dresses, leghorn bonnets and blue
+shawls, folded cross-wise, and lisle-thread gloves, were interspersed
+among flopping broadcloth coats and straight brimmed hats in the throng
+which passed along the street and through the doors of the church. Once,
+just after the last tone of the bell had died away, the stillness was
+broken by the rumble of wheels, and a single carriage rolled through the
+dust up to the church door. It was a modest equipage, plain in its
+appointments, but some of the congregation frowned disapprovingly as the
+door opened and Florence Moreland and her father descended. Without
+heeding these glances of disapprobation, they walked quietly into the
+church and passed down the long aisle to the family pew. The movement of
+numerous fans ceased and many heads were turned to see the Judge and his
+daughter take their seats, while several pairs of young and envious eyes
+were directed toward the last production of a city milliner. After the
+fans had begun to move again, the cadaverous minister rose from his seat
+and in harsh, nasal tones announced the hymn. There was a hemming and
+coughing in the choir's gallery, the organ bellows wheezed, hymn-books
+rustled, and then, as the first strains of the organ sounded, the old
+familiar lines beginning, "All people that on earth do dwell," swelled
+forth in zealous tones.
+
+Just as the last notes of the tune floated away and the congregation
+were taking their seats, a man stole quietly down the aisle and entered
+the pew behind Florence Moreland. His well-made clothes attracted
+curious eyes, and during the seemingly interminable prayer for the
+exorcism of every evil and the granting of all known blessings, many
+covert glances were sent in his direction. It seemed to those who
+looked, that during the prayer and the long didactic discourse upon
+Solomon and Sheba's queen, which followed, his eyes were kept
+continuously fixed upon the back of a gold-braided jacket in front of
+him. The doctor's daughter next him glanced over his book during the
+last hymn and saw that it was not open at the right place, while the
+elder who passed the plate looked wonderingly at the young Croesus who
+placed a greenback among the coppers and silver; but during the entire
+service his eyes were not removed from the form in front of him. The
+last roll of the organ died away and the minister pronounced his
+benedictory prayer. During the conventional moment of silence which
+followed, the sun streamed through the stained glass windows and danced
+in colored shadows on the backs of the white lawn gowns; then the frocks
+rustled as the congregation slowly filed out, and the solemn, Sunday
+faces were relaxed into smiles of friendly greeting.
+
+Florence Moreland waited until most of the people had passed out, then
+she placed her hand upon the pew door, and was about to open it, when
+she was startled by the sight of a familiar face behind her. "Harold,"
+she said, when she had recovered from her surprise. "What brought you to
+Fairville?"
+
+"I came as the bearer of a message for you," Harold Wainwright replied,
+as he opened the pew door for her.
+
+"For me! From whom?" asked Florence in astonishment.
+
+"If I may walk home with you I will tell you; otherwise you must wait."
+
+"You are very dictatorial," she replied, "but when a woman's curiosity
+is aroused, she is easily managed. If father will drive home alone, I
+consent to your terms. Father," she continued, turning around and
+interrupting a conversation which Judge Moreland was holding with an
+elder, "here is Harold Wainwright."
+
+"Glad to see you, Harold," said the Judge, taking Wainwright's hand and
+giving it the hearty shake of unaffected cordiality. "Glad to see the
+son of the best friend I ever had. You must bring your grip up to the
+house. What brought you to Fairville?"
+
+Harold was about to reply to these numerous and disconnected remarks,
+but he was interrupted by Florence. "Harold brings news I must hear; he
+won't tell me unless I promise to let him walk home with me. Do you
+mind, father?"
+
+"Certainly not. I'll take Elder Jones home--if I can persuade him to
+ride on Sunday," the Judge added in a whisper.
+
+"Very well, then. Good-by, father," said Florence, moving toward the
+door.
+
+"Good-by, children. It's a hot day, so don't hurry. If you want to stop
+under the willows to rest, I sha'n't mind, and I'll wait lunch for you.
+Don't forget to move up to the house, Harold."
+
+"Thank you, Judge," said Harold, "but as I leave in the morning, I don't
+believe I had better bother you."
+
+"Nonsense, my boy," called the Judge. "I'll send down for your traps
+this afternoon."
+
+When Florence and Harold reached the street, the congregation had mostly
+dispersed. Instead of following the villagers along under the shady elms
+into the heart of the village, they turned to the left, and tramped in
+the hot sun toward the shore of the little lake which lay at the end of
+the town. Judge Moreland's place was on the opposite bank, and although
+the grey tower on the north wing of the house, rising above the
+surrounding oak trees, seemed quite near, they were obliged to follow
+the road for a mile and a half along the lake shore. About half way was
+a clump of willow trees growing by the water, under whose shade they had
+often stopped to rest. Florence and Harold both loved this little lake,
+sunk like a gem amid the rough setting of the mountain crags, and they
+both felt, instinctively, that they did not care to talk much until they
+reached their old haunt under the willows. Even Florence forgot her
+curiosity, and as she walked beside Harold over the road they had so
+often tramped together, she seemed to forget that he had been away, and
+that at their last meeting in distant Chicago so much that was
+unpleasant had occurred. Here in the New Hampshire mountains all seemed
+so different; she felt freed from the tainted atmosphere of the city
+which had made her restless and uncertain in mind. Florence had not
+forgotten her last words with Harold in Chicago; indeed she had thought
+of them over and over again, during the long months that had passed
+since that interview; the unpleasant episode at the Renaissance Club was
+also seldom absent from her mind; but to-day it all seemed to have faded
+quietly from her heart. Harold had come into church so silently, and it
+seemed so natural to be walking by his side, that she was carried back
+to the years before she went to Europe, when, still a child, she used to
+romp and play with him over these same New Hampshire hills.
+
+They reached the willows, and Florence sat down on the green turf and
+leaned her back against a tree. She took off her hat and let the breeze
+cool her temples, while Harold, stretched out on the bank beside her,
+lay for a while resting upon his elbow, and carelessly watching the
+pebbles, he threw from time to time, skip lightly from ripple to ripple
+and finally sink from sight. The sunlight danced on the gently ruffled
+surface of the water; in the distance the bold side of a mountain rose
+abruptly above the lake, its rough outlines standing out sharply in
+relief against the clear blue of the sky; and the little white
+farmhouses, perched here and there high up on its slopes, glistened in
+the sunshine.
+
+They sat there enjoying the scene, until Florence seemed to awaken, as
+from a pleasant dream, and feel all her troubled thoughts come rudely
+back to her. She remembered that Harold had come from the distant city
+in the West and had not yet told her the meaning of his unexpected
+visit. "We must not dream on forever, Harold," she said, as he lazily
+sent another pebble skipping from wave to wave; "you have not yet told
+me the nature of the message you have brought."
+
+Harold slightly shifted his position and, resting his head on his hand,
+looked up into her face with a surprised expression, as though he, too,
+had forgotten the present and was startled at being called back to it.
+"I brought a command for you to return to Chicago," he said, smiling.
+
+"A command from whom?" she asked in astonishment.
+
+"Here it is," he answered, reaching into his pocket and producing a
+letter which he handed to Florence.
+
+It was addressed in Marion Sanderson's hand. Florence hastily broke the
+seal and read as follows:
+
+"DEAREST FLORENCE:--
+
+"I have never forgiven you for your sudden flight last winter, and the
+offense is of such long standing that I summon you to appear in Chicago
+before Derby Day to answer a charge of infidelity to me. You will be
+imprisoned here for at least one month,--longer if possible,--and I
+charge Mr. Wainwright with the execution of this warrant. In other
+words, dearest girl, I cannot live any longer without seeing you, and
+must have you here for a visit. Pack up and come immediately, as the
+Derby is a great 'function' here, and is run on the twenty-first of
+June.
+
+    "With a world of love,
+        "I am, your devoted
+                "MARION."
+
+"Did you come all the way from Chicago to bring me this?" Florence
+asked, after she had finished the letter.
+
+Harold was sitting up now, and looking into her face he said quietly: "I
+came to tell you again that I love you."
+
+Florence felt a sudden emotion thrill her heart, but a doubtful
+expression came into her eyes as she glanced down and said slowly: "You
+forget what happened the day before I left Chicago."
+
+Harold smiled. He took her hand and held it firmly between his own. "I
+remember that you are the bravest girl in the world," he said, "and
+that, to save a friend, you accused yourself."
+
+"You don't know that," said Florence anxiously.
+
+"I know that nothing could make me believe you did wrong, for you are
+incapable of it." Then he added earnestly: "I know, too, that I love you
+better than my life."
+
+Florence looked up into his face and he must have read her answer in
+those gentle, brown eyes, for, without waiting for her to speak, he drew
+her to his side and kissed her on both cheeks. "I love you, I love you,"
+he repeated, as he held her tightly in his strong arms; "but I must hear
+love spoken by those dear lips."
+
+"I love you, Harold," she said, and the words made his heart leap with
+happiness.
+
+"Then why were you so cruel to me last winter?" he asked reproachfully.
+
+"I did not know it then," she answered. "It was not until I left the
+smoky city and came away into the free country air that I knew I cared
+for you, Harold, dear."
+
+"I wondered you cared for me at all," he replied laughingly. "We had
+been friends so long that it was strange for me to speak of love."
+
+"Yes; I always believed that love was some giant who crushes one by his
+mighty power," she said, "and I found he was a little rascal who stole
+into my heart before I knew he was anywhere about. But, O, Harold, I am
+so happy now."
+
+She rested her head on his shoulder and looked up into his face again.
+He kissed her, and, as he did so, the wind caught Marion Sanderson's
+note lying in her lap, and carried it out onto the lake, where, resting
+on the water, it sailed slowly away toward the western shore. Harold saw
+it and asked what message it bore from her to Marion.
+
+"I had forgotten the note," she answered. "It makes me think of that
+woman and the danger poor Marion was in. I had better not go to
+Chicago," she said, after a moment's thought.
+
+"Why not, sweet one?" asked Harold.
+
+"Because of that woman. She would say such things about me."
+
+Harold smiled. "Don't you think they would have been said long ago, if
+she had intended saying them?" he asked.
+
+"Perhaps she did say them, though I have heard nothing, and one usually
+hears the unpleasant things that are said of one."
+
+"I know you have heard nothing, dear," he replied, "and I know you never
+will."
+
+"You forget what I admitted to her, and you don't know what a spiteful
+woman is capable of."
+
+"I know Mrs. McSeeney," he said.
+
+"And you think that she can be trusted? I am surprised at you, Harold."
+
+"I think she is the last woman in the world I would trust," he replied.
+
+"Then what do you mean?" she asked.
+
+"Mrs. McSeeney and I are old acquaintances. I think I can answer for
+her."
+
+"You speak in enigmas, Harold, and you ought not to keep any secrets
+from me, you know."
+
+"I don't think you had better ask to know more," he said laughingly.
+
+"But I do," she answered.
+
+"Then I obey. Mrs. McSeeney and I were at Bar Harbor the same summer. I
+got to know her very well, perhaps better than she liked."
+
+"Well, what has that to do with the affair in Chicago?" Florence asked
+impatiently.
+
+"Nothing much except that Mrs. McSeeney thinks it would be wise never to
+mention it."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I can't tell you. It is a secret between Mrs. McSeeney and myself."
+
+"Harold Wainwright," she said, in a tone of authority that startled him,
+"I forbid you to have any secrets from me."
+
+"Well," replied Harold, "if you command me to tell more, I must admit
+that Mrs. McSeeney and I had a confidential talk directly after it
+happened, and I persuaded her that she had better not mention the matter
+again."
+
+"You persuaded her? How ridiculous! You must have threatened her with
+something. What was it?"
+
+"I merely asked her if she remembered a certain evening at Bar Harbor
+when there was a _fête_ at the Canoe Club."
+
+"Well, what of it? I don't see anything unusual in that."
+
+"I can't tell you more; only when I reminded her of that evening she
+acknowledged that it would be discreet for her to remain silent
+concerning you and Marion Sanderson. You see I happened accidentally to
+observe some of Mrs. McSeeney's actions on that occasion, and,
+considering that you were in her power, I felt justified in informing
+her of the fact."
+
+"Then it was you who saved Marion and me from her spiteful tongue," said
+Florence in a relieved tone. "You don't know how grateful I am, and how
+I have worried over that matter."
+
+"You need worry no longer, my girl," replied Harold. "But I must tell
+you again how plucky you were to try to save your friend in the way you
+did, and now let's forget all about it."
+
+"Yes, dear," said Florence fondly. "We have pleasanter things to think
+of."
+
+"'Tis true, my darling," he replied, taking both of her hands in his.
+"To-day you have made me the happiest man in the world. Do you know why
+I love you?"
+
+"No; why?"
+
+"Because you have so much common sense."
+
+Florence smiled. "I never showed it until I began to love you," she
+replied; "but what time do you suppose it is? Just think of poor papa
+waiting all this time."
+
+"Only to find he has lost his best possession," answered Harold.
+
+Judge Moreland was sitting in the library when they reached the house,
+and although he had been waiting patiently for nearly an hour since the
+servant had announced luncheon, he did not seem ill-humored, for, on
+seeing the delinquents enter, he smiled good-humoredly, and shook his
+head with mock disapproval, as he said: "Three-quarters of an hour late,
+children. That is more than I bargained for, but you will be punished.
+The luncheon is cold and you will be compelled to eat it without
+grumbling."
+
+Harold took Florence's hand and they both stood before the Judge; then
+Harold said penitently: "The fault is mine, sir, but I have a greater
+sin to answer for. I have robbed you of your daughter, and I come to ask
+your clemency."
+
+"I think I understand," answered the Judge. "Yours is a very grave
+offense, and the only way you can obtain pardon is by seeking benefit of
+clergy. Florence, my girl, come here and let me kiss you. You have made
+me very happy."
+
+"Happy," echoed Florence, "I feared you would never forgive me."
+
+"Not forgive you for loving the son of Judge Wainwright? He was my best
+friend and his son will make my daughter the best husband in the world.
+Give me your hand, Harold," he continued, after he had kissed Florence
+affectionately, "you are your father's own boy."
+
+"That is the best compliment you could pay me," answered Harold.
+
+"I know it is, and you know I mean it when I say I expect to see you on
+the federal bench yourself some day."
+
+"Luncheon is getting cold, sir," said the old family butler, coming into
+the room and looking far from amiable.
+
+"Let it wait, Thomas," said the Judge, "until you can get a bottle of
+champagne up from the cellar. We have some healths to drink to-day,
+haven't we, children?"
+
+That evening the little church was lighted up for evening service, and
+again the rustling of fans ceased, and heads were turned around as
+Florence and Harold took their seats. But Harold's eyes were no longer
+directed toward the pew in front of him, and the doctor's daughter
+remarked that the two people in front of her stood unnecessarily close
+to each other during the hymns, while the postmaster's wife made up her
+mind that people who "smirk and look so silly durin' meetin' must be
+sparkin'." In fact the homely folk of Fairville were not slow of
+perception; many were the gossiping heads put together that night, and
+it was a curious coincidence that there was no dissenting voice in
+regard to the probability of a certain event having taken place that
+afternoon.
+
+Going home that night, Florence and Harold walked with the tarrying step
+of lovers, but the Judge was not waiting luncheon, and, as the evening
+was warm and bright, they rested again under the willows, watching the
+moonlight play on the ripples of the lake. They were planning for the
+future, and many were the rosy tinted castles reared in that soft night
+air under the shade of the trees they loved so well. The moon shone
+kindly over the mountain top at the farther end of the lake, and the
+waves plashed softly on the pebbles at their feet, as Florence sat there
+with her head resting on Harold's shoulder, dreaming the sweetest dream
+of life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+UNREST.
+
+
+The sun was streaming through the Sanderson's library window, and the
+curtains were fluttering in the soft lake breeze which blew through the
+open casement. Across the driveway a policeman was chatting with a trim
+nursery maid, and two or three loungers were leaning over the sea wall,
+watching the blue water splash lazily against the grey stones. The white
+sails of the lake craft in the offing glistened in the sunshine, and the
+smoke from the steamers settled along the horizon in long black streaks,
+while the passing of an occasional vehicle along the driveway produced a
+little cloud of dust, which for a moment obscured the view, and then was
+carried away by the summer breeze and scattered along the roadway. The
+atmosphere had the hazy hue peculiar to one of those first warm days of
+early summer, when the air seems charged with lassitude, and one is
+overpowered with a depressing sense of _ennui_, which precludes the
+possibility of any sort of action.
+
+Marion Sanderson and Florence Moreland were there in the library, trying
+to keep cool and talking over the events of the past six months. Marion
+was stretched on a lounge with an Eau-de-Cologne bandage bound about her
+forehead to relieve the _migraine_ from which she was suffering, and
+Florence sat beside her, plying a palm-leaf fan and trying to amuse her
+friend by accounts of the small doings of her life in New Hampshire.
+
+"So you think I must have had a stupid winter," said Florence, in answer
+to Marion's last remark.
+
+"I am sure of it. You had much better have remained here with me."
+
+"You are very inconsistent," laughed Florence. "Last minute you said
+Chicago was the dullest place you knew anything about."
+
+"I meant dull in comparison with London or New York. It is certainly
+better than a place where life is made up of prayer meetings and snow
+banks."
+
+"I am glad you are beginning to appreciate the advantages of your home,"
+said Florence.
+
+"Don't chaff me, Florence. I can't bear it. I am too nervous. I wish you
+had this headache for five minutes and perhaps you would feel sorrier
+for me."
+
+"Why, my dear, I do feel sorry for you; isn't there anything I can do?"
+
+"No; Dr. Maccanfrae is coming this morning and I suppose he will give me
+a lot of stuff, but it won't do me any good. I have taken every known
+medicine this winter, and I have had this headache every day for months.
+I can't eat anything. I can't sleep, and I am tired and bored all the
+time. The Doctor calls it neurasthenia, but I don't know what good it
+does to put such a big name to it, when he can't do me any good."
+
+"There must be something that will help you," said Florence.
+
+"Of course there is. If I could go somewhere else to live I know I
+should feel better. What I need is some new distraction, but how can I
+have that in this stupid town?" Then she was silent for awhile and
+during that time she thought of the few days last winter when a new
+element had come into her life only to vanish as quickly again. She
+thought of a ball-room, an exciting dance, and the magnetic impulse of a
+moment which had made life seem so sweet. Why had she resisted that
+temptation, she asked herself. The other course could not have made her
+more unhappy, and it, at least, was no more a mockery than her present
+life, with that love still burning fiercely to the wild accompaniment of
+Tzigan strains, echoing in her heart. "What is the use of being good?"
+she asked herself. Then she smiled a mocking answer, turned over on the
+lounge and buried her face in the cushions.
+
+Florence watched Marion anxiously for a moment. She was extremely
+worried about the state of nervous depression in which she had found her
+friend on returning to Chicago, and she was trying to think of some way
+in which she could help her. She leaned over her and slowly stroked her
+rich black hair. Marion looked up and smiled faintly. Then she seized
+Florence's hand and began to sob nervously. "You love me, don't you
+Florence; you love me, don't you?" she said between the sobs.
+
+"You don't need to ask that, Marion."
+
+"I know it," she replied; "I think you are the only person in the world
+who understands me, the only person who loves me."
+
+"You are wrong in that, my dear, I am sure."
+
+"No, I am not," she moaned. "I want love, I must have love. O, I can't
+live without it!"
+
+Florence stroked Marion's head again, and tried to soothe her hysterical
+sobbing. "Dear," she said softly, "there is one man who would die for
+you if it would bring you happiness. I am sure of it."
+
+Marion turned her head away and did not reply. Florence felt pity for
+her friend's unhappy state of mind, which she considered was, in a great
+measure, self-produced, but she knew it was useless to talk to Marion
+about her husband, as she was a woman who could not be influenced by
+persuasive words. Florence wanted to help her friend to understand the
+danger she was in, but she could not see a way which promised success;
+so, thinking that the best course was to divert her mind from herself,
+she took Marion's hand and said cheerfully, "I have a secret to tell
+you, dear, but you must sit up and look pleased."
+
+"I hope it is interesting," said Marion somewhat mournfully. "I haven't
+heard a secret for months."
+
+"Guess what it is."
+
+"Is it an engagement?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Whose?"
+
+"Guess."
+
+"I can't. You must tell me immediately. I am dying to know," answered
+Marion, brightening considerably.
+
+"It is mine."
+
+"You horrid creature," said Marion, sitting up and hurling one of the
+sofa cushions at Florence.
+
+"That is a novel way to treat a friend at such a time," Florence said as
+she dodged the pillow.
+
+"You are an awful girl not to tell me before. How could you be in the
+house since yesterday and not say anything? I suppose Harold Wainwright
+is the man, but I don't much care who he is. You are a provoking
+creature," and she emphasized her remarks by throwing another cushion
+which hit wide of the mark, and sent some books spinning off the library
+table onto the floor.
+
+Marion was over her depression now, and, jumping up, she threw her arms
+about Florence and kissed her, saying: "Sit down, dear, and tell me all
+about it. When did it happen? When is it going to be announced? When are
+you going to be married? I always felt you would marry him. Who are you
+going to have for bridesmaids?"
+
+Florence laughed at Marion's multitude of questions. "You dear girl,"
+she said, kissing her, "I am glad I made you smile again; but I can
+answer only one of those questions. It happened last Sunday at
+Fairville."
+
+"And you didn't tell me until now! O, I will pay you up for this. But
+come, let's talk it all over and decide about the wedding and the
+bridesmaids."
+
+A servant entered the room and announced "Dr. Maccanfrae." Marion and
+Florence hurriedly assumed different positions and adjusted their
+ruffled hair. Then the kind face of the philanthropic physician appeared
+in the doorway.
+
+"How do I find my patient this morning?" said the Doctor, coming toward
+the window where they were seated.
+
+"Better, I hope," said Florence, turning round.
+
+"Miss Moreland!" exclaimed the Doctor in astonishment. "I thought you
+were somewhere in the White Mountains."
+
+"No; I came back yesterday," she continued as he shook her hand. "I
+thought you needed a nurse for your patient."
+
+"Nurse and remedy combined, for you are the best cure I could prescribe
+for Mrs. Sanderson."
+
+"You are very flattering, Doctor. Under your advice I shall try to do my
+best, but, if you will excuse me, I shall run away and do some
+unpacking." Saying this, Florence left her seat, and, bidding the Doctor
+good-by, walked toward the door. As she was leaving the room she called
+to him, asking when he would give her another lecture on pantheism.
+
+"I fear if I do I shall have to suffer for the sin of corrupting the
+heart of a Puritan," said the Doctor.
+
+"A Puritan is always fortified against Satan's wiles," she answered
+laughingly, as she stopped in the doorway, "and, besides, my
+grandfathers, for six generations, were ministers."
+
+"A case of the transmission of the original sin, I suppose," answered
+the Doctor, as she retired through the door. "And how is my patient
+to-day?" he repeated, as Florence's laughter died away and her steps
+were heard hurrying up the stairs.
+
+"I don't think I am a bit better," said Marion somewhat mournfully,
+having relapsed into her former state in the presence of the Doctor.
+After adjusting the cloth on her aching head, she continued: "I have no
+animation or ambition; I have these frightful nervous pains and
+headaches; my appetite is all gone; nothing seems to amuse me any more,
+and I lie here all day long feeling utterly wretched. In the evening I
+manage to develop animation enough to take me out, and, for a while, I
+forget myself, but when it is over I feel worse than ever. Oh, Doctor,
+what is the matter with me?"
+
+Dr. Maccanfrae looked at Marion a moment as though hesitating to answer
+her question, then, feeling her pulse, he replied: "Mrs. Sanderson,
+there is nothing the matter with you."
+
+"What do you mean, Doctor?" said Marion somewhat angrily. "Do you
+suppose I don't know how I feel?"
+
+"When I say there is nothing the matter with you, I mean you have no
+organic disease. You are simply suffering from the fashionable complaint
+of nervous depression, or neurasthenia, as we physicians call it. Almost
+every woman in your station in life has it sooner or later. It is
+nothing but a symptom, but it may grow into a great many worse things."
+
+"Well, why don't you cure me then, if it is nothing?" remarked Marion in
+a provoked manner.
+
+The Doctor looked at her a moment; then he asked slowly, but with an
+emphasis which seemed to carry a hidden meaning: "Do you want to get
+well, Mrs. Sanderson?"
+
+Marion looked up somewhat startled. "Why do you ask such a question?"
+she replied.
+
+"Because you produced the disease yourself, and you alone can cure it."
+
+"You are positively rude, Doctor."
+
+"I know I should ask pardon for my brusqueness, but I am your physician,
+and I desire to see you well again. The only way that can be
+accomplished is for you to take the case in your own hands."
+
+"I don't understand, Doctor."
+
+"I take a sincere interest in you and your husband. If you will let me
+talk to you as a friend, and will take my advice, I hope I may do you
+much good; but if I am to remain the physician and must confine myself
+to writing prescriptions for worthless drugs, I fear the improvement
+will be slow."
+
+"Go on, Doctor. I promise to listen," said Marion, prompted more by a
+curiosity to hear his advice than by a resolution to follow it.
+
+"I may say some very plain things. Will you promise to take them in the
+friendly way in which they are meant?"
+
+"Go on, Doctor. I shall not get angry, I promise you."
+
+The Doctor leaned forward and said, in a more sympathetic manner: "Mrs.
+Sanderson, every physician whose patients are drawn from the classes we
+call society has to deal with scores of cases precisely like yours. One
+of us will administer bromides; another will feed his patients on
+extract of beef; another will use electricity; another will recommend
+massage, and so on. But all these remedies are fruitless except in so
+far as they assist the sufferer to believe that she is improving, or
+afford some temporary relief. The disease, if so I may term a depressed
+state of the nervous system, is caused by the habits of the patient, and
+can only be cured by changing those habits."
+
+"I am not dissipated," said Marion somewhat resentfully.
+
+"I did not say that, Mrs. Sanderson, but if you desire to get well you
+must completely change your mode of life."
+
+"What must I do?"
+
+"I fear you will only laugh when I tell you, and call me a silly old
+fool."
+
+"No, I sha'n't; I promise."
+
+"You must go to bed before eleven every night. You must be up by
+half-past seven. You must walk or ride every morning, drink no wine,
+tea, or coffee, eat plain food, and read no novels. You must develop an
+interest in your household affairs, get a wholesome occupation for every
+hour of the day, and take no more medicine. When you feel a headache go
+into the fresh air; when you feel depressed, throw the mood off by
+finding some work to do."
+
+"But, Doctor, I had almost sooner die than do all that. I could never
+live in such a routine of the commonplace."
+
+"I know that is very hard, but perhaps it is not all," said the Doctor.
+"You have no children, Mrs. Sanderson."
+
+"No, thank heaven. I am worried enough without that."
+
+"Unfortunately we are confronted in this world with a certain amount of
+worry. I think experience proves that it is better to accept the worries
+nature intended than to create worse ones by trying to circumvent her.
+However, I see you weary of my preaching. Think it over until Monday,
+and then I shall give you some more advice provided you think your
+nerves can bear it."
+
+"You are just as bad as Dr. Thompson."
+
+"Only I have no choir boys and spring bonnets to attract an audience,"
+replied the Doctor, rising to leave. Then he continued in a different
+tone: "I trust you will pardon what I have said, and even if you don't
+follow my disagreeable _régime_, I want you to feel that I gave you the
+best advice that I could."
+
+The Doctor bade her good-by, and when he was gone she buried her face in
+the pillows and thought over what he had said. "I never could do all
+that," she thought; "besides, he is a perfect crank on fresh air and
+diet. If I thought Roswell would let me, I would go to someone else. I
+think he is too old to be up with the times, and Mrs. Smythe says Dr.
+Wimbleton is a perfect dear and helped her from the first day she went
+to him. O, my poor head, how it does ache!" she called out, half
+expecting sympathy from the oak book-shelves and the bric-a-brac; then
+she turned over nervously and continued her restless thinking. "I wish I
+were dead," she moaned. "So little comes into my life that living it is
+scarcely worth the trouble. If there were only someone to bring me
+sympathy. If I could only forget those days when, for a few moments, I
+felt as other women feel."
+
+Florence came into the room again and Marion, hearing her step, looked
+up. "Is it you?" she said.
+
+"Yes," answered Florence; "I heard the Doctor go out so I thought I
+would come back. What did he say?"
+
+"O, a lot of nonsense which I really did not listen to. He ought to do
+more to cure me and talk less. In fact, I think his personality
+exasperates me, and I am afraid I shall have to change physicians if I
+want to get any better."
+
+"Poor Dr. Maccanfrae," said Florence. "He is the dearest, kindest, best
+intentioned man in the world. Think of the good he does among the poor."
+
+"O, I know all about that, but that's no reason why he should lecture me
+like a child about going to bed early and taking exercise."
+
+"Perhaps he believes more in such medicine than in drugs. Don't you
+think yourself that it is some such _régime_ that you need?"
+
+"Don't you begin to lecture me, too," said Marion, with a sigh. "Life
+is hard enough without your making it worse."
+
+"I shall not lecture you, I promise, but," she continued, taking
+Marion's hands and pulling her up from the lounge, "as your nurse, I
+must see that you have a change. Come, tell me what are the plans for
+to-day."
+
+"Why, there's the luncheon at Mrs. Ryder's."
+
+"Good, and what else?"
+
+"Why, we dine at the Beemers' to-night."
+
+"And to-morrow?"
+
+"We go to the races on Walter Sedger's drag, and dine at the Washington
+Park Club."
+
+"Is your husband going?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"How does he leave his business?"
+
+"I make him."
+
+"Very well, then this morning before luncheon we take a walk as far as
+Lincoln Park."
+
+"I can't walk that far, Florence."
+
+"You are going to walk that far," said Florence, authoritatively. "I am
+your nurse, and I insist upon it."
+
+"But I shall be ill all day."
+
+"Never mind, you will get over it this afternoon when we read some
+Thackeray, and to-morrow morning you and I will do the marketing."
+
+"You are crazy, Florence, I do believe."
+
+"I never was more sane in my life. Come, I am in earnest. You would have
+me here, you know, and I shall make myself so disagreeable that you will
+be thankful when I am gone."
+
+"O, Florence, how can you be so rough?" said Marion, as Florence dragged
+her toward the door.
+
+"There, now," said Florence, after they had passed into the hall, "go
+and put on your hat. I brought mine with me."
+
+"Just think of the heat, Florence," said Marion as she disappeared up
+the stairs.
+
+In a few minutes Marion returned looking brighter already, Florence
+thought, and the two women were soon strolling along the lake shore
+talking over the countless trivialities women find to talk about, and at
+tea-time, after a day of Florence's nursing, Marion was forced to admit
+that she had passed an unusually cheerful day. Roswell Sanderson came in
+just as they were finishing tea, and after taking a seat and declining
+a cup of the beverage, he said in a careless manner: "By the way,
+Marion, an old friend of yours came into the bank just before I left."
+
+"Who?" asked Marion.
+
+"That New Yorker, Duncan Grahame."
+
+Marion felt a sudden sinking in her heart and was conscious that the
+color was fading from her cheeks, but she took a large swallow of tea
+and tried to look unconcerned. Florence watched Roswell's face closely
+and saw the same expression come into his eyes which she had noticed
+that afternoon at the Renaissance Club tea.
+
+"When did he come?" asked Marion, after a moment.
+
+"This morning on the 'Limited'. He has been in England all winter. You
+will see him to-morrow, as he told me Sedger had asked him on his
+coach."
+
+"What fate has brought him back again?" thought Marion.
+
+Roswell Sanderson was silent for a moment, then he came toward his wife.
+Taking a seat beside her, he asked tenderly if she remembered what day
+it was; then he took a package from his pocket which he dropped into her
+lap.
+
+"Why, it's the anniversary of our wedding. I had quite forgotten it."
+
+Florence had left the room a moment before, so that they were alone.
+Marion untied the parcel in her lap, and found that it was a case
+containing a string of pearls. She looked up into her husband's face and
+kissed him, and a feeling of shame came into her heart. She saw a love
+in his eyes which she could not return, and she prayed that he might
+find the means to make her love him. This thought was in her heart only
+for a moment, then she was playing with the pearls, and wondering again
+why Duncan had come back into her life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+DERBY DAY.
+
+
+A small crowd was collected in front of the Hotel Mazarin, and its
+proportions were gradually being swelled by passing Saturday loungers.
+Walter Sedger's drag, drawn up in front of the hotel to receive his
+party for the races, was the attraction which drew together this
+inquisitive throng, and in spite of the expression of superior
+indifference assumed by most of the men and boys composing the crowd, it
+was easy to see that the red-wheeled coach, with its smart team of
+browns, was an object of more than passing interest. A park policeman
+was exchanging a word or two in a knowing manner with the stolid Briton
+in boots and breeches at the leaders' heads, and near him a
+slouch-hatted veteran, wearing a Grand Army badge, was talking
+condescendingly with an ice-man. A large cake of ice, which had been
+carried thus far on its way to the hotel bar, was slowly melting in the
+sun, and little streams of water flowed from it and trickled into the
+gutter; but the veteran and the ice-man still gazed at the shining
+panels of the drag, and eyed the "cattle" with the air of connoisseurs,
+while a butcher's boy with his white apron and basket of meat, and a
+German carpenter with his kit of tools, stood there stolidly, intent
+upon remaining until the show was over. A diminutive Italian boot-black,
+still attired in the rags of his native Naples, had crowded to the curb
+and was standing in front of two Norwegian sailors; just behind them was
+a party of Bohemian laborers, and a peddler from sunny Sicily touched
+elbows with a mortar-covered mason from Erin's shores, while some
+cadaverous clerks from the State Street shops, radiant in the ready-made
+attire of assumed gentility, were there, helping to swell this crowd of
+perhaps a hundred loungers. They were all citizen of the great Republic,
+and though few could speak intelligently the language of their adopted
+home, probably most of them, in their hearts, resented the appearance on
+the Chicago streets of this English coach as something unAmerican, for
+which "them doods" on the Avenue were responsible.
+
+The hands of the hotel clock indicated that the hour was nearing two.
+The thin-faced veteran in the slouch hat plunged his hands deeper into
+his trousers' pockets, and, turning his head to a critical angle, said
+patronizingly to the ice-man: "Them's the things they calls
+'tally-ho's.'" The ice-man rolled his shirt-sleeves a little higher
+above his elbows, folded his brawny arms and replied, in the accent of
+the Teuton, "I dink dot vas it."
+
+"Them swells likes to show off mighty well. Wonder what that machine
+cost," answered the veteran. But before the ice-man could reply, a
+messenger boy at his side shouted out, "Golly! there goes another of
+them 'busses," and the attention of the crowd was attracted toward the
+street, where Jack Elliot's coach, with its team of roans, was passing
+along the Avenue, bearing a party to the races.
+
+"I wish that chap in the white pants'd toot his horn," said the
+messenger boy; but Jack Elliot was a coaching man who did not believe
+in arousing the neighborhood with useless music, so the wish was not
+gratified.
+
+While the attention of the crowd was thus diverted, Sedger and his
+friends emerged from the hotel. The party was composed of Marion and her
+husband, Florence Moreland, Harold Wainwright, a Mrs. Smith from
+Cincinnati, and Walter Sedger. They had been lunching in the restaurant
+of the hotel, and on reaching the sidewalk they at first found some
+difficulty in pushing their way toward the coach; but on seeing them the
+smart park policeman on duty officiously pushed the crowd back and made
+a way for them.
+
+"I can't wait for Grahame any longer," Sedger was saying to Mrs.
+Sanderson. "He couldn't lunch with us, and I told him to be here at
+half-past one. It's a quarter to two, and we shall miss the first race."
+
+"Don't wait for him, then," said Marion, thinking this was the only
+thing to be said, but feeling an inward disappointment at the thought
+that Duncan might not see her in her white crepon gown, with its gold
+corselet and braided trimmings, just sent her by Mrs. Mason of
+Burlington Street, London, W. She knew it was becoming, and she also
+liked her Virot hat, but she didn't think it wise to put Sedger in an
+ill-humor by asking him to wait, so she walked silently to where a groom
+was holding a ladder against the box-seat. Meanwhile Sedger passed round
+to his off side wheeler and picked up his reins. Assorting them in
+correct road fashion he mounted to his seat, wrapped a light driving
+apron about his legs, picked up his whip, caught the lash in a double
+thong, and waited while his party took their places. Marion mounted to
+the box seat and the rest took the longer seat behind. Just as Sedger
+was about to start his team, Marion, who had been constantly looking in
+the direction in which Duncan should appear, saw him hastening around
+the corner of Jackson Street. "There is Mr. Grahame," she called out,
+and while Duncan was hurrying along the street, Roswell Sanderson
+suggested that he and Wainwright had better change to the back seat, so
+as to give Duncan an opportunity of seeing something of the city.
+
+Duncan came up almost breathless from his rapid walking, and after
+exchanging a hurried greeting with the party, mounted to the seat
+beside Florence left vacant by Harold Wainwright. "Let 'em go," Sedger
+called to the grooms. The lead bars rattled, the leaders pranced as the
+grooms jumped from their heads, the wheelers sprang into their collars,
+and the coach rolled off down the Avenue.
+
+It was a bright June day, and all Chicago seemed to be in the long,
+tree-lined boulevard which stretched away to the south. Hundreds of
+vehicles of every description known to the coach-builder's craft were
+rolling over the hard macadam pavement, bearing people to the races, and
+in this motley array were to be found all sorts and conditions of men
+and carriages. Buggies and express wagons, stanhopes and butcher carts,
+mail-phaetons and road-carts, char-à-bancs and extension tops, victorias
+and "hacks," coaches and omnibuses, aristocracy and democracy scattered
+the same dust and rolled toward the same goal. Only the road to Epsom
+can present a scene more varied than this; only the Champs Élysées
+excels the noble avenue down which Walter Sedger tooled his team of
+browns.
+
+"It is a pleasure to live on such a day, with four such horses to drive
+behind, isn't it, Mr. Grahame?" asked Florence, as the coach rolled past
+the Auditorium, and the team settled down to their work.
+
+"I am surprised you think so," answered Duncan, with a bantering
+expression in his eyes.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I don't see how you reconcile so Anglican an institution as a
+drag with your patriotic sentiments."
+
+"You forget that George Washington hunted, and had his clothes made in
+London."
+
+"Then I am to infer that the highest type of patriot is he who rides to
+hounds and gets his coats on Hanover or Conduit Street."
+
+"You are to infer that the highest type of patriot is not he who
+blusters sectional prejudice from under the shade of a slouch hat, but
+he who is sufficiently liberal to combine foreign excellencies with
+native virtues."
+
+"You have a flow of expression which would do credit to a campaign
+orator," laughed Duncan. "For my part I don't believe in patriotism, at
+least in the sentimental sense of the word. Patriotism is a compound of
+pride and jealousy. Eliminate these two factors, to use an algebraic
+expression, and nothing remains."
+
+"I fear we shall never agree on such questions," said Florence, anxious
+not to enter into a useless argument with Duncan.
+
+"Perhaps, after all, it is my fault," answered Duncan with an expression
+of sadness in his eyes which seemed strange to Florence. "I wish I might
+believe in noble sentiment, but a man who has had his wings clipped in
+Wall Street is not the chap for sentiment."
+
+"Perhaps you will change your mind one day," answered Florence.
+
+"It would only take one example of true sentiment to convert me," said
+Duncan gravely. "Well," he added, after a moment, "there may be rough
+spots in a worldly life, but there is no dullness, and, after all, that
+is what most of us try to avoid. While the sparkle lasts life is sweet,
+but when it is gone one might as well give up the fight."
+
+Mrs. Smith of Cincinnati interrupted them by asking Florence if she knew
+what the large, brick building on the left was.
+
+"That is the Calumet Club," Florence answered, and then they subsided,
+for a moment, into silence.
+
+Approaching Grand Boulevard the crowd of vehicles became denser, and the
+coaching party found much to amuse them. Sedger pointed his leaders
+around the corner of Thirty-fifth Street, and the coach swayed and
+rocked as the four browns dashed around the turn into the short
+cross-street. The horn was sounded to warn the street cars of their
+approach, and then, after a passing glance of horses, coach, and party,
+reflected in the broad shop windows of the street, another corner was
+turned, and they were rolling along the broad boulevard leading to
+Washington Park. Sedger was late, and, anxious to be in time for the
+first race, he sent his lash under the lead bars, and touched the off
+leader a clip on the legs which made him jump into his collar in quick
+order. The team all caught the inspiration of the lash, the pace was
+quickened, and the great vehicle rumbled on past the small fry of the
+road, quickly measuring off the two miles or more of straight avenue
+stretching away toward the park. The party on the drag laughed and
+talked, and occasionally glanced at the quickly changing scene. Soon the
+coach was rolling past the great, green meadow of the park so English in
+its aspect, and then, after passing a bit of lake where hundreds of
+holiday seekers were now stretched in the cool shade of the shrubs on
+its banks, rattled down the little incline which leads to the Club House
+road. The strains of band-music came over the bit of level ground and
+the party could see the great Grand Stand crowded with its ten thousand
+spectators. By its side was the Club House, standing on a rise of ground
+skirted by lawns and flower-beds, its two verandas filled with people,
+and the driveway in front crowded with arriving vehicles.
+
+Sedger urged his team to a gallop, and the horses scampered through the
+lodge-gate and up the little hill to the Club House, where he brought
+them up "all standing." The people on the veranda crowded forward to see
+the coaching party, while Sedger and his guests descended, and the
+coachman drove the steaming horses off to the stables. Scores of smart
+traps followed the drag up to the club steps, and the party stopped a
+moment to view the brilliant scene. Sleek horses and polished brass,
+neat liveries and shining panels, bright gowns and gay parasols, moved
+in seemingly endless succession to the accompanying music of champing
+bits and the restless pawing of countless hoofs. After watching the
+changing throng for a moment, Sedger and his party walked through the
+Club House to the veranda facing the course, which they found filled
+with members and their friends. On the enclosed lawn before them people
+were sitting in chairs, or walking up and down. Considering this the
+best place to view the sport, they placed seats on the green turf and
+sat down in the shade of the Club House.
+
+"A capital course this," said Duncan to Marion, as he glanced across the
+turf-covered enclosure filled with smartly dressed people to the track
+beyond, where a half dozen racers were taking their preliminary gallop.
+"I had no idea you had such a place as this in Chicago," he added, and
+then Sedger suggested that they go to the betting ring and see how the
+betting was.
+
+"Wait till after this race," put in Wainwright. "There go the horses to
+the post."
+
+"Well, if we can't play this race, we must have a hat pool," answered
+Sedger, who felt that not to have something on a race was to lose half
+the sport. "Let's see, there are just seven horses and seven of our
+party. Five dollars apiece for a flyer."
+
+No one objected, so Sedger wrote the seven numbers on little pieces of
+paper which he tore off his programme, and, shaking them up in his hat,
+he passed them about among his party.
+
+"What horse have you, Mrs. Sanderson?" asked Duncan as she drew her
+number from the hat.
+
+"Number seven," answered Marion, and Duncan looked at his card to see
+what horse it was. "Orion," he said, "and his colors are purple and
+white."
+
+"My husband's university colors; that ought to bring me luck."
+
+"Not on Orion, I am afraid," interrupted Sedger, who prided himself on
+his knowledge of the turf. "He was a 'twenty-to-one shot' in town last
+night, but I'll be generous and give you two dollars for him."
+
+"No, I prefer to keep him. Orion may prove a lucky star after all."
+
+"By Jove, they're off!" shouted Duncan, who had been watching the horses
+at the post on the other side of the course. They were all well bunched,
+the red flag dropped, and away they scampered on a five-furlong dash.
+
+"Orion's last, Mrs. Sanderson," called Sedger, who was following the
+race with a large pair of russet-leathered field-glasses. "Orion's last,
+but I'll give you a dollar for your chance."
+
+"Don't take it, Mrs. Sanderson, he's coming up," said Duncan, as the
+horses dashed around the first turn, scattering a cloud of dust behind
+them. Then the crowd in front of the Grand Stand began to surge and
+sway, and the sea of ten thousand hats was lashed to excitement. A
+murmur broke forth from the distant crowd as a mass of color and racers
+emerged from the dust and rushed down the home stretch; then the
+cheering grew louder and the hats swayed more furiously as the horses
+dashed on to the finish.
+
+"Look at Orion now," said Duncan, "he's a good second. By Jove, he
+wins!" he shouted, as the purple and white rushed to the front and won
+hands down by a neck. "I congratulate you, Mrs. Sanderson."
+
+"Who would have thought the brute could beat 'The Wizard' who sold at
+two to one on" said Sedger, and then he suggested that the men should go
+to the betting ring and play the Derby.
+
+Duncan turned to Marion and asked if she would not choose him a horse to
+play. "You are so lucky that I feel sure of winning," he added.
+
+"But I know nothing about the horses," remonstrated Marion.
+
+"Neither do I, so we have a fair chance."
+
+"Well, I choose Belle of Newport."
+
+"You think she ought to be fast, I suppose."
+
+"No, but the Marquis, who, Mr. Sedger says, is a favorite, will be sure
+to follow her."
+
+"Don't you play the Belle, Grahame," said Sedger, as he and Duncan left
+the ladies and wandered toward the Grand Stand. "Her owner told me last
+night that he is afraid she isn't fit."
+
+"Perhaps he intends playing her himself," laughed Duncan.
+
+Sedger and Duncan passed over the bridge connecting the Club House lawn
+with the Grand Stand, and were soon in the midst of the great crowd
+moving toward the betting-rooms. The sun beat down upon the heads of
+this army of enthusiasts, but, despite the heat, thousands of men
+crowded into the low room where scores of keen book-makers, with their
+coats off, were ranged in little booths, calling off the odds on the
+next race, and taking the money of the eager crowd of gamblers. By the
+time Sedger and Duncan had worked their way through this throng up to a
+book-maker, and had purchased two tickets on Marquis and Belle of
+Newport respectively, they were thankful to hurry out of the stifling
+place into the open air.
+
+"I took your advice, Mrs. Sanderson," said Duncan, after he had returned
+to the club lawn. "Belle of Newport is my horse."
+
+"I hope my choice won't bring you ill luck."
+
+"We shall soon know, for there go the horses to the post."
+
+Five of the starters trotted past the Club House, and there was a
+perceptible movement among the people on the veranda and lawn as the
+contestants for the great event passed before them. The Marquis was the
+favorite and he was greeted by a round of applause, as Jockey Gannon
+urged him into a brisk hand gallop. The sleek sides of the chestnut
+gelding glistened in the sunshine, and he certainly looked a winner.
+Close at his heels was the bay Kentucky filly, Belle of Newport, ridden
+by the veteran Forest, and the knowing ones could see that the Southern
+mare was in prime condition. The first horses were followed by three
+stragglers who had been late in saddling, and then the starter's
+carriage rolled across the green turf of the field toward the half-mile
+post at the opposite side of the course. Hundreds of glasses were
+leveled at the bunch of racers over by the stables, restlessly tugging
+at their bits. Then there was a scramble and a rush of horses past the
+red flag, but one horse was slow in getting away and the flag still
+fluttered in the breeze. The jockeys pulled up their mounts and turned
+them back to the starting-post. After much manoeuvring for positions,
+they scrambled away again, scattering the dust behind them. They were
+well bunched, the red flag dropped, and away they went on the mile and
+a half gallop for the American Derby. The crowd surged wildly and eager
+eyes were strained toward the mass of horses scampering over the first
+half-mile of the course.
+
+Down they came to the Grand Stand, a cloud of dust enveloping them and
+almost concealing the bright colors of the riders. Men rushed to the
+railings and strained their eyes down the course; a faint murmur broke
+from the crowd and grew louder and louder. "Marquis! Marquis wins!" was
+shouted by the favorite's friends, as they saw the long stride of the
+chestnut gelding in front. Then the racers clattered past the Grand
+Stand, urged on by cheers and applause.
+
+It was nobody's race yet, but Marquis still led, with Belle of Newport a
+good second. They passed the Club House with Marquis close to the inside
+railing for the turn, when he swerved against the railing and stumbled.
+There was a shout of horror, and the women at the Club House turned
+their heads away. The racers rushed on to the finish, but the favorite
+lay there in the dust, with the blood gushing from a broken knee, and
+Jockey Gannon motionless at his side. Some men ran on to the course and
+carried Gannon away. The poor Marquis tried to rise and looked
+pleadingly at his owner who had rushed to his side. From the distance
+came a cheer. It was for the Belle of Newport, the winner of the great
+race. Jockey Forest had seen the Marquis go down before him, and
+pressing his knees to the sides of the Belle, had raised the filly and
+carried her over the fallen favorite. The other riders had seen the
+accident in time, and, swerving their mounts aside, they had rushed on
+to the finish, while the Marquis lay there in the dust pleading for help
+with his mournful eyes. A veterinary bent over the horse's wound. He
+held a hurried consultation with the owner; then some one placed a
+revolver against the poor beast's head; there was a loud report, a
+convulsive kick, and the noble racer lay dead on the field he had
+striven so hard to win. A pair of work-horses was brought on to the
+course and all that remained of the Marquis was dragged away, while over
+by the little lake, under the shade of an elm, Jockey Gannon lay
+stretched on the turf. A physician was by his side, and a crowd of
+curious people gazed at the pale face before them. "He may live till
+morning," the physician said, and then the wounded jockey was silently
+borne away. The band played again, the blood stains on the course were
+covered by fresh dirt, and the bell rang for the next race. People asked
+a few questions about the dying man, and then he was forgotten in the
+excitement of the sport. It was only a jockey.
+
+"You see, you brought me luck, Mrs. Sanderson," Duncan said to Marion,
+after he had returned from getting his Belle of Newport ticket cashed.
+"Two hundred dollars for forty. That is luck, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, but that reminds me of the accident. Do you know, I feel quite
+unnerved after that sight."
+
+"You had better walk with me on the lawn. It will do you good, I am
+sure."
+
+"I hope so," said Marion as she rose to go with him.
+
+For perhaps a quarter of an hour they walked up and down the lawn,
+chatting away unconcernedly about the people around them. It was the
+first time they had been alone together since Duncan's return, but he
+made not the slightest reference to their last meeting. He was careless
+and unconcerned, and Marion tried to appear the same, but there was a
+strange feeling in her heart, half of fear and half of resentment, which
+told her that indifference had no place there. She laughed and chatted,
+but waited anxiously, thankful that so many people were there, but
+hopeful that he might say something to tell her that he remembered the
+words he had spoken at the Patricians' ball.
+
+Suddenly Duncan stopped at a secluded part of the lawn where there was
+an empty bench. "Let us sit down here in the shade. You must be tired,"
+he said, and then, after they had taken seats, a moment of silence came,
+and Marion could feel that Duncan was looking into her face, but she did
+not dare to meet his glance. He leaned toward her and spoke in the soft
+tones she remembered so well. "You are cruel," he said.
+
+She looked up, startled. "Cruel, what do you mean?" she asked.
+
+"You are cruel to forget so easily. You are cruel to treat me as you
+have."
+
+"I, cruel; I don't understand," she said, and she thought of his
+careless manner and how she had waited for him to speak.
+
+"Yes, you women are all alike. You play with us men for the moment, and
+then we are cast aside like a toy which no longer pleases. I thought you
+were different from the rest."
+
+Marion looked up into his face with an expression of astonishment. She
+met his grey eyes, and for a moment she felt again that subtle power she
+had been dreaming of so long.
+
+"Have you forgotten?" he said slowly.
+
+Marion turned her head away. "Don't talk of that, Mr. Grahame," she
+answered. "That is all ended."
+
+"It can't be ended while----" He did not finish for he saw a man
+approaching. "Here we are, Sanderson," he called carelessly. "I suppose
+you are looking for your wife."
+
+"Yes," answered Roswell, coming nearer. "Mr. Sedger has tea ready on the
+upper veranda, and he wants his party. You look pale, Marion, is
+anything the matter?"
+
+"I felt very much upset by that accident. I came here to get away from
+the people for a moment."
+
+"A cup of tea will put you right," said Duncan.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+DANGER.
+
+
+The races were over, and the rays of the setting sun streamed through
+the western window of the little dining-room where Walter Sedger's party
+was seated. The glass and plate glistened in the fading sunlight, and
+cast many deep shadows on the white table cover, while the faces of the
+people sitting there were flushed with the first glow of the approaching
+twilight. The servants moved quietly from place to place, and the merry
+conversation of Sedger's friends mingled with the soft strains of a
+Viennese waltz coming through the open hallway door. The thousands who
+had crowded the course that day had rumbled back over the dusty roads to
+the city. The huge Grand Stand was silent and deserted, and only the few
+parties dining at the club remained of the great crowd that had cheered
+Belle of Newport in her Derby victory. The refreshing cool of the
+evening seemed to inspire the tired people with new spirits, and the
+addition to their number of Jack Elliot and his coaching party supplied
+the zest of variety, while the tales of a clever _raconteur_ produced
+peals of merry laughter and called forth the utmost efforts of the staid
+French waiters to preserve their habitual immobility of countenance.
+
+When the dinner was over and the party had removed to the veranda for
+coffee and cigars, each person there had forgotten, for the moment, all
+the cares of life, and was lost in the delightful joy of living.
+Exception must, however, be made of Marion, for, although the society of
+others usually enabled her to cast aside the depressing influences which
+often afflicted her, on this occasion she was unusually silent, and had
+been quite unresponsive to the loquacious efforts exerted by the grain
+broker on her right to arouse her interest. She now sat a little removed
+from the rest and gazed moodily out over the deserted race-course,
+thinking over the events of the past few months, and wondering, in a
+dazed sort of way, what the outcome would be. The men had gathered
+together and were discussing sport, while the women talked animatedly
+about a certain Mrs. Johnson whose actions had lately been disapproved
+of in certain quarters, so Marion was permitted to follow the current of
+her fancies undisturbed.
+
+It was just dark enough for the freshly lighted cigars to glow in the
+fading light. With the setting of the sun had come the silence evening
+casts over a busy city, and except the occasional croaking of a frog in
+the Club House lake, or the distant whistle of a locomotive, there was
+no sound to break the evening quiet. Away over by the long row of
+red-roofed stables a pair of work-horses were slowly dragging a harrow
+over the deserted race-course, and they and the laborer trudging behind
+them were the only evidences of life which Marion could see. The last
+sun-gleam left the sky, but a fading tinge of light still rested upon
+the clouds. Marion watched it for a moment,--then it was gone. It seemed
+to her like a life which fades slowly into oblivion. She often thought
+of the unseen, and tried, occasionally, to form some life theory which
+seemed rational. To-night, in the stillness which came after the bustle
+of the day, she felt singularly alone. She looked up into the
+impenetrable darkness and to her fancy the world seemed a frightful pit
+of blackness with a mass of living creatures at the bottom,--writhing in
+misery and gasping for a breath of happiness. And God? An awful monster
+at the pit's mouth, baiting the distorted souls with pestilence or
+dangling hopes before their burning eyes, only to mock their struggles
+and let them sink down! down! down! Death comes to one sufferer, and
+then, with a gloating laugh, the monster drops another life into the pit
+to let it writhe in its awful misery. Marion shuddered at her fancy, and
+glanced up as if expecting to see the monster's eyes gleaming at the
+pit's mouth. The thought was horrible, and she covered her eyes with her
+hands to shut out her distorted imaginations, asking herself if there
+was no power strong enough to drive away the spirit of gloom which beset
+her, and make her pulses beat with joy. Deep in her heart she felt there
+was such a power, but it troubled her to think of it.
+
+"Mrs. Sanderson." She looked up, startled, and saw Duncan by her side.
+"I thought you might like to walk on the other side of the veranda. It
+is delightfully cool there."
+
+For a moment she hesitated. "What can be the harm?" she thought. "None,"
+was the answer she gave her question, and then she followed Duncan to
+the northern side of the veranda where an arm of the building hid them
+from the others. The moon was rising and her soft light was shed upon
+the soughing trees, and the stretch of white roadway before them. It was
+one of those perfect nights of early summer when the vexatious spirits
+of the day seem lulled to sleep by the mild airs of heaven, and as
+Marion sat there looking out over the moonlit park, she wondered at the
+gruesome fancies which had filled her mind but a moment before.
+
+"It is a joy to live on such a night as this," she said, after the
+moment of silence which followed their coming.
+
+Duncan leaned toward her, and spoke in the deep, soft tones Marion
+remembered so well. "I feel," he said, "that heaven has sent us this
+peaceful night to show us that happiness can be a reality."
+
+"It is fortunate that perfect happiness seldom comes," she replied; "the
+monotony of it would be unendurable."
+
+"Do you think it would be monotonous always to love?" he asked.
+
+"Not if it were possible," she answered after a moment of thought.
+
+"I know it is possible," he said firmly.
+
+"How?" she asked, looking up into his face.
+
+His hand touched hers. "Because, when I look into your eyes, I feel a
+love which no power on earth could change." She let her hand remain in
+his, but she turned her face away. "How can I know this love is
+sincere?" she asked.
+
+"By driving the cruel spirit out of your heart. You may send me away
+again as you did last winter, but I will come back, for, Marion, I love
+you, and I must have your love." Instinctively she started to her feet.
+Duncan was quickly by her side. His arm was about her, and she felt his
+lips against her cheek.
+
+"I love you, my Marion," he whispered passionately; "you shall not leave
+me." For a moment she rested her head against his breast and felt the
+embrace of his strong arms.
+
+"If it were not a sin, Duncan," she said, looking up into his eyes, "I
+might love you."
+
+"No love like ours can be a sin. It is heaven sent."
+
+"If it only were," she sighed; then he drew her closer to him.
+
+"It is, dearest," he said. "If you will listen to me, you will believe
+it, too."
+
+"I must not listen to you, Duncan."
+
+"Must I go away?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then I was foolish to fancy I could read love in your eyes."
+
+"Don't torture me."
+
+"I, torture? It is you who send me from you."
+
+"I know it, but think of the danger we are in. Leave me to-night,
+Duncan. To-morrow Florence will be with Mr. Wainwright's aunt, and
+Roswell goes to St. Louis. Dine with me at eight, perhaps I can tell you
+then, but not to-night. I must have time to think."
+
+"I will go now," he said, "but I will come to you to-morrow." He kissed
+her.
+
+"God help me," she sighed.
+
+Duncan quietly released her and they walked silently back toward the
+place where they had left the others. At the corner of the building they
+met Sedger. It was too dark for him to notice that Marion was agitated,
+and any possible suspicions were averted by Duncan's saying quietly,
+"Here we are. We had just started to join you. Is the drag ready?"
+
+"Yes. I have been collecting the party. You are the last to be found.
+It's a capital night for a drive and I intend to take you back through
+Jackson Park."
+
+"Splendid," said Marion. "I adore driving in the moonlight."
+
+The party had left the veranda, and Marion and her companions walked to
+where they were waiting. They were obliged to descend the stairs to the
+hallway below, and by the time they reached the rendezvous she felt
+perfectly calm and collected. They were compelled to wait a moment for a
+missing wrap. Marion stood next to Duncan, and a wild sense of pleasure
+was in her heart. The fear had gone, and her love made her defiant. She
+felt that she might give him his answer then.
+
+The missing wrap was found, and the party moved toward the door. As they
+passed out they could see the dark outlines of the drag looming up in
+the moonlight. The great coach lamps cast a flickering light upon the
+roadway and the horses champed impatiently at the bits. Sedger mounted
+to the box and this time Mrs. Smith had the seat beside him. A couple of
+Sedger's friends had been picked up at the club, so Marion said she
+would take the back seat. Duncan joined her there, and she was
+astonished to find her husband next her also.
+
+The drag rolled away from the Club House, and swayed and rocked as
+Sedger let the horses gallop through the gates and along the little
+stretch of road leading to the park. The evening breeze blew softly
+against the faces of the party, and the coach rumbled along past the
+park lake, with the moonlight glistening on its surface, and the slender
+trees standing out grim and shadowy like huge phantoms guarding its
+banks. Then the team settled down to a steady pace, and through the dim
+light the leaders could just be seen huddling together, with their ears
+pricked up for every sound. Horses seem to travel best at night, and the
+steady creaking of the harness, harmonizing with the rattle of the bars
+and the lively clatter of hoofs on the hard ground, came like sweet
+music through the night air. A leader shied at a shadow; the coach
+swayed for a moment, and the party crowded closer together. Some one
+started a college song; the refrain was caught up by the rest, and the
+chorus swelled forth a familiar glee. Along the tree-lined avenues or
+through winding roadways the great coach rolled. Now the leaders plunged
+into the dark shadows of the woods, or trotted merrily past some open
+meadow, while from the long coach-horn the notes of "Who'll buy a
+broom," sounded sharp and clear on the night air:
+
+    "For though the sound of the horn is dead,
+        And the guards are turned to clay,
+    There are those who remember the 'yard of tin,'
+        And the mail of the olden day."
+
+Then, for a while, they sped along the shores of the great lake, and
+mingling with the rumbling of wheels came the splash of the waves upon
+the sandy shore.
+
+The songs grew less frequent, the laughter ceased, and the party
+gradually lapsed into silence. A reckless daring, such as she had never
+known before, possessed Marion. In her imagination she seemed to be
+rolling on toward some dazzling goal, and she laughed at the thought of
+danger. The moon passed under a cloud and she felt the strong grasp of
+Duncan's hand about her own. She looked toward her husband and there was
+a cold, stony feeling in her heart. She was glad to feel that she had
+the courage to break from the trammels of convention which had so long
+bound her, and she felt a delightful sense of freedom which told her
+that at last the depths of her nature had been fathomed, and that the
+love lying there had burst forth in all its strength.
+
+The coach left the park and rolled into the sleeping city. Down the long
+avenue it went, past rows of darkened houses. The cool breezes of the
+lake seemed warmed by the heated pavements, and the freedom of the
+country was lost in the narrow lines of streetway. Marion sat watching
+the two converging rows of flickering street lamps stretching away as
+far as she could see, and down the street before her she saw the lamps
+of Jack Elliot's coach gleaming in the darkness. She remained lost in
+thought, and did not speak again until the brake rattled and the drag
+suddenly stopped.
+
+Late that night Duncan sat in his room at the City Club. He was partly
+undressed and his clothes lay scattered about in heedless confusion. In
+his hand he held a glass of whiskey and soda, and between the occasional
+sips he passed over in his mind the events of the day. He thought also
+of the experiences of his life, and the women he had known came into his
+mind; women who had trusted and loved him while they formed the idle
+amusement of his hours; women who had felt his power for a while, only
+to see him turn away for some later fancy. He smiled as he thought of
+the words of love he had spoken to confiding hearts, but the smile
+brought a tinge of remorse for the harm he had done. He thought of
+Marion in a different light then, and a feeling of pity came into his
+heart which prompted him to curb his selfish nature and act in a
+generous way; but the echo of a cruel laugh came to him, and in fancy
+he saw two mocking black eyes gleaming before him. "A man's a fool," he
+said aloud, "not to take what fortune sends him."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+A GAME OF SKILL.
+
+
+The seemingly interminable hours of the Sunday following the races
+passed slowly by. Marion spent the afternoon in her own room trying to
+think over the possibilities of the near future. Her heedless conduct
+had now brought her to a position which demanded resolute decision, and,
+surrounded as she was by a maze of temptations, she required to exercise
+the calmest judgment. A strong nature is able, at such times, to
+penetrate the future and select the wisest course, but it is far easier,
+and perhaps more natural, to drift aimlessly along, trusting to no other
+guide than fatuity. At moments a faint sense of fear feebly urged Marion
+to hold back, but wild fancies burned so impetuously in her heart that
+she was carried on past the point where she might have calmly considered
+the probable result of her conduct.
+
+At last she was a woman, she thought, and felt as other women did.
+After years passed in eking out a monotonous existence amid repellent
+surroundings she felt emancipated by the knowledge that she had found
+the love her nature craved. Now that Duncan had brought her this love
+should she refuse the gift and voluntarily return to the slavery in
+which she had lived so long? This was the question she asked herself. It
+would be transgressing the rules of society if she permitted herself to
+enjoy this love, but what difference did that make? For years she had
+been religiously obeying those rules, and her existence had been one of
+wretched discontent. Certainly the other course could not make her more
+unhappy, and, besides, she had seen women in other cities break loose
+from the bonds of convention and still maintain a standing in the world.
+In fact, they had been almost openly applauded for their action, and
+certainly had not suffered, socially, for their courage. After all,
+virtue was little else than fear, and it was only a weak nature that
+would permit itself to be coerced by the danger of discovery. In older
+places that danger had been modified by the liberality of an advanced
+society, and as she had only the restricted provincialism of Chicago to
+fear, she felt a secret delight in defying the prudish gossips of the
+Knox Presbyterian Church. After all, she felt that she was clever enough
+to elude discovery, and relying on her discretion she permitted herself
+to dismiss fear from her heart as unworthy of a superior nature. It was
+by such reasoning as this that she forced her judgment to approve the
+promptings of her heart.
+
+Marion watched the moments roll by. As the hour approached when she was
+to meet Duncan alone she felt calmer than she had at any time since
+their parting. At six o'clock she heard the brougham drive up to the
+door to take her husband to the station, and when he came into her room
+to bid her good-by, she calmly kissed him, congratulating herself that
+she had not betrayed the slightest agitation. All love for him was dead,
+she felt, and when he lingered for another embrace, she wondered that he
+could not see her heart was cold and unmoved. She smiled as he left.
+"Foolish fellow," she thought, "he has never known the true warmth of my
+heart so he will be content with the cold effigy of love I give him."
+However, the words seemed very harsh, even to her, and she wondered if
+it really were she who had spoken them. Inspired by a curiosity to see
+if she had changed during the day, she looked at herself in the long
+mirror of her dressing-room and felt a secret pleasure in the thought
+that the image before her was that of a woman of the world to whom none
+of the experiences of life were strange. She thought her face showed
+more character, too, and she flattered herself that it would not be easy
+for anyone to read her thoughts in those deep, black eyes.
+
+The little clock on her dressing-table struck half-past six,
+and she rang for her maid to dress her hair. After spending an
+hour-and-a-quarter at her toilet, she again arose and surveyed herself
+in the long mirror. Her pulses seemed, somehow, to be beating more
+rapidly now, and the calmness she had felt before was deserting her. The
+sense of fear came into her heart again, and even her conscience uttered
+a faint remonstrance at the step she was taking. She thought over all
+the chances of discovery and wondered whether there was danger from the
+servants. Her cook and her butler were both French and, as they could
+speak but a few words of English, would say nothing; the footman and
+housemaids she had permitted to go out, and she felt that she could
+trust the discretion of her own maid. As for her neighbors, the people
+living next door were not of her set, and she drew a breath of relief on
+looking out of the window and finding that, owing to a cloudy sky, it
+was already nearly dark. Still she was far from calm, and, thinking she
+looked pale, she pinched her cheeks to bring color into them.
+
+It was time for Duncan to arrive. Should she feign illness and send him
+away? She felt that it was too late for her to turn back now, and the
+thought of Duncan brought back memories which, for the moment, drove
+fear completely from her heart, and aroused the reckless spirit which
+had already carried her so far. She took a hasty glance at herself in
+the glass, gave a final touch to her hair, and hurried down the stairway
+to the little French room where she had been with Duncan on the
+afternoon of Mrs. McSeeney's tea. No longer able to reason out excuses
+for her actions she abandoned herself to the contending fancies which
+filled her mind. She closed her eyes and fancied that she was being
+borne recklessly on toward a frightful precipice by some subtle force
+against whose power she was helpless. It seemed to her that she was
+being dashed down! down! Then she imagined that she saw the remains of
+her former self lying, bruised and shattered, at the bottom of the abyss
+before her. She grasped the chair-arms convulsively, then smiled at her
+childish fancies, yet deep down in her heart there was a feeling,
+growing stronger each moment, which urged her to turn back.
+
+The door-bell rang. Marion could feel her heart beating with suppressed
+excitement, and it seemed an interminable time before the measured steps
+of François resounded on the hardwood floor. The door opened and Duncan
+entered. She could hear him taking off his coat in the hall, and she
+felt her brain whirling with the dizziness of confused emotions. The
+wheels of a carriage rumbled on the pavement outside and seemed to stop
+before the door. What did it mean? Marion trembled at the thought that
+it might be some one coming to the house. Duncan took a step on the hall
+floor and then a key rattled in the front door. Her husband had
+returned. She could feel her pulses stop, and her limbs grow numb with
+fright. Duncan in the house, the hour, the dinner for two. What excuse
+could she make? The door slammed, and she heard her husband's voice in
+the hall. "Hello, Grahame," he said, "are you here? Just going, eh?
+Nonsense, stop and take pot-luck with us. I know my wife will be glad to
+have you. She expected to be alone."
+
+Marion was saved. She could scarcely believe her senses; yet a sincere
+feeling of gratefulness to her husband came into her heart, and she drew
+a deep, free breath which brought the color back to her cheeks, and
+calmed her excited nerves. All her disturbed thoughts seemed quickly to
+vanish, and she felt as though she could hardly restrain herself from
+uttering a shout of joy. An hour before she would have felt resentment
+toward her husband, but the specious arguments with which she had
+pardoned the wrong emotions of her heart seemed, somehow, to have fled,
+and she could realize the danger which had threatened her. Had she been
+left to meet Duncan alone, she might not have proved strong enough to
+resist his personality, but now she felt in her heart that the peril was
+passed.
+
+Roswell and Duncan came into the room. "I missed my train," Roswell
+said, "so I thought I would come back and dine with you, my dear. I
+found Grahame in the hall and persuaded him to remain. I knew you would
+be glad to have him."
+
+"Your husband is extremely kind, Mrs. Sanderson," said Duncan. "I
+expected to dine alone at the Club."
+
+"Mr. Grahame is always welcome," smiled Marion, wondering what would be
+the outcome of this discordant dinner. She looked at her husband to see
+if his manner betrayed any excitement, but she could notice nothing
+unusual.
+
+"You won't mind if I run away early, my dear, will you?" he said. "There
+is another train at half-past ten."
+
+"I wish you wouldn't go to-night, dear," answered Marion.
+
+"I must. The business is important."
+
+Marion turned away thoughtfully, and found her eyes wandering toward
+Duncan. She noticed that his face wore an amused expression, as though
+the situation seemed laughable, and the matter were a huge joke. This
+carelessness provoked Marion, and she caught herself wondering why she
+felt unmoved in his presence. He was in evening dress, and she was
+amazed that her husband did not notice that, for an afternoon call, this
+was an anachronism.
+
+After a few moments of desultory conversation, François appeared in the
+doorway. "Ze dinner ez served, Madame," he solemnly announced, and the
+little party moved silently toward the dining-room. As they crossed the
+hallway Marion could not help smiling at the strange turn affairs had
+taken. It seemed to her so like an amusing situation in some comedy, and
+she felt as though she were an actress going through with a part in a
+play which would, of course, end happily when the curtain was rung down
+on the last act.
+
+The party filed slowly into the dining-room, and took their seats at the
+little, round table. A small candelabrum, placed in the centre of the
+cloth, supplied the only light, and the bright rays of the candles,
+falling on the white table-cover and shining plate, formed a cozy
+contrast to the oak-lined walls looming in the distance. Duncan sat on
+Marion's right, while her husband was placed on her left. During the
+silence which came as they took their places, Marion looked curiously at
+both men. Duncan took his seat with a satisfied air, and as he unfolded
+his napkin a careless smile came to his lips. In her husband's eyes she
+saw an expression of determination, and she thought it unusual and out
+of keeping with the genial manner in which he broke the silence by
+saying: "I consider it very lucky we trapped you into staying, Grahame.
+I have scarcely seen you since you arrived, and I would like to have a
+friendly chat before we come to that elevator business. I shall be back
+from St. Louis on Sunday and we can talk about the loan on Monday."
+
+It was a surprise to Marion to learn that her husband and Duncan were
+evidently so intimate. She thought they were scarcely acquainted.
+
+"Any time will do me, Sanderson," answered Duncan, and then the party
+began to take their soup in silence. François poured out the sherry;
+Duncan took up his glass and drained it at one draught. As he put it
+down, he looked at Marion with an amused expression of triumph, then,
+glancing toward her husband, he shrugged his shoulders in a manner which
+conveyed contempt. Marion felt a sense of resentment toward Duncan for
+assuming such an attitude. His entire manner seemed to give the
+impression that he felt quite as much at home as the master of the
+house, and as the dinner progressed he treated her husband with the easy
+familiarity of one who felt the superiority of his position. Marion
+noticed that Roswell had never once changed the friendly tone of his
+manner, yet she could not help feeling that this extreme affability was,
+in some measure, assumed. The conversation was confined mainly to the
+two men, and Roswell seemed to lead it into channels where it was
+difficult for Duncan to follow, while the familiarity her husband
+showed with the great questions of current interest was astonishing to
+Marion. She had spent so little time with him that she was unfamiliar
+with his tastes, and the keenness with which he argued, together with
+the delicate manner in which he seemed to lay bare Duncan's ignorance,
+surprised her greatly.
+
+Marion was glad to be a listener, as it gave her time to think. She
+seemed to be seized now with a dispassionate calmness, which permitted
+her to view her actions in a way she had never done before. The subtle
+spell which had bound her to Duncan seemed fast breaking, and although
+scarce an hour before she had been ready to confess to him the full
+warmth of her love, she now appeared to be at a great distance from him
+and looking at the past as in the pages of some book. Again and again
+she glanced toward him and wondered why he seemed so changed. She
+observed that he was drinking too much wine, and when he occasionally
+raised his glass and cast an insinuating glance toward her, she felt the
+spirit of resentment grow stronger and stronger. She asked herself if
+his power of fascination had gone, and she confessed that in the
+society of others, at least, he was not the same as when alone with her.
+Then she thought over the words which he had spoken to her, and how in
+his presence she had felt the subtle inspiration of a love which, it
+seemed to her, must burn forever. She looked up to see if she could feel
+the power his grey eyes had so often exerted over her, and she saw an
+angry blush come to his cheek. Roswell had called forth a confession of
+ignorance on a delicate point of finance. Duncan was clever, but he was
+not a deep student, and he often found himself at a loss for facts with
+which to substantiate his theories. He spoke a resentful word or two,
+and Marion thought it was unmanly for him to lose his temper.
+
+The dinner wore on, and Marion found herself becoming more and more
+critical of Duncan's actions. She wondered if he were the man for whom,
+two hours before, she had been willing to venture everything. She began
+to analyze her feelings of the past six months, and she asked herself if
+the feeling he inspired was, after all, the love that her nature craved.
+Perhaps her doubts were momentary and would vanish, leaving her again
+the prey of wild desires. Yet she felt that her nature could not be so
+vacillating. She looked at Duncan again to reassure herself. Was he her
+ideal? He leaned his elbows on the table and made a noise as he ate. She
+wondered why she had not noticed this before, for she abhorred
+carelessness of manners.
+
+"So you think a leisure class is what we need in the West," Roswell was
+saying as François removed the plates after the game course. Marion had
+always felt this lack to be one of the evils of Western life, and she
+looked to Duncan for a defense of her theory.
+
+"Yes," answered Duncan. "I favor a landed class who spend their money
+freely and devote their time to something beside grubbing for dollars."
+
+"I quite agree with you," said Roswell. "We men in the West live at too
+rapid a pace. In the ceaseless toil after money we become callous to the
+finer sentiments of life." Marion looked up in astonishment. She had
+thought her husband irredeemably absorbed in business. "We devote too
+little time," he continued, "to the development of the æsthetic side of
+our natures. I think we should have more people of wealth whose time is
+spent in fostering the arts; but as for men of absolute leisure, I think
+we are better off without them."
+
+"There I can't agree with you," answered Duncan, "if among men of
+leisure you include those whose lives are given to sport. Look at the
+sportsmen of England. We want more of that sort in this country. A hard
+riding set of men who stick at nothing. Such a life as they lead makes
+men of them."
+
+Marion was too fond of literature and the arts to agree with Duncan. She
+had known some of these hunting men and she had a small opinion of their
+talents.
+
+"In a degree I approve of your sentiments," said her husband. "If you
+will eliminate the taste for drink, cards, and vice from your sportsmen.
+Give him some brains and make him a useful member of society, who
+devotes much of his time to the improvement of his tenantry, and I grant
+you that his counterpart would be a desirable acquisition to American
+life."
+
+"So you don't believe in the reckless sportsman of the old school."
+
+"No, I confess I don't."
+
+"Why, may I ask?"
+
+"I think I can best answer that question by telling you an anecdote.
+I was once in North Carolina looking after some property. The place
+Where I was staying was one of the little villages in the mountains
+where the advent of a stranger is a matter of momentous importance.
+I happened to be in the village store one day when one of those
+tweed-and-knickerbocker Englishmen, who occasionally go there for
+shooting, walked in to purchase some powder. After he had received his
+package and was about to leave, the lean-faced cracker store-keeper
+detained him in conversation somewhat after this fashion:
+
+"'Be you from Noo York, stranger?'
+
+"The Englishman shook his head.
+
+"'Philadelphy?'
+
+"'No,' was the reply.
+
+"'Chicago?'
+
+"Another negative answer.
+
+"'Waal, where be you from?'
+
+"'London.'
+
+"'Whew!' and the cracker gave a long whistle. 'What brought you all the
+way from London to Loneville?'
+
+"'I came to amuse myself.'
+
+"'Ter amuse yerself, heh! Well, that is mighty curious. What d' you do
+when you're to home?'
+
+"'Nothing.'
+
+"'How d' you live, anyway?'
+
+"'My father supports me.'
+
+"'Don't do nothing when you're to home, and yer father keeps ye?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'Waal, I'd like to ask ye jest one more question. What'ud you do 'f
+your father should bust?'
+
+"That is my theory. I don't think any man should be brought up in such a
+way that he would have nothing to fall back on if his wealth should fail
+him. Give every young man an employment of some sort, no matter how rich
+he may be, and he will know what to do when his father 'busts'."
+
+Marion, somehow, found herself agreeing with her husband's views. His
+ideas had always seemed so restricted before. She wondered why he was
+becoming so sensible.
+
+François cleared the table and changed the glasses; the coffee was
+brought and Duncan and Roswell lighted their cigars. Marion usually
+remained during the smoking when the party was small, so the talk went
+on uninterruptedly, Roswell continuing his easy flow of anecdote and
+argument, and turning the conversation as one subject after another was
+suggested to his mind. Marion caught herself occasionally looking at her
+husband with a feeling of admiration, and wondered why she had never
+before discovered his charm of manner. She felt that he occasionally
+turned his keen eyes toward her as though he understood her thoughts,
+and she was afraid that he might be able to see her heart.
+
+"I read a case in the paper this morning which impressed me sadly," said
+Roswell, putting down his empty coffee cup. "I knew the people and it
+seemed but the outcome of my fears."
+
+"What was it?" asked Marion.
+
+"The wife of a man I have known in business has left him. The husband
+went to Decatur on Thursday, and when he returned he found that she had
+fled the night before with her music teacher."
+
+"It was probably a good riddance, wasn't it," said Duncan.
+
+Marion thought these words unnecessarily harsh and she found herself
+looking appealingly at Roswell for a charitable reply.
+
+"I can't say that," replied Roswell. "The trouble was that they had
+nothing in common. He was a man who began life as a page on the Board of
+Trade. By careful attention to business he worked his way up until he is
+now a very successful broker. He has, however, absolutely no social
+position, and no prospect of attaining one. When, two years ago, he went
+East, and married a girl who belonged to a good Syracuse family and
+brought her West, it must have been a bitter disappointment to the young
+wife to find herself denied the recognition which she was accustomed to
+receive at home. She was alone in a strange city. Her husband was away
+most of the time, and he was so completely wrapped up in business that
+his wife was left to her own resources. Can you condemn her entirely for
+doing as she did? It is all very well to behave if we have never been
+tempted, when, perhaps, under the same circumstances, we might act no
+better ourselves. For my part I think the husband is probably as much at
+fault as the wife."
+
+Marion felt her heart leap with gratitude when she heard these words.
+Her husband's voice had softened as he spoke them, and his eyes wore a
+sad, thoughtful expression.
+
+"I don't think you are right," said Duncan, draining a glass of claret.
+"No one but a fool will permit a woman to go astray under his eyes, and
+a fool deserves to lose his wife."
+
+As he spoke these words he looked toward Marion with an insinuating
+expression which told her that his remark was directed at Roswell, and
+that he expected her to appreciate the humor of it. Marion felt a sense
+of thankfulness rise in her heart. Coarseness never could appeal to her
+sensitive nature and she shuddered when she thought that this was the
+man for whom she had been willing to risk her honor. She was beginning
+to find him out. Thank heaven, the knowledge came before it was too
+late.
+
+Roswell was silent for a moment. Then he said, thoughtfully: "Any one of
+us may be cast to play the rôle of fool. Unfortunately we never
+recognize just when we begin to play the part. I used to think as you
+do, Grahame. It is only lately I have begun to feel that it takes two to
+create a difference. Perhaps I am wrong, but I believe that, had my
+friend recognized sooner that his wife was made unhappy by his own
+neglect and the surroundings in which he placed her, the danger might
+have been averted."
+
+For a while no one spoke. Marion gazed thoughtfully at the table; Duncan
+twirled a glass carelessly between his fingers and a smile played on his
+lips, while Roswell silently puffed his cigar and watched the blue
+wreaths of smoke curl gently upward.
+
+"Shall we go into the next room, my dear?" said Roswell after a moment,
+dropping his half-finished cigar. "I have just time to catch my train."
+
+"You are not going, are you?" said Marion, looking up, startled. "Please
+put off your trip," she added with a slight tone of appeal in her voice.
+
+"I must go," he answered, rising from his chair.
+
+The three people walked toward the hall. As they reached the door,
+Roswell stopped and motioned Duncan to lead the way. The younger man
+passed out, leaving Marion and her husband together. Roswell took both
+his wife's hands and drew her toward him.
+
+"I must leave Grahame with you, my dear. Don't mind my running away. It
+is business and can't be helped."
+
+"Don't go, Roswell," pleaded Marion, and she turned her head away so
+that he could not look into her face.
+
+"I must, my darling. I must," he answered, and she felt his arms about
+her. She hid her face on his breast, and, ashamed of her unworthiness,
+she felt afraid to be left alone. "Good-by, dear," he said, and kissed
+her tenderly on her forehead. They walked silently through the hallway
+to the little French room, by the door. They found Duncan there,
+wandering carelessly about examining the ornaments. Stepping up to him,
+Roswell put out his hand and said simply: "I must leave you, Grahame. I
+have just time to catch my train. Sit here and finish your cigar. My
+wife will do her best to amuse you."
+
+Duncan muttered a word of parting and Roswell hurried into the hallway.
+Marion took a seat in the farther end of the room and gazed thoughtfully
+toward the door where her husband had left. She could hear him putting
+on his coat and then the door closed behind him. The carriage rolled
+off, and as the last echo of the wheels died away she realized that she
+was alone with the man who had played such a strange part in her life.
+She felt brave now. The danger was past and her only thought was to
+prove worthy of the confidence her husband had placed in her. She looked
+at Duncan, wondering what his first move would be. He took a few steps
+on the floor. His eyes seemed to sparkle with merriment. "Well, I must
+say," he said, stopping in his desultory wandering and plunging his
+hands into his pockets, "that husband of yours is the most convenient
+person that I ever came across." Marion cast an angry glance toward him.
+All the resentment in her nature was aroused by these coarse words. Her
+dream of months had vanished, and in its place was a repulsive reality.
+
+Duncan came toward her with a confident step and tried to take her hand.
+Marion jumped to her feet and pushed him back. "Don't touch me," she
+cried.
+
+Duncan laughed. This new-found anger amused him and he did not believe
+she was in earnest. "Marion, dearest, we are alone," he said ardently.
+"We can enjoy our love and no one will interrupt."
+
+He made another movement toward her. She drew back and looked defiantly
+at him.
+
+"I hate you," she said. "Can't you see that I hate you."
+
+"Hate is the first step to love," answered Duncan, still amused by her
+anger. "Let it fade away for I want to see love smile from those
+bewitching eyes."
+
+Then he hesitated. He saw anger flashing from her dark eyes now, but he
+could not believe that he had lost the power he had so lately exerted
+over her, and he fancied that this resentment must be due to some whim.
+"Do you forget the past, dearest?" he said coaxingly, after a moment.
+"Do you forget our love of yesterday?"
+
+"The unreasoning fancy of a moment is not love," answered Marion
+coldly.
+
+Duncan saw now that the heart which he had felt so confident of his
+power to master had slipped from his grasp. Still the thought that so
+emotional a nature might yet be conquered by appeal prompted him to say,
+"What is the meaning of this change? Yesterday you loved me."
+
+"That was yesterday. Much may happen in a day, Mr. Grahame."
+
+"Yes," smiled Duncan sarcastically, drawing lines on the floor with the
+toe of his boot. "In a day one may learn the fickle nature of the woman
+one is foolish enough to love."
+
+"Yes, and the character of the feeling one was foolish enough to fancy
+might be love," added Marion.
+
+"Will you not listen to me?" he answered. "Some one has been poisoning
+your mind against me."
+
+Marion felt that this distasteful interview must end. She had been the
+prey of too many emotions that day to bear up much longer. She felt a
+desire to fly away somewhere and escape from this man. Summoning her
+courage she looked full into Duncan's face and said, in a firm voice:
+"Mr. Grahame, I will not be insulted. I think there is nothing more to
+be said."
+
+The color rose to Duncan's cheeks. His pride was touched, yet deep in
+his heart he could not help feeling ashamed of his own conduct. Revenge
+for another woman's actions had prompted him to act the part he had
+played, and there was still manhood enough in his callous heart to make
+him recognize that he deserved the treatment he was receiving. But pride
+prompted him to retreat boldly. "As you will, Mrs. Sanderson," he
+answered, coolly returning Marion's glance. "I came at your bidding and
+I leave at your command. I had been led to believe, by your actions in
+the past, that I should receive a more responsive welcome, but I
+acknowledge my mistake."
+
+"We understand each other perfectly," said Marion. "Six months ago, Mr.
+Grahame, you challenged me to a game of skill. I think you know the game
+well enough to recognize that you have lost."
+
+Duncan nodded assent and walked slowly toward the door. On the threshold
+he turned and looked at Marion. A feeling of admiration for the woman he
+had so misjudged prompted him to speak "Let me compliment your skill,"
+he said. "I played that game with the assurance of an old hand and I
+lost. You were a novice, but you won."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+IN THE LIBRARY.
+
+
+Roswell Sanderson was in the library writing. A week had passed since
+his departure for St. Louis, and a considerable accumulation of mail was
+absorbing his attention. He had arrived home that morning on an early
+train, and not caring to awake his wife had gone into the library to
+look over his letters. It was Sunday, and the measured patter of the
+raindrops on the window-panes seemed to forebode a cheerless day, while
+the dismal light, almost obscured by the lowering clouds and heavy
+window draperies, produced an air of gloom intensified, perhaps, by the
+unusual chill of the summer atmosphere. Roswell was alone, and as he
+wrote the scratching of his pen on the paper blended monotonously with
+the pattering raindrops. Perhaps half an hour passed. Marion entered the
+room and stood for a moment near the door. There was a fresher color in
+her cheeks, even in that dim light, and her eyes seemed to have lost
+their look of restless longing. As she watched her husband writing, a
+smile of mingled tenderness and sadness came to her lips. Then she
+walked softly on tip-toe to where he sat, and placed her hand gently on
+his shoulder.
+
+Roswell looked up startled. "Why, Marion," he said, "I didn't expect to
+see you so early." Then, leaving his seat, he took both his wife's hands
+in his and kissed her.
+
+"I am thankful you have come back," said Marion. "I have wanted you so
+much."
+
+She placed her arms around his neck, and rested her head on his
+shoulder. There had been a tenderness in her voice which made Roswell's
+heart beat faster than it had ever done before. "Yes, dear," he said, "I
+have come back, and I think I have a surprise for you, too."
+
+"A surprise," said Marion, looking up.
+
+"Yes. Sit down and I will tell you all about it."
+
+Roswell resumed his seat, and Marion took a low stool at his side and
+waited for him to speak.
+
+"It is not very much," he said, taking a letter from the table, "but I
+have here a refusal of the McIlvaine cottage at Bar Harbor for the
+season. Would you like to go there?"
+
+An expression of astonishment came to Marion's face. "Is this true?" she
+asked.
+
+"I am only waiting for you to say yes before sending my reply."
+
+"Why did you do this, Roswell?" she said, with a tone of tenderness in
+her voice.
+
+"Because I felt it would be better for both of us to go away this
+summer. I am working too hard, I think, and must have a rest. But that
+is only a selfish reason; I feel it would do you good to be among new
+people and new scenes."
+
+Marion looked into his eyes a moment and a dark expression of disgust
+came across her face. "Why don't you speak the truth, Roswell?" she
+said. "Why don't you say that you are going away because your wife is a
+selfish woman who is discontented in her home; why don't you say that
+she is a wicked creature who cares for nothing but her own amusement,
+and that you are taking her where she can find new excitements? Why
+don't you say this?" she repeated, and then she buried her face in her
+hands and sobbed.
+
+Roswell leaned forward and stroked her head softly. "I love my wife," he
+said, "and I will not permit you to say such things about her."
+
+"You don't know how wicked she is; you don't know how black her heart
+has been," Marion replied, between the sobs. "O, Roswell, I shall never
+be happy till I tell you all about it and ask you to forgive me. I have
+thought it over every moment since you left, and I have tried to feel
+right in my heart, but I can't until you know how wicked I have been.
+You are too good and generous for a selfish creature like me; but you
+must know that I have been untrue to you in my heart. Roswell, I did not
+love you when I married you; I never loved you until a week ago. I did
+not know your goodness before, and I was thoughtless. O, forgive me,
+Roswell; forgive me."
+
+Roswell raised her head until he could look into her face. "I forgave
+you long ago, dearest," he said, "and now I want to see you dry those
+sweet eyes. I guessed your trouble last winter. At first it was hard
+for me to bear, and I had black thoughts in my heart, too; but when I
+remembered how I had been bound up in my musty cash books and ledgers,
+and how I had failed to enter into your life, I felt I had no right to
+reproach you. I saw that you were drifting from me, and I knew the fault
+was mine. Then I prayed that I might save you and win you back again."
+
+"And you forgive me," said Marion, sobbing still.
+
+Roswell kissed her. "It is I who must be forgiven," he said. "I ought to
+have seen before that a woman like you could not love a crusty old
+banker, who came home every night covered with the dust of the office. I
+am a rough fellow who needs a lot of polishing up, but I want you to try
+and see what you can make of me, and I want your love."
+
+"My darling," said Marion. "I love you as I never knew I could love. I
+thought the wild fancy of the moment was love, but I have learned my
+mistake. If you will take me into your heart again I will try so hard to
+make you a good wife."
+
+A faint sunbeam came through the eastern window and glanced feebly along
+the floor; then it grew stronger and stronger, until the gloomy library
+was brightened by a flood of rich, warm sunlight. The storm had ceased.
+The clouds had rolled away.
+
+"It takes some such trial as ours," Roswell said, "to call forth love.
+We know now how necessary we are to each other, don't we, dear?"
+
+The look of sweet tenderness in Marion's eyes gave him his answer.
+
+"Let us think no more of those days, my darling," said Roswell, throwing
+his arms about his wife and drawing her closer to his side. "We will
+forget the past and live in the future. What answer shall I send about
+the cottage?" As he said this he reached toward the table to get the
+letter. Marion's eyes followed his hand, and they fell upon a name
+signed to a note lying there.
+
+"That man!" she cried, turning her head away and hiding her face on
+Roswell's shoulder.
+
+"That man will worry you no more," he said, taking up the note. "Read
+what he says."
+
+Marion took the paper and read:
+
+     "DEAR MR. SANDERSON:
+
+     "I wish to say that I have obtained the loan I required from
+     the 'Grocers' National,' so I shall not need to keep my
+     appointment with you. I leave for New York to-day, and shall be
+     unable to see you on your return from St. Louis. Thanking you
+     for your kindness to me while in Chicago, believe me, with
+     kindest regards,
+
+     "Yours faithfully,
+
+     "June 29. DUNCAN GRAHAME."
+
+Marion shuddered as she put down the note. It told its story and she
+felt that there was nothing more to be said.
+
+"This is the letter I want you to answer," said Roswell, taking up the
+one from Bar Harbor.
+
+Marion looked thoughtfully at the floor a moment, then, glancing up, she
+said: "If you don't mind, dear, I should like to go to some quieter
+place. I have had excitements before, but I have never had my husband,
+and I want him all to myself."
+
+"My darling," said Roswell.
+
+Florence entered the room and stood for a moment near the door. At first
+she was too surprised to speak, then, appreciating the propriety of
+making her presence known, she retreated a few steps and said: "May I
+come in?"
+
+"Of course you may, you dear girl," said Marion, looking up. "You may
+come in and find the happiest woman in the world. Don't look surprised.
+Roswell and I are young lovers, and we are laying plans for our
+honeymoon. I don't deserve my happiness, but I have just discovered that
+I have the best husband in the world."
+
+Florence ran to Marion's side and kissed her. "Let me share your joy,"
+she said.
+
+That evening Harold Wainwright dined at the Sandersons, and four happy
+people seated themselves at the little, round table. The candles shed
+the same cheerful light upon the white linen and the glistening plate,
+and François moved from place to place with his wonted precision; but
+the fire of love had kindled on the hearth, and in that home a new life
+had begun.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+MRS. ABBOTT'S BOOKS.
+
+
+ALEXIA.
+
+     We have rarely found a more perfectly idyllic little love story
+     than this--_The Living Church, Chicago._
+
+     The story is told with such an airy touch, such a fine sense of
+     humor, such delicate crispness, that the reader is dealt little
+     shocks of pleasure at every successive sentence.--_Evening
+     Post, Chicago._
+
+     Little books like this, unpretentious, honest in motive, pure
+     in sentiment, and marked by true sympathy are not common in
+     current American literature, and therefore appeal all the more
+     strongly to people who are tired of the didactic, and so relish
+     keenly any representation which depends for its final effect
+     not on preconceived notions of the author, but on fidelity to
+     life.--_The Beacon, Boston._
+
+
+THE BEVERLEYS,
+
+_A Story of Calcutta._
+
+     As a story of character it is of high and rare merit. Every
+     person who appears in it is outlined with a distinctness of
+     individuality which cannot be mistaken.--_The Churchman, New
+     York._
+
+     "The Beverleys" is one of the notable novels of the year....
+     The writer knows life and has met people of breeding.... In
+     Eileen she draws a charming creature whose social adventures in
+     Calcutta will be read with unflagging interest.--_The
+     Philadelphia Press._
+
+     To have read "Alexia" is to feel a kindly predisposition
+     towards the successor of that charming little book. "The
+     Beverleys" has followed it, and it is perhaps unreasonable to
+     be disappointed at missing in a novel the wild-rose perfume of
+     the story. It is a novel clever in form and style, and in its
+     portraits from Calcutta society. The moods and fascinations of
+     the wild Irish girl and the labyrinths of her naughty heart are
+     prettily described; there are pungent observations on men,
+     women, and manners a plenty; what more would one have.--_The
+     Nation, New York._
+
+
+
+
+Other Books
+
+
+MONK AND KNIGHT.
+
+An Historical Study in Fiction.
+
+BY THE REV. DR. F. W. GUNSAULUS.
+
+     This work is one that challenges attention for its ambitious
+     character and its high aim. It is an historical novel,--or,
+     rather, as the author prefers to call it, "An Historical Study
+     in Fiction." It is the result of long and careful study of the
+     period of which it treats, and hence is the product of genuine
+     sympathies and a freshly-fired imagination. The field is
+     Europe, and the period is the beginning of the sixteenth
+     century,--a time when the fading glow of the later Renaissance
+     is giving place to the brighter glories of the dawning
+     Reformation.
+
+     The book deals, in a broad sense, with the grand theme of the
+     progress of intellectual liberty. Many of its characters are
+     well-known historical personages,--such as Erasmus, Sir Thomas
+     Moore, Cardinal Wolsey, Henry VIII. of England, Francis I. of
+     France, the disturbing monk Martin Luther, and the magnificent
+     Pope Leo X.; other characters are of course fictitious,
+     introduced to give proper play to the author's fancy and to
+     form a suitable framework for the story.
+
+     Interwoven with the more solid fabric are gleaming threads of
+     romance; and bright bits of description and glows of sentiment
+     relieve the more sombre coloring. The memorable meeting of the
+     French and English monarchs on the Field of the Cloth of Gold,
+     with its gorgeous pageantry of knights and steeds and silken
+     banners, and all the glitter and charm of chivalry, furnish
+     material for several chapters, in which the author's
+     descriptive powers are put to the severest test; while the
+     Waldensian heroes in their mountain homes, resisting the
+     persecutions of their religious foes, afford some thrilling and
+     dramatic situations.
+
+
+AN ICELAND FISHERMAN.
+
+BY PIERRE LOTI
+
+Translated from the French
+
+BY ANNA FARWELL de KOVEN.
+
+     "An Iceland Fisherman" is really a poem in prose. It has a pure
+     idyllic quality so unlike most of the work which now comes from
+     French hands that one must go back to "Paul and Virginia" to
+     find a worthy companion volume. Other French writers, George
+     Sand notably, have written idyllic chapters, but "An Iceland
+     Fisherman" is a complete idyl from beginning to end. M. Loti is
+     an impressionist of the most delicate quality. He feels with
+     the keenest sensibility the moods and phases of each passing
+     hour. In this little volume one is made aware of all the
+     strange, lonely beauty and terror of the North Seas. Few
+     writers have made so keen an observation of those elusive
+     phases through which sky and sea pass in a day or a season, and
+     still fewer have had the faculty of transferring these subtle
+     things into speech.--_The Christian Union, New York._
+
+     The translator of this remarkable story has done her work
+     wonderfully well. Her choice of words, apt, pat, and
+     picturesque--words which instantly appeal to the imagination,
+     is skillful to an uncommon degree. This is no doubt partly due
+     to the characteristics of the original. Whatever may be true of
+     the French, the English of this beautiful and wholesome story
+     is wonderfully idiomatic and good.--_The Advance, Chicago._
+
+     Of the story itself nothing can well be too good to say. We
+     pity the one who can read it without being deeply stirred by
+     its simple, pathetic, and, at moments, solemn beauty.--_The
+     Chicago Evening Journal._
+
+     It is a gem of the purest ray, a lovely idyl, whose strength is
+     drawn from what is best in human life.--_The Philadelphia
+     Enquirer._
+
+
+THE STORY OF TONTY.
+
+_AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE._
+
+By Mrs. MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD.
+
+     "The Story of Tonty" is eminently a Western story, beginning at
+     Montreal, tarrying at Fort Frontenac, and ending at the old
+     fort at Starved Rock, on the Illinois River. It weaves the
+     adventures of the two great explorers, the intrepid La Salle
+     and his faithful lieutenant, Tonty, into a tale as thrilling
+     and romantic as the descriptive portions are brilliant and
+     vivid. It is superbly illustrated with twenty-three masterly
+     drawings by Mr. Enoch Ward.
+
+     Such tales as this render service past expression to the cause
+     of history. They weave a spell in which old chronicles are
+     vivified and breathe out human life. Mrs. Catherwood, in thus
+     bringing out from the treasure-houses of half-forgotten
+     historical record things new and old, has set herself one of
+     the worthiest literary tasks of her generation, and is showing
+     herself finely adequate to its fulfillment.--_Transcript,
+     Boston._
+
+     A powerful story by a writer newly sprung to fame.... All the
+     century we have been waiting for the deft hand that could put
+     flesh upon the dry bones of our early heroes. Here is a
+     recreation indeed.... One comes from the reading of the romance
+     with a quickened interest in our early national history, and a
+     profound admiration for the art that can so transport us to the
+     dreamful realms where fancy is monarch of fact.--_Press,
+     Philadelphia._
+
+     "The Story of Tonty" is full of the atmosphere of its time. It
+     betrays an intimate and sympathetic knowledge of the great age
+     of explorers, and it is altogether a charming piece of
+     work.--_Christian Union, New York._
+
+     Original in treatment, in subject, and in all the details of
+     _mise en scène_, it must stand unique among recent
+     romances.--_News, Chicago._
+
+     A vivid series of fascinating pictures.--_New York Observer._
+
+
+
+
+
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of With Edge Tools, by Hobart Chatfield-Taylor
+
+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: With Edge Tools
+
+Author: Hobart Chatfield-Taylor
+
+Release Date: August 24, 2010 [EBook #33528]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH EDGE TOOLS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Clarke, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1>WITH EDGE TOOLS</h1>
+
+<h2>BY HOBART CHATFIELD TAYLOR</h2>
+
+
+<h3>CHICAGO<br />
+A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY<br />
+1891</h3>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Copyright,</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">By A. C. McClurg and Co.</span><br />
+A. D. 1891.</h3>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. -->
+<p>
+<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. <span class="smcap">The Staten Club</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. <span class="smcap">Cross Fire</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. <span class="smcap">Two Women</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. <span class="smcap">In an Opera Box</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. <span class="smcap">A Challenge</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. <span class="smcap">Spanish Castles</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. <span class="smcap">The Patricians</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. <span class="smcap">Gathering Clouds</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. <span class="smcap">Oakhurst</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. "<span class="smcap">I Will Laugh, Too</span>"</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. <span class="smcap">Under the Willows</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. <span class="smcap">Unrest</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII. <span class="smcap">Derby Day</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV. <span class="smcap">Danger</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV. <span class="smcap">A Game of Skill</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI. <span class="smcap">In the Library</span></a><br /><br />
+<a href="#MRS_ABBOTTS_BOOKS">MRS. ABBOTT'S BOOKS.</a><br />
+<a href="#Other_Books">Other Books</a><br />
+</p>
+<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. -->
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>WITH EDGE TOOLS.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE STATEN CLUB.</h3>
+
+
+<p>In the world of clubs the "Staten" held its head proudly. It was a
+social union comprising the most exclusive men of family and fashion.
+Though its outward walls differed little from those of other clubs which
+lined the avenue, its muster-roll was sacredly guarded by the governors,
+and posted at the hall desk was a long list of waiting aspirants, each
+to undergo in his turn the scrutiny of the committee-room, where all
+antecedents must be known and approved before his card could bear
+"Staten Club" in the left-hand, lower corner. Other club buildings there
+were, in New York, of greater stateliness, with marble walls and
+galleries, and well filled libraries, but the "Staten" cared for none of
+these, and proudly pointed to its members' list, where were inscribed
+five hundred names which no other club could ever hope to equal. Three
+rooms, the restaurant, café, and billiard room, received their share of
+patronage, while the lounging room, upon the avenue, where a few papers
+were kept for respectability's sake, and others for use, was the daily
+haunt of some of the choicest spirits. In the early days of the club's
+history, to be sure, a thoughtless governor had inspired the foundation
+of a library. A room upstairs somewhere (few of the members knew where)
+was selected, and into this were placed a set of Dickens, the
+"Britannica," an atlas, a history or two, a dictionary, and perhaps a
+hundred other books, which together formed the nucleus of a store of
+knowledge. But no one went there except Simkins, Rynder and McLaughlin.
+They were a queer lot; none of the men could make them out; it was their
+families that got them elected, and they never seemed to have anything
+better to do than cuddle over musty books. But the choice clique were
+those whose names were most often signed to the wine-room tickets. It
+was they who ran the club and made it the popular place it was.</p>
+
+<p>On a particular January afternoon, of a year not long since passed, one
+of the broad, front windows of the lounging room was occupied by three
+intimates of "the set." There was Rennsler Van Vort, whose ancestor had
+been a red-faced burgher at the time when old Peter Stuyvesant
+rigorously ruled New Amsterdam. His fortune was his name, for the family
+was too old to be wealthy and too proud to be in trade; yet he never
+lacked a berth on a yacht or a room in a country house, and wherever he
+went, he brought a collection of rare tales and a song or two which made
+him the friend of all. Like his burgher ancestor he had a red, round
+face and was bald, but behind his glasses there were two queer, little
+eyes which shone with kindly humor, and from lips half hidden by stubby
+black hairs, bright, timely words were sure to come. Rennsler was the
+senior by several years of his companions, and, if the truth were known,
+he probably cared little for them, but Roland Waterman owned the
+"Phrygia," and Clifford Howard-Jones was a coaching man with a shooting
+box and other convenient accessories.</p>
+
+<p>It had been snowing in the morning, but the sun had turned the snow to
+slush, and the three men, for lack of more exciting sport, were
+watching the omnibus horses slide and struggle down Murray Hill, and the
+pedestrians splash and spatter in their vain efforts to dodge the cabs
+and reach the curbs with unsoiled feet. If the unfortunate wayfarer
+happened to be a woman, and a pretty one at that, the three friends
+would smirk and nudge each other, as the little feet tripped daintily
+from puddle to puddle, or splashed her white skirts with great mud
+blotches, while the owner folded them about her and pattered rapidly on
+her heels, foolishly fancying the more speed the less mud. An occasional
+witticism from Rennsler's lips would heighten the grotesqueness of a
+luckless passer's struggles. The other two would laugh and Howard-Jones
+would add some strained gibe, with the flat effect that forced wit
+always has. Perhaps half an hour was thus passed, when Howard-Jones
+spied a woman leaving a house in a side street. A carriage was waiting
+at the curb, and a footman was vainly endeavoring to protect her
+feathers from the rain; but forgetting the servant and his umbrella, she
+gathered her skirts up frantically and rushed from the bottom step to
+the carriage door, which, of course being closed, left her no
+alternative but to stand patiently in the drenching rain until the
+marked precision of the footman's steps brought relief and the umbrella.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at that action!" shouted Howard-Jones. "Great for park work but
+too high for the open. Easy, my beauty, or you will come a cropper at
+the curb. By Jove, fellows, it is Mrs. Harry Osgood."</p>
+
+<p>"So it is," replied Waterman. "I wonder what she is mousing about that
+street after? She must be searching for her Duncan. Dear girl, how
+pathetically lonesome she looked at Sherry's last night when Grahame
+left her to dance with Mrs. Rossy Platt."</p>
+
+<p>This remark was hailed by Howard-Jones with the world-wise chuckle with
+which a man of narrow sympathy and ill-spent life invariably receives a
+pointed insinuation against a woman's character. Broad sentiments and
+heroic impulses are seldom nursed in clubs, and Howard-Jones had learned
+his ethics within the limits of the world in which he moved.</p>
+
+<p>"If I were Osgood, I would go gunning for Grahame," he retorted. "A
+rounder like Duncan never hovers about a bird so long for nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"He had far better give up dogs and horses and bestow a little attention
+on his wife," Rennsler Van Vort replied. He had the persuasive sympathy,
+possessed by few men, which told him that a woman's heart, though easily
+won by flattery may be as easily lost by neglect. The lack of fortune
+had brought him into contact with the petty meanness of life and if he
+had made friends whose hospitality helped out his meagre purse, he knew
+that without his postprandial accomplishments and unquestioned ancestry
+few boards would have a place for him. He did not imagine that a moral
+truism would deeply affect his companions, but his broad instincts
+prompted him to add that "when a married woman goes astray it is usually
+the fault of her mother or her husband."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, old chap," retorted Howard-Jones. "Mrs. Osgood is a pretty
+woman, and a pretty woman must have admiration. Duncan used to admire
+her, but Osgood had the money and she married him. Duncan Grahame keeps
+right on admiring her and Osgood doesn't, so there you are."</p>
+
+<p>The argument thus incited might have been continued were it not for the
+interruption caused by the familiar voice of a man, who had just
+entered, hailing the group at the window with the somewhat pithy
+expression: "What are you sportsmen doing there? Staring at nothing,
+I'll wager, and I don't believe you have had one drink between you for a
+week."</p>
+
+<p>The men at the window turned, and were startled to see standing in the
+door the man of whom they were speaking, Duncan Grahame. His clothes
+showed that he had just come from the city. His trousers were turned up
+and muddy, and his hat was sprinkled with rain. The merry familiarity of
+his expression told, however, that he had not heard the remark just
+made, but Howard-Jones, a trifle abashed at finding one of the objects
+of his insinuations appear so inopportunely, and feeling that something
+had better be said to remove the embarrassment, took it upon himself to
+reply. "I don't believe we have, but you are just in time to stir us up.
+Rennsler has been preaching and we are awfully dry; just punch that
+bell, won't you."</p>
+
+<p>The appearance of the servant caused the four friends to draw as many
+chairs about a small cherry wood table, supplied with the usual
+complement of bell, match-box and ashtray, and as the servant put the
+familiar question&mdash;"What is the order, sir?" it was followed by the
+habitual meditative silence. Grahame threw himself back in his chair and
+pushed his hat back, doubtfully. "I have got a Sahara thirst," he
+finally said, "so I suppose it will have to be a long drink. Bring me a
+whiskey and soda."</p>
+
+<p>"Split the soda with me, won't you?" interjected Howard-Jones.</p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't think of it, my love," Grahame replied; "I have not had a
+drink to-day. Went to lunch with the senior partner and he ordered
+nothing more stimulating than unfiltered Croton. He took me out to talk
+business, and I nearly expired under the strain." Howard-Jones finally
+decided to indulge in a whole bottle of Delatour, but when Rennsler Van
+Vort quietly told the servant he would take an Apollinaris lemonade
+without sugar, it was too much for the dashing Duncan. "When do you take
+orders, old man?" he said. "All you need is a cowl and sandals, for
+nature has kindly tonsured your locks for you. I suppose you will soon
+be leading the singing at noon prayer meetings."</p>
+
+<p>"I am off my liquor," Van Vort replied; "but if I do come to noon
+meetings I feel sure I'll do better with Sankey hymns than I do now with
+comic ditties."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't start Rennsler preaching," Howard-Jones interjected, "he's primed
+with moral bosh and the atmosphere is too depressed already. What brings
+a hard-working man like you uptown at four o'clock? I thought you didn't
+knock off until five."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't," Duncan replied, "but I am going out to Chicago to-morrow and
+I am taking a half holiday to prepare my nerves for the strain."</p>
+
+<p>"Going to Chicago," the three interposed almost in a breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and, worse luck, I don't know when I shall get back. I am going
+out for an English syndicate we have in tow. The Britons have bought all
+the breweries and stock-yards out there, and now they are after
+elevators."</p>
+
+<p>"'Elevators'", exclaimed Waterman, "I should think they do need a few
+in London; those beastly 'lifts' they have in the hotels there are about
+the only British institution I don't admire. But what have you got to do
+with elevators?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be an ass, Roland," Duncan replied. "It is about time you knew
+that the chief industry of 'the city of the future', as some fool
+journalist calls Chicago,&mdash;pork of course excepted,&mdash;is grain, and
+elevators are the warehouses where it is stored. I am going out to work
+a scheme to buy them all up, make a trust, and sell the stock in London.
+Our house are the middlemen between Chicago and the Britons. Now do you
+see?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm deuced glad I didn't go into Wall Street," Roland replied. "I
+shouldn't care to be shut up in that beastly hole, Chicago. I don't
+believe there is a sportsman in the place. I stopped there a day once on
+my way to Minnesota, grouse shooting, and I never saw such a rum place.
+I put up at the biggest hotel in the town, and there wasn't much to
+complain of in the size of it; but the dirt and the niggers were too
+much for me. I had to eat dinner at two o'clock and I wish you could
+have seen how they managed it. I was met at the door by a six-foot black
+man in a waistcoat that was perhaps white in the year one, and a coat
+made in the days of Henry Clay. He waltzed us down the room with the
+airs of a drum major and put us at a table with a drummer and a cow-boy.
+There we were given in charge of another colored gentleman who polished
+off the plates with a greasy towel, and placed big tumblers of iced
+water at each place. He took our orders and brought us the soup in
+fairly good shape, except that his black fingers got into all the
+plates; but you ought to have seen the rest of the dinner. He started
+from the kitchen at a record-breaking pace, spinning a tray on the
+forefinger of his right hand. He galloped past us and deposited his
+implements on a side table, then he commenced to sling canary birds'
+bath tubs, filled with heaven knows what, across the table like poker
+chips, until we had a perfect collection of samples of the most
+villainously cooked truck I ever tasted. I tried to make out a 'feed',
+but I gave it up when the black gentleman appeared with all sorts of
+pie, floating island, ice cream and jelly. I then fled in despair and
+went out for a walk, but I didn't find anything but mud, smoke, and
+cable cars. I tell you, Duncan, old man, you don't know what Chicago is,
+or you wouldn't look so beautifully unconcerned."</p>
+
+<p>A burst of laughter greeted Waterman's recital of his pathetic
+experience, and then Duncan, who little relished his coming exile,
+mournfully asked if any of the fellows knew some people of the right
+sort in the place.</p>
+
+<p>"No one but a charming creature of the vintage of forty-nine whom I saw
+at the Pier last summer," retorted Howard-Jones. "She must ride sixteen
+stone, but she canters about like a yearling and plasters her hair all
+over her face in little curlycues, to say nothing of her voice, which
+used to run an effective opposition to the steam horn at the lighthouse.
+But speaking of lighthouses, you should have seen her diamond earrings;
+the light on Point Judith wasn't a circumstance to them. When the heat
+was too much for her, she used to mop her face with a piece of chamois
+and puff like a crippled hunter. The papers called her 'the beautiful
+and accomplished leader of Chicago society.' I tell you, old man, she is
+the girl for you; she'll enliven your weary hours."</p>
+
+<p>Another laugh greeted this effusion, but Van Vort felt compelled to
+interpose an objection. "I don't believe any of you fellows know the
+first thing about the West," he said. "Your ideas are bounded by Bar
+Harbor on the north and Washington on the south, and as for their
+western limits, they don't extend beyond Orange County."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, old chap, you're getting into deep water. Didn't I tell you I had
+been in Chicago?" objected Waterman.</p>
+
+<p>"You went out West after chickens, and you didn't get beyond a Minnesota
+shooting club. As for Chicago, you admit that you were there on a muggy
+day and didn't stir two squares from an hotel which, I wager, wasn't the
+best in the place. As for the people, one of the best mannered women I
+ever met came from Chicago."</p>
+
+<p>"Who was she?" Duncan interrupted. "If there is anybody decent in the
+place I want to know her."</p>
+
+<p>"Her name is Mrs. Sanderson. I met her in Washington last winter. Her
+uncle was in the State Department and she was visiting him. She had a
+friend with her who is also from Chicago, I think, and they both of
+them were better read and had less affectation than any women I have met
+for a year, at least."</p>
+
+<p>"That sounds encouraging," replied Duncan. "I think I have heard Sibyl
+Wright talk about that Mrs. Sanderson. If there is any sport in Chicago
+I am bound to have it. My old college chum, Harold Wainwright, has been
+living out there for three years and he must know the town by this
+time."</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Duncan, won't you have some more liquor? You need it to fortify
+your nerves for that voyage of discovery."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are right, Roland," Duncan replied. "By Jove, though, I
+don't believe I have time; I have got a date before dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes you have; just one more for luck. Here, waiter, take the
+orders."</p>
+
+<p>The glasses were soon removed and freshly filled ones took their place.
+"When are you off?" said Waterman.</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow on the 'Limited'" was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Then let's drink to the great Duncan and his success among the
+pork-packers," said Howard-Jones.</p>
+
+<p>The four men quickly drained their glasses and Duncan took a hurried
+leave of his friends. "Good-by, Duncan, good-by," were the exchanged
+partings. Duncan hurried through the hall, hailed a cab at the door,
+gave an uptown address to the driver, jumped into the cab, and was off.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<h3>CROSS FIRE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Duncan was dressing. It was already five minutes past the hour named for
+dinner on his invitation, but if Duncan were not late at dinner, it
+would deprive the guests of one stock topic of conversation, and he had
+never yet been so inconsiderate. No one waited for him, and when he
+finally appeared with some trumped up excuse, it was greeted with a
+round of laughter, and served to enliven the naturally trifling <i>entrée</i>
+conversation; so no one,&mdash;least of all the hostess,&mdash;blamed him. One who
+has been in an engine house when an alarm of fire is turned in can form
+some idea of Duncan's dressing accomplishments. There were, to be sure,
+no clanging gongs, stamping horses, and scurrying, half-dressed men, but
+there was the same instantaneous assumption of perfect order out of
+bewildering chaos. His servant was his faithful assistant, and when
+Duncan's steps were heard upon the stairs, he would seize a shirt in
+one hand and a pair of trousers in the other, which he held waiting for
+the arrival of his master. Duncan would make a wild rush through the
+door, and his top coat, coat and waistcoat would fly across the room at
+random, while Parker pulled off one pair of trousers and assisted him on
+with another. A dive into a face bath would give Parker time to change
+the odds and ends in Duncan's pockets; while on would go the shirt, and
+the tie would be adjusted and his hair smoothed while the servant
+replaced the muddy boots with evening shoes. Coat and waistcoat would go
+on together, hat, umbrella and overcoat be seized, and off Duncan would
+start in the official time of three minutes and seventeen seconds.</p>
+
+<p>On the present occasion he desisted from his dressing long enough to
+read a small, blue note which he found upon his dressing table. It was
+worded as follows: "The coast is clear at nine, and will be so till
+after midnight. I will see you if you come." There was no signature or
+address. It had been left by a maid in the usual way, so Parker said,
+but even unsigned and non-committal as it was, it did not please
+Duncan. "I wish I could forget that woman," he muttered to himself. "But
+I suppose I will be there and play the fool, just as I always do. I have
+a mind to break away from her, though." Then, turning to Parker, he
+continued audibly, "I am going to Chicago to-morrow morning. Have my
+portmanteau and shirt box packed. You know about what I want, but put in
+plenty of shirts as I may be gone some weeks."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good, sir," replied the taciturn Parker. "Hi suppose you will want
+your hulster for the journey, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Duncan; then putting on his coat and hat, and seizing a
+pair of gloves and a stick, he rushed down the stairs without stopping
+for that apartment elevator which was never running, jumped into the cab
+he had left waiting, and was off uptown to his dinner. He was only half
+an hour late but his rudeness was punished, for he was placed between a
+débutante and a dowager, and condemned for two mortal hours to endure
+alternately insipid zephyrs and chilling blasts of small talk.
+Stiff-backed chairs were there and stiff-backed people were in them.
+Shaded candles threw a flickering light upon a mass of plate and
+flowers, bonbons, almonds, fruit and glasses. Around the table was a
+circle of bare necks and diamonds, white shirts and ties; and behind the
+chairs solemn footmen silently moved from place to place passing the
+endless courses. Some of the guests were bright and others solemn; some
+brilliant and others stupid; but they were the component parts of a
+fashionable dinner. There was a banker, a broker, a yachtsman, a
+diplomat, a merchant, and a sprinkling of dawdling men of leisure, and
+their wives, daughters, and cousins. The forks rattled and the tongues
+clattered, while each strove to hide his inner nature behind an
+effective pose. The clever succeeded and the stupid failed. Coffee was
+brought; the women arose, a man or two sprawled beneath the table to
+find some fan or glove, and then the women filed slowly out to gossip
+and dissect their neighbors, and the men remained to drink and smoke and
+drink again, while a ribald wag related some choice but scandalous tale,
+and ardent sportsmen took sides in vain disputes about the "Poseidon's"
+time allowance and "Salvador's" Suburban chances.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan was moodily indisposed for banter or dispute. His buoyant and
+careless spirit seldom deserted him, but this dinner only claimed his
+presence because his senior partner was the host, and none of his
+<i>intimes</i> being there, he fell readily into a state of passive
+ill-humor. He dosed over his glass of port, carelessly puffed his cigar
+and occasionally proffered an opinion with a superior air incited by his
+social ascendency over most of the men present. Duncan Grahame was a man
+whose dominant characteristic was assurance, tempered only by an
+intuitive knowledge of the social amenities. He was often bold but never
+vulgar. He was rude in the manner of most society men, but his rudeness
+was a pose prompted by the mannerisms of the age, and designed, as was
+his coat, after the latest London model. He possessed the rare fortune
+of being considered handsome both by men and women. His beauty was of
+the vigorous type, which wins admiration by its manliness rather than
+its perfection. His eyes were great, grey wells, which gave to women a
+Narcissus-like reflection of their own impulses. They charmed by their
+seeming sympathy, but were really the artful tools of conscious power.
+To most men's minds curly hair is a blemish which barbers' shears and
+bristly brushes may remove, but to women Duncan Grahame's short; crispy
+black curls were a seldom failing charm. Although his eyes might deceive
+even one who knew the countless evidences of breeding and career, his
+mouth, partly hidden by a short moustache, betrayed the hard,
+unmistakable markings of indulgence, and a student of life would have
+mentally described him by the trite, though significant expression, "a
+man of the world." And such was Duncan Grahame,&mdash;no better and no worse
+than scores whose names adorn the blue books of metropolitan life. There
+was once a time, not many years before, when he had been an innocent and
+confiding boy. He had gone to school and then to college,&mdash;a dangerous
+experiment at best, but, with a boy like Duncan, who had been brought up
+within the strictness of a Connecticut home and turned upon the world
+without a knowledge of it, pretty sure to result as it had turned out in
+his case. It was the old story of weakness, ignorance, and a desire to
+emulate his upper classmen and be a man. The first step was not taken
+without a struggle, but one by one the cards of which the Puritan moral
+structure was built were blown away, and, left without support, the
+edifice collapsed. What other result could be expected? His Christian
+ethics were but the expurgated teachings of the pulpit, tempered by
+dogmas and doctrines, and in his home the faintest whisperings of the
+real world brought blushes to his parents, and stilted, meaningless
+words of warning. His first intimations of worldly ways were gathered
+surreptitiously in the streets, and his first knowledge of the nature of
+sin came with the temptation. The struggle was brief; perhaps it was as
+strong as could be expected; and soon he was the careless, fearless
+leader of the mischievous, rollicking set to be found in every college.
+He became, he thought, a man, and knew the world. He left college and
+after two years in London and Paris came to New York. His family was
+excellent, his appearance attractive, his manners good, and his
+assurance unbounded,&mdash;all that was needed, except money, to win social
+success in the metropolis. Money he did not have, but he resolved to
+make it, so into Wall Street he went, and was so successful there, that
+at the end of three years he became the junior partner of a great
+brokerage house and was entrusted with the furtherance of many delicate
+schemes. In society he had won his way to a leadership in not the best,
+but the best advertised, set in New York. The plunge into the cold
+torrent of Wall Street deception was sufficient to chill even a stronger
+optimistic ardor than Duncan's, but when he was carried on into the
+whirling, flashing eddies of smart society, only to be left shivering
+upon the cruel reefs of selfishness and debauchery, every chivalrous
+sentiment was gone, and when he gathered courage for the second plunge,
+it was as a designing, selfish disciple of utility.</p>
+
+<p>To return to the dinner. The men had left their coffee and cigars and
+the lucky ones had singled out attractive adversaries, with whom to
+thrust and parry bright, sharp phrases in those exhilarating
+practice-bouts of love, sure to precede the desperate encounters where
+mask and buttoned foil are cast aside. Others, to whom fortune was less
+kind, were striving to cull from unsympathetic neighbors some evidences
+of interest and intelligence, or had resigned themselves to the
+melancholy fate of being bored. Duncan wandered restlessly about awhile.
+He found no one to interest him, and being too selfish deliberately to
+resign himself to another dowager, he remembered that his intended
+journey to the West offered a plausible reason for retiring, so, making
+his excuses to the hostess, he took his departure, feeling, as he folded
+his muffler about his neck and buttoned his great-coat, that for a
+successful dinner more depends on the choice of guests than the choice
+of wines.</p>
+
+<p>The little blue note found upon his dressing table turned his steps
+still farther uptown. The thaw of the afternoon was over; it was
+snowing, and cold blasts blew the flakes against his face, biting his
+cheeks and chilling his humor, so that when he had trudged the three
+squares he had to go, he felt the ill-temper which a raw wind invariably
+produces in one whose moods change with the barometer. He approached the
+particular flight of brown stone steps he sought, and observing that
+the street both ways was free from passers, and that the curtains of the
+adjoining houses were drawn, he ascended and rang the bell; a servant
+soon opened the door and he entered quickly. The door closed, and,
+instead of darkness and snowflake blasts, there was warmth and light,
+and a pretty woman standing just inside the drawing-room door, murmuring
+playfully in a soft tone: "Duncan, you cold, naughty fellow, I was
+willing to lay a dozen bottles of Houbigant that this wind would have
+blown away what little was left of your flighty heart."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't chaff me. I'm in no mood for it. I wish you had sat out a stupid
+dinner and afterward had tramped three blocks in the snow."</p>
+
+<p>"I actually believe that the usually serene nature of Mr. Duncan Grahame
+is a trifle, that is to say only a trifle, ruffled," she ironically
+replied. "I fancied that while Henry Stokes Osgood, Esquire, whom the
+laws designate my lord and master, was attending the Yacht Club
+election, Mr. Grahame might deign to amuse me. If I was not mistaken,
+his lordship, when he has removed his outer garments, can find me in the
+back drawing-room."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan was left standing in the hallway. He had silently permitted her
+to retire because he had been unable to find a ready reply to her words.
+He had made up his mind to be disagreeable, and it angered him to have
+his guns silenced after the first fire.</p>
+
+<p>He was in the habit of bullying women, but such tactics had invariably
+proved useless against Helen Osgood. When he was away from her he felt
+ashamed to think that her's was the stronger nature. He fancied, at
+times, that he did not care for her, and was resolved for policy's sake
+to break away from her influence, but each attempt of his to anger her,
+instead of producing tears and pleadings, ended, as he feared this
+would, in a meek surrender on his part. "That woman understands me," he
+muttered as he removed his great-coat. He was never sure of his ability
+to read her subtle blue-black eyes; even her soft, olive cheeks never
+changed their delicate shading, and her thin, languid lips were often
+determined and cold. Her hair was of a lustreless black, and her figure
+was delicately, but superbly, formed. She was the blended type of Celt
+and Creole, her father being Scotch and her mother of Louisiana French
+descent. In her the cold cunning of the North bridled the reckless
+warmth of the South. Her acts were prompted by impulse but masked by
+design, and if Duncan seemed at times to reach her Southern heart, the
+canny Scotch nature quickly veiled her feelings, and he was left at a
+loss to know whether he had inspired passion or merely aroused
+amusement.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not his nature to analyze deeply or reflect long. He removed
+his coat, walked slowly down the long hallway, and entered the back
+drawing-room door. Mrs. Osgood was gracefully ensconced in the corner of
+a divan from the Orient, and her eyes were fixed apparently upon the
+latest work of Paul Bourget. A tall, bronze lamp was at her side and its
+rays were tempered by a carefully selected shade of the most becoming
+tinge. The other lights were dimmed, and beyond could be seen the
+subdued forms of graceful plants, while beneath her feet the yielding
+fur of an Arctic bear half hid two tiny bronze-tipped slippers and just
+enough of scarlet silk.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan stood silently before her. Uncurbed natures are the most
+capricious, and as he gazed his anger turned to admiration, and he
+softly sat down beside her, took her hand, and said winningly, "Nell,
+dear, let's be friends."</p>
+
+<p>She pushed him away, and with a quick, proud toss of her head coldly
+said, "Not till my lord Duncan has humbly sued for pardon."</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon for what?"</p>
+
+<p>"For intended flight to the West without permission and leave-taking."</p>
+
+<p>"Am I not, then, the master of my actions?" Duncan replied in a somewhat
+ruffled tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Not if you expect my favor." Then, lowering her large, black eyes, and
+pointing authoritatively to the floor, she continued: "Down on your
+knees and confess you were attempting to act without my knowledge."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan started angrily. He was nettled at the tone of authority she
+assumed, so he replied: "I will do nothing of the kind. I see no reason
+why my actions should be accounted to, much less pardoned by, you."</p>
+
+<p>"You big, foolish fellow," she laughingly said. "You have been spoilt by
+women. You expect that a declaration of independence delivered with so
+much bluster will anger me. Down on your knees and ask forgiveness."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan jumped to his feet and paced the floor. He was too angry to speak
+at first, but he finally said in defiant tones: "I should think that my
+intended departure without your being informed of it, would be
+sufficient to advise you that your possible feelings on the subject were
+of supreme indifference to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed!" she replied, carelessly tossing aside the Bourget novel. "So I
+am to infer that Mr. Duncan Grahame, being weary of the woman upon whom
+he has previously pretended to bestow his favors, imagines that the
+easiest, and of course the most manly, way to rid himself of her is
+surreptitiously to steal away and leave her to discover his change of
+heart as best she can. Very well, so be it. But I really wish you would
+not molest that poor bear's head with the toe of your boot. If you have
+no regard for me, you should, at least, consider the feelings of my
+rug."</p>
+
+<p>She quietly commenced reading her book, and the careless and continued
+tapping of the little bronze-toed slipper on the rug seemed to emphasize
+her apparently complete absorption in the words of the French romancer.
+There is no man&mdash;or woman either&mdash;who will not chafe under the strain of
+indifference, and Duncan was no exception to the rule. Open war he
+relished, but to be dismissed with peremptory coldness when he had
+intended to be the aggressor was humiliating to the strongest sentiment
+of his nature, his pride. He silently watched her, trying, meanwhile, to
+formulate some plan of action. Angry words rose to his lips but were
+checked by prudence. He had lost his temper too much, he thought. His
+eyes carelessly wandered toward the book she was reading; "C&oelig;ur de
+femme" were the words printed across the yellow cover leaf. "If that
+Frenchman understands his subject," he thought, "she will read somewhere
+in that book that a woman's heart adores its master and detests its
+slave. Bourget is an analyst of nature, they say. Could he teach me
+more than that submission can never be success. Thank you, Monsieur
+Bourget; your yellow cover has given me an idea." Then, assuming an air
+of mock humility, he said: "I have been waiting to hear if you have
+anything further to add to your discharge."</p>
+
+<p>She slowly raised her eyes from her book and said coolly, "Nothing
+whatever. I think you understand me perfectly; if you are satisfied I
+am." Then she turned again to the book, apparently vexed at the
+interruption.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," he replied. "Since the understanding is mutually perfect,
+please accept the conventional expressions of leave taking, and permit
+me to say 'adieu'."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a favor you can easily obtain," she replied. "But pray spare me
+the task of calling a servant; this book is intensely amusing, and I
+feel sure you know all the doors of the house."</p>
+
+<p>"By Jove, you are a keen one," Duncan muttered to himself; then he
+slowly walked to the door, put on his coat, took his hat, turned up his
+collar, opened the door, and descended the steps. "That woman," he
+thought, "is a sportsman to the bone, but it will do her good to leave
+her for a while. She's a thoroughbred, though, and I wish I didn't love
+her."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Osgood listened quietly until the door had shut and the sound of
+his steps had died away. "So he expected me to act like a school-girl,"
+she said, half aloud. "Some women are fools, I suppose. I am glad he did
+not bluster any more. I hate a man who loses his temper. So, Mr. Duncan,
+you want to leave me. You have my permission; but you will soon be back,
+and then perhaps you will hear me tell you that I&mdash;no you won't, for I
+want to keep your handsome, curly head all for myself."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<h3>TWO WOMEN.</h3>
+
+
+<p>We have all seen a manly young fellow go up to college. Full of life and
+vigor, he sees the world before him; but the thought of all its battles
+rouses no fear in his young heart, and, though his pranks are boyish and
+his manners rough, he stumbles good humoredly and persistently on into
+success. His upper classmen patronizingly smile upon him, while his
+natural enemy, the Soph, taunts and teases him, but is sometimes brought
+down and punished by his strong, young arms. Youthful, growing Chicago
+reminds one of this college boy. She has left the school of preparation
+and has taken her place among the great cities of the earth, where, full
+of energy and life, she is fighting her way to the front. Her mature
+colleagues of the Old World smile patronizingly at her efforts, but
+doubt her powers; while the cities of the East, seeing in her a young
+rival, taunt and ridicule her with jealous anger. She is young; but
+strong and active; and if she is sometimes carried away by the very
+energy of her youth, she is never daunted, and the older cities of the
+East have already felt the vigor of her sinewy grasp. Chicago, with her
+broad avenues and stupendous buildings, her spacious parks and stately
+homes, her far-reaching railways and towering chimneys, her bustling
+marts and busy, surging crowds of active men and women, is the archetype
+of American energy,&mdash;the creation of yesterday and the marvel of to-day.
+But the mortar is scarcely dry and the stones are still undimmed by
+time. She is as the mason, the carpenter, and the builder have left
+her&mdash;crude and fresh, without the dignified stains of age, without the
+majestic polish which time alone can give. Her social structure, like
+her brick and mortar buildings, is solidly laid and firmly built, but
+new. Her people built Chicago and she is the best memorial of their
+energy. They are still young and vigorous; in them the ardor of the
+pioneer is scarcely dead; the lethargy of long-held wealth has yet to
+come.</p>
+
+<p>In the library of an imposing, but new, grey stone mansion on Chicago's
+Lake Shore Drive two women were dawdling together over Petrarch's
+"Canzoniere" in the original. A well-thumbed dictionary was in the lap
+of one, and by the other's side lay Volume IV. of Symond's "Renaissance
+in Italy." It was cold January, and the broad, low window showed the
+angry lake dashing against the great sea wall and splashing the
+sparkling spray far over the roadway. The moaning north wind furiously
+rattled the long casements and sent occasional puffs of smoke and
+cinders out from the brightly blazing hearth fire; but these outward
+signs of winter were unable to affect the inviting coziness of the
+apartment. Fortunately the decorator's work had stopped at the walls;
+so, although artistically arranged, it was also a room to live in.
+Though the chairs were carved to match the panels, they were
+also&mdash;pardon the term&mdash;sittable; and though the bindings on the low
+book-shelves blended well with the tapestries and rugs, the books
+themselves were readable. The same judgment which had chosen the books
+had selected bronzes and porcelain, tiles and tapestries, and the
+tasteful arrangement of the art objects at once bespoke the dilettante.</p>
+
+<p>The elder student of Italian lyrics, glancing up from the "Rime in vita
+e morte" said interrogatively to her friend: "I wish I knew, Florence,
+whether Madonna Laura were once a living woman or merely the divine
+creation of the poet's soul."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure she must have been a fancy," the other replied. "She is too
+ideal for flesh and blood, and besides, she was married. I don't think
+it is natural for any man so sincerely to love another man's wife."</p>
+
+<p>"You horrid girl! You forget that Petrarch was a poet."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't, my dear Marion; but so were Shelley, Byron, de Musset, and
+scores of others. The same broad collar and velvet jacket often cover
+both an artistic temperament and a fleshly nature. Now I, for one, don't
+believe in pardoning in genius what we condemn in mediocrity. If Laura
+was an inspiration of Petrarch's soul, the poet has my admiration; if
+she was merely another man's wife with whom he was enamored,&mdash;no matter
+how delightfully he may have sung of her,&mdash;I lose respect for
+Petrarch."</p>
+
+<p>"You have no appreciation of the beautiful, Florence."</p>
+
+<p>"I appreciate the beautiful, but I also respect virtue. There is enough
+that is beautiful in this world but not enough that is good."</p>
+
+<p>"O, you Philistine. How can you go on reading these exquisite lyrics and
+not soar above Puritan casuistry in the enjoyment of beauty for its own
+sake?"</p>
+
+<p>"You misunderstand me, my dear. I never said that I did not appreciate
+the beauties of this rhythm and the subtleties of this language. What I
+mean is that I see no reason why a poet's errors should be pardoned
+because his quatrains are above criticism. Now Petrarch, by his own
+confession, was not exceptionally well-behaved, but whatever his morals
+may have been they should not be judged by his lyrics. Nor, for that
+matter, should his lyrics be judged by his behavior."</p>
+
+<p>"You have lived in a New Hampshire village too long to view the world
+through the broad lenses of cosmopolitanism."</p>
+
+<p>"I have been away from a New Hampshire village long enough to look
+through the sordid spectacles of worldliness, and I was glad enough to
+return to my Puritan blue glasses."</p>
+
+<p>"Stop talking such nonsense, Florence. I don't believe a word of it.
+Here you are not quite twenty-four years old. You have had the same
+education I had; we went to the same school, studied the same books,
+lived in the same room, traveled about Europe together for nearly a
+year, met the same people, have almost the same tastes, and have spent a
+winter in Washington together, to say nothing of our countless letters
+to each other in the interim. The only real difference between us is
+that you were born in Fairville and I in Chicago, that I am married and
+you are not, and that I am fourteen months your senior; yet with all
+this affinity of tastes and education, you deliver a bit of
+straight-laced Calvinism which makes me shudder and smell sulphur and
+roasting flesh."</p>
+
+<p>"I deny the implied accusation, although, if finding fault with the
+recklessness of life of the present day constitutes being a Puritan, I
+fear I shall be compelled to plead guilty. They say one's face is an
+index of one's character, so I suppose mine is as long as the one
+hundred and nineteenth Psalm, and as narrow as it is long."</p>
+
+<p>"No, Florence, you are a dissembler, for your sparkling blue eyes,
+bright cheeks, and soft brown hair are more Parisienne than Puritan, to
+say nothing of those white teeth and that sweet little mouth. No, my
+dear, there is nothing narrow about your face; in fact, I think it is
+almost round enough for a Breton peasant."</p>
+
+<p>"You cruel woman! I shall never forgive you for such an insulting
+remark. You could say nothing worse except to call me buxom. I know I am
+not classic, or antique Etruscan, or Ptolemaic, but I don't think you
+need tell me to my face that I am <i>paysanne</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't lose your temper, dear. If I told the truth, I should say that
+your beauty is of that charming eclectic type which only America can
+produce. Intelligence and fidelity shine in your deep blue eyes, and any
+woman would give ten years of her life for your coloring, to say nothing
+of your superbly tall figure."</p>
+
+<p>"I feel a trifle better, but I can't quite forgive you for the round
+face."</p>
+
+<p>"If Miss Florence Moreland is still provoked, she may have revenge by
+telling me exactly what she thinks of my personal appearance and
+character as interpreted by my features."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Roswell Sanderson is most formal, but I assure her that if I
+speak, it will be to tell the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Florence, I am really in earnest, and I promise not to be angry.
+I should so like to know exactly what you think of me."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are the dearest friend I ever had, and I don't intend to
+lose you by criticism."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, Florence, I promise not to be angry, and I feel that it will
+actually do me good."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you will hear things quite as disagreeable as 'the round
+face,' here goes. I shall begin with your eyes. I believe novelists call
+them the lanterns of the soul. You have superb, dreamy, black eyes; eyes
+to fill a woman with envy or a man with love,&mdash;but they are both
+absent-minded and ambitious; they show a restless longing after
+unattained hopes. In other words, they are dissatisfied and cold, but
+from an artistic standpoint that only enhances their attractiveness."</p>
+
+<p>"You horrid creature! But I promised to be quiet, so go on."</p>
+
+<p>"So much for the eyes; now the nose. It is exquisitely moulded and
+classic. I shall dismiss the nose as perfect."</p>
+
+<p>"O, thank you so much."</p>
+
+<p>"Now the mouth. It has a cupid's bow and it droops at the corners. I
+like your mouth, but I think it also looks dissatisfied. An artist would
+rave over it, but when his eyes fell on that transparently white
+complexion, and that glossy hair so artistically knotted at the back, I
+am sure he would think you were a creation of Phidias lost from the
+Elgin rooms of the British Museum. If you did call me eclectic, I must
+admit that your type is pure, unalloyed Greek; but I won't let you off
+altogether, for I consider your figure a trifle too stubby. Does that
+pay you up for 'the round face'?"</p>
+
+<p>"I promised to keep my temper, so I will spare you; besides, I must
+confess that I did not come off so badly after all. 'The creation of
+Phidias' was quite flattering; but what makes you think I look
+dissatisfied?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure you should not look so, for of all women in the world you
+have the least to make you discontented."</p>
+
+<p>"O, Florence, don't talk that way. You, who have been my best friend and
+my only confidante, ought to know that even the brightest surroundings
+have their shadows." Then Marion looked out over the angry, grey waters,
+and Florence saw in her deep, black eyes just the dissatisfied, longing
+look she had described.</p>
+
+<p>"I think," said Florence, "that what you call shadows on your bright
+surroundings are but tarnish which neglect has left there. A little
+extra care will make all bright."</p>
+
+<p>"I want sympathy, not sermons, Florence. I was brought up on texts and
+tracts, and the Westminster catechism was my daily nourishment."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Marion, dear, I don't want to preach; I want to help you; but it
+is hard for me to understand why you should not be perfectly happy. Your
+husband adores you; he is rich and denies you nothing; you are a leader
+in society, young, handsome and admired. What more do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, I really don't. If some fairy queen were to appear in a
+blaze of light and spangles out of that coal-scuttle and promise to
+fulfill any wish, I should be at a loss to tell her what I really want,
+but I am not happy. To myself I find fault with everything and
+everybody. Some people bore me, some people upset my nerves; at times I
+feel utterly lifeless, and at times I get into such a state of mind that
+I almost scream, and all over nothing at all. When I go out and meet the
+same old set over and over again,&mdash;and such a narrow, prosaic set at
+that,&mdash;it seems as though I should fairly go mad. What I want is a
+change. I am perfectly contented away from this depressing place. When I
+was in Washington last spring, I felt almost like another woman; in fact
+I don't believe it is anything but the provincialism of Chicago which is
+putting me in such states of mind."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be foolish, Marion. As though such a cause could make you
+discontented. If it does, then you don't appreciate your native city. I
+like Chicago and I would rather visit here than in any place I know."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps it is because your old friend, Harold Wainwright, lives here,"
+said Marion insinuatingly. Just a tinge of color rose in her friend's
+cheeks, but she did not reply, so Marion continued: "You don't have to
+live here nine months in the year, and you don't know all the
+intricacies and peculiarities of our society."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I don't, but to me the peculiarities are all in Chicago's
+favor. I love the go-ahead spirit, and I love the lack of affectation
+among the people one meets."</p>
+
+<p>"The go-ahead spirit you love," Marion replied, "is but an insatiable
+craving for the 'mighty dollar', and the lack of affectation resolves
+itself into a lack of <i>savoir faire</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Marion, how can you say such things. You have friends here with as
+much knowledge of the world as any one."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but how many? Perhaps fifty, or be liberal and say a hundred, and
+they were all brought up away from Chicago, or, like myself, have lived
+away from here a good many years of their lives. If they remain here
+long enough they will stagnate like the natives."</p>
+
+<p>"You unpatriotic rebel. I have almost a mind to denounce you to the
+people you are slandering."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not slandering them. I am only speaking my convictions. You think
+I am captious, but I merely understand the subject, and I ought to, for
+heaven knows I have had a long enough experience. One has the choice
+here between parvenu vulgarity and Puritanic narrow mindedness. The one
+makes us the butt of the comic papers and the other is simply
+unbearable. I was brought up in the latter, and of course all ancient
+families,&mdash;that is to say, those dating from before the fire,&mdash;come
+under that eminently respectable classification, but I actually believe
+one would find the pork-packers more distracting."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you call Puritanic narrow-mindedness, Marion?"</p>
+
+<p>"I call it that carping sanctimoniousness which makes certain people
+throw up their hands in horror at the slightest appearance of advanced
+and civilized ideas. It is scarcely more than five years since a woman
+who wore décolleté evening gowns was one of the chosen of Beelzebub, a
+warm meal on Sunday night was a sacrilege, and wine at dinner the
+creation of the Devil himself; but the people who hold such ideas will
+talk scandal by the hour while making red flannel shirts for heathen
+babies. I don't believe you know how a few of us have struggled to
+liberalize this city and raise its society a little above that of a
+country village."</p>
+
+<p>"You are too bitter, Marion."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I am not. You should have witnessed the tussle I had with mama,
+before I was married, in order to get livery on our coachman, and to
+abolish the anachronism of a one-o'clock dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to me, Marion, that your criticisms apply to the Chicago of
+the past and not to the Chicago of to-day. I am sure I never endured a
+noon dinner, and as for the turn-outs one meets, many of them are quite
+as well appointed as one could desire."</p>
+
+<p>"I grant you that, but then it is the same limited few that have wrought
+all these changes, and, improved as the city is, we have had to overcome
+almost insurmountable prejudices. I grant you that Chicago has passed
+the chrysalis age. It is no longer a village but it is far from being a
+metropolis."</p>
+
+<p>"You have everything here which makes a city: opera, theatres, parks,
+drives, shops, art galleries, libraries, restaurants, and even races.
+What more do you desire?"</p>
+
+<p>"People, Florence; people. We want people with the instinctive sense of
+the fitness of things, people with refined tastes and cultivated minds,
+people whose souls are not bound up either in dollars or in psalms."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Marion! I can name you, off-hand, twenty as advanced and
+cultivated people as I ever met."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you can, and perhaps fifty more, but there you will have to
+stop. Three or four score of people do not make society."</p>
+
+<p>"If you talk that way I shall believe you are more bigoted than the
+sanctified families you have just described. I really believe you go
+about conjuring up imaginable faults in your friends merely to carry out
+your ideas."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be nasty, Florence."</p>
+
+<p>"No, my dear, I love you too much for that; but it is really dreadful
+for you to get into such states of mind. I think I understand what you
+feel; you have led a nomadic existence, and you were educated in a
+different atmosphere. An acquaintance with three languages, a season in
+London, a winter in Washington, and a strong love of variety all combine
+to make you discontented with the life here. You want a kaleidoscopic
+existence, an ever shifting scene, and because you are here, a thousand
+miles from the nearest city worthy of the name, it is quite natural that
+you should tire of meeting the same people day after day. You think of
+London, New York, and Washington, where society is continually shifting,
+where new people come and go, where every one does not know or care
+about his neighbor's business; but, Marion, granting all this, are you
+not a little too bitter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps; but just think of the lack of <i>savoir faire</i> that one finds
+here; the striving to do a thing correctly and missing it just
+sufficiently to ruin the effect."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a criticism which might be applied to American society in
+general. It is only a poor imitation of the English model. For my part,
+I almost wish we could go back to pumpkin-pie and Johnny-cake. I wish
+we could go 'buggy riding with our beaux' and 'spark in the back
+parlor.' It was all more original, and, what is more to the point, more
+American."</p>
+
+<p>"You fairly make me shudder, Florence. Where did you get such
+Jeffersonian ideas?"</p>
+
+<p>"In my New Hampshire home, perhaps; but despite my patriotism, I
+recognize that the buggy and the back parlor have gone never to return.
+I don't regret it, either, for I am just as fond of refinement as you
+are; but what I do object to is the introduction of extraneous ideas
+which are contrary to the spirit of Americanism. I love Chicago because
+it is fairly American, and represents more truly than the older cities
+the Yankee spirit which made us a free people. You may have vulgar
+parvenus here, but where are they not to be found? This may be the only
+large city where New England Puritanism affects society, but it is, at
+least, American, and better than European immorality. There may be only
+a few people here who are initiated into the esoterics of manners and
+manias, but how many good husbands, loving wives, and happy children
+are there among your rich! you may dine at seven o'clock and go to
+dances at ten; some of you may talk with a twang and pronounce <i>u</i> like
+double <i>o</i>; but how many snobs and sycophants, how many unemployed and
+dissipated men, how many intriguers and gamblers have you in Chicago
+society? For my part I love refinement and <i>les petits soins</i> as much as
+you do, Marion; but if we can't have the good of European life without
+the bad, if we can't cultivate manners without vices, better far go back
+to sewing bees and church sociables, and keep our morals pure; better
+have baked beans and blue laws than truffled capon and depravity. There,
+I feel quite exhausted, but I have had my say."</p>
+
+<p>"Really, Florence, you almost take my breath away. I have not heard such
+a screeching of the American eagle since I can remember. It ought to
+make me very much ashamed, I suppose, but somehow the flapping of the
+bird of freedom's wings never did inspire me."</p>
+
+<p>"I positively refuse to quarrel any more, but I do wish you could feel
+different; you would be so much happier," Florence replied.</p>
+
+<p>"O, it is of no use. I am discontented by nature, I suppose. My ideals
+are too high, my realities too low. Success among people of rank,
+reputation, and intellect, is what I desire; a position among merchants,
+manufacturers, and shop-keepers is what I have. For intellectual variety
+I read a few papers before the Renaissance Club, and meet such
+occasional notables as stop over here long enough to view the
+stock-yards. I am the wife of a Chicago banker with all the prerogatives
+of that position, but nothing more, and with no prospect of being
+anything more."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing short of a coronet and a Court appointment would satisfy you, I
+fear. As for merchants and shop-keepers, all American society is
+composed mainly of them or their spendthrift children. But I am firm in
+my intention not to argue any more, so let us go back to Madonna Laura.
+If you want to feel better satisfied with Chicago, think about the
+sickening spectacle of Roman society at the time of Petrarch, and the
+futile efforts of his friend, Rienzi, to regenerate it."</p>
+
+<p>"We sha'n't have time either for reading or discussion before dinner.
+There is Roswell's key in the door, and he was never known to leave the
+office before six o'clock. What gown are you going to wear? Something
+charming, as usual; but don't forget that the drapery in the Auditorium
+is old gold plush."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Marion, I had quite forgotten we were going to the Opera to-night.
+Tamagno in 'Otello': that will be a treat."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<h3>IN AN OPERA BOX.</h3>
+
+
+<p>A long and motley line of carriages was slowly arriving at the
+Auditorium entrance. A surging, gaping crowd was jostling the few
+policemen on duty and trying to catch a glimpse of the brilliant dresses
+of the women hurrying into the lobby. Long, furry wraps and covered
+heads, perhaps a gleam of hidden diamonds, were all they saw; but it was
+a passing glance into a forbidden, dazzling world. Footmen scurried,
+doors were slammed, horses stamped, and husky-voiced policemen called
+out orders to the coachmen. A long awning covered the carpeted walk, and
+electric lamps shed a brilliant light upon the muffled comers and the
+eager faces of the waiting crowd. It was not a wan, hungry crowd of
+starving beggars, such as often surrounds a foreign theater; it was not
+a silent, wondering crowd; but American-like, it was cheerful and
+humorous, envious, perhaps, but merry in its envy. It laughed and gibed
+at every novelty, and its jokes were shared alike by the smart English
+coachmen and the driver of the antiquated family "carry-all." It was
+impudent, too, but it was the impudence of the great Republic,&mdash;the bold
+assertion of freedom and prosperity.</p>
+
+<p>In the crowded lobby long lines of people were depositing wraps at the
+cloak-room windows, some were standing in little groups, and hundreds of
+others were passing up the grand marble staircase into the hall above;
+Libretto sellers' cries and the scurrying tread of many feet upon the
+hard mosaic mingled with the distant strains of music, and scores of
+glittering lights shone upon the marble walls, and the countless,
+brilliant dresses of the moving throng. On into the great hall the
+people went. Five thousand seats were being filled, and, tier above
+tier, they rose like a section of a Roman theatre. Two rows of boxes
+lined the sides. Delicate wall tints and carefully toned lights blended
+softly with pretty faces and many colored gowns. The colors were an
+artist's work and masterly was it done. Up from the stage rose a mass
+of faces. An unbroken multitude it was, grand and impressive. Down at
+the front a little man was frantically leading an army of skilled
+musicians, whose rhythmical efforts filled the noble audience-room with
+the overture of Verdi's masterpiece, and as the last note rolled far
+away, up into the balcony loft, and was lost amid the subdued
+whisperings and rustling programmes, the lights were dimmed, the stately
+curtain slowly rose, and ten thousand hands applauded a welcome to the
+great singer from distant Italy. Thousands of music lovers wonderingly
+listened to the amazing power and range of Tamagno's voice, hundreds
+stood at the back of the amphitheatre, and even the little swinging
+gallery away up in the eaves was crowded with humble enthusiasts. But
+there were a conspicuous few whose whisperings and laughter mingled with
+the artist's notes; a few whose bids were highest at the auction sale of
+boxes, and whose tardy, noisy coming accentuated their social prominence
+and exasperated every lover of good music and good manners.</p>
+
+<p>Among these was Mrs. Roswell Sanderson, who, with her husband, Florence
+Moreland, and Mr. Walter Sedger, had just entered a box, in the upper,
+left-hand tier.</p>
+
+<p>"What a superb audience-room," said Florence Moreland as she put aside
+her fur-lined cloak and took her opera glass out of its case. "How
+beautifully it lights up. I don't think I ever saw a finer sight."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think so, Florence?" replied Marion Sanderson. "To me it is just
+like everything else Chicago produces, stupendous and gaudy. They have
+tried to make an opera house, a concert hall and a convention room, and,
+consequently, have produced a building which is neither fish, flesh, nor
+fowl."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" asked Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean that as an opera house it is a woful failure. They have shoved
+two tiers of boxes off at the sides and have given the entire house up
+to seats; they have put in a hideous organ where the proscenium boxes
+ought to be, and have invented all manner of machines for lowering the
+roof and shutting off the galleries; and as for those miserable little
+columns holding up that balcony, they are simply ridiculous."</p>
+
+<p>"Marion very seldom admires home productions," Roswell Sanderson
+interposed.</p>
+
+<p>"That is just the trouble," added Florence. "For my part I admire the
+progressive spirit which prompted the architect to depart from
+conventional ideas. If there are no boxes at the back, every one can see
+and hear, and I think that mass of people rising gently from the stage
+one of the most superb sights one could wish to see. The effects of the
+Paris and Vienna opera houses are not to be compared to it."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be so disagreeably contradictory to all I say," retorted Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"I sha'n't for the present, dear, because I wish to hear some of that
+glorious music. You must not take what I say seriously."</p>
+
+<p>Then they were silent, for, unconsciously, they were brought under the
+spell of the great tenor's art.</p>
+
+<p>"What a divine voice that man has," said Florence, as the curtain slowly
+fell after the first act. "I fairly held my breath during that high <i>C</i>.
+Mr. Sedger, please applaud, and help bring him out. There he comes!
+Bravo, bravo, Tamagno!"</p>
+
+<p>"I did the best I could, Miss Moreland," Walter Sedger said, after the
+applause of two recalls had died away. "But do you really enjoy this
+music so much? For my part I prefer opera-bouffe."</p>
+
+<p>"I admire your frankness, Mr. Sedger," she replied. "There are so many
+people who adore Wagner because he is the fashion, and sneer at Verdi
+and the Italian school, when, if the truth were known, they have not the
+slightest conception of the good qualities of either. For my part I like
+any music from a hurdy-gurdy up, though an extended term of suffering
+under a German professor has finally produced a taste for such music as
+Verdi has given us in 'Otello', which seems to me quite as remarkable as
+some of Wagner's masterpieces."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I am glad you enjoy it, Miss Moreland, but I fear my education
+did not extend beyond the 'Mikado' and 'Ermine'; so when it comes to
+grand opera I must confess my pleasure is confined to the <i>entre acte</i>.
+I love to see the people, and if it were not for being rude I think I
+should be tempted to run down to the club while the curtain is up."</p>
+
+<p>"You have my permission, Mr. Sedger, but tell me who is that
+good-looking man with Mr. Wainwright, coming down this way?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is a New Yorker; Duncan Grahame is his name. I met him at the club
+this afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>"What is he doing here? One always seems to ask what a stranger is doing
+in Chicago: I don't know why, I am sure."</p>
+
+<p>"He is out here on business in connection with an elevator trust. He
+seems to be a capital fellow, and, as he is a member of the Staten Club,
+I suppose he needs no further patent of respectability. But here he
+comes, so you can judge of him for yourself."</p>
+
+<p>The two men of whom they were speaking entered the box. Harold
+Wainwright spoke to the ladies and introduced his friend. Mrs. Sanderson
+offered Duncan a seat beside her and said: "I have heard of you quite
+frequently, Mr. Grahame, from a friend in New York, Miss Sibyl Wright,
+and I think you should be grateful for having such an enthusiastic
+admirer."</p>
+
+<p>"Doubly so considering that she is a woman and it was to you she spoke.
+I also have heard of you from scores of people in the East, and I made
+Wainwright introduce me at the first opportunity. I arrived only this
+morning, and I assure you I am quite without a guiding hand."</p>
+
+<p>"You make me smile and frown by turns," she replied. "I was tempted to
+feel flattered at the first part of your speech, but if it is a question
+of any shade in the desert, I shall not feel strongly inclined to offer
+you my protection in the Chicago wilderness."</p>
+
+<p>"I think it would be advisable to interpret my speech as a compliment,
+as I seldom make them."</p>
+
+<p>"Really, Mr. Grahame, I am tempted to call you rude."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not rudeness but frankness, I assure you, and I spoke the truth.
+I have really been most anxious to meet you, and now that my desire has
+been gratified I trust you will not be so cruel as to let the frown
+remain. There goes the curtain. I am going to beg permission to return
+after the next act."</p>
+
+<p>"You deserve punishment for your rudeness, so I refuse to grant it. As a
+penance for your offense I shall expect you to remain where you are
+during this entire act and devote your energies to amusing me."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I must submit, but please talk to me, as I am not bold and
+feel sure that your friend is a musical fiend who is quite prepared to
+cast furious glances at me should I be audacious enough to speak above a
+whisper."</p>
+
+<p>"I see you are an analyst of character."</p>
+
+<p>"Rather more of a synthesist, I imagine. I collect what both enemies and
+friends say of an individual and then build his character from those
+materials."</p>
+
+<p>"How horrible! I trust you will never try your method on me."</p>
+
+<p>"I have done so already."</p>
+
+<p>"You wretch! What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean that I have heard considerable about you in New York, and that I
+dined with six men at the City Club this evening. You were the one
+person in Chicago I was most desirous of meeting, so I managed to
+collect some most useful materials from which I have built my estimate
+of your character."</p>
+
+<p>"I must call that the boldest piece of assurance I ever heard of."</p>
+
+<p>"Why any more so than for me to judge you by my own impressions? My
+method is more judicial. As in a court of law, I hear both sides of a
+case, and do not permit myself to be biased by personal charms."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a clever pleader. I feel tempted to throw myself on the mercy
+of the court and receive its verdict."</p>
+
+<p>"Before the verdict can be given the court must be cleared of reporters;
+as that seems impracticable, sentence must be deferred."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it then so horrible? If so, I shall feel tempted to 'jump bail'."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you have nothing to fear; but how did you acquire such a
+knowledge of the law?"</p>
+
+<p>"At one time I had a passion for reading accounts of trials, and I even
+went with a party to see the Anarchists when they were on trial."</p>
+
+<p>"What a morbid curiosity!"</p>
+
+<p>"Another impertinence."</p>
+
+<p>"If it is so considered, I humbly ask pardon, and meanwhile I move that
+the court take a recess which shall be employed in instructing me in the
+intricacies of Chicago society."</p>
+
+<p>"I see you want more material with which to construct characters; if so,
+we had far better listen to the opera."</p>
+
+<p>"O, bother the opera! It is vulgar to listen to an opera; it shows a
+lack of conversational powers. Don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"One can easily see that you came from New York, and, like all New York
+men, I suppose you expect to be pampered."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I expect it, so please tell me about those people in the
+opposite boxes. You need not fear to speak the truth, as I am an entire
+stranger."</p>
+
+<p>"If I do, as a friend I shall expect you to let my opinions go no
+further."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Cela va sans dire.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"You must first understand, then, that every man here has an employment.
+We have absolutely no 'unemployed rich'."</p>
+
+<p>"Idleness must be at a premium."</p>
+
+<p>"On the contrary it is tabooed. However, though we are all in trade we
+have distinctions as intricate as the most ancient aristocracy."</p>
+
+<p>"How so?"</p>
+
+<p>"In the peculiar meshes from which society is woven. For example: a
+wholesale dry-goods merchant is an aristocrat, a retailer a plebeian; a
+hotel keeper may be a lord, a restaurant keeper a commoner; a car
+builder is a prince, a carriage builder a burgher; a brewer may be a
+count, a beer seller a churl; and so on, although even if a member of a
+certain trade is in society, his <i>confrères</i> may be without the pale."</p>
+
+<p>"Much the same as in New York, only there hotels and dry goods are
+commoners, while tobacco and skins are lords."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but at least society is older there. The skins have been buried
+for a generation or two."</p>
+
+<p>"In some cases, yes, but in others they are still uncured. I am a
+working man myself, and I must defend my class."</p>
+
+<p>"But surely you have respect for established institutions."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but not for dead ancestors. Suppose I search through the dusty
+archives of the Herald's College for a drop of Norman blood; I find that
+it was spilt on Saxon land by some hireling freebooter, or landgrabber,
+who followed at the heels of a conscienceless adventurer."</p>
+
+<p>"You are republican enough to please the taste of my friend, Miss
+Moreland."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear you misunderstand me. I am not patriotic, or republican, or
+anything else, for that matter."</p>
+
+<p>"Except the incarnation of contrariety."</p>
+
+<p>"I hate polemics, so I will cry <i>touché</i> as one does in fencing after a
+thrust, and end the contest."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean you would rather thrust than parry. You men are all alike. You
+told the truth when you expressed a fondness for being pampered, and, as
+it is the duty of our sex to be compliant, I await your pleasure."</p>
+
+<p>"If I am to be so indulged, I confess to feeling a craving to hear the
+promised lecture about those people across the way."</p>
+
+<p>"I would willingly comply but that falling curtain says it must again be
+deferred. On second thought, perhaps it would be better to give you an
+object lesson, so if you will come and see me to-morrow about five, I
+will take you to a tea where you may meet them all and judge for
+yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"I see you mean to prevent my favorite method of character study. I fear
+you will succeed, as the enticing preventive you suggest cannot possibly
+fail to be effectual. I willingly submit to your cure and will come to
+you at the appointed hour."</p>
+
+<p>The fall of the act drop was followed by a confused fluttering of
+dresses and hum of voices; people stretched and rose, talked, or
+wandered toward the foyer, while hundreds of glasses were leveled at the
+boxes, and every one of mark or notoriety was scrutinized by hundreds of
+eyes and criticised by hundreds of tongues. Society was there paraded in
+two rows of little pens, labeled and ticketed at so many millions per
+head, to be gazed upon by the curious and envious of that great throng.
+Society was the operatic side-show, and society paid dearly for the
+privilege of being seen.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you like to be gazed at by a crowd, Mr. Grahame?" said Florence,
+after a momentary silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think I do," he replied. "It makes one feel so superior to be up
+above, looking down on the 'madding crowd'."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think so? I always feel like a caged animal at a menagerie,
+where each one who pays the admission fee can gratify the curiosity he
+has about me, and poke me with his umbrella if he does not like my
+looks."</p>
+
+<p>"How absurd; but I understand you are democratic in your feelings and
+object to class distinctions."</p>
+
+<p>"Not in the least; on the contrary I believe in them. Nature herself has
+decreed that no two creatures can be equal. What I object to are
+inflated distinctions which rest on no foundation, and collapse
+completely when pricked by sound opinion."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Moreland believes in an aristocracy of merit," interposed Harold
+Wainwright.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Florence, "but where is it to be found?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not in a republic," retorted Duncan. "A democracy is a breeding ground
+of plutocrats."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps, when its Government discourages every intellectual pursuit,"
+replied Wainwright. He felt strongly the ungratefulness of republics, as
+his father had been a Federal judge on a miserly salary, with no pension
+after years of faithful service.</p>
+
+<p>"I quite agree with you, Harold," replied Florence, "and I only wish I
+were a man."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" interposed Mrs. Sanderson, who had just finished interchanging
+polite platitudes with Walter Sedger.</p>
+
+<p>"So that I might express my views about the evils of our political
+system."</p>
+
+<p>"And be called by that expressive word which is not in the dictionary,
+'a crank'," said Duncan ironically. "That is the reward of a reformer."</p>
+
+<p>"John Bright and Wendell Phillips were both 'cranks' in their day," was
+the reply, "but I would not object to their reputation. By the way, here
+comes a 'crank' whom I almost love," she added, as a stout, kindly
+faced, elderly man, whose features wore the sweet expression of earnest
+and well guided intelligence, approached the box.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is he?" asked Duncan, following her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Dr. Maccanfrae, physician and philanthropist, missionary and moralist,
+and the dearest man in the world, besides," she replied. "He does more
+good in a day than twenty Poor Boards do in a week, and has more genuine
+Christian charity in his soul than a score of average parsons, although
+he is an evolutionist and a pantheist combined."</p>
+
+<p>"A most flattering description," said Duncan. "I hope he deserves such
+adulation."</p>
+
+<p>"He certainly merits it all," added Wainwright.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Maccanfrae entered the box and Walter Sedger improved the
+opportunity to slip away and visit some friends. The Doctor spoke to
+Mrs. Sanderson, then moved toward the corner occupied by Florence
+Moreland, while Duncan dropped quietly into the seat left vacant by Mr.
+Sedger.</p>
+
+<p>"What can bring so industrious a man as Dr. Maccanfrae to the opera?"
+said Florence as the Doctor took the seat beside her.</p>
+
+<p>"The opera itself, Miss Florence. I am devoted to music and never lose
+an opportunity of hearing it well rendered. Isn't Tamagno doing grandly
+to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>Her reply was interrupted by the appearance of a tall, plainly dressed
+woman, who, pencil and paper in hand, entered the box door. Her face was
+refined, though careworn, and bore the mark of better days. She
+hesitated for a moment, as though realizing fully her intrusive calling,
+then advanced toward Duncan. "May I ask you, sir, to give the names of
+your party for the <i>Morning Stentor</i>?" she finally said.</p>
+
+<p>"What does she mean?" said Duncan, turning to Mrs. Sanderson for an
+explanation.</p>
+
+<p>"It is one of the peculiarities of Chicago life," she replied. "It is
+for to-morrow's society column."</p>
+
+<p>"And do you give them the information?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes, it is better to have it right, as they publish it anyway, right
+or wrong," she replied, and then she told the reporter the names.</p>
+
+<p>"Might I trouble you to describe your dress?" was the next question
+asked. "I am sorry to be so intrusive, but it is the city editor's
+orders, and we have to do the best we can."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a woman, and understand such matters, so I think you had better
+do that yourself," Mrs. Sanderson replied.</p>
+
+<p>The reporter thanked her and withdrew. When she had gone Duncan said
+wonderingly: "We have society reporters in New York, but they never go
+quite so far as to ask one to describe oneself. Who reads such
+particulars anyway?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ask Dr. Maccanfrae, he is wiser than I," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Dr. Maccanfrae, who should you say read the society columns of the
+newspapers?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"People who expect to find their names in print, and people who think
+their names ought to be in print, to say nothing of those who read
+society columns, as they do society scandals, in order to get a
+reflection of the tinsel and tarnish of an unknown world."</p>
+
+<p>"That must include a great portion of newspaper readers," replied
+Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>"Precisely; that is why society scandals and fashions occupy so large a
+portion of our papers," the Doctor replied. "But there comes the
+conductor, so I must get back to my place."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you remain here, Doctor?" said Mrs. Sanderson.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I thank you. I only came in to pay my respects, and, as I have a
+musical friend with me, I must get back to him."</p>
+
+<p>The Doctor hurried away and the little man away down in front lifted his
+baton. Ninety musicians watched the beat of the first bar, and, as the
+baton fell, sixty bows moved in unison, and trumpets, horns, trombones,
+and reeds, added their strains, while the act drop slowly rose
+disclosing the great stage, gorgeously set as Otello's audience-chamber.</p>
+
+<p>"I must tell you an amusing tale about 'Otello,'" whispered Mrs.
+Sanderson to Duncan Grahame. "I was in Rome when the opera was brought
+out there, and went with the American minister and his wife. Revere was
+their name and they came from Tallahassee. He had been a congressman,
+but she had never been away from home until she went as the wife of our
+representative in Austria, so you can imagine her ignorance of the
+world. She watched the opera quietly until she noticed that the black
+Otello bore some relation to the white Desdemona. That made her hem and
+fidget, but when Otello embraced his wife, she put up her fan in
+disgust, and said indignantly to me: 'How outrageous! I assure you such
+conduct would not be tolerated in Tallahassee.'"</p>
+
+<p>Grahame laughed, and then they listened to the grand music of Verdi for
+a while, but it was not the opera which inspired their interest, for the
+subtle spell of similarity seemed to arouse the sympathy of kindred
+taste. Bright phrases and pleasing words flashed between them, and
+quickly another act passed. Again the people rose and talked, again
+visitors came to the box and uttered conventional insipidities. Finally
+Roswell Sanderson himself returned. He had passed the evening in the
+manager's office with some friends, but his wife did not even express a
+curiosity to know it. The curtain rose on the last act. "Come," said
+Wainwright to Duncan, "we must go back to our seats. Good-night, Mrs.
+Sanderson." "Good-night, Mr. Grahame." "<i>A demain</i>," said Duncan, and he
+was off. Another act of the opera was rendered, then the great house was
+slowly emptied, and hundreds of carriages bore their occupants away. The
+lights went out, the weary artists hurried home, the Auditorium was left
+cold, silent and deserted.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<h3>A CHALLENGE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Marion Sanderson's surroundings kept her in a continual state of
+irritation. Her fancy created an ideal life with harmonious environments
+and sympathetic friends, but the reality was what she termed "an utterly
+commonplace existence." From early childhood her parents and
+acquaintances had jarred upon her, so that her fanciful mind had carried
+on incessant warfare with her prosaic surroundings. Her father and
+mother were respectable representatives of practical Calvinism, who,
+endeavoring to make their child a pillar of the Church, had persistently
+combated her natural tendencies. For days at a time, during her younger
+years, the poor child would obediently follow the routine of prayer
+prescribed for her until worn out by the drastic Scotch tenets; then
+rebellious tears would flow, and she would permit some natural
+sentiments to escape from her impulsive heart. Such outbursts most
+frequently occurred on Sunday, and they invariably called from her
+mother's lips the time-tried reproof: "I think, Marion, you forget the
+day. Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy." Resentful and disgusted
+the child would expostulate, only to be frigidly denounced as one
+possessed of an evil spirit; then she would rush to her room and remain
+for hours sobbing and yearning for sympathy. "Fox's Book of Martyrs,"
+"The Church at Home and Abroad," and "Baxter's Saints' Rest" were her
+literary diet, but she managed to devour, surreptitiously, romance after
+romance, and her greatest pleasure was to live over, in fancy, the lives
+of those she had read about. Thus for fifteen years the restless child
+tugged unsuccessfully at the parental tethers till relief came from an
+unexpected quarter.</p>
+
+<p>Marion's mother, despairing of her child's spiritual welfare, decided
+curiously enough, to send her abroad to the care of her sister-in-law,
+the wife of the United States minister to France. This aunt, being a
+woman of broad sympathies and experience, questioned the girl about her
+education, and, finding that it had been confined to the three R's and
+the Westminster catechism, decided to send her to school. So Marion was
+forthwith ensconced in a select <i>pension</i> patronized by the Faubourg St.
+Germain nobility. Here a new life was opened to Marion, and, freed from
+her childhood's restraints, she eagerly sought companionship with these
+girls of a different world. She learned a new language and new
+sentiments, and though novels were forbidden in the school, the pages of
+Balzac, Mérimée, Sand and Gautier, surreptitiously read, fed her fancy
+with new impressions and created new aspirations. Florence Moreland was
+the only other American in the school, and to her Marion was attracted
+by the very oppositeness of her nature. The frank practicality and keen
+perception of Florence fascinated her, and although the two girls
+disagreed on most subjects, a warm affection always kept their hearts
+united.</p>
+
+<p>Marion left the <i>pension</i> at the age of seventeen. By that curious
+process of expatriation which few but Americans can successfully
+undergo, her childhood's sentiments had been removed, and European ideas
+had been engrafted in their place. Her aunt, who during Marion's
+<i>pension</i> days had vibrated between Paris and the Riviera, now took her
+for a few months of travel. Florence was invited to accompany them, and
+after making the conventional summer-garden tour of the Continent, they
+went to Nice for the winter. There the two girls studied Italian and
+mixed in the quasi Anglo-European society of the place&mdash;certainly not
+the best for a girl first to enter.</p>
+
+<p>The transfer of Marion's uncle to the English mission brought them to
+London, and they were just enjoying the excitement of a first season
+when Marion's parents ordered her home. A child when she left Chicago,
+she was now a woman. Her home, which had been uncongenial before, was
+now intolerable. Her life became a continual struggle against the
+prejudices of her parents. She longed to pull down the sombre
+drawing-room curtains and pitch the stiff-backed, haircloth chairs out
+of the window; but her father, though a millionaire, would brook no
+change. Still she struggled on, demanding an alteration in the dinner
+hour, wine at table and the discarding of the family carry-all. "Do you
+want me to open the house to Satan?" her mother asked in horrified
+tones. "I want you to be civilized beings and not anchorites," she
+replied. Her mother's friends were practically limited to the
+communicants of the Knox Presbyterian Church, but such a society only
+served to exasperate her more. To her the men were stupid slaves of
+business and the women narrow-minded prudes. There was a progressive set
+whose companionship she desired, but in her mother's mind they were the
+Devil's chosen, and were consequently forbidden the house. In
+desperation Marion sought relief and it came in the shape of a husband.
+Roswell Sanderson was vice-president of her father's bank, rich,
+prominent, and,&mdash;what was more to her,&mdash;liberal-minded. He asked her to
+be his wife, and, without analyzing her feelings further than the sense
+of gratefulness which she felt, she accepted him. After a brief
+engagement they were married and her new life began.</p>
+
+<p>Marion's husband was a country boy who had been sent to an Eastern
+college; and possessing American energy and perception in a marked
+degree, he rapidly won a place in the first rank of Chicago business
+men. He was a man of broad ideas and sympathies, but lacked the delicate
+veneer of manners which distinguishes the cosmopolite from the
+provincial. In Marion's eyes this fault soon became greatly magnified.
+His flat pronunciation and Western inflection, his cordial, unstudied
+manner and hearty laughter so mortified her that in the presence of
+those who were capable of recognizing his shortcomings, her manner
+became apologetic. His open-hearted frankness, which made him a friend
+of high and low, so rasped her ideas of convention that all sense of
+sympathy was destroyed, and her married life was no more congenial than
+that at home had been. Roswell never criticised her actions, so she was
+enabled to seek relief in society. She saw the gradual enlargement and
+improvement of Chicago but she was able to pick flaws in the struggles
+of society to break the shackles of provincialism, and she longed to
+hasten the <i>metropolizing</i> process. Unlike Florence Moreland she could
+not admire the vigor and freshness of Western life, but permitted
+herself to suffer from intense mortification at the faults which others
+would have passed unnoticed. Marriage and society having failed to
+supply the happiness she desired, she turned to books. Her selections of
+reading, however, were destined to intensify her restlessness, for in
+the pages of Daudet, Bourget and de Maupassant she found the anomalies
+of human weakness painted in brilliant and exculpatory colors. The
+clever portraitures of these subtle analysts created a spirit which
+caused her to explain her eccentricities of feeling by comparison with
+the emotions described in their yellow-covered records. She became a
+disciple of the modern philosophy of introspection, which, unlike that
+of the stoic and anchorite, is not intended to humble desire, but to
+create a morbid craving for the unattainable. Recognizing that the
+absorbing passion of her life was yet to come, she scrupulously analyzed
+each impulse she felt and resolved it into infinitesimal atoms of
+feeling, which again were subjectively compared with the minutest
+details of her analytical romances. The consequence was that her
+emotions were kept in a state of continual irritation, and ordinary
+pleasures becoming less and less gratifying, a desire for new
+excitements and experiences was created. It was in such a state of mind
+that Florence Moreland had found her, and, since the latter's arrival in
+Chicago she had striven unsuccessfully to dispel the spirit of
+depression which had taken possession of her friend.</p>
+
+<p>On the afternoon of the day following the performance of "Otello,"
+Florence, cold and rosy from tobogganing, burst into the drawing room.
+She expected to find Marion in one of her moods, and she was astonished
+to find her dressed to go out and carelessly strumming on the piano.
+Marion looked up, and, seeing Florence, burst into laughter at her
+tousled locks and red cheeks. "You had better stand over the register
+and get thawed out," Marion remarked cheerfully; then, thumping the
+piano again, she continued: "How was the slide?"</p>
+
+<p>"Capital! and hundreds of people there," was Florence's reply. Then,
+wondering at Marion's sudden change of spirits, she added, "Are you
+going to the McSeeney's tea?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I intend to take Mr. Grahame."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I shall have to get there the best way I can."</p>
+
+<p>"You can take the brougham. What do you think of him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who, the brougham?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; Mr. Grahame, you silly."</p>
+
+<p>"O, he is like many New Yorkers, one-third clothes and two-thirds
+conceit. I asked him if he thought he should like Chicago, and, knowing
+I was from the East, he confidently replied: 'It is not New York, you
+know, but I suppose one can get used to anything in time.'"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care, I like him," Marion replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, here he comes," said Florence hurriedly.</p>
+
+<p>A servant announced Mr. Grahame, and as Duncan entered, Marion said in a
+somewhat surprised tone, "Are you always so prompt?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; it is quite a mistake, I assure you," he replied. "I will not be so
+vulgarly exact next time."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a provincialism quite permissible in the West," said Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed! But I have not yet said good afternoon," replied Duncan; "have
+you recovered from the dissipation of last evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite."</p>
+
+<p>"And you, Miss Moreland?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look at her cheeks, Mr. Grahame," interjected Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"I see it is needless to ask about your health, Miss Moreland, but I
+trust I may say I admire your snow costume."</p>
+
+<p>"You must have a fondness for brilliant colors," said Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"Decidedly; shades and tints were made for funerals and frowns," he
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like to interrupt," interposed Marion hurriedly, "but I fear it
+is time for Mr. Grahame and me to be going."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you not to accompany us, Miss Moreland?" said Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>"Not in this costume, certainly," laughed Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I shall say <i>au revoir</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Where am I to be taken?" said Duncan, as he and Marion descended the
+steps of the house.</p>
+
+<p>"To meet my most bitter enemy, Mrs. McSeeney," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"I admire your courage," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"O, there is no danger of bodily harm, as we are quite on speaking
+terms; a sort of armed neutrality, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Am I to be used as an offensive or a defensive weapon?" Duncan asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Neither; I shall use you as a flag of truce; but whatever happens don't
+you dare to say she is good looking or brilliant."</p>
+
+<p>"I promise," he answered, "but please tell me who she is and what she
+is."</p>
+
+<p>"You ought to know her; she is a New Yorker,&mdash;at least she was three
+years ago&mdash;her husband is the president of an elevated railway company
+and made her come here to live. She hates Chicago, and takes her revenge
+by saying disagreeable things about it. For some reason she has singled
+me out as the particular object of her antipathy and you can imagine
+there is no love lost between us. But here we are at her door, so I
+can't tell you any more."</p>
+
+<p>They had reached an awning-covered doorway where numerous carriages were
+arriving and depositing their occupants. They ascended the steps and
+were ushered into a crowded room where a well dressed throng were
+jostling about and trying to keep off one another's toes. Near the door
+Mrs. McSeeney was undergoing the laborious experience of greeting her
+friends, while about the room Mrs. Nobody could be heard cackling loudly
+and Mrs. Somebody peeping meekly, while Mr. Smart was smirking and Mr.
+Plain was awkwardly striving to interest ugly Miss Cr[oe]sus. It was a
+prattling, garrulous society. The world over it is the same,
+differentiated by race and place, perhaps, but still society.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan was taken about and introduced to scores of people whose names he
+did not even hear. A smile here and a word there was all he had time
+for, but he managed to meet all "the people one should know," and, being
+a new man, caused a flutter of expectation among the women. "Who is he?"
+"What is he?" "Where is he from?" were the questions asked by all, but
+they scarcely received a satisfactory answer before Marion hurried
+Duncan into an adjoining room where numerous pretty girls were
+dispensing that universal anodyne of modern life, tea. What should we
+moderns do without tea? It is the prop of society, and without this
+precious Chinese plant we might still be cupping the sack, and beating
+our wives between the draughts. In fact a noted moralist has said that
+"tea has checked our boisterous revels, raised women to a new position,
+refined manners, and softened the character of men." Perhaps! but let a
+man with a full cup of tea, and the spoon balanced on the edge of the
+saucer, try to rise from a low chair and shake hands; then ask him what
+he thinks about the effect of tea on a man's character.</p>
+
+<p>After responding scores of times to the question, "How do you like
+Chicago?" with the reply, "I don't know," and after answering quite as
+frequently and in the same manner the question, "How long do you expect
+to remain here?" Duncan was finally rescued by Marion Sanderson and
+taken away.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't often have strangers here, do you?" Duncan gasped when they
+were outside. "I seem as much of a curiosity as a white man on the
+Congo."</p>
+
+<p>"Not quite so bad as that," Marion laughed, "though I must confess a new
+man is an attraction here, especially at a tea, where there are at least
+two women to every one of the other sex."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose the natives are frightened away."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you wretch, they are all in business."</p>
+
+<p>"Lucky beggars."</p>
+
+<p>Marion gave him a side glance intended to be annihilating, and silently
+walked the few remaining steps. When they reached her door she stopped
+and said, somewhat coldly: "Won't you come in, Mr. Grahame?"</p>
+
+<p>"I certainly will, as I cannot leave with the mercury of your manners so
+low."</p>
+
+<p>"You surely do not fancy that you can make it rise."</p>
+
+<p>"I do," he said confidently.</p>
+
+<p>Marion looked at him scornfully, but it was an assumed scorn; as to
+herself she admitted a fondness for assurance like Duncan's. Florence
+Moreland would have called it presumption, but Marion felt that it
+indicated a strong nature worthy of careful analysis. Her manner was
+often the naïveté of inexperience. She fancied that she knew the world,
+but her knowledge was theoretically culled from her yellow-covered
+romances. She frequently allowed men a freedom of speech which might be
+misunderstood at times, and excused herself by the thought that such
+carelessness became a woman of the world. She courted admiration
+because she felt it to be her due, and in her search for experiences of
+the world she often displayed an artlessness which was singularly liable
+to be misinterpreted by the men with whom she came in contact.</p>
+
+<p>Just inside the door on the right of the hall was a wee room decorated
+in <i>Louis Quinze</i> style, and into this they went. Delicate and cozy,
+with a polished floor, a leopard's skin rug, soft tinted walls, white
+and gold woodwork, a tiny open fire, a brocade screen, a chair or two
+and a tête-a-tête seat,&mdash;it was, in fact, a delightful expression of
+Marion's taste.</p>
+
+<p>"Charming," said Duncan as he sat down opposite Marion on the
+tête-a-tête and looked about him.</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad something pleases you," she replied as she threw aside her
+jacket. "Your assurance amazes me," she continued. "Last night you told
+me you had been about collecting bits of gossip about me in order to
+understand my character, and now you coolly inform me that you are
+capable of influencing my feelings. I ought to detest you."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan silently looked with his large, grey eyes into her face for a
+moment and then said, "I wish you would."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" she questioned wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Because we might end by being friends."</p>
+
+<p>"A repellent manner of attracting, certainly," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly! kindred natures always repel one another with a force equal to
+their subsequent attraction."</p>
+
+<p>"That sounds like a proposition in physics."</p>
+
+<p>"In metaphysics, perhaps," he answered. "It means that if we first
+quarrel we shall eventually become sympathetic friends."</p>
+
+<p>"Polemical enemies, I should say," Marion replied sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I am not willing to admit I am of so changeable a nature," she
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>"A mediocre nature will never change; an uncommon one invariably does,"
+he said confidently.</p>
+
+<p>"Another slur."</p>
+
+<p>"A compliment, I should say, as your opinion of me will change."</p>
+
+<p>"On what do you base your presumption?" she said with assumed
+indignation.</p>
+
+<p>He was silent. She glanced about the room. It was nearly dark and the
+fire was flickering on the hearth. Unconsciously she looked up as
+though seeking an answer to her question. Again two grey eyes looked
+softly through the twilight into her own. "Because I feel certain of
+it," he said quietly and emphatically, as though in answer to her
+questioning glance.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you shall acknowledge yourself mistaken," she slowly replied.
+"I'll give you a fair chance. Will you dine with us on Friday?"</p>
+
+<p>"A day of ill luck, but I accept," he replied as he rose to go. "Shall
+it be a truce in the interim?" he added, offering his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"If you like," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by," he said, taking her hand. "It shall be a fair game and I will
+play to win."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will lose," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes followed him as he left the room. "An interesting nature to
+study," she thought, "but I wish he would not look at me in that way."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<h3>SPANISH CASTLES.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Mrs. Sanderson had arranged designedly the dinner to which she had
+invited Duncan. He had been much in her thoughts in the interim, and,
+being anxious to see what method he would adopt to overcome her assumed
+enmity, she looked forward to their next meeting with curiosity. She was
+a strong impressionist, and when she had first heard him described by
+her New York friend, Sibyl Wright, she had mentally resolved that he was
+a person she would one day meet and like. She had also formed a picture
+of him in her mind, and, curiously enough, the likeness had been exact.
+She now felt that her impression had been a presentiment, and this
+thought appealed to her peculiarly constituted nature. She wanted to
+know Duncan better and analyze his character, so she arranged her table
+to further this desire, placing him at her right, and, as Florence
+Moreland did not like him, she was given the next seat; next to
+Florence she put Harold Wainwright, feeling sure that they would both be
+oblivious to their neighbors, while about the table she maliciously
+scattered a trio of drawing-room musicians. There was Herr von
+Steubenblätter, a musical professor, Mdlle. de Longchamps, an amateur
+soprano, and Mr. John Smith, who, after studying singing in Italy and
+passing five years without an engagement, had now assumed the more
+euphonious name of Signor Frivogini. Besides these there were several
+inoffensive people who never said much, but who would consider it their
+duty to applaud the musicians and keep them employed after dinner, so
+that Marion and Duncan might talk unobserved.</p>
+
+<p>Unfortunately Duncan's manner was not at all what she had expected. He
+talked to her about the most conventional and trivial subjects in a most
+conventional and trivial way, until about the second <i>entrée</i>, when he
+entered into a literary argument with Florence which lasted during the
+entire dinner. Both Marion and Wainwright considered themselves very
+much abused, and Marion in particular thought that somehow her
+elaborate plans had failed and that Duncan was purposely neglecting her.
+She endeavored to listen to a discourse on the relative merits of
+canvas-back and red-head, delivered by an experienced diner on her left,
+but she felt much relieved when she was able to make the signal for the
+ladies to file out. When the men had finished their cigars and found
+their way to the drawing-room she boldly conducted Herr von
+Steubenblätter to the piano, trusting, from her experience of the opera,
+that Duncan would disregard the music and talk to her. Marion had
+provided a formidable array of drawing-room musicians, but they failed
+to serve the purpose for which they were invited. They played and sang
+in continuous succession, but Duncan, instead of taking a seat beside
+her and making the music a cloak for conversation, went to the other
+side of the room and sat down near pretty, smirking Miss Ender. There he
+chatted assiduously and made her giggle so loudly that Herr von
+Steubenblätter sent withering glances through his gold bowed spectacles
+which made the poor girl blush and stop simpering for two entire
+minutes.</p>
+
+<p>Marion was furious with everything, but with Duncan most of all. She
+tried to conceal her anger and listen to the insipid chatter of an
+under-graduate, but her replies were generalities, delivered without
+reference to the sophomore's platitudes, and her thoughts were entirely
+across the room. "What did Duncan mean by such negligence? Why did he
+challenge her to a verbal combat and then refuse an engagement? Why had
+he appeared to be interested in her on one day and then utterly
+indifferent the next?" It was in forming and revolving such questions
+in her mind that she passed the evening, and, meanwhile, the harmless
+college boy struggled and sputtered on.</p>
+
+<p>At one end of the Sanderson drawing-room was a settee placed behind a
+few palms; although it was in the room, it was sufficiently hidden to
+remove people sitting there from the observation of others. When music
+had been suggested Florence Moreland and Harold Wainwright had wandered
+toward this seat. The two had been childhood friends and in later years
+the intimacy had continued. Harold had been left an orphan without
+fortune, and Florence had always taken a deep interest in his success.</p>
+
+<p>After leaving college Harold had come to the western metropolis and, by
+hard and creditable work had built up a flourishing law-practice. He was
+only twenty-seven and possessed in a marked degree the best qualities of
+young American manhood. He was one of those young men so numerous in
+Western cities, whose earnest and energetic characters, untouched by Old
+World follies and vices, make them the heirs of the pioneer of the past.
+Florence had admired Harold as a sister might admire a strong, splendid
+brother. She trusted and looked up to him, and she often confided her
+thoughts to him. He was a sympathetic friend, but that was all; she, at
+least, was not a lover.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know, Harold," Florence said, as they took their seats on the
+settee, "that we have not had one of our old talks since you were home
+last summer. There has been a succession of bothersome people to
+interfere ever since I arrived. Tell me, are you working as hard as
+ever?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he replied. "I am still toiling away, but to what end I don't
+know."</p>
+
+<p>"That doesn't sound like you, Harold."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Because you are not the man to mind the bumps in life's road. You can
+see beyond them."</p>
+
+<p>Harold was silent; he seemed thoughtful; a little sigh escaped him. "Can
+I, Florence?" he finally said. "You know me better than I know myself.
+What can I see?"</p>
+
+<p>"A successful career."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that all?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; friends."</p>
+
+<p>"Of what use are they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dr. Johnson called friendship 'the cordial drop that makes the nauseous
+draught of life go down'."</p>
+
+<p>"He was wrong."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Harold! you forget that I am your friend."</p>
+
+<p>"No, Florence, I don't; I wish I could."</p>
+
+<p>"How strangely you act to-night," she replied in puzzled tones. "I don't
+understand you."</p>
+
+<p>"That cordial drop of friendship is a poison, sweet, subtle, and
+deadly," he answered mournfully.</p>
+
+<p>Florence drew back, startled. "Harold, you forget the past," she said
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could," he replied sadly. "I wish you were not my friend."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" she asked, frightened, and almost afraid to hear the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Because I love you, Florence," he slowly and earnestly replied. "If you
+were not my dearest friend you might love me, too."</p>
+
+<p>She looked wonderingly into his face, almost expecting to read there
+that his words were in jest. She was so startled that the full meaning
+of what he said did not, at first, appear to her, but slowly she
+realized that this friendship that had lasted so long and had been so
+sweet must end. She covered her face with her hands as though hoping to
+hide this thought from her mind. "Why did you say it? Why did you say
+it?" she moaned. "It was so sweet before."</p>
+
+<p>"It was in my heart, dearest; it has been there a very long time. I have
+tried to keep it friendship, but I couldn't." Harold slowly rose and
+stood beside her. "Forgive me," he continued. "I couldn't help it,
+Florence; I couldn't."</p>
+
+<p>She took his hand; it was cold. "Forgive you," she said, "I have nothing
+to forgive."</p>
+
+<p>His hand tightened about hers. "I love you, Florence," he said. "Will
+you be my wife?"</p>
+
+<p>She raised her eyes and looked full into his face. "Would you marry your
+best friend?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.</p>
+
+<p>Calmly he returned her glance. "No," he replied. "Not unless she brought
+me the same love I gave."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I cannot promise to be your wife," she said hesitatingly, as
+though the words were painful.</p>
+
+<p>He released her hand slowly. "May I hope that some day it will be
+different?"</p>
+
+<p>"Let us both hope so," she replied. They remained silent and motionless,
+each feeling that an epoch of life had come; each wondering what
+futurity concealed. Perhaps a minute passed, though it seemed much
+longer, then Florence spoke. "We had better not remain here, Harold, the
+world sometimes misunderstands even friends."</p>
+
+<p>He walked silently beside her, back to where the others were. Duncan saw
+them approaching and took the opportunity to leave Miss Ender. Harold
+felt that he could not endure the laughter and merriment about him; so
+he left Florence with Duncan and wandered off to the dark, silent
+library across the hall. Florence, too, wanted to be alone; but she
+could see no way to evade Duncan, and so she was left to talk to a man
+for whom she had an instinctive distaste.</p>
+
+<p>"I see you are independent in society as well as in politics, Miss
+Moreland," Duncan said, as soon as Harold had left them.</p>
+
+<p>"In what way?" she replied inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Instead of remaining here to be bored by bad music, you were
+independent enough to desert."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps the bad music drove me away. Real independence cannot be
+driven."</p>
+
+<p>"Even in that you are original; society is not driven, it meekly follows
+its leaders."</p>
+
+<p>"You seem decided to have me a caprice of nature," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that impudence or irony?"</p>
+
+<p>"Neither. I am an evolutionist and you aid my theories. I believe one of
+the proofs of Darwinism lies in the imitative sense possessed by the
+individuals composing American society. When some strange animal from
+across the water comes among us, we try to copy every grimace and
+action, until someone else arrives with new affectations and mannerisms,
+when we begin all over again. We, as a race, are not sufficiently
+developed to possess originality; we are still a species of the genus
+ape. Now you, Miss Moreland, are the only member of American society I
+have yet discovered who is independent enough to possess original and
+patriotic ideas. You are an American of position and yet not an ape, so
+you must be a connecting link between us and the more highly developed
+societies of Europe."</p>
+
+<p>"I think that your conclusions are somewhat erroneous," she replied. "I
+admit that the society that you describe is typical of the descent of
+man, but not in a Darwinian sense. It marks a descension from the higher
+plane reached by the vigorous pioneers who planted and reared our social
+tree. The leaves toward the East, which have breathed the fetid air of
+Europe, have shriveled and decayed, but toward the West they are still
+kept green and vigorous by the pure, native breezes. Some people seem
+to admire the varied brilliancy of the fading foliage, but I enjoy the
+vivid native color."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Aut Americanus aut nullus</i> should be your motto," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Could I have a better?"</p>
+
+<p>"You might say <i>l'Americaine c'est moi</i>. No one of your sex and
+surroundings would dispute the pretension."</p>
+
+<p>"You compliment me, but not my sex. Millions of my country-women would
+compete for that distinction."</p>
+
+<p>"My observations have been confined to society in its restricted sense;
+I am not, I acknowledge, the mouth-piece of the rabble."</p>
+
+<p>"Since you admit your ability to act as society's mouth-piece, how do
+you define society?"</p>
+
+<p>"Society is a limited liability company engaged in the production of
+snobs. Formerly its shares were non-transferable, but financial straits
+necessitated the placing of the common stock upon the open market; the
+preferred stock, however, is still held by the heirs of the original
+incorporators. The Anglo-Saxon company has its head office in London,
+with agencies in the various cities of the United Kingdom, America, and
+the Colonies; Albert Edward Guelph, Esq., is chairman of the executive
+committee, and the most refined products of the corporation are sealed
+and labeled by his own hand. There are two distinct stages in the
+process of manufacture, called respectively toadying and snubbing, which
+must be successfully undergone before the perfected article is obtained.
+For instance, raw material is gathered at an American agency and after
+passing through the first toady stages it is put through the more
+intricate process of snubbing; then at a certain stage of maturity it is
+sent to the London office to be again subjected to a more refined toady
+process. Unfortunately the American material, being supplied by
+purchasers of the common stock, can never reach a more refined stage,
+so, after receiving the toady <i>cachet</i> of the chairman, it goes back to
+America again where it is put upon the market as a superior imported
+article."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I am to infer, Mr. Grahame," Florence replied sarcastically, "that
+an American is doomed always to remain a toady, and can never hope to
+attain the distinction of being a full-fledged snob. I do not think your
+prospectus is sufficiently attractive to induce me to purchase stock, at
+least, not until the native industry is sufficiently thriving to
+manufacture the higher grades at home and exclude the foreign brands
+from our market." Then she left him abruptly and walked toward a group
+of girls who were discussing the coming "Patricians'" ball.</p>
+
+<p>When a man of Duncan's nature receives a rebuff, he is amused or
+angered, but not humiliated. Duncan regarded Florence's patriotism as a
+mere pose, and her dislike of him he considered amusing; so when she
+thus coolly left him, he merely laughed and turned away without being in
+the slightest degree offended. As for Florence, she felt in no mood for
+conversation, and had taken the first opportunity to rid herself of a
+person whom she considered actually displeasing. Duncan, feeling it was
+expedient to smooth the feathers he had purposely rumpled, approached
+Marion, and, assuming a penitent air, he sat down beside her and said
+with mock humility: "Am I not to be permitted to address you at all;
+does your hatred extend that far?"</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't tried," said Marion, her resentment increasing.</p>
+
+<p>"How could I?" replied Duncan. "You seemed so engrossed by that young
+collegian's charms, that you could scarcely expect me, whom you avow to
+be an enemy, to increase your wrath by interrupting."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you were mistaken," answered Marion. "You said you intended to
+make me your friend even against my will. There was no avowed enmity on
+my part; I merely considered your method of procedure somewhat
+eccentric."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed! In what way, may I ask?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was you who challenged. Do you expect a victory without an
+engagement?"</p>
+
+<p>"Those were the tactics the Russians used against Napoleon."</p>
+
+<p>"Coldness was their chief weapon," Marion replied, "and you certainly
+are well armed with it."</p>
+
+<p>"You forget the fire at Russia's heart."</p>
+
+<p>"Was it not the fire of hate?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said. "The fire of the heart is love, and hate is but its
+ashes." His voice had softened as he spoke, and Marion felt that his
+eyes were scanning her thoughts; she turned her head away, but her eyes
+were drawn slowly back until they for a moment met his glance. The
+knowledge that anyone could so influence her frightened her; but it was
+a fascinating fear which tempted investigation. She was about to reply
+when she became conscious of the presence of others; they were departing
+guests, who announced a breaking up of the party, and Marion was obliged
+to exchange conventional civilities with her friends until the room was
+slowly emptied. Harold had hurried away alone, without even a word with
+Florence. The poor fellow had not the heart to speak to her again that
+night, and he felt that she would understand the reason for his
+rudeness. Duncan was thus left to his own resources, and, seeing that
+Roswell Sanderson and Florence had gone into the library, and that all
+the guests had departed, he made the conventional move to leave.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't hurry," said Marion, "it is only eleven o'clock, and you see I
+am left quite alone."</p>
+
+<p>"I will remain," replied Duncan, as he took a seat beside her on a
+dainty <i>Louis Seize</i> sofa, "because I have a favor to ask."</p>
+
+<p>"A favor of an enemy," said Marion, with an air of astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he answered. "Like the Spartans I cannot fight when the omens are
+unpropitious, so I wish to beg the favor of a truce and to ask that
+during it the hostiles may dance the Patricians' cotillon together."</p>
+
+<p>"A dance of hostiles would be a war dance, would it not?"</p>
+
+<p>"War is a cruel word," he replied. "To me the dance is symbolic of the
+highest sentiment."</p>
+
+<p>"That is religion, is it not?" she asked, laughingly.</p>
+
+<p>"No; a higher sentiment than religion is love."</p>
+
+<p>"Of that there are many kinds."</p>
+
+<p>"There is but one kind," he answered. "Other feelings may receive that
+name, but they are base alloys of the pure sentiment."</p>
+
+<p>"And what is this perfect love of which you seem to know so much?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is the irresistible union of two similar natures."</p>
+
+<p>"Why irresistible?" Marion asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Because all organism is a union of limitless atoms, which are brought
+together out of chaos by the attraction of similarity."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a novel theory, but what has it to do with love?" she
+questioned.</p>
+
+<p>"Love is the idealization of that theory. Man and woman are the most
+perfect blending of the atoms, and love is the transcendent union of
+their two natures."</p>
+
+<p>"And is there no creator?" Marion asked.</p>
+
+<p>"None but love. Love is the symbolism of the creative power; love is
+God."</p>
+
+<p>Marion laughed; his theory was too absurd to be taken seriously, but
+somehow it pleased her. "Have you felt this irresistible love power?"
+she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I must first find my affinity," he replied evasively.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you not met her yet?" said Marion, looking up with an air of
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan's eyes quickly caught her glance. "I think I have," he replied in
+a way that was at once bold, insinuating, and tender. Marion turned her
+head away quickly and a tinge of color came into her cheeks. It was
+resentment, but somehow a sense of pleasure tingled amid the anger. "You
+are an enigma," she said, ashamed at having colored. "I thought you were
+a cynical speculator, but now you seem a fanciful dreamer."</p>
+
+<p>"You must guess again," he replied. "I am neither a cynic nor a
+visionist."</p>
+
+<p>"What are you?" she asked abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>"I am a disciple of love," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I was right in calling you a dreamer, for love itself is a fantasm
+inspired by hope or memory."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a Philistine," he said softly. "Some day you may feel, and that
+is to believe."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Che sarà sarà</i>, but I have my doubts," she replied. Duncan's glance
+was contradictory, but he did not reply. After a moment of silence he
+rose to leave. "Is the truce to be granted?" he said. "Do we dance
+together?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, if you wish it so," replied Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"Then to-morrow we meet at the ball. Remember hostilities have ceased.
+Good-night." Marion extended her hand and Duncan held it for a moment.
+"Don't let the hate grow too strong," he said pleadingly.</p>
+
+<p>"It couldn't," she replied; then she quickly withdrew her hand and
+turned away.</p>
+
+<p>When Duncan reached the street he stopped to light a cigar. As he threw
+the match away and returned his match-safe to his pocket, he carelessly
+soliloquized: "When a moth sees a fire, it flutters around it to see
+what it is like, and it hasn't sense enough to keep from getting burned.
+A woman is much the same: excite her curiosity by the flame called love,
+and it is ten to one she gets singed before she finds out what it is. I
+have been talking a lot of trash, but it's all in the trade. Talk sense
+to a woman and treat her decently, and she thinks you are a muff; talk
+enigmatical bosh, and knock her about, and she loves you. They are all
+alike. No, by Jove! they are not; Helen Osgood outclasses them all, and
+she has 'hands for any sort'. Oh, well, as the Frenchman says: 'if you
+haven't got what you love, love what you have.' The Sanderson is a good
+looker, and you must have sport, Duncan, old man." Then shoving his
+stick under his arm, and plunging his hands into his coat pockets, he
+started off at a swinging pace in search of a cab.</p>
+
+<p>Marion had remained seated where she and Duncan had been together. She
+had listened to hear the door close behind him, and then, her face
+resting in both hands, she sat thinking. Her imagination rapidly created
+a visionary structure of dazzling possibilities, but the dismal silence
+which follows in the steps of revelry came, and with it unrest. Quickly
+her Spanish castle crumbled and faded to a lonely ruin. "It is always
+so," she thought; "it is always so. Like children at a pantomime, who
+picture to their minds brilliant jewels in the fairy queen's tiara, and
+learn in after life that they were tawdry counterfeits, we imagine ideal
+gems of possibility only to find the reality of life papier maché and
+paint. Is love also a tinsel that tarnishes at the touch? So far mine
+has been so. But might it not be different? Yes, but the thought is
+wicked." Marion looked hurriedly about her as though fearful that
+someone might have seen the thought which crept into her mind. "He
+believes in love," she continued. "He says the right one exists. I
+wonder if it is true."</p>
+
+<p>Florence came into the room to say good-night. Marion usually enjoyed
+repeating her day's experiences, and discussing her impressions with her
+friend, and Florence knew that at such times she was expected to approve
+of every sentiment, or be called unsympathetic, but when Florence kissed
+her good-night Marion made no suggestion about talking over experiences,
+and as neither woman felt inclined for an exchange of confidences,
+Florence hurried away to her room. Marion's eyes followed her as she
+left. "She acts strangely," she thought; "I wonder if her friendship
+could change? Perhaps, for we are so different. No one understands me,"
+she sighed after a moment. "If I only had someone I could trust and
+love." A man stood in the doorway behind her. He heard the sigh, and he
+remained for a moment silently thinking of the time when she had
+promised to be his wife. Then he had drawn a hopeful picture of the
+future, a picture full of brightness and sunshine, with a loving wife
+for the central figure and happy, romping children playing about her.
+That dream had flashed like a brilliant light which blazes for a moment
+and dies as suddenly away, leaving black, charred ashes to mark its
+place.</p>
+
+<p>"Marion," he said gently.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up startled. "Is it only you?" she said, with just a tone of
+disappointment in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is only I," he answered. "Shall I ring to have the lights
+turned out?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, I suppose so," she sighed.</p>
+
+<p>A servant came to secure the house for the night. When he appeared,
+Marion slowly followed her husband upstairs, and as they passed
+Florence's room, she saw a light burning. Usually Marion would have gone
+in to talk, but this time she went on to her own apartment.</p>
+
+<p>Long after Marion had passed that light continued to burn. With her
+dress loosened and her soft brown hair falling over her white shoulders
+Florence sat before the fire thinking. Between her hands was a picture.
+It was Harold's, and as she gazed at the face she seemed to hear the
+words: "Florence, I love you; if you were not my dearest friend, you
+might love me too." "Why did he say it; why did he say it," she
+murmured. Then moments from her childhood came softly back to her mind,
+and she saw Harold, her old-time playmate, grow to manhood. "Playmate,
+friend," she thought. "Why not more? Why not?" she repeated.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE PATRICIANS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Perhaps the only city of considerable proportions in which the rigorous
+proprieties of a New England village exist side by side with the
+gorgeous trappings of metropolitanism is Chicago. Its growth has been so
+marvelous that in a single generation the simple garb of provincialism
+has been exchanged for the more imposing mantle of a great city. Streets
+and boulevards have spread forth like the countless antennæ of some
+mighty monster; gigantic structures have arisen almost as at the touch
+of magic, and ten thousand lanky chimneys have begun to belch forth
+black and sooty smoke, all within the memory even of the middle-aged
+inhabitant. Fifty years ago Chicago was a frontier town; twenty years
+ago a fearful scourge laid her in ruins; to-day she stands among the
+first ten of the world's great cities. Countless forces have in a score
+of years heaped up a mighty metropolis, and, perhaps, it is not
+surprising to find almost buried beneath this gigantic pile the simple
+and pure society of the early days.</p>
+
+<p>During all these rapid changes the older families have altered little.
+They have built more pretentious homes, they drive more modern
+equipages, they eat more elaborate dinners, but even these innovations
+have been reluctantly received, and the hearts of the old residents have
+remained untouched by <i>fin de siécle</i> looseness and cynicism. In no
+older city are the social lines more strictly drawn, and year after year
+the same faces appear at the select gatherings, unconscious of the rapid
+change about them. Of millionaires there are many, but the foundations
+of their fortunes were laid in the early days of pioneering, and if
+occasionally a Cr&oelig;sus of recent growth creeps partly in, the
+shoulders turned toward him are cold, and his golden key never quite
+unlocks the inner doors. Chicago has perhaps suffered unduly at the
+hands of cursory and captious critics, but its society should not be
+judged by a hastily written paragraph or the clanking chains of the
+parvenu's carriage. Whatever be its faults, and they are doubtless
+many, it is thoroughly American, and slow to accept the lax scepticism
+and hollow manners of the older world. It is still too young to be the
+home of art and letters, and still too sensible to breed idlers. Happy
+city, if its society could continue as it is, unaffected, progressive,
+and moral; but the naturalness of Chicago cannot endure forever; already
+Puritan simplicity has fought the first skirmish with bare-necked folly
+and been worsted. French dresses and English drags have come to stay;
+insincerity and disbelief will follow.</p>
+
+<p>The best society is hard to define,&mdash;especially in America,&mdash;but by some
+indescribable process people are shaken up, and so sifted into cliques
+and circles that they become mysteriously classified and labeled without
+the scrutinizing care of a satin-coated Lord Chamberlain. When the
+inhabitants of Chicago were passed through the social sieve, the finest
+particles formed a little heap labeled "The Patricians." This was the
+set that gave the most exclusive subscription dances, and, though there
+were other organizations which might feel strong enough to compete with
+this select assembly, it was noticed that the name of no Patrician was
+ever found upon another list, and no outsider ever declined to become a
+Patrician subscriber. There is a classic story which says that when,
+after their victory at Salamis, the generals of the various Greek states
+voted the prizes for distinguished merit, each assigned the first place
+of excellence to himself, but they all concurred in giving their second
+votes to Themistocles. Were the Chicagoans called upon to vote for the
+most exclusive organization of their city, each would probably cast his
+first vote for the one of which he is a member, but the second votes
+would all be given to the "Patricians." It was an ancient organization,
+dating from before the fire, and its membership list had been sacredly
+guarded ever since. Simple and informal at first, it had gradually
+assumed pretentious proportions, until it had passed from a North Side
+hall, cold suppers, lemonade and nine o'clock, to the Hotel Mazarin,
+terrapin, <i>brut</i> champagne, and eleven o'clock. In the early days there
+had been three fiddlers and a man to call off, but now there was an
+orchestra, a Hungarian band and a cotillon: "<i>O tempora, O mores!</i>"
+"<i>Imitatores, servum pecus.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Marion Sanderson was a patroness of the "Patricians," and to her efforts
+the innovations were, in a great measure, due. They had been coldly
+received at first, and when the changes culminated in champagne, some of
+the stricter members withdrew their names and refused permission to
+their daughters to attend, but the foundations of the Patricians had
+been too firmly laid to be shattered even by such defection.</p>
+
+<p>Three evenings after the events of the last chapter the inviting French
+ball-room of the Hotel Mazarin was lighted for the first "Patricians'"
+dance of the season. The florist had arranged his last cluster, and the
+floor had received its last polishing; the dainty canary draperies were
+coquettishly caught up with garlands of flowers, while here and there
+slender palms cast their graceful shadows upon the shining floor, and
+white and gold woodwork peeped from behind smilax and roses. A row of
+waiting chairs around the room seemed to add to the stillness, which was
+broken only by the hollow, echoing steps of two managers who were taking
+a final glance at the preparations. Soon a jabbering of German, and the
+squeak of violins behind the gallery palms, announced the arrival of the
+orchestra, while down-stairs by the supper rooms the twang of a
+Hungarian cymballo proclaimed the presence of the Tzigan band.
+Chattering Frenchmen were scurrying about the tables putting on the
+finishing touches, and the usually suave and smirking <i>maître d'hôtel</i>
+was scolding an unfortunate "omnibus" hurrying upstairs with the punch
+glasses. "<i>Dépêche toi, Gustave, ces gens vont venir à l'instant</i>" he
+cried; but though an hour had passed since the time for which the guests
+were invited, the ball-room remained deserted.</p>
+
+<p>Down-stairs a solitary woman sat quaking in the ladies' dressing-room,
+and her husband braved the patronizing glances of the servants in the
+hall. They were from a Western town, and both were wondering what nine
+o'clock on the invitation meant. For nearly another hour they sat there,
+and then the rustling of a satin dress announced the arrival of a
+patroness who had promised to come early to receive. Soon a few men
+straggled in, another patroness arrived, and finally a little knot of
+women who had collected in the dressing-room mustered sufficient courage
+to enter the great, empty ball-room. The orchestra struck up a Viennese
+waltz, a couple started to dance, and a few others followed their
+example. The fashionable hour had arrived; men, maidens and matrons
+crowded in, the room became quickly filled with a talking, laughing
+multitude; brilliant colors and bright smiles dispelled the gloom, and a
+giddy whirling mass of tulle and cheviot announced that the ball had
+opened.</p>
+
+<p>Marion Sanderson was among the late arrivals. She had been unusually
+long at her toilette, but the time had been profitably spent, for when
+she entered the room her perfectly fitting gown of yellow satin and old
+lace produced an envious murmur among the women. Marion looked well at
+any time, but she was especially attractive in evening dress, for the
+lights and excitement seemed to produce an extra glow of beauty which
+few failed to notice. When she came, it was at the close of a dance, and
+a knot of men quickly formed around her, but Duncan was not of the
+number. She had expected to find him looking for her, and when she saw
+him near her, talking to her enemy, Mrs. McSeeney, she felt an
+unpleasant tinge of jealousy. After the excitement her entrance created
+had subsided, he came slowly toward her.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe I have to thank you, Mr. Grahame," she said, giving him her
+hand, "for these beautiful yellow roses."</p>
+
+<p>"On the contrary, it is I who must thank you for carrying them," he
+replied. "Besides, they are typical of jealousy."</p>
+
+<p>"Jealousy," repeated Marion in a wondering tone. "Were you ever
+jealous?"</p>
+
+<p>"A lover is always jealous," Duncan replied. Then he added gently: "I am
+a lover."</p>
+
+<p>"Then all the world must love you," she said laughingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish it did, for you are in the world," he answered.</p>
+
+<p>A glance of reproof was her only reply, for Walter Sedger came to claim
+a dance, and she had just time to promise the next but one to Duncan
+before she was whirled away into the gliding throng. Duncan's eyes
+followed her for a moment; she saw his glance and a slight tinge of
+color came into her cheek. In a moment she was lost amid the dancers.
+Mechanically she danced a waltz and a polka, scarcely noticing her
+partner's remarks, for in her heart she felt a strange apprehension that
+she could not understand. There was a fascination in Duncan's
+personality she dared not attempt to explain.</p>
+
+<p>When the first strains of Duncan's dance began, he came to her
+immediately, and, without speaking, quietly took her hand and placed his
+arm gently about her waist; then, catching the time of the music, they
+glided away into a dreamy waltz. It was their first dance together, and
+as he guided her gracefully and easily through the whirling maze of
+waltzers, Marion felt that she had never really danced before. Silently
+they waltzed awhile, enjoying the delicious excitement of the movement,
+then he said softly: "I have never understood the power of the dance
+before, but to-night our steps, gliding together to this glorious music,
+seem to me like the love of two natures, who feel and act in perfect
+unison."</p>
+
+<p>Marion looked up silently until her eyes met his glance; she grew icy
+cold, but she could feel the quick throb of each pulse beat. Duncan
+pressed her gently nearer, but she drew back and tossed her head
+forcibly away. She laughed a hollow little laugh at the fear in her
+heart, for here at least she was mistress of herself. Rhythmically their
+steps moved on to the enchanting music. Marion closed her eyes and tried
+to shut out the thoughts in her heart. In the darkness she seemed to be
+carried softly on through space, like some spirit borne away in the arms
+of dreamy happiness. Duncan drew her closer to his side; she felt a
+delicious sense of joy, such as she had never known before, and, almost
+dizzy, she glided on over the shining floor, her heart beating with
+wild, delightful pleasure. The music stopped. For a moment they danced
+on, but the dream had faded; she was back in the noisy, humming world of
+people.</p>
+
+<p>Marion had arrived so late that people were already flocking toward the
+supper table. She had long before promised to take supper with Walter
+Sedger, who was to lead the cotillon; but when he appeared, she
+suggested that as Duncan was alone he had better join them. So the three
+wandered down-stairs and entered the supper-room. The weird Hungarian
+<i>Czardas</i> was being played by the Tzigans in the hallway, and it seemed
+to Marion that it did not harmonize with the clattering plates and the
+laughter. She had once heard that fantastic melody in Buda, and then it
+created strange sensations of unrest and aroused the wildest feelings of
+her nature. In her present state of mind she felt thankful for the noisy
+rattle of the supper-room.</p>
+
+<p>The tables were placed in a large, oblong room, and were arranged for
+parties of four or six, but Marion, being a patroness, was conducted to
+a large, round table at the farther end, reserved for the managers and
+their friends. She hoped that the presence of other people would spare
+her the necessity of talking much, but at first she was obliged to
+manufacture conversation, in order to keep her two companions amused.
+Duncan made no attempt to conceal the fact that the presence of Sedger
+was distasteful to him, and he amused himself by delivering occasional
+satirical remarks upon the latter's conversation which did not tend to
+improve the relations between the two men. Accidentally, however, both
+Duncan and Sedger were drawn into the general talk of the table, and
+Marion was left to herself. She felt lonesome, in spite of the gaiety
+around her, and realized that there is no loneliness so deep as that
+which comes amid merriment one cannot join. She looked about at the
+pretty faces and the brilliant colors made brighter by the lights; she
+saw the sparkling eyes and glittering diamonds, she heard merry laughter
+mingling with the rattling dishes and scurrying feet, but all seemed
+hollow and far away. She knew that she had just been brought under the
+influence of an unknown power, and she was faintly endeavoring to
+collect her senses and understand herself. Almost unwarned she had felt
+impetuous love flash forth in her heart, and now, in a dazed sort of
+way, she was trying to bring her mind to act. She was impressionable and
+reckless, but not so reckless as quite to forget her position. One
+thought grew strongest in her mind; it was fear. She was brought back to
+her surroundings by a remark addressed to her by Mrs. McSeeney: "You
+look quite pale, my dear, are you ill?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not in the least," replied Marion, smiling faintly, "but this room
+seems close. Don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"I had not noticed it," was the answer spoken equivocally.</p>
+
+<p>The supper was somehow worried through. As they were leaving the table
+Walter Sedger said: "I have saved the seats of head couple for you, Mrs.
+Sanderson; if you will come with me, I will show them to you. I lead
+alone, but I hope you will permit me to take you out for an occasional
+extra turn."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be delighted," Marion replied. Sedger gave her his arm, and
+Duncan, glowering more than ever, was obliged to wander on behind.</p>
+
+<p>The musicians' gallery did not project into the ball-room, but was
+supported by columns in the hall outside. Just under it an attractive
+nook had been arranged, with palms and foliage plants, a rug and a
+divan. The lights were kept low and the palms were so thickly placed as
+almost to conceal the people who might chance to sit there. At each side
+of this recess was a door leading into the ball-room, and as Marion and
+her two companions were passing through the one at the right, they met
+Florence Moreland and Roswell Sanderson coming out.</p>
+
+<p>"I am looking for my fan, Mr. Grahame," said Florence, stopping. "Don't
+you want to help me search for it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I do, and I'll wager I find it," said Duncan, walking
+directly toward the nook just described.</p>
+
+<p>"You need not express your disapproval of me so pointedly," called
+Florence, protestingly. "I assure you it is not in here," she continued,
+following him until they were both concealed by the palms.</p>
+
+<p>"A thousand pardons for my blunder," replied Duncan. "I thought I saw
+you coming out of here after one of the dances with Dr. Maccanfrae."</p>
+
+<p>"I see I must confess my guilt," answered Florence, smiling; "but I
+relied on the protection of his grey hairs."</p>
+
+<p>"I gather you don't approve of this corner," replied Duncan. "At least,"
+he continued, looking around, "you were not so indiscreet as to leave
+your fan here."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose the place has its uses," she answered laughingly, "at least
+the managers think so, if one is to judge by the care bestowed on its
+arrangement."</p>
+
+<p>"If I were bold," Duncan said, as they passed out, "I would say that it
+is like a fire escape, only to be used on pressing occasions."</p>
+
+<p>Florence frowned at this atrocious punning, and he added, meekly: "May I
+have permission to admire your gown?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am surprised that you like it," she replied. "This is its second
+season."</p>
+
+<p>"I think it is charming," he continued. "But might I inquire if it is
+ardent affection for each other which prompts you and Mrs. Sanderson to
+select the same color to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was not a case of affection, but quite an accident," Florence
+replied. "In fact, when Marion saw me coming down-stairs arrayed so like
+herself, she wanted to make me change my gown, but it was so late that I
+refused."</p>
+
+<p>They reached the ball-room door, and there they met Roswell Sanderson
+with the lost fan, which he had found in the supper-room. Duncan left
+Florence with Marion's husband and went in search of his partner. He
+found Marion already in her place for the cotillon and took his seat
+beside her. A double row of chairs had been arranged around the room,
+and poor Walter Sedger was flying about trying to make people take their
+places, so that he might commence his first figure. The one occasion
+when all intelligence seems to desert the average mortal,&mdash;especially if
+he be a man,&mdash;is when he is called upon to dance in a cotillon, and
+already the leader's difficulties had commenced. When Sedger had
+succeeded in seating a group in one place, he would turn around and find
+that people whom he had fairly implored to take their places were
+wandering across the room, or that others, who were seated in the back
+row, were having angry controversies with people who had placed their
+chairs in front of them. All expected Sedger to find them seats, and all
+insisted upon being in the front row; as there were some eighty couples
+to dance, and only forty could sit in front, this, to an intelligent
+mind, would seem an impossible proposition; but not a single one of
+those one hundred and sixty people seemed to understand it. Finally poor
+Sedger conceived the brilliant idea of starting the music, and the
+people who were squabbling over places, fearing they might be left out
+altogether, scrambled recklessly after seats, and thus the floor was
+cleared. Sedger was now master of the situation, and soon he was leading
+a troup of sprawling men through a maze of pretty gowns, in the
+performance of the intricate evolutions of a cotillon figure.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan, instead of favoring someone, had persuaded Marion to dance the
+figure through with him. The band played a fantastic polka, and,
+catching the exciting inspiration of the Hungarian strains, they glided
+fleetly over the slippery floor. It was no longer the dreamy waltz, but
+the wild abandon of rapid motion, and as they danced Marion seemed
+carried away by the exhilarating movement. On, on, they danced, until
+the music stopped; then Duncan led her quickly out of the ball-room to
+the nook under the musicians' gallery, where, breathless from the
+exercise, she sank down on the divan. Duncan, seating himself beside
+her, rested his arm upon one of the cushions, and leaned forward so that
+he could see her face. Her cheeks glowed from the exercise, and there,
+in the soft light, her large black eyes glistening with excitement, she
+seemed to Duncan the most glorious creature he had ever seen. Delighted
+he gazed until Marion raised her eyes and met his eager glance.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you bring me here?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"To say good-by."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" she said, with a frightened tone in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean that I leave to-morrow. I have been called back to the East."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you glad?" she asked sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I am glad," he replied softly; "glad to have known you, glad to
+feel that you exist."</p>
+
+<p>Wild thoughts flashed impetuously through her mind. "Why?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>He leaned forward till his face was near hers, and she could see his
+grey eyes, now black in the dim light, almost next her own. He took her
+hand and held it; then he whispered passionately: "Because I love you."</p>
+
+<p>"For the sake of both of us, don't say that," she said hoarsely, drawing
+back her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"For the sake of both of us I will," he replied. "What is there to
+prevent our loving?"</p>
+
+<p>"My husband," she said, and the words brought back fear to her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were a woman of the world," he replied scornfully. "Do
+you mean to tell me that you are afraid?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Marion resolutely.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you must drown your fear in love," he answered, drawing his arm
+about her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"You must leave me," she pleaded, trying to release herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Not until you say you love me," was his answer.</p>
+
+<p>"That I do not hate you ought to tell you that; O, I can't say any more.
+Leave me, I entreat you."</p>
+
+<p>"I will not leave you, my Marion," he replied impetuously. "I must have
+your love." And he leaned forward and kissed her. A dress rustled behind
+the palms. Duncan heard it and quickly released Marion, who darted away
+and ran toward the ball-room; and Duncan, glancing anxiously through the
+foliage, saw a crimson gown hurrying through the other door. "Confound
+my luck!" he muttered. "I thought I knew something about this sort of
+thing, but I was a fool to take such chances."</p>
+
+<p>Inside the ball-room Marion found her husband, standing among a group of
+men, watching the dancing. "I am going home, Roswell," she said, taking
+his arm and drawing him away. "Find Florence, won't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear," he replied. "Are you ill?" he added, thinking it unusual
+for his wife to leave so early.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel tired, that is all. Tell Florence she can go home with Mrs.
+Smythe if she chooses."</p>
+
+<p>Roswell Sanderson went in search of Florence and soon returned with her.
+He had given her Marion's message, but Florence did not care to remain,
+so she excused herself to her partner in the cotillon and hurried away
+with Roswell. "What is the matter?" she anxiously asked Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel a little faint and I think I will go home," was the answer.
+Florence thought Marion seemed agitated rather than faint. She wondered
+what had happened, but thinking it unwise to pursue the matter further,
+she walked on quietly beside Marion and her husband. On the stairs they
+met Duncan; Marion tried to avoid him, but he came toward her and said
+calmly: "I have been looking everywhere for you, Mrs. Sanderson. Have
+you forgotten you have a partner in the cotillon?"</p>
+
+<p>"No;" Marion replied. "But you must excuse me as I feel quite tired; I
+am going home."</p>
+
+<p>"I feel cheated," answered Duncan; "the more so as I leave to-morrow and
+must say good-by, now." He put out his hand and Marion took it. She
+tried not to look at him, but an indefinable attraction compelled her to
+raise her eyes. "Good-by," he said, softly pressing her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by," she answered. Then she quickly drew back her hand and turned
+away. As she descended the stairs she felt that he was still looking at
+her. She wanted to look back, but she closed her eyes and pressed
+closely to her husband's arm till they reached the cloak-room door.
+While she and Florence were putting on their wraps, she could hear the
+distant strains of music coming from the ball-room; they seemed to her
+like the last echo of the love which had flamed so brilliantly for a
+moment in her heart, and now must die and become a memory. The music
+stopped. "It is all over," she thought; then she hurried away with
+Florence and her husband down the great stairway to the street door.
+"Mrs. Sanderson's carriage," called a servant on the stairs. "Mrs.
+Sanderson's carriage," was echoed from the street. She heard a rumbling
+noise of wheels; then the street door opened, and she felt a blast of
+cold, refreshing air. "The carriage is here, ma'am," called her footman,
+and they passed out into the darkness. At the end of the awning-covered
+passage the carriage lamps burned dimly, and she could hear the restless
+champing of bits. They reached the carriage and took their places; the
+door was closed; the servant mounted the box, the carriage rolled away
+crunching the crisp snow under its wheels. Marion sank into a corner and
+tried to think. "I did my best," she said to herself again and again. "I
+did my best, but it was so hard." Over the snow-muffled stones the
+carriage rolled past massive structures, black and silent in the
+darkness. Huge, scowling ogres, they seemed to Marion, coldly frowning
+their displeasure. On through the darkened streets they went and over
+the river bridge; she could see the flickering street lamps faintly
+glistening on the ice, and she thought they were feeble hope rays
+shining through the darkness. Marion closed her eyes and listened to the
+wheels creaking through the snow. How long it was she did not know, but
+after a time she felt a sense of stillness. She opened her eyes. They
+were home.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>GATHERING CLOUDS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>"Are you going to the 'Renaissance Club' tea, Marion, dear?" said
+Florence Moreland, coming into the library on the afternoon following
+the "Patricians'" ball. Marion was sitting on the low front window seat,
+and she held a sash curtain crumpled in her hand. Her eyes were slowly
+following the numerous sleighs gliding up and down the Lake Shore Drive.
+The sun shone brightly on the glistening snow, the bells jingled
+merrily, and the waving plumes of graceful sleighs combined, with the
+rosy faces of their fur-clad occupants, to form a cheery winter picture.
+But with all this brightness before her Marion looked thoughtful and
+disturbed. Perhaps the restless lake beyond, dashing its troubled waves
+against the grey sea wall, better expressed the thoughts which caused
+the discontented wandering of her eyes. She did not reply to Florence's
+question but continued looking out over the roadway, as though unaware
+of her friend's presence.</p>
+
+<p>"Marion, dear," called Florence in a louder tone; "didn't you hear me?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sanderson slowly dropped the sash curtain and looked up. "O, are
+you there?" she said vaguely.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and I have been here an age trying to make you hear me," Florence
+replied. "What are you dreaming about?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, nothing much," Marion sighed; but her voice told her friend that
+this was not quite true.</p>
+
+<p>"You are in one of your moods again," said Florence. "You need me to
+cheer you up; but first of all tell me if you are going to the tea this
+afternoon?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, I fancy so," Marion replied somewhat mournfully. "I wish the
+'Renaissance Club' were in Kamtschatka, or some other such place, but
+Roswell actually promised to come home in time to take us, so I suppose
+we shall have to go. It is not time yet, though."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it," said Florence, "but I think I had better change my gown
+now."</p>
+
+<p>"You look well enough as you are," Marion replied, casting her eyes
+critically over her friend's attire. "Put on your gold-braided jacket
+and you will look as smart as any girl there."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, then I shall go as I am. I would much rather talk than
+bother about dressing." Saying this Florence approached Marion and sat
+down beside her on the window seat. Marion did not notice her, but
+continued to look thoughtfully out of the window. Florence watched her
+for a moment, as though trying to read the thoughts behind her restless
+eyes; then she gently took both her friend's hands, and holding them in
+her own said inquiringly: "What is troubling you, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," Marion sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"Then why do you seem so far away?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I was thinking."</p>
+
+<p>"Of what?" asked Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"Of how like a human life the waters of that lake are."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," said her friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, like a life they roll waywardly on until they pass to mother earth
+again, or are borne upward to the clouds. Sometimes they lie peacefully
+at rest, or they ripple merrily like children at play, only to be rudely
+awakened and lashed to angry fury in an aimless struggle with the winds.
+Like a life they are merely the agents of some greater power, helplessly
+following their destiny."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you theorize too much, my dear," said Florence. "If you want
+happiness, you must take life as it comes."</p>
+
+<p>"Happiness," laughed Marion cynically. "Happiness is like the golden
+bowl at the rainbow's base; no matter how desperately you chase after
+it, it still glitters in the distant future."</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly," replied Florence, "though I remember reading somewhere that
+'the reason there is so little happiness in the world is because so few
+people are engaged in producing it.' Perhaps that is why we are
+unhappy."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know the formula for the production of this rarity?" sneered
+Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"No, but I suppose it has something to do with the time honored saying,
+'be virtuous,' and so forth."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know; the kind of happiness that comes from the knowledge that
+one is good," put in Marion. "It is a sort of self-satisfied,
+touch-me-not happiness, with a better-than-you-are smirk about it."</p>
+
+<p>"Can't one have a clear conscience without being a Pharisee?" asked
+Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," sighed Marion. "It is all a question of temptation, I
+suppose. Some people seem to be good from birth; they are never tempted,
+and have no charity for those who are."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't call such people good," replied Florence; "a St. Anthony
+without a temptation would be a sorry picture of virtuous self-control."</p>
+
+<p>Marion did not reply. For a moment she remained quietly thinking, as
+though Florence's words had inspired her with an idea; finally she
+spoke, in slowly chosen words: "Do you think what the Bible says about a
+mental sin being as great as the outward act can be true?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think it depends entirely upon circumstances," replied Florence.</p>
+
+<p>Marion turned her eyes thoughtfully upon the floor, then, restlessly
+twisting a cushion tassel between her fingers, she asked earnestly: "Do
+you think a woman who is tempted and resists, yet feels the subtle
+poison still in her heart, has sinned?"</p>
+
+<p>Florence was silent a moment, as though weighing the question in her
+mind. "I would not condemn such a woman," she finally said; "I would
+pity her."</p>
+
+<p>"What ought she to do?" asked Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"She has kept her self-respect, and I think on that foundation she
+should build the negative happiness called peace of mind."</p>
+
+<p>"What if the sting is too fresh, the poison too strong? What if the cup
+is still before her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then she should dash it resolutely from her, and trust that time will
+heal the wound."</p>
+
+<p>Marion smiled faintly. She was thinking of an express train rushing
+toward the East and bearing danger farther and farther away. "Perhaps
+destiny is kind sometimes," she thought. "Were you ever unhappy,
+Florence?" she asked after a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what an absurd question," her friend replied. "Is there any one
+who has not been unhappy at some time?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, of course people have unpleasant moments which they get over,"
+Marion answered; "but what I call unhappiness is to feel that one has
+made an irreparable mistake in life, and then to be suddenly shown the
+unattainable possibility."</p>
+
+<p>"I should think such a person would feel something like a hungry pauper,
+gazing into a pastry cook's window. The glimpse of possibility must
+intensify his craving."</p>
+
+<p>"You are utterly practical and entirely unsympathetic," said Marion,
+somewhat ruffled at Florence's levity. "Sometimes I think you are a most
+unsatisfactory person."</p>
+
+<p>"I will not be dismissed as a person," laughed Florence. "You may call
+me anything you like, but don't subject me to the degradation of being
+styled a person."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you deserve it for turning my seriousness so inconsiderately
+into ridicule," said Marion with an injured air.</p>
+
+<p>"It is just the best thing for you," Florence replied. "You worry
+unnecessarily."</p>
+
+<p>"You always say that," sighed Marion, "but you don't understand."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do. No one understands you as well as I do."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why don't you sympathize with me more?"</p>
+
+<p>"You don't need sympathy; that only panders to your discontent. What you
+need is to be shaken up and made to forget yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"You're a cruel girl."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, and I am going home to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you daft, Florence?" said Marion, amazed at her friend's
+abruptness.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I mean it," replied Florence. "But it is not because you have
+treated me badly, my dear. I did not mean to tell you so suddenly, but
+something happened a short time ago which makes me feel I had better
+leave. Please don't ask me about it, dear," she continued, seeing the
+questioning expression in Marion's eyes. "I only feel that it will be
+wiser for me to go away."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Florence," said Marion sympathetically, "can't you trust me?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is not because I can't trust you, my dear," she replied. "You
+understand me, don't you? I think it would be kinder for me not to
+remain, and then," she added hesitatingly, "I want to be away where I
+can better think it over."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I understand," Marion answered. "You are such a queer girl,
+though; how could you keep so quiet about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't feel that I could talk about it. I am queer, I suppose, but
+you will forgive me if I go away, won't you? I have thought it over for
+three days and I feel it is best."</p>
+
+<p>"I will forgive you, of course, my dear; but, O, Florence, do be sure
+you are doing right. Don't make a mistake."</p>
+
+<p>"That is why I am going away. I will know better then."</p>
+
+<p>At this moment a man quietly entered the room. He had delicately cut
+features and a determined mouth, softened by gentle, brown eyes. His
+dark hair was slightly tinged with grey upon the temples, and his
+colorless complexion indicated a man whose life was little spent in the
+open air, a fact somewhat emphasized by his slightly stooping shoulders
+and thin, nervous hands. His clothes were plain and neat, but without
+any of the pronounced effects of fashion, and his entire appearance was
+decidedly that of one who is termed in America "a business man."</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you speak when you enter a room, Roswell?" said Mrs.
+Sanderson, looking up suddenly, startled at seeing her husband. "Did you
+hear what we were talking about?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not an eavesdropper, my dear," he said quietly. "I merely came to
+tell you that I am back from the bank. Are you ready to go to the tea?"</p>
+
+<p>"I had no idea it was so late," said Marion looking at her watch. "We
+must hurry, Florence." The two women went to put on their hats, and when
+they returned all three entered the carriage waiting at the door and
+were driven quickly toward the rooms of the "Renaissance Club" in lower
+Wabash Avenue.</p>
+
+<p>The institution which bore the name of "Renaissance Club" was a ladies'
+literary society devoted to studying the effect of humanism upon the
+literature of the world. It held meetings in its tastefully arranged
+rooms on each alternate Thursday afternoon throughout the season, and on
+these occasions original papers were read and discussed with an amount
+of erudition which astonished the members unacquainted with the usual
+works of reference, and rendered the club the admiration and pride of
+feminine Chicago. It is true that literary ability was by no means the
+first requisite for admission, and that the membership list might be
+used with impunity for directing invitations to the smartest dances; but
+despite these facts, there was a decidedly literary flavor about the
+meetings of the club, enhanced perhaps by the presence of two or three
+ladies who had actually experienced the delight of seeing their writings
+in print. Of course the talking was confined to a confident set, who
+enjoyed the excitement of a literary discussion; for as no one else
+desired to undergo the tortures of speaking in public, the vast majority
+assumed a dignified expression of wisdom, and remained discreetly
+silent. The club had discussed Dante and Petrarch, Villani and Ariosto,
+even Lorenzo de Medici; it had laughed over Cervantes and blushed
+profusely over Boccaccio and Rabelais, but the meeting to which the
+Sandersons and Florence Moreland had gone was called for no such
+intellectual purpose. Once during the season the club gave a tea to
+which men were invited, and on such occasions the entertainment was
+confined to the efforts of elocutionists and balladists. Whether the
+club dared not expose its intellectual attainments to public criticism,
+or did not care to have its literary efforts judged by the standard of
+the Board of Trade, was never sufficiently clear; but in spite of the
+fact that no literature was ever discussed at the annual tea, this
+meeting was invariably the most fully attended of any during the season.</p>
+
+<p>When the Sanderson party entered there was such a hum of subdued voices,
+that the efforts of a young woman engaged in singing were scarcely
+audible above the animated whisperings of the people who thronged the
+club-rooms. Numerous small tea tables supplied with all manner of dainty
+tea things were scattered about. Each of these was presided over by a
+pretty girl, and each was surrounded by a knot of black-coated youths.
+Although young men were there in abundance, those of mature years were
+conspicuously absent; but it is one of the peculiarities of a busy city
+like Chicago, that while young employés are able to appear at afternoon
+gatherings, the heads of firms are invariably detained at their
+offices.</p>
+
+<p>The balladist's song was followed by an uninterrupted flow of feminine
+voices, punctuated with occasional masculine laughs, coming like
+intermittent grumblings of thunder during a pattering storm of rain. The
+American girl who does not talk is a rarity, indeed, but, though
+climatic influences have parched her vocal cords, her harsh, hearty
+voice saying something is a pleasurable contrast to the subdued vacuity
+of the average English maiden of twenty. The animated clatter of an
+occidental gathering may seem discordant when compared with the
+solemnity of a London drawing-room; but in this artificial age it should
+prove refreshing to one who admits a fondness for open-hearted
+naturalness. There was an intimacy among the people gathered in the
+"Renaissance Club" rooms which is rarely met with in the larger cities.
+They were nearly all acquainted with one another, and most of them were
+people who met with such frequency that many restrictions of formality
+had passed away. A person whose life is continuously passed amid such
+surroundings may develop an inclination to magnify his own <i>entourage</i>
+to the disparagement of the great world he knows so little of; but he
+will be spared a realization of the atomic nature of a person's position
+in that world, and he will never know the fitful interest cosmopolitan
+society takes in any individual.</p>
+
+<p>Marion Sanderson looked upon this society as provincial, and she felt
+inexpressibly bored at the thought that she must meet absolutely the
+same people night after night, and know by premonition what each of them
+would have to say on any given subject. Her senses had once been dazzled
+by the varied glitter of the metropolitan kaleidoscope. Had she been
+given time to investigate the tawdry shams, of which it is so largely
+composed, she might have appreciated better the less brilliant world
+about her; but with her superficial experience inciting discontent,
+Marion wandered about, that afternoon, pitying the restricted resources
+of the people she met, and congratulating herself and her intimates upon
+the aid they had already rendered toward the development of Chicago
+society.</p>
+
+<p>Florence Moreland, however, appreciated this society, which, surrounded
+by all the appurtenances of civilization, was still so natural and
+sincere. She regretted that she had decided to leave, and she entered so
+heartily into the spirit of Western life, that she was more than once
+tempted to alter her decision; but, remembering that her presence seemed
+to torture Harold, she realized that her own peace of mind would be more
+easily attained in her New Hampshire home. She wandered about the room,
+taking leave of her many friends, who were, of course, greatly surprised
+at the suddenness of her departure, until she was accosted by Mrs.
+McSeeney. Her eyes beamed so triumphantly that Florence felt an
+instinctive dread of an encounter with a woman whom she knew to be
+Marion's enemy. Mrs. McSeeney spoke with a suavity which Florence felt
+to be entirely feigned, and she was at a loss to account for this sudden
+pleasantness of manner.</p>
+
+<p>"I have just heard, my dear," said Mrs. McSeeney, "that you are going
+away, and I can't tell you how deeply we shall all miss you. What
+induced you to leave so suddenly?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am called home because my father says he must have me there,"
+Florence replied, thinking it the easiest excuse to make. "I am the only
+child, and he gets extremely lonesome when I am long away."</p>
+
+<p>"You forget that while he is but one person, there are many others here.
+You are inconsiderate of the claims of the majority," said Mrs.
+McSeeney. "However, you may carry away the satisfaction that you looked
+absolutely heavenly at the ball last night in that charming yellow gown.
+How like it is to Marion's, was that intentional?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is the second time I have been asked that question, but I assure
+you it was quite an unexpected coincidence."</p>
+
+<p>"A coincidence which created a fortunate contrast," replied Mrs.
+McSeeney, with increased suavity. "Fortunate for you, at least."</p>
+
+<p>"What does this extreme agreeableness mean?" Florence wondered, and for
+a moment she was lost for a reply. "By the way," continued Mrs.
+McSeeney, "what has become of that charming Mr. Grahame whom Marion
+brought to my house last week? I don't see him here."</p>
+
+<p>"He went back to New York to-day," answered Florence somewhat coolly,
+as she wished to end the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"What a pity!" said Mrs. McSeeney, speaking in a louder tone. "Mr.
+Grahame was such a delightful man, and dear Marion Sanderson must miss
+him so."</p>
+
+<p>Instinctively feeling that some one else might have overheard this
+remark, Florence looked hurriedly behind her, and was horrified to see
+Roswell Sanderson and Harold Wainwright standing there. She saw the
+meaning of Mrs. McSeeney's action now; she had laid this trap to injure
+Marion in the eyes of her husband, and Roswell's expression of mingled
+anger and anxiety told her plainly that he had overheard. Frightened for
+Marion's happiness she turned to Mrs. McSeeney and said angrily: "You
+have no right to connect Marion's name with Mr. Grahame's in such a
+manner."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed!" Mrs. McSeeney replied with exasperating coolness. "I think
+that when a woman of Marion Sanderson's prominence is indiscreet in her
+actions, she must expect to cause comment. I happened to see Mr. Grahame
+kiss Mrs. Sanderson, under the musicians' gallery, at the ball last
+night. I think I am justified in any conclusions I may draw."</p>
+
+<p>Florence heard a low exclamation behind her. For a moment countless
+thoughts rushed through her brain in jumbled confusion, then she seemed
+to understand it all. Mrs. McSeeney told the truth. No woman would dare
+make such an accusation falsely, and this explained Marion's strange
+talk of the afternoon. Poor Marion! was there no way to save her? With
+the suddenness of inspiration an idea came to her. She remembered seeing
+a play in which two women were mistaken for each other by the similarity
+of their gowns; she had also been with Duncan under the musicians'
+gallery, and she knew it was too dark to distinguish faces accurately
+there. She turned quickly toward Roswell Sanderson, and seizing his hand
+drew him forward. He was about to speak but she stopped him; then,
+facing Mrs. McSeeney, she said defiantly: "You have conceived a clever
+plan to ruin Mr. Sanderson's wife. Your motive, I think, is evident to
+all who know you, but, fortunately, your statement is untrue. 'Twas I
+who was with Mr. Grahame under the musicians' gallery."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. McSeeney drew back astonished at this sudden statement, but she
+quickly recovered from her surprise and said ironically: "Such a
+melodramatic sacrifice seems out of place in real life, but I suppose
+you are one of those heroic maidens who enjoy tarnishing their own
+reputation to clear a friend. I admit that the darkness and the
+similarity of your gowns may have rendered the confusion possible, but I
+assure you I was not mistaken about the facts. I suppose you are
+prepared to admit them also?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am," said Florence deliberately.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you are ingenuous, I must say," said Mrs. McSeeney, astonished at
+Florence's determined manner. "Perhaps you will think better of your
+foolishness when you realize the position in which you have placed
+yourself before society. In the meantime I trust Mr. Sanderson accepts a
+statement which, considering my experience of the world, I believe
+extremely improbable."</p>
+
+<p>Roswell clenched his fists to suppress his anger. "Mr. Sanderson," he
+said slowly, "believes absolutely in the fidelity of his wife, and he
+warns Mrs. McSeeney that she must answer to him for any future slurs
+upon her character."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. McSeeney's eyes flashed as she said coolly: "I am glad Mrs.
+Sanderson enjoys so absolutely the confidence of her husband." Then,
+shrugging her shoulders slightly, she turned and walked toward the door.
+It was growing so late that the distant room in which this scene
+occurred was quite empty, and fortunately no one but Harold Wainwright
+had overheard the conversation. An anxious witness of the scene, he had
+appeared at first dumfounded by Florence's self-accusation; but he now
+calmly followed Mrs. McSeeney toward the door. He quickly caught up with
+her, and speaking so quietly that she turned about somewhat frightened,
+he said: "May I speak with you a moment? I have something of importance
+to say."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," she replied, and they passed on into the next room.</p>
+
+<p>Florence was left alone with Roswell Sanderson. The first excitement of
+the resolution to save Marion had passed, and she now realized the
+position in which she had so suddenly placed herself, and her foremost
+desire now was to get away somewhere. Above all she dared not speak to
+Roswell. She was still holding his hand which she had grasped so
+earnestly in the midst of her excitement, and now she tried to release
+it. This action Roswell resisted, and, turning until he could see into
+her face, he said earnestly: "You are a brave girl, Florence, and I
+thank you for it from the bottom of my heart."</p>
+
+<p>Florence lowered her eyes. "Don't talk about it," she said anxiously,
+"and please promise not to say one word to Marion of all this. I am
+going away, and, if you can keep her from knowing about it, it will make
+me so happy."</p>
+
+<p>Roswell was silent a moment. A curious expression of sad determination,
+which Florence did not understand, came into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I promise," he finally said, "but you must answer me one question now
+that we are alone. Did you speak the truth?"</p>
+
+<p>Florence trembled slightly. She had been expecting this question and
+felt that everything depended on her answer. She pressed his hand
+firmly, and, looking up into his face, said in tones which bore the
+resolute accent of truth: "Roswell, I assure you that Marion has been
+true to you."</p>
+
+<p>"I will ask no more," he replied, and she saw that determined expression
+come back again to his eyes. They heard the sound of approaching steps,
+and he quickly released her hand. Turning round they saw Marion
+approaching. "What under heaven are you doing here?" Marion said, as she
+entered the room. "Don't you know everyone has gone home, and we shall
+be late for dinner?"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<h3>OAKHURST.</h3>
+
+
+<p>On a Saturday morning in early June, about five months after Duncan's
+visit to Chicago, Rennsler Van Vort, attired in tweeds and carrying a
+bag in one hand and a bundle of coats and sticks in the other, pushed
+rapidly past the ticket collector of a Jersey City ferry. He was on his
+way to spend Sunday with the Osgoods at their place near Morristown, and
+his haste was inspired by the knowledge that if he missed the next boat
+he would be left to wander about the most unattractive portion of New
+York for at least another half-hour. He managed, however, to reach the
+ferry-boat just before she started, and was congratulating himself on
+his good fortune, when he observed a man with a bag in each hand,
+running in hot haste down the incline leading to the boat. The iron
+gates were closed; the windlasses were clicking rapidly as the mooring
+hawsers were being wound around, and the great paddle wheels had begun
+to stir the waters of the slip to seething foam. The man at the windlass
+tried to restrain the tardy passenger's efforts to reach the boat, but
+he brushed past him and leapt onto her deck, just as she had begun to
+move out from the slip.</p>
+
+<p>"Great Scot! Duncan, did you drop from the clouds?" said Van Vort, as
+the breathless runner, aided by a deck hand, clambered over the iron
+gate.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I beat the gate-keeper," replied Duncan, as he came to a stop
+beside Rennsler and deposited his bags on the deck. "He was just
+shutting the stile, and called to me to stop, but I didn't care to bask
+on the docks for an hour, so I gave him the slip and here I am."</p>
+
+<p>"That explains your flying leap on the boat, but did you jump across the
+pond also?" asked Van Vort. "The last time I saw you, you were going to
+Chicago; then I heard you were in London, and now you make an amazing
+appearance on a Jersey ferry. You must have taken up jugglery, old
+chap."</p>
+
+<p>"An old loafer like you doesn't know anything about business; if you did
+you might appreciate my flights."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind if I don't," answered Van Vort, resting his arm on the rail
+and gazing into the water as it surged under the paddle wheels. "Tell me
+what took you to London and what brought you back."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I went to Chicago, as you know," answered Duncan, "to look after
+an elevator syndicate. I was there a week, got things straightened up,
+took the 'Limited' on Thursday, reached New York Friday night, spent
+Saturday morning at the office, and sailed that afternoon, on the
+Umbria, to look after the London end of the scheme."</p>
+
+<p>"That was last January. How have you been eluding your friends ever
+since?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was in London until two weeks ago. I came in on the Etruria this
+morning; we should have landed Sunday, but we broke our shaft and had to
+be towed in."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Duncan, I am glad to see you back; but you must give an account
+of yourself. What did you do in London besides business?"</p>
+
+<p>"During February and March I was groping about in the fog after Britons
+to invest in Chicago elevators, or following the hounds in the Shires.
+London in winter is the beastliest place in Christendom, and when I
+could get away I was in the country."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I know London in the winter," put in Van Vort. "Fogs and
+suffocation, rain and muddy boots, slush and colds, sleet and influenza,
+all combine to make a dreary mackintosh and umbrella existence, which
+you can vary in-doors by shivering before fires that won't burn."</p>
+
+<p>"I see you've been there," answered Duncan; "but you want to add
+something about empty theatres and clubs, and say it is a city deserted
+by every person who can buy, borrow, or steal a railway ticket to the
+country. But for one guardian angel, I should not be here to tell this
+tale."</p>
+
+<p>"I can name that angel," said Van Vort; "it is Scotch whiskey."</p>
+
+<p>"Right!" answered Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so. All sufferers seek the same cure; but April and May were
+better, weren't they?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should think so."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you meet many people?"</p>
+
+<p>"Plenty. I fell in with Lady Brock on the steamer, and she came in
+handy. I knew some people when I was there before, and took out some
+good letters; and then there is the American colony."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, the American colony," said Van Vort; "who are they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some of them are people one doesn't know at home, but the English don't
+mind that, so why should we? You remember Mrs. Raynor, that pretty woman
+who used to be about New York, and afterward so scandalized the prudes
+by an affair with a Russian Grand Duke that no one received her when she
+came home?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course; did you run across her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; she is in London now, the smartest of the smart; the friend of the
+prince and the envy of American turf hunters. They wouldn't have her in
+New York, but now they flock to her house because she is in the London
+smart set, and she is clever enough to receive them and forget the
+malarious past."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you went there; the malarious past didn't frighten you away."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not. I was her right-hand man, and used to help entertain
+the people at her Wednesday afternoons. Not only that, but I was
+hand-in-glove with Mrs. Smallpage."</p>
+
+<p>"What! the wife of the late furniture dealer on Fifth Avenue?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I didn't know her in New York, but she has a house in Mayfair and
+hobnobs with half the peerage. Good looks and money, that's all the
+Londoners care for. I heard a countess say that all Americans are alike.
+We have no aristocracy, therefore our social distinctions are absurd.
+The reception of an American in London depends on whether he is rich
+enough to entertain, good looking enough to be attractive, or queer
+enough to be amusing."</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Duncan, we are just getting into the slip," said Van Vort,
+looking forward, "and you haven't told me yet where you are going, and
+what brought you aboard this ferry."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I met Harry Osgood this morning, just after I landed, and he asked
+me out to his place for Sunday. I hate New York on the blessed Sabbath,
+so here I am."</p>
+
+<p>"I am bound for the Osgoods, too," answered Van Vort. "I am in luck to
+find some one going out. But come on, we must hurry or we sha'n't get
+seats in the train."</p>
+
+<p>The ferry-boat brushed violently against the side of the slip, and most
+of the passengers, losing their balance, were compelled to grasp each
+other unconventionally for support. The engine-room bell clanged
+furiously; there were more jars and creakings as the boat scraped past
+the great piles and reached her moorings; then the restless van horses
+stamped, the chains rattled over the windlasses, and the passengers
+crowded forward to the bows. The iron gates were opened, and the living
+sea of people flowed rapidly up the incline toward the railway station.
+It was the mighty ebbing of the human tide which daily floods the great
+city across the river. Could one stand there, watching the weary throng
+come forth, and, like the Spanish student of old, find a willing
+Asmodæus at one's elbow, what stories of hopes and disappointments, what
+tales of trouble and misery could he not unfold for inspection. Pallid
+shop-girls and weary seamstresses were there; grimy laborers with their
+tools, tired clerks, toiling mothers with their babes, and pale,
+careworn children, early driven to the wheel, with here and there a
+face on whom prosperity had set her seal, and perhaps a few, like
+Duncan, whose lives are passed in that dazzling upper world, so
+hopelessly closed to the toiling masses. All these, and more, streamed
+off the ponderous ferry, hurrying to their homes. But Duncan and Van
+Vort had no time to moralize, and being anxious to get seats in the
+smoking car they pushed rapidly to the front of the moving mass of
+people, showed their tickets to the inspector, and passed through the
+station door to the platform.</p>
+
+<p>The Morristown train was drawn up on the right-hand track. They found it
+already well filled with people brought over by the first boat; and
+after wandering the entire length of the smoking car they were about
+despairing of finding seats when they were hailed by a familiar voice:
+"Hello, fellows, where are you going?" Looking around they saw
+Howard-Jones, with a yellow-covered novel under his arm and a freshly
+lighted cigar between his lips, standing on the station platform and
+looking the picture of masculine content.</p>
+
+<p>"We are trying to find a seat, but the place is full," said Duncan.
+"Are you going on this train?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; going out to Osgood's."</p>
+
+<p>"So are we," put in Van Vort, "but we don't want to stand up all the
+way. You look as unconcerned as though you were sporting a private car."</p>
+
+<p>"So I am," replied Howard-Jones carelessly. "Just go into the car ahead
+and find Waterman; mention the fact that you are friends of mine, and
+perhaps he will give you a seat, but be sure you speak politely.
+Waterman won't stand impertinence."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you and he have seats in there, and there are no more to be
+had," said Duncan, "you might as well make up your mind to stand up.
+Come on, Rennsler, let's see if Howard-Jones is trying to do us." Saying
+this, Duncan started into the next car and was closely followed by Van
+Vort. This car had been kept till the last moment, so they found it just
+filling up, and at the farther end they discovered Waterman, trying to
+stretch himself over four seats and convince the numerous comers that
+they were engaged.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg pardon, but can a lady have this seat?" said Duncan, coming up
+behind Waterman.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry, but it's engaged," grunted the latter without looking up.
+"This is a smoker anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, this lady is going to sit on your lap, you old brute."</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Duncan," said Waterman, looking up somewhat startled. "Osgood
+told me you were back; I am deuced glad to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"Pull down those feet and give us some room, and then I'll talk,"
+answered Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>Waterman made room for his friends, and depositing their luggage on the
+floor they sat down opposite him. As the train moved slowly out of the
+station, Howard-Jones sauntered into the car and took the seat
+remaining, next to Waterman.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, how is Chicago?" Waterman asked Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk to him about Chicago," interrupted Van Vort. "Don't you know
+he has just come from London?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I do, but I know all about London. I want to hear about Mr.
+Breezy and Miss Lakeside, and all the other queer people one reads
+about in <i>Life</i> and <i>Puck</i>. Don't you remember the last time we saw
+Duncan? He was going gunning for elevators, and I want to hear about
+them. How are the pork-packers, Duncan?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't meet any."</p>
+
+<p>"What, and you went to Chicago!"</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly," Duncan replied. "They say there that one has to go away to
+meet them. The right sort don't seem to know them."</p>
+
+<p>"What were the people like, anyway?" asked Howard-Jones.</p>
+
+<p>"The women are dears, some of the men are queer, most of them are
+passable, and a few are the whitest chaps I ever came across. I was
+treated like a prince. I lived at the City Club, and they could not do
+enough for me there."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you get anything fit to eat?" asked Howard-Jones dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>"You must imagine the people out there eat jerked venison and dine in
+their shirt-sleeves," replied Duncan. "They don't live in wigwams, and
+buffalo don't run wild in the streets."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't get huffy, Duncan; I was only judging by what I had heard. You
+remember what Waterman said about Chicago."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and I repeat again," replied that worthy, "it is the beastliest
+hole it has ever been my luck to get stranded in."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you display your ignorance," said Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>"I admit I have heard something about Chicago being the centre of the
+universe," retorted Waterman, "but I thought that opinion was confined
+to the breezy inhabitants of the windy city."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, in my opinion," said Duncan, "Chicago isn't a half bad place.
+'Tisn't New York, of course, but you can't expect that. They've got most
+of the things there that we have, and some that we haven't. There's one
+thing about the people, too, that I like; they keep awake when the rest
+of the world is dozing, and that is bound to tell in the end."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, Duncan," echoed Van Vort.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down on sectional ignorance and prejudice. New Yorkers are getting
+to be as provincial as Parisians, and it is time they learned that the
+sun doesn't rise and set on Manhattan Island."</p>
+
+<p>"You are all wrong, Rennsler," answered Howard-Jones. "Duncan is drawing
+a big salary for booming Chicago real estate; you'd do the same thing if
+you got paid for it."</p>
+
+<p>"No back talk, Hyphenated-Jones," said Duncan facetiously. "Just crawl
+behind that French novel and don't let me hear from you again."</p>
+
+<p>"I will if you will shut up about Chicago; you make me weary."</p>
+
+<p>"Anything to keep you quiet," answered Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>The four friends gradually settled themselves behind afternoon papers or
+novels, and remained silent. The train rattled on through small suburban
+towns and now and then drew up before a dainty, vine-covered station,
+with low walls and high gabled roofs, where the brakeman put his head
+inside the door and called off some name in unintelligible accents.
+People got out hurriedly, their arms filled with packages of all
+descriptions, the door slammed, the train started, the newsboy passed
+through with the papers, pop-corn, puzzles, and everything else that
+nobody wanted, the conductor poked dozing passengers for their tickets,
+the atmosphere grew blue with smoke, and the minutes passed with the
+exasperating slowness of time spent on a suburban train.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Duncan," said Waterman, yawning behind his paper, "how would you
+like to take this trip twice a day?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd rather die a natural death and be done with it, if I did not have a
+private opinion that Hades is a suburban town, where the Devil tortures
+his victims by making them bolt breakfast in two minutes and run to
+catch a train, only to be brought back again after dark just in time to
+sleep and take the next train in the morning."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the joy of living in the country," replied Waterman. "However, I
+can tell you how to pass the time to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"How?" asked Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>"Go back and talk to the Simpson girls. I saw them getting into the last
+car, and I think they are going out to Osgood's, too."</p>
+
+<p>"None of that for me."</p>
+
+<p>"Better send Rennsler to look after them," suggested Waterman; "I think
+I can recommend him as a safe and suitable chaperon."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" said Van Vort, glancing over his paper at the sound of
+his name.</p>
+
+<p>"We think you had better go back and talk to the charming Miss Simpson,"
+said Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>"Which? The one with freckles, or the one who squints."</p>
+
+<p>"Both," replied Waterman.</p>
+
+<p>"From such a fate, good Lord deliver us," answered Van Vort contritely.</p>
+
+<p>"Your prayer is answered," said Duncan, "for here we are at the
+getting-off place. I never remember the name of it, so I always book
+through to Morristown, and look out for that red barn over there."</p>
+
+<p>The engine slackened its pace while the four friends hurriedly gathered
+their things together and walked toward the car door. When the train
+stopped they passed out and alighted on the deserted platform of a small
+country station. The village consisted of three or four houses and a
+barn, and the station was merely a covered shed and platform, without
+the usual complement of station-master, baggageman, etc. It was of so
+little importance that trains did not stop there except by signal or
+request, and the Osgoods made use of it merely because it was nearer
+their place than was Morristown. On this occasion, however, there was no
+one there to meet the travelers, and it seemed to them that they had
+been forgotten. The train had pulled out immediately, and they were left
+to their own resources in a small, New Jersey hamlet, four miles from
+their destination. There was no one in sight except the Simpson girls,
+who had alighted at the other end of the platform, and the four men felt
+it their duty to wander toward them and proffer such civilities as the
+occasion demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"We had no idea you were on the train," said Duncan, as they reached the
+place where the girls were standing. "I suppose you are bound for the
+Osgoods?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied the elder Miss Simpson, "but we seem to be stranded here.
+What shall we do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait until we are rescued," said Van Vort. "I don't believe Osgood is
+cruel enough to leave us here long."</p>
+
+<p>"No, by Jove! for there are his leaders," interposed Waterman, as a team
+of chestnuts and a smart char-à-bancs, driven by Harry Osgood himself,
+with his wife on the box seat, swept rapidly around the corner of
+Duncan's red barn. There were two girls sitting behind the Osgoods, whom
+they recognized as Miss Warner and Miss Reine Merrit,&mdash;two of their
+set,&mdash;and the men had just time to take off their hats before the trap
+was driven up beside the platform.</p>
+
+<p>"Been waiting long?" called Osgood, as he pulled up his team. "My near
+leader picked up a stone, and I have the stage timed so close that any
+delay makes me late."</p>
+
+<p>"It will teach you to take more time, Harry," said his wife, as, without
+accepting the proffered aid of a servant, she jumped to the ground. "How
+do you do, everybody," she continued, when she lighted on the platform.
+"Why, Duncan Grahame! Where in heaven's name did you come from?"</p>
+
+<p>"From London, to see you, but I don't seem to be expected," replied
+Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>"I forgot to tell Helen I had asked you, but it's all right," called
+Harry Osgood from his high seat.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course it is," replied his wife, "but I wish you wouldn't shock me
+so again. I thought I had seen a ghost."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind ghosts, but get the people up," said her husband.</p>
+
+<p>Harry Osgood's char-à-bancs was a vehicle he had had constructed for use
+over the rough country roads. It was built somewhat like the two boots
+of a drag put together without the body, and had seats for ten persons,
+besides the servants, placed in three rows, and all facing forward,
+while its lightness rendered it very convenient for the purpose for
+which it was designed. The servants stowed the luggage away and Mrs.
+Osgood assigned places to the party. The elder Miss Simpson was given
+the box seat, the next was occupied by Reine Merrit, Waterman,
+Howard-Jones, and the younger Miss Simpson, while Miss Warner, Van Vort,
+Duncan and Helen Osgood mounted to the remaining one.</p>
+
+<p>"Let em go," shouted Osgood as he shoved the brake back. The grooms
+jumped from the horses heads, the wheelers sprang into their collars,
+and the trap rolled away from the station. "Oakhurst," the Osgood place,
+was a short four miles distant, and the road, a fairly good one for
+America, ran, for the most part, through a forest of maples, broken here
+and there by the country seat of some New Yorker, or an occasional farm.
+The country was quite rolling, and the road, running as it did over a
+succession of small hills, made the driving a delight to Harry Osgood.
+He was a coachman who had learned his trade in England, and having been
+a subscriber to the <i>Guildford Coach</i> for two seasons, he was able to
+"sit his bench" like a veteran, and work his team with the smartness of
+one who has done "out of London roading"; but, with all his experience
+he was not a careful workman. He invariably made the four miles, from
+the station to his house, a galloping stage, and it was his pride to do
+the distance just under the twenty minutes; so, as soon as he turned the
+corner by the red barn, he sprang his team into a gallop, and they
+scarcely trotted another step of the way. Up hill and down the horses
+scampered, while the trap rocked like a ship at sea, now to this side
+and now to that, and when rounding the corners it often seemed as though
+the vehicle would certainly be turned over and the entire party landed
+in a hopeless muddle in the ditch; but nothing worse than a few feminine
+screams occurred until they reached the place where the road entered the
+Morristown turnpike.</p>
+
+<p>Here Osgood espied another team coming up the main road, and as both
+traps were about an equal distance from the fork, he considered it a
+glorious chance for a race; so, giving his horses their heads, he urged
+them into a run. The driver of the other four, as ready for sport as
+Osgood, did the same, and the two traps came furiously on to where the
+roads met. The men cheered while the women held on to their seats,
+trembling with fright; and as the two traps came together at the fork,
+the other coachman tried to crowd in front of Osgood by taking some of
+the latter's road. There was no time to pull up, and seeing that his
+only safety from a wicked upset was to beat his rival, Osgood called on
+his horses for an extra spurt. The leaders were neck and neck, and the
+stranger had crowded him so far toward the edge of the road that he felt
+his hind wheel slipping down the embankment. The women shut their eyes
+and screamed while the men prepared to jump, but Osgood, acting with
+presence of mind, hit his rival's off-wheeler across the head with his
+whip, and "toweled" his own wheelers a good stinging cut across the
+shoulders. The wheel horse of the other trap, frightened at this sudden
+attack, jumped toward the pole, and, with his weight, swayed the vehicle
+toward the near side of the road, while Osgood's own wheelers sprang
+forward under the lashing and drew the trap onto the road before it had
+time to upset. Osgood darted ahead of his rival, and the party breathed
+freer as all visions of broken limbs and mangled bodies vanished from
+their frightened minds.</p>
+
+<p>"Well done, old man," called Howard-Jones, who was himself a coaching
+man. "I like sport, but such a lubberly bit of work as that ought not to
+go unpunished."</p>
+
+<p>"A man who will do a trick like that ought not to be trusted with a
+donkey," replied Osgood, as he pulled his team together after the
+excitement of the spurt.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the trouble, nowadays," continued Howard-Jones. "After a lesson
+or two in the park, at team work, chaps set up as experienced
+coachmen."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is the duffer, anyway?" called Duncan from behind.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack Ashton. You know him, don't you?" replied Howard-Jones. "He has
+the place just beyond Harry's."</p>
+
+<p>"I ought to," said Duncan. "He was in my class at college. I didn't
+recognize him, though."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you always forget your friends so easily?" said Helen Osgood with an
+ironical sparkle in her blue-black eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes I try to," Duncan answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you always successful?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Helen," he whispered, "not always."</p>
+
+<p>The trap had reached the stone gateway of the Osgood place. As they
+turned in, a call was sounded on the horn to announce their coming to
+the servants, and, after passing the lodge, they could see the low,
+white country house, with rambling wings and numerous stables and
+outhouses in the rear, standing on a rise of ground at the end of the
+winding road. The place had been in the Osgood family for more than a
+hundred years. The oak-covered grounds about the house, and the green,
+rolling lawn in front, were typical of an English park; but the old
+wooden, colonial house, with its rambling additions and green blinds,
+its stately veranda and Doric columned portico, was American, of a type
+fast disappearing before the modern house decorator with his tints and
+<i>bibelots</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The trap dashed up to the door, a knot of servants appeared, the grooms
+placed the ladder against the steps, and the guests alighted and were
+conducted to their apartments, where, for the next hour, the house party
+was occupied in the task of dressing for dinner.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<h3>"I WILL LAUGH, TOO."</h3>
+
+
+<p>Harry Osgood was a man whose life was devoted to sport, and as he had
+inherited a large fortune, he was able to indulge his tastes to the
+fullest extent. Some one of his friends had said facetiously, that he
+was fond of horses, hounds, and his wife, in the order named, and no one
+who knew him well would deny that more of his life was spent in his
+stables and kennels than in his home. He had passed many years in
+England, and most of his time there was spent in a hard riding country,
+where everyone, including the parson, followed the hounds. To Osgood,
+therefore, there was no sport like hunting, and no music like the
+inspiriting cry of the pack. He had been brought up on the "pigskin" and
+felt a supreme contempt for many of the men about New York who went in
+for sport, not for the love of it, but as a pose which enabled them to
+wear the pink and talk the slang of the shires. He had seen so many
+chaps of that description come an ignominious "cropper" at the first
+fence, that he paid little attention to the talk of the clubs, and never
+passed his opinion on a would-be sportsman until he saw him in the
+hunting field. In his opinion it took something more than a pink coat to
+make a hunting man, so he endeavored to collect around him, in New
+Jersey, a few of as hard riders as ever followed hounds.</p>
+
+<p>The Essex Hunt had become famous for its long runs, and as few men not
+born to the saddle cared to risk their necks over the rolling country
+about Morristown, this hunt was decidedly unpopular with the
+drawing-room sportsmen. However, if the field was small at the meet, it
+diminished little at the finish. For years Harry Osgood had been M. F.
+M. of the Essex Hunt, and the pack could not have been in better hands,
+as he had a capital huntsman of long experience with the Quorn Hunt, and
+he devoted his own time, during the hunting season, entirely to the
+sport. Osgood had this peculiarity, however, he must have sport all the
+year round; so he was as much at home on the box seat, or at the
+tiller, as in the saddle. There is a popular impression that a man
+cannot be both a horseman and a sailor, but Harry Osgood had often
+refuted it. In the summer months, when there was no hunting, and it was
+too hot for driving, he went to sea, and his schooner, "Persephone," was
+one of the crack flyers of the N. Y. Y. C. fleet, while her owner was a
+qualified navigator who had taken an English Board of Trade yachtsman's
+certificate.</p>
+
+<p>It is, therefore, not surprising that Helen Osgood entered little into
+her husband's life, for, except when frost was in the ground, he had no
+time to devote to his wife. Helen, however, heartily approved of his
+neglect, and, except for the fact that he compelled her to reside so
+much of the time in the country, was perfectly satisfied with her
+husband. She always managed to have at least one amusing man in the
+house who did not go in for hunting, and as she never interfered with
+Harry's sport, theirs was a <i>ménage</i> where husband and wife were both
+contented and amused. The world had been surprised at Harry Osgood's
+marriage, but probably no one was more astonished than himself. A
+country house, a rare day's sport, a good dinner, a cozy corner, a pair
+of bewitching blue-black eyes, a hasty word, and his fate was sealed
+before he had had time fully to realize the situation; but, having been
+"landed," as he expressed it, he made up his mind to bear it like a man
+and make the best of a hasty bargain. The marriage was, however, no
+surprise to Helen. She had carefully arranged it in her mind several
+months before, and Harry Osgood's proposal was but the consummation of
+her plans. He was precisely the kind of man that she considered an
+attractive, poor girl ought to marry, and women like Helen seem to
+possess a faculty for adjusting their lives according to their desires.
+She was the only woman whom Duncan Grahame had ever asked to be his
+wife, and perhaps for the reason that she had refused him, she continued
+to occupy the most central cell of his somewhat honeycombed heart. She
+had declined to marry Duncan because, at that time, he was poor, and she
+knew that he possessed too quick a perception, and too arbitrary a
+disposition, to be a suitable husband for a woman of her ambitions. She
+had, however, since her marriage, granted Duncan the privileges of a
+somewhat equivocal friendship, which, owing to a general misconception
+of Helen Osgood's character, the world often misapprehended. Her
+acquaintances fancied her unhappy in her home life, but she was
+perfectly contented. Her friends believed she was a woman of strong
+feelings and sympathies, but she was subtle and calculating. The world
+thought her friendship for Duncan must be of a serious nature, while, in
+reality, it was scarcely more than a <i>passe temps</i>. Though not harassed
+by any scruples, she was too cold really to love, and too clever
+actually to compromise herself. But she was, however, sufficiently
+selfish to receive without giving, and sufficiently vain to enjoy the
+continued admiration of so scarred and complex a heart as Duncan's. She
+had been gifted with a peculiar insight into human character, and having
+studied the nature of man as a scientist might that of a mollusk, she
+felt that she understood every masculine vagary. Prompted mostly by
+curiosity, she singled out Duncan as the specimen best calculated to
+demand the full exercise of her powers. If she had, at times, permitted
+certain familiarities which the world might not entirely approve, she
+had been careful to define the boundaries beyond which they must not
+pass; and the fact that his actions were governed in a manner so
+contrary to his wishes kept Duncan in a continuous state of irritation,
+and served at the same time to produce a continuity of affection quite
+unusual in his other experiences.</p>
+
+<p>For nearly four years this peculiar friendship, so galling to Duncan, so
+gratifying to Helen, had continued intermittently; and though many
+ruptures had occurred, they had all ended in Duncan's suing for peace.
+The long continuance of so unnatural a relation was rendered possible
+only by the fact that Helen Osgood had, so far, been incapable of
+experiencing the feelings of other women, and seeing no reason to
+transgress where there was no temptation, she contented herself with
+inspiring a love where others excited a passing fancy. Other women might
+amuse Duncan, but she would control him; other women might love him, but
+she would study him; other women might lose him, but she would remain
+his master. That was her analysis of the affair, and, so far, she felt
+that it had been correct. It is true she had not seen Duncan since the
+quarrel in January, and she knew that he must, in the meantime, have
+been intimate with other women; but she felt confident that he would
+come back to her and plead again for the love she had so often refused
+him. She did not believe that Duncan's passion was of a lofty nature. On
+the contrary, she doubted his sincerity just as she doubted the
+sincerity of every man of the world. She knew perfectly well the view of
+life held by the men about her, and she often said that were she a man
+she would be a freebooter too, and capture the hearts that came in her
+way. She thought that if a woman was weak enough to be trapped into
+taking a false step, she got her deserts. She, for one, would go armed,
+not because her conscience troubled her, but because she did not
+consider the game worth the risk.</p>
+
+<p>The unexpected return of Duncan had been somewhat of a surprise to
+Helen; but, in order to impress upon him that it was a matter of
+indifference to her, she avoided him as much as possible during the
+evening of his arrival at Oakhurst. The house party spent the evening
+playing pool in the billiard-room, and in that atmosphere of whiskey,
+soda, and smoke, where the conversation was hilarious and general, and
+often interspersed with familiar repartee and laughter, it was not
+difficult for Helen to keep Duncan at a convenient distance, while,
+however much he might chafe under the restraint, he was unable to free
+himself from his unpleasant position. There is nothing so exasperating
+to a man of Duncan's disposition and experience as to feel that he is
+being made a fool of by a woman. Though nothing had been said, Duncan
+realized the galling fact that Helen Osgood was playing with him. After
+the women had gone to bed he sat in the smoking-room, sulking over his
+"night-cap," and though Osgood and Howard-Jones carried on a heated
+discussion about the merits of perch bits, he paid not the slightest
+attention to what was being said. Waterman and Van Vort occasionally
+tried to chaff him, but he was so snappish in his manner that they
+wisely decided to let him alone. Meanwhile Duncan was thinking of the
+time, at Newport, when, jogging home after a day with the hounds, he had
+asked Helen Osgood to marry him. He had felt confident that she would do
+so, but instead, he got laughed at for his sincerity, and he had been
+laughed at ever since. He had often brought himself to the point of
+believing that he did not care for her, but the next time he was brought
+under her subtle influence he was compelled to acknowledge that he was
+still under her spell. Other women had surrendered to him with a
+facility that destroyed the pleasure of an exciting contest, but other
+women were not Helen Osgood.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning none of the house party put in an appearance before
+eleven o'clock, and it was not until luncheon that they all met
+together. Some of the men had, it is true, been out to the kennels, and
+Osgood and Howard-Jones had taken out a tandem&mdash;much to the horror of
+neighboring Sabbath-keepers&mdash;but Mrs. Osgood and the girls managed to
+keep secluded until the luncheon-hour. Dinner was the only formal meal
+at Oakhurst, and there was a freedom about the life that made it very
+attractive to the men. Any sort of lounging costume was permissible
+during the daytime, and the guests straggled in at luncheon without
+regard for promptness. No one waited for the others, and the last to
+come was the last to be served. The conversation was chiefly about
+horses and dogs, with social gossip for a relish, but no topic more
+intellectual than the last French novel or the latest comedy at Daly's
+was permissible. In fact, any one bold enough to inaugurate a literary
+or political discussion would have been greeted with a stare of mingled
+pity and astonishment. If any of the guests were acquainted with matters
+literary or artistic, they were usually discreet enough to remain silent
+out of deference to the host; but on one occasion a school friend of
+Helen's, from Boston, hearing some remarks about the last story of
+Bourget, took the opportunity to start a discussion upon the poetic
+psychology of Sully-Prudhomme, which was greeted in a manner that made
+the poor girl fancy she had said something very indiscreet. At the first
+favorable opportunity, however, Helen reassured her, but advised her not
+to talk about books, if she wanted to get on with the Essex Hunt.</p>
+
+<p>On the present occasion the conversation was confined to the stables,
+and after luncheon the house party sought amusement for the afternoon.
+Osgood suggested a drive, so a team was put to the drag, and the
+afternoon, until tea-time, was spent behind three chestnuts and a
+piebald "tooled" by the host.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Duncan chafed under the discipline to which he felt he was
+being carefully subjected, but it was not until after an elaborately
+prepared dinner, served by the late butler of His Grace, the Duke of
+Northampton, and two footmen, that he was permitted a word alone with
+Helen. The other guests had gone into the drawing-room, at Helen's
+suggestion, to listen to Van Vort's latest comic song, and feeling that
+they would be off her hands for a while, she detained Duncan in the
+passage-way leading to the library. Between the two doors was a broad
+lounge, which had been placed there to offer an opportunity for a quiet
+talk, and Helen took the initiative by seating herself and motioning
+Duncan to a place beside her. He sat down sulkily, and remained silent
+for a while, trying to drive off the peculiarly helpless feeling which
+a man invariably experiences in the presence of a woman whose
+personality is stronger than his own. Duncan plunged his hands into his
+pockets and sank into a corner of the lounge, mentally deciding that he
+was an ass, and trying to bring his reason to control his feelings. He
+looked at Helen a moment, but when he met her glance, he winced and
+turned his eyes away, and she felt that she had not been wrong in her
+confidence that he would come back to her unchanged.</p>
+
+<p>"You are solemn enough for a <i>croque-mort</i>," said Helen, after a few
+moments of silence. "Aren't you going to amuse me?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," grunted Duncan peevishly, "you brought me here."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't bring you here to sulk. I hope, for your own sake, you haven't
+been behaving this way for the past six months. I understand you, but
+strangers might not appreciate such manners." She said this in the
+indifferent manner she invariably assumed when Duncan indulged in a
+display of temper, and it was this indifference which always made his
+outbursts so abortive.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no need to behave so with strangers," he replied, trying to
+assume a sarcastic manner, and feeling, inwardly, that it was not
+successful. "They are usually civil to me."</p>
+
+<p>"O, indeed! and pray how do I treat you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Like a dog," he sneered gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>"Like a pet poodle," she replied, "whom I allow to lie about the house
+in the snuggest corners; like a pet poodle whom I fondle when he is
+agreeable, and humor when he is snappish; but take care how you behave
+or I may think you are only a puppy."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan jumped to his feet. "I won't be blackguarded," he muttered
+angrily.</p>
+
+<p>Helen leaned forward and caught his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Duncan, dear," she said, drawing him gently toward her, "you must
+sit down and tell me who it was that commenced this quarrel."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan permitted himself to be drawn to the seat beside her. His heart
+was consumed with conflicting sentiments, but he felt that the courage
+which had made the quarrel in January possible was failing, and that he
+would be compelled to sue for peace. "I am not a child," he said, as
+though to expostulate against her manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you are," answered Helen softly, "but a big, lovable child of whom
+I am very fond."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan looked into her eyes to see if he could read behind her words,
+but he only felt the deep, mysterious power which had brought him under
+her influence that day in Newport. Then he had felt a hopeful, honest
+love, for a moment, but it had been crushed out by her laughter. Before
+that he had been a thoughtless boy, taking life as only a holiday
+frolic. Had she given him her love, he felt that to him life would have
+been different; but that laughter had chilled his heart, and the
+hopeful, honest love had gone out forever. She had married and he had
+loved her again, but it was a feeling of a different sort, for the man
+who speaks of love to a married woman casts out honesty from his heart.
+He loved her with a heated longing which her coldness fanned. He wanted
+to possess her for his own, yet felt that he was balked by his stupidity
+and cowardice. In her presence he was a shrinking child with the
+yearning of a man. "Helen," he said, after a moment, "I will not be
+played with; I am too much in earnest."</p>
+
+<p>"You frighten me by your seriousness," she said, with a roguish tone in
+her voice. "I like you better when you are angry. It suits you."</p>
+
+<p>"I will not be trifled with, Helen," he said; "you have no right to
+treat me so."</p>
+
+<p>"I have the right of a billigerent," she laughed. "You declared war, you
+remember."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I sue for peace."</p>
+
+<p>"And I grant it," she replied softly, putting out her hand. "Come, let
+us be friends."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan took her hand and pressed it to his lips. He looked up into her
+tantalizing eyes and felt again the warm impulse of the old love burning
+in his heart. "I cannot be your friend, Helen," he said passionately,
+"for I love you."</p>
+
+<p>She drew her hand away quickly and patted his cheek disapprovingly, as
+she might have patted a child's; then with a little, playful laugh, she
+said: "don't be silly, you know I don't like it."</p>
+
+<p>Man of the world as he was, without scruples and usually reckless, he
+felt cowed. For a moment he sat moving his hands nervously; then he
+looked up and asked in a serious tone: "Why didn't you marry me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I liked you too well."</p>
+
+<p>"That is no answer."</p>
+
+<p>"Because I wanted to keep your love."</p>
+
+<p>"That is not true."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, because marriage is a business partnership, which, to be
+successful, requires a person of experience and a person of money. You
+had too much experience and I had no money, <i>le voila</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a heartless flirt," Duncan said, slowly and earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>"That's what a man always says of a woman when he fails to make her love
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a heartless flirt, I repeat," he answered. "You stole the best
+love in my heart; you crushed it and threw it aside like a flower which
+no longer pleased you."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, Duncan, such poetic similes are ridiculous. Better say that
+love, to a man, is an apple of Sodom, fair to behold; but when he has it
+in his grasp it crumbles to sickening ashes."</p>
+
+<p>"You stole my love, Helen; a man never loves but once."</p>
+
+<p>"And in revenge, to use your metaphor, you have plucked and trampled
+under foot every flower within your reach. I know you, Duncan. It is
+only because I was stronger than the rest that I still bloom fair in
+your eyes."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan looked full into Helen's face with an injured expression in his
+eyes. "Helen," he said finally, "'tis women like you who make us men
+distrust your sex; who make us what we are."</p>
+
+<p>Helen returned his glance, and replied scornfully: "No; it is men like
+you who drag us down. We women must go through life armed, like
+travelers of old, against the attacks of you highwaymen. If we are weak,
+we are robbed of our best possessions, and left helpless by the way; if
+we are strong and ward off your attacks, you take your revenge on those
+who fall into your unscrupulous hands. But that is moralizing, and I am
+no moralist; I take the world as it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why not take the pleasure in it?" said Duncan insinuatingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Because it doesn't amuse me," she answered coldly. "I am not like other
+women, I suppose; at least, what you call pleasure disgusts me."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why have you let me be your friend so long?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because you amuse me," she replied carelessly. "I like to see you
+bluster and go away, and then come back to me. Other women pander to
+you, but I don't; other women love you, but I don't."</p>
+
+<p>As Duncan listened to these words, a blush of anger came to his cheek.
+He thought of how strong had been his influence over other women, and
+how weak he had always been in Helen's hands. "After all, love is a game
+of strength," he mused. He had been no better than a ball to be tossed
+about at pleasure, but he would throw off the spell of this woman, which
+had bound him so fast&mdash;he who thought he knew the world so well. An
+expression of firmness came into his face, and he said: "I loved you
+once, Helen, but I hate you now."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad," she answered; "now there is a chance that your passion will
+be returned."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan did not reply. He left his seat beside her and walked slowly into
+the next room. Helen's eyes followed him. "Silly boy," she thought, "I
+hope he will hate me; I might love him then."</p>
+
+<p>Long after the lights in the smoking-room had gone out, long after the
+laughter had ceased, Duncan slowly paced his room. His hands were deep
+in his pockets and he held a briar pipe between his lips. Occasionally
+he would take a draw at the pipe, and then watch the blue smoke curl
+gently upward and fade away in long, thin streaks; but all the time he
+was thinking over the part Helen Osgood had played in his life. "She is
+right," he said, half aloud; "I do bluster and go away, and come back to
+her, and I will do it again. No, by Jove! I won't. A man can't forget
+that he has been played fast and loose with, and I would not be a man if
+I went back to that woman. I hate her. I hate her," he repeated. "She
+might have made a different man of me. I was young and might have taken
+life better, but she laughed me into the selfish brute I am. O, well,"
+he sighed, as he thought of his past, "I suppose I am no worse than
+those around me. We all worry over what might have been, but we don't
+take the pleasure that comes to us. A man's an ass to break his neck for
+any woman. There are others in the world, good looking ones, too, who
+will love for the asking." He returned his pipe to its case and closed
+it with a loud snap. "I have been in the garden before," he continued,
+"and I will go there again and pluck the flowers that come in my path. I
+will hold them for a minute; then I will crush them and cast them aside,
+and I will laugh, too."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<h3>UNDER THE WILLOWS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The bell of the Fairville Presbyterian Church was slowly tolling the
+hour of morning service, and its tones, clanging out through the bright
+green shutters of the belfry on the peaceful Sabbath air, summoned the
+congregation to worship. The sun shone brightly upon the little white
+church, with its peaked roof and its tall, weather-vaned steeple, and
+its rays glanced hotly down upon the dusty roadway and wooden sidewalks
+of the long, village street. Two rows of white frame houses, fronted by
+little green patches, each enclosed by a picket fence and a swinging
+gate, extended away in the distance. Two lines of stately elms cast
+their shadows partially over the dusty street, while above them
+stretched the blue vault of the June sky.</p>
+
+<p>The tolling of the bell was the only sound that disturbed the perfect
+quiet of the day, for even the birds seemed to have ceased their
+chirping in deference to the Sabbath. Soon, however, in answer to the
+call to prayer, the little picket gates swung open, and far down the
+street a slender line of people began to walk, with the measured tread
+of conscious righteousness, toward the little church which gleamed so
+white in the sunshine at the end of the street. The board walk creaked
+under the squeaking tread of Sunday shoes, and solemn lips spoke in
+subdued Sunday tones, as elders and laity slowly wended along under the
+shade of the stately elms. White lawn dresses, leghorn bonnets and blue
+shawls, folded cross-wise, and lisle-thread gloves, were interspersed
+among flopping broadcloth coats and straight brimmed hats in the throng
+which passed along the street and through the doors of the church. Once,
+just after the last tone of the bell had died away, the stillness was
+broken by the rumble of wheels, and a single carriage rolled through the
+dust up to the church door. It was a modest equipage, plain in its
+appointments, but some of the congregation frowned disapprovingly as the
+door opened and Florence Moreland and her father descended. Without
+heeding these glances of disapprobation, they walked quietly into the
+church and passed down the long aisle to the family pew. The movement of
+numerous fans ceased and many heads were turned to see the Judge and his
+daughter take their seats, while several pairs of young and envious eyes
+were directed toward the last production of a city milliner. After the
+fans had begun to move again, the cadaverous minister rose from his seat
+and in harsh, nasal tones announced the hymn. There was a hemming and
+coughing in the choir's gallery, the organ bellows wheezed, hymn-books
+rustled, and then, as the first strains of the organ sounded, the old
+familiar lines beginning, "All people that on earth do dwell," swelled
+forth in zealous tones.</p>
+
+<p>Just as the last notes of the tune floated away and the congregation
+were taking their seats, a man stole quietly down the aisle and entered
+the pew behind Florence Moreland. His well-made clothes attracted
+curious eyes, and during the seemingly interminable prayer for the
+exorcism of every evil and the granting of all known blessings, many
+covert glances were sent in his direction. It seemed to those who
+looked, that during the prayer and the long didactic discourse upon
+Solomon and Sheba's queen, which followed, his eyes were kept
+continuously fixed upon the back of a gold-braided jacket in front of
+him. The doctor's daughter next him glanced over his book during the
+last hymn and saw that it was not open at the right place, while the
+elder who passed the plate looked wonderingly at the young Cr&oelig;sus who
+placed a greenback among the coppers and silver; but during the entire
+service his eyes were not removed from the form in front of him. The
+last roll of the organ died away and the minister pronounced his
+benedictory prayer. During the conventional moment of silence which
+followed, the sun streamed through the stained glass windows and danced
+in colored shadows on the backs of the white lawn gowns; then the frocks
+rustled as the congregation slowly filed out, and the solemn, Sunday
+faces were relaxed into smiles of friendly greeting.</p>
+
+<p>Florence Moreland waited until most of the people had passed out, then
+she placed her hand upon the pew door, and was about to open it, when
+she was startled by the sight of a familiar face behind her. "Harold,"
+she said, when she had recovered from her surprise. "What brought you to
+Fairville?"</p>
+
+<p>"I came as the bearer of a message for you," Harold Wainwright replied,
+as he opened the pew door for her.</p>
+
+<p>"For me! From whom?" asked Florence in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"If I may walk home with you I will tell you; otherwise you must wait."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very dictatorial," she replied, "but when a woman's curiosity
+is aroused, she is easily managed. If father will drive home alone, I
+consent to your terms. Father," she continued, turning around and
+interrupting a conversation which Judge Moreland was holding with an
+elder, "here is Harold Wainwright."</p>
+
+<p>"Glad to see you, Harold," said the Judge, taking Wainwright's hand and
+giving it the hearty shake of unaffected cordiality. "Glad to see the
+son of the best friend I ever had. You must bring your grip up to the
+house. What brought you to Fairville?"</p>
+
+<p>Harold was about to reply to these numerous and disconnected remarks,
+but he was interrupted by Florence. "Harold brings news I must hear; he
+won't tell me unless I promise to let him walk home with me. Do you
+mind, father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not. I'll take Elder Jones home&mdash;if I can persuade him to
+ride on Sunday," the Judge added in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, then. Good-by, father," said Florence, moving toward the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by, children. It's a hot day, so don't hurry. If you want to stop
+under the willows to rest, I sha'n't mind, and I'll wait lunch for you.
+Don't forget to move up to the house, Harold."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Judge," said Harold, "but as I leave in the morning, I don't
+believe I had better bother you."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, my boy," called the Judge. "I'll send down for your traps
+this afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>When Florence and Harold reached the street, the congregation had mostly
+dispersed. Instead of following the villagers along under the shady elms
+into the heart of the village, they turned to the left, and tramped in
+the hot sun toward the shore of the little lake which lay at the end of
+the town. Judge Moreland's place was on the opposite bank, and although
+the grey tower on the north wing of the house, rising above the
+surrounding oak trees, seemed quite near, they were obliged to follow
+the road for a mile and a half along the lake shore. About half way was
+a clump of willow trees growing by the water, under whose shade they had
+often stopped to rest. Florence and Harold both loved this little lake,
+sunk like a gem amid the rough setting of the mountain crags, and they
+both felt, instinctively, that they did not care to talk much until they
+reached their old haunt under the willows. Even Florence forgot her
+curiosity, and as she walked beside Harold over the road they had so
+often tramped together, she seemed to forget that he had been away, and
+that at their last meeting in distant Chicago so much that was
+unpleasant had occurred. Here in the New Hampshire mountains all seemed
+so different; she felt freed from the tainted atmosphere of the city
+which had made her restless and uncertain in mind. Florence had not
+forgotten her last words with Harold in Chicago; indeed she had thought
+of them over and over again, during the long months that had passed
+since that interview; the unpleasant episode at the Renaissance Club was
+also seldom absent from her mind; but to-day it all seemed to have faded
+quietly from her heart. Harold had come into church so silently, and it
+seemed so natural to be walking by his side, that she was carried back
+to the years before she went to Europe, when, still a child, she used to
+romp and play with him over these same New Hampshire hills.</p>
+
+<p>They reached the willows, and Florence sat down on the green turf and
+leaned her back against a tree. She took off her hat and let the breeze
+cool her temples, while Harold, stretched out on the bank beside her,
+lay for a while resting upon his elbow, and carelessly watching the
+pebbles, he threw from time to time, skip lightly from ripple to ripple
+and finally sink from sight. The sunlight danced on the gently ruffled
+surface of the water; in the distance the bold side of a mountain rose
+abruptly above the lake, its rough outlines standing out sharply in
+relief against the clear blue of the sky; and the little white
+farmhouses, perched here and there high up on its slopes, glistened in
+the sunshine.</p>
+
+<p>They sat there enjoying the scene, until Florence seemed to awaken, as
+from a pleasant dream, and feel all her troubled thoughts come rudely
+back to her. She remembered that Harold had come from the distant city
+in the West and had not yet told her the meaning of his unexpected
+visit. "We must not dream on forever, Harold," she said, as he lazily
+sent another pebble skipping from wave to wave; "you have not yet told
+me the nature of the message you have brought."</p>
+
+<p>Harold slightly shifted his position and, resting his head on his hand,
+looked up into her face with a surprised expression, as though he, too,
+had forgotten the present and was startled at being called back to it.
+"I brought a command for you to return to Chicago," he said, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"A command from whom?" she asked in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Here it is," he answered, reaching into his pocket and producing a
+letter which he handed to Florence.</p>
+
+<p>It was addressed in Marion Sanderson's hand. Florence hastily broke the
+seal and read as follows:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dearest Florence</span>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I have never forgiven you for your sudden flight last winter, and the
+offense is of such long standing that I summon you to appear in Chicago
+before Derby Day to answer a charge of infidelity to me. You will be
+imprisoned here for at least one month,&mdash;longer if possible,&mdash;and I
+charge Mr. Wainwright with the execution of this warrant. In other
+words, dearest girl, I cannot live any longer without seeing you, and
+must have you here for a visit. Pack up and come immediately, as the
+Derby is a great 'function' here, and is run on the twenty-first of
+June.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"With a world of love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"I am, your devoted<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"<span class="smcap">Marion.</span>"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>"Did you come all the way from Chicago to bring me this?" Florence
+asked, after she had finished the letter.</p>
+
+<p>Harold was sitting up now, and looking into her face he said quietly: "I
+came to tell you again that I love you."</p>
+
+<p>Florence felt a sudden emotion thrill her heart, but a doubtful
+expression came into her eyes as she glanced down and said slowly: "You
+forget what happened the day before I left Chicago."</p>
+
+<p>Harold smiled. He took her hand and held it firmly between his own. "I
+remember that you are the bravest girl in the world," he said, "and
+that, to save a friend, you accused yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know that," said Florence anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"I know that nothing could make me believe you did wrong, for you are
+incapable of it." Then he added earnestly: "I know, too, that I love you
+better than my life."</p>
+
+<p>Florence looked up into his face and he must have read her answer in
+those gentle, brown eyes, for, without waiting for her to speak, he drew
+her to his side and kissed her on both cheeks. "I love you, I love you,"
+he repeated, as he held her tightly in his strong arms; "but I must hear
+love spoken by those dear lips."</p>
+
+<p>"I love you, Harold," she said, and the words made his heart leap with
+happiness.</p>
+
+<p>"Then why were you so cruel to me last winter?" he asked reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not know it then," she answered. "It was not until I left the
+smoky city and came away into the free country air that I knew I cared
+for you, Harold, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"I wondered you cared for me at all," he replied laughingly. "We had
+been friends so long that it was strange for me to speak of love."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I always believed that love was some giant who crushes one by his
+mighty power," she said, "and I found he was a little rascal who stole
+into my heart before I knew he was anywhere about. But, O, Harold, I am
+so happy now."</p>
+
+<p>She rested her head on his shoulder and looked up into his face again.
+He kissed her, and, as he did so, the wind caught Marion Sanderson's
+note lying in her lap, and carried it out onto the lake, where, resting
+on the water, it sailed slowly away toward the western shore. Harold saw
+it and asked what message it bore from her to Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"I had forgotten the note," she answered. "It makes me think of that
+woman and the danger poor Marion was in. I had better not go to
+Chicago," she said, after a moment's thought.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not, sweet one?" asked Harold.</p>
+
+<p>"Because of that woman. She would say such things about me."</p>
+
+<p>Harold smiled. "Don't you think they would have been said long ago, if
+she had intended saying them?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps she did say them, though I have heard nothing, and one usually
+hears the unpleasant things that are said of one."</p>
+
+<p>"I know you have heard nothing, dear," he replied, "and I know you never
+will."</p>
+
+<p>"You forget what I admitted to her, and you don't know what a spiteful
+woman is capable of."</p>
+
+<p>"I know Mrs. McSeeney," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"And you think that she can be trusted? I am surprised at you, Harold."</p>
+
+<p>"I think she is the last woman in the world I would trust," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what do you mean?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. McSeeney and I are old acquaintances. I think I can answer for
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"You speak in enigmas, Harold, and you ought not to keep any secrets
+from me, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think you had better ask to know more," he said laughingly.</p>
+
+<p>"But I do," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I obey. Mrs. McSeeney and I were at Bar Harbor the same summer. I
+got to know her very well, perhaps better than she liked."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what has that to do with the affair in Chicago?" Florence asked
+impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing much except that Mrs. McSeeney thinks it would be wise never to
+mention it."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't tell you. It is a secret between Mrs. McSeeney and myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Harold Wainwright," she said, in a tone of authority that startled him,
+"I forbid you to have any secrets from me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," replied Harold, "if you command me to tell more, I must admit
+that Mrs. McSeeney and I had a confidential talk directly after it
+happened, and I persuaded her that she had better not mention the matter
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"You persuaded her? How ridiculous! You must have threatened her with
+something. What was it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I merely asked her if she remembered a certain evening at Bar Harbor
+when there was a <i>fête</i> at the Canoe Club."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what of it? I don't see anything unusual in that."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't tell you more; only when I reminded her of that evening she
+acknowledged that it would be discreet for her to remain silent
+concerning you and Marion Sanderson. You see I happened accidentally to
+observe some of Mrs. McSeeney's actions on that occasion, and,
+considering that you were in her power, I felt justified in informing
+her of the fact."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it was you who saved Marion and me from her spiteful tongue," said
+Florence in a relieved tone. "You don't know how grateful I am, and how
+I have worried over that matter."</p>
+
+<p>"You need worry no longer, my girl," replied Harold. "But I must tell
+you again how plucky you were to try to save your friend in the way you
+did, and now let's forget all about it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear," said Florence fondly. "We have pleasanter things to think
+of."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis true, my darling," he replied, taking both of her hands in his.
+"To-day you have made me the happiest man in the world. Do you know why
+I love you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because you have so much common sense."</p>
+
+<p>Florence smiled. "I never showed it until I began to love you," she
+replied; "but what time do you suppose it is? Just think of poor papa
+waiting all this time."</p>
+
+<p>"Only to find he has lost his best possession," answered Harold.</p>
+
+<p>Judge Moreland was sitting in the library when they reached the house,
+and although he had been waiting patiently for nearly an hour since the
+servant had announced luncheon, he did not seem ill-humored, for, on
+seeing the delinquents enter, he smiled good-humoredly, and shook his
+head with mock disapproval, as he said: "Three-quarters of an hour late,
+children. That is more than I bargained for, but you will be punished.
+The luncheon is cold and you will be compelled to eat it without
+grumbling."</p>
+
+<p>Harold took Florence's hand and they both stood before the Judge; then
+Harold said penitently: "The fault is mine, sir, but I have a greater
+sin to answer for. I have robbed you of your daughter, and I come to ask
+your clemency."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I understand," answered the Judge. "Yours is a very grave
+offense, and the only way you can obtain pardon is by seeking benefit of
+clergy. Florence, my girl, come here and let me kiss you. You have made
+me very happy."</p>
+
+<p>"Happy," echoed Florence, "I feared you would never forgive me."</p>
+
+<p>"Not forgive you for loving the son of Judge Wainwright? He was my best
+friend and his son will make my daughter the best husband in the world.
+Give me your hand, Harold," he continued, after he had kissed Florence
+affectionately, "you are your father's own boy."</p>
+
+<p>"That is the best compliment you could pay me," answered Harold.</p>
+
+<p>"I know it is, and you know I mean it when I say I expect to see you on
+the federal bench yourself some day."</p>
+
+<p>"Luncheon is getting cold, sir," said the old family butler, coming into
+the room and looking far from amiable.</p>
+
+<p>"Let it wait, Thomas," said the Judge, "until you can get a bottle of
+champagne up from the cellar. We have some healths to drink to-day,
+haven't we, children?"</p>
+
+<p>That evening the little church was lighted up for evening service, and
+again the rustling of fans ceased, and heads were turned around as
+Florence and Harold took their seats. But Harold's eyes were no longer
+directed toward the pew in front of him, and the doctor's daughter
+remarked that the two people in front of her stood unnecessarily close
+to each other during the hymns, while the postmaster's wife made up her
+mind that people who "smirk and look so silly durin' meetin' must be
+sparkin'." In fact the homely folk of Fairville were not slow of
+perception; many were the gossiping heads put together that night, and
+it was a curious coincidence that there was no dissenting voice in
+regard to the probability of a certain event having taken place that
+afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>Going home that night, Florence and Harold walked with the tarrying step
+of lovers, but the Judge was not waiting luncheon, and, as the evening
+was warm and bright, they rested again under the willows, watching the
+moonlight play on the ripples of the lake. They were planning for the
+future, and many were the rosy tinted castles reared in that soft night
+air under the shade of the trees they loved so well. The moon shone
+kindly over the mountain top at the farther end of the lake, and the
+waves plashed softly on the pebbles at their feet, as Florence sat there
+with her head resting on Harold's shoulder, dreaming the sweetest dream
+of life.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<h3>UNREST.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The sun was streaming through the Sanderson's library window, and the
+curtains were fluttering in the soft lake breeze which blew through the
+open casement. Across the driveway a policeman was chatting with a trim
+nursery maid, and two or three loungers were leaning over the sea wall,
+watching the blue water splash lazily against the grey stones. The white
+sails of the lake craft in the offing glistened in the sunshine, and the
+smoke from the steamers settled along the horizon in long black streaks,
+while the passing of an occasional vehicle along the driveway produced a
+little cloud of dust, which for a moment obscured the view, and then was
+carried away by the summer breeze and scattered along the roadway. The
+atmosphere had the hazy hue peculiar to one of those first warm days of
+early summer, when the air seems charged with lassitude, and one is
+overpowered with a depressing sense of <i>ennui</i>, which precludes the
+possibility of any sort of action.</p>
+
+<p>Marion Sanderson and Florence Moreland were there in the library, trying
+to keep cool and talking over the events of the past six months. Marion
+was stretched on a lounge with an Eau-de-Cologne bandage bound about her
+forehead to relieve the <i>migraine</i> from which she was suffering, and
+Florence sat beside her, plying a palm-leaf fan and trying to amuse her
+friend by accounts of the small doings of her life in New Hampshire.</p>
+
+<p>"So you think I must have had a stupid winter," said Florence, in answer
+to Marion's last remark.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure of it. You had much better have remained here with me."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very inconsistent," laughed Florence. "Last minute you said
+Chicago was the dullest place you knew anything about."</p>
+
+<p>"I meant dull in comparison with London or New York. It is certainly
+better than a place where life is made up of prayer meetings and snow
+banks."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad you are beginning to appreciate the advantages of your home,"
+said Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't chaff me, Florence. I can't bear it. I am too nervous. I wish you
+had this headache for five minutes and perhaps you would feel sorrier
+for me."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, my dear, I do feel sorry for you; isn't there anything I can do?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; Dr. Maccanfrae is coming this morning and I suppose he will give me
+a lot of stuff, but it won't do me any good. I have taken every known
+medicine this winter, and I have had this headache every day for months.
+I can't eat anything. I can't sleep, and I am tired and bored all the
+time. The Doctor calls it neurasthenia, but I don't know what good it
+does to put such a big name to it, when he can't do me any good."</p>
+
+<p>"There must be something that will help you," said Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course there is. If I could go somewhere else to live I know I
+should feel better. What I need is some new distraction, but how can I
+have that in this stupid town?" Then she was silent for awhile and
+during that time she thought of the few days last winter when a new
+element had come into her life only to vanish as quickly again. She
+thought of a ball-room, an exciting dance, and the magnetic impulse of a
+moment which had made life seem so sweet. Why had she resisted that
+temptation, she asked herself. The other course could not have made her
+more unhappy, and it, at least, was no more a mockery than her present
+life, with that love still burning fiercely to the wild accompaniment of
+Tzigan strains, echoing in her heart. "What is the use of being good?"
+she asked herself. Then she smiled a mocking answer, turned over on the
+lounge and buried her face in the cushions.</p>
+
+<p>Florence watched Marion anxiously for a moment. She was extremely
+worried about the state of nervous depression in which she had found her
+friend on returning to Chicago, and she was trying to think of some way
+in which she could help her. She leaned over her and slowly stroked her
+rich black hair. Marion looked up and smiled faintly. Then she seized
+Florence's hand and began to sob nervously. "You love me, don't you
+Florence; you love me, don't you?" she said between the sobs.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't need to ask that, Marion."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it," she replied; "I think you are the only person in the world
+who understands me, the only person who loves me."</p>
+
+<p>"You are wrong in that, my dear, I am sure."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I am not," she moaned. "I want love, I must have love. O, I can't
+live without it!"</p>
+
+<p>Florence stroked Marion's head again, and tried to soothe her hysterical
+sobbing. "Dear," she said softly, "there is one man who would die for
+you if it would bring you happiness. I am sure of it."</p>
+
+<p>Marion turned her head away and did not reply. Florence felt pity for
+her friend's unhappy state of mind, which she considered was, in a great
+measure, self-produced, but she knew it was useless to talk to Marion
+about her husband, as she was a woman who could not be influenced by
+persuasive words. Florence wanted to help her friend to understand the
+danger she was in, but she could not see a way which promised success;
+so, thinking that the best course was to divert her mind from herself,
+she took Marion's hand and said cheerfully, "I have a secret to tell
+you, dear, but you must sit up and look pleased."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope it is interesting," said Marion somewhat mournfully. "I haven't
+heard a secret for months."</p>
+
+<p>"Guess what it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it an engagement?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Whose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Guess."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't. You must tell me immediately. I am dying to know," answered
+Marion, brightening considerably.</p>
+
+<p>"It is mine."</p>
+
+<p>"You horrid creature," said Marion, sitting up and hurling one of the
+sofa cushions at Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"That is a novel way to treat a friend at such a time," Florence said as
+she dodged the pillow.</p>
+
+<p>"You are an awful girl not to tell me before. How could you be in the
+house since yesterday and not say anything? I suppose Harold Wainwright
+is the man, but I don't much care who he is. You are a provoking
+creature," and she emphasized her remarks by throwing another cushion
+which hit wide of the mark, and sent some books spinning off the library
+table onto the floor.</p>
+
+<p>Marion was over her depression now, and, jumping up, she threw her arms
+about Florence and kissed her, saying: "Sit down, dear, and tell me all
+about it. When did it happen? When is it going to be announced? When are
+you going to be married? I always felt you would marry him. Who are you
+going to have for bridesmaids?"</p>
+
+<p>Florence laughed at Marion's multitude of questions. "You dear girl,"
+she said, kissing her, "I am glad I made you smile again; but I can
+answer only one of those questions. It happened last Sunday at
+Fairville."</p>
+
+<p>"And you didn't tell me until now! O, I will pay you up for this. But
+come, let's talk it all over and decide about the wedding and the
+bridesmaids."</p>
+
+<p>A servant entered the room and announced "Dr. Maccanfrae." Marion and
+Florence hurriedly assumed different positions and adjusted their
+ruffled hair. Then the kind face of the philanthropic physician appeared
+in the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>"How do I find my patient this morning?" said the Doctor, coming toward
+the window where they were seated.</p>
+
+<p>"Better, I hope," said Florence, turning round.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Moreland!" exclaimed the Doctor in astonishment. "I thought you
+were somewhere in the White Mountains."</p>
+
+<p>"No; I came back yesterday," she continued as he shook her hand. "I
+thought you needed a nurse for your patient."</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse and remedy combined, for you are the best cure I could prescribe
+for Mrs. Sanderson."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very flattering, Doctor. Under your advice I shall try to do my
+best, but, if you will excuse me, I shall run away and do some
+unpacking." Saying this, Florence left her seat, and, bidding the Doctor
+good-by, walked toward the door. As she was leaving the room she called
+to him, asking when he would give her another lecture on pantheism.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear if I do I shall have to suffer for the sin of corrupting the
+heart of a Puritan," said the Doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"A Puritan is always fortified against Satan's wiles," she answered
+laughingly, as she stopped in the doorway, "and, besides, my
+grandfathers, for six generations, were ministers."</p>
+
+<p>"A case of the transmission of the original sin, I suppose," answered
+the Doctor, as she retired through the door. "And how is my patient
+to-day?" he repeated, as Florence's laughter died away and her steps
+were heard hurrying up the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I am a bit better," said Marion somewhat mournfully,
+having relapsed into her former state in the presence of the Doctor.
+After adjusting the cloth on her aching head, she continued: "I have no
+animation or ambition; I have these frightful nervous pains and
+headaches; my appetite is all gone; nothing seems to amuse me any more,
+and I lie here all day long feeling utterly wretched. In the evening I
+manage to develop animation enough to take me out, and, for a while, I
+forget myself, but when it is over I feel worse than ever. Oh, Doctor,
+what is the matter with me?"</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Maccanfrae looked at Marion a moment as though hesitating to answer
+her question, then, feeling her pulse, he replied: "Mrs. Sanderson,
+there is nothing the matter with you."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean, Doctor?" said Marion somewhat angrily. "Do you
+suppose I don't know how I feel?"</p>
+
+<p>"When I say there is nothing the matter with you, I mean you have no
+organic disease. You are simply suffering from the fashionable complaint
+of nervous depression, or neurasthenia, as we physicians call it. Almost
+every woman in your station in life has it sooner or later. It is
+nothing but a symptom, but it may grow into a great many worse things."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, why don't you cure me then, if it is nothing?" remarked Marion in
+a provoked manner.</p>
+
+<p>The Doctor looked at her a moment; then he asked slowly, but with an
+emphasis which seemed to carry a hidden meaning: "Do you want to get
+well, Mrs. Sanderson?"</p>
+
+<p>Marion looked up somewhat startled. "Why do you ask such a question?"
+she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Because you produced the disease yourself, and you alone can cure it."</p>
+
+<p>"You are positively rude, Doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"I know I should ask pardon for my brusqueness, but I am your physician,
+and I desire to see you well again. The only way that can be
+accomplished is for you to take the case in your own hands."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand, Doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"I take a sincere interest in you and your husband. If you will let me
+talk to you as a friend, and will take my advice, I hope I may do you
+much good; but if I am to remain the physician and must confine myself
+to writing prescriptions for worthless drugs, I fear the improvement
+will be slow."</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, Doctor. I promise to listen," said Marion, prompted more by a
+curiosity to hear his advice than by a resolution to follow it.</p>
+
+<p>"I may say some very plain things. Will you promise to take them in the
+friendly way in which they are meant?"</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, Doctor. I shall not get angry, I promise you."</p>
+
+<p>The Doctor leaned forward and said, in a more sympathetic manner: "Mrs.
+Sanderson, every physician whose patients are drawn from the classes we
+call society has to deal with scores of cases precisely like yours. One
+of us will administer bromides; another will feed his patients on
+extract of beef; another will use electricity; another will recommend
+massage, and so on. But all these remedies are fruitless except in so
+far as they assist the sufferer to believe that she is improving, or
+afford some temporary relief. The disease, if so I may term a depressed
+state of the nervous system, is caused by the habits of the patient, and
+can only be cured by changing those habits."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not dissipated," said Marion somewhat resentfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not say that, Mrs. Sanderson, but if you desire to get well you
+must completely change your mode of life."</p>
+
+<p>"What must I do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fear you will only laugh when I tell you, and call me a silly old
+fool."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I sha'n't; I promise."</p>
+
+<p>"You must go to bed before eleven every night. You must be up by
+half-past seven. You must walk or ride every morning, drink no wine,
+tea, or coffee, eat plain food, and read no novels. You must develop an
+interest in your household affairs, get a wholesome occupation for every
+hour of the day, and take no more medicine. When you feel a headache go
+into the fresh air; when you feel depressed, throw the mood off by
+finding some work to do."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Doctor, I had almost sooner die than do all that. I could never
+live in such a routine of the commonplace."</p>
+
+<p>"I know that is very hard, but perhaps it is not all," said the Doctor.
+"You have no children, Mrs. Sanderson."</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank heaven. I am worried enough without that."</p>
+
+<p>"Unfortunately we are confronted in this world with a certain amount of
+worry. I think experience proves that it is better to accept the worries
+nature intended than to create worse ones by trying to circumvent her.
+However, I see you weary of my preaching. Think it over until Monday,
+and then I shall give you some more advice provided you think your
+nerves can bear it."</p>
+
+<p>"You are just as bad as Dr. Thompson."</p>
+
+<p>"Only I have no choir boys and spring bonnets to attract an audience,"
+replied the Doctor, rising to leave. Then he continued in a different
+tone: "I trust you will pardon what I have said, and even if you don't
+follow my disagreeable <i>régime</i>, I want you to feel that I gave you the
+best advice that I could."</p>
+
+<p>The Doctor bade her good-by, and when he was gone she buried her face in
+the pillows and thought over what he had said. "I never could do all
+that," she thought; "besides, he is a perfect crank on fresh air and
+diet. If I thought Roswell would let me, I would go to someone else. I
+think he is too old to be up with the times, and Mrs. Smythe says Dr.
+Wimbleton is a perfect dear and helped her from the first day she went
+to him. O, my poor head, how it does ache!" she called out, half
+expecting sympathy from the oak book-shelves and the bric-a-brac; then
+she turned over nervously and continued her restless thinking. "I wish I
+were dead," she moaned. "So little comes into my life that living it is
+scarcely worth the trouble. If there were only someone to bring me
+sympathy. If I could only forget those days when, for a few moments, I
+felt as other women feel."</p>
+
+<p>Florence came into the room again and Marion, hearing her step, looked
+up. "Is it you?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered Florence; "I heard the Doctor go out so I thought I
+would come back. What did he say?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, a lot of nonsense which I really did not listen to. He ought to do
+more to cure me and talk less. In fact, I think his personality
+exasperates me, and I am afraid I shall have to change physicians if I
+want to get any better."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Dr. Maccanfrae," said Florence. "He is the dearest, kindest, best
+intentioned man in the world. Think of the good he does among the poor."</p>
+
+<p>"O, I know all about that, but that's no reason why he should lecture me
+like a child about going to bed early and taking exercise."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps he believes more in such medicine than in drugs. Don't you
+think yourself that it is some such <i>régime</i> that you need?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you begin to lecture me, too," said Marion, with a sigh. "Life
+is hard enough without your making it worse."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not lecture you, I promise, but," she continued, taking
+Marion's hands and pulling her up from the lounge, "as your nurse, I
+must see that you have a change. Come, tell me what are the plans for
+to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, there's the luncheon at Mrs. Ryder's."</p>
+
+<p>"Good, and what else?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, we dine at the Beemers' to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"And to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"We go to the races on Walter Sedger's drag, and dine at the Washington
+Park Club."</p>
+
+<p>"Is your husband going?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course."</p>
+
+<p>"How does he leave his business?"</p>
+
+<p>"I make him."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, then this morning before luncheon we take a walk as far as
+Lincoln Park."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't walk that far, Florence."</p>
+
+<p>"You are going to walk that far," said Florence, authoritatively. "I am
+your nurse, and I insist upon it."</p>
+
+<p>"But I shall be ill all day."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, you will get over it this afternoon when we read some
+Thackeray, and to-morrow morning you and I will do the marketing."</p>
+
+<p>"You are crazy, Florence, I do believe."</p>
+
+<p>"I never was more sane in my life. Come, I am in earnest. You would have
+me here, you know, and I shall make myself so disagreeable that you will
+be thankful when I am gone."</p>
+
+<p>"O, Florence, how can you be so rough?" said Marion, as Florence dragged
+her toward the door.</p>
+
+<p>"There, now," said Florence, after they had passed into the hall, "go
+and put on your hat. I brought mine with me."</p>
+
+<p>"Just think of the heat, Florence," said Marion as she disappeared up
+the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes Marion returned looking brighter already, Florence
+thought, and the two women were soon strolling along the lake shore
+talking over the countless trivialities women find to talk about, and at
+tea-time, after a day of Florence's nursing, Marion was forced to admit
+that she had passed an unusually cheerful day. Roswell Sanderson came in
+just as they were finishing tea, and after taking a seat and declining
+a cup of the beverage, he said in a careless manner: "By the way,
+Marion, an old friend of yours came into the bank just before I left."</p>
+
+<p>"Who?" asked Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"That New Yorker, Duncan Grahame."</p>
+
+<p>Marion felt a sudden sinking in her heart and was conscious that the
+color was fading from her cheeks, but she took a large swallow of tea
+and tried to look unconcerned. Florence watched Roswell's face closely
+and saw the same expression come into his eyes which she had noticed
+that afternoon at the Renaissance Club tea.</p>
+
+<p>"When did he come?" asked Marion, after a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"This morning on the 'Limited'. He has been in England all winter. You
+will see him to-morrow, as he told me Sedger had asked him on his
+coach."</p>
+
+<p>"What fate has brought him back again?" thought Marion.</p>
+
+<p>Roswell Sanderson was silent for a moment, then he came toward his wife.
+Taking a seat beside her, he asked tenderly if she remembered what day
+it was; then he took a package from his pocket which he dropped into her
+lap.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's the anniversary of our wedding. I had quite forgotten it."</p>
+
+<p>Florence had left the room a moment before, so that they were alone.
+Marion untied the parcel in her lap, and found that it was a case
+containing a string of pearls. She looked up into her husband's face and
+kissed him, and a feeling of shame came into her heart. She saw a love
+in his eyes which she could not return, and she prayed that he might
+find the means to make her love him. This thought was in her heart only
+for a moment, then she was playing with the pearls, and wondering again
+why Duncan had come back into her life.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>DERBY DAY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>A small crowd was collected in front of the Hotel Mazarin, and its
+proportions were gradually being swelled by passing Saturday loungers.
+Walter Sedger's drag, drawn up in front of the hotel to receive his
+party for the races, was the attraction which drew together this
+inquisitive throng, and in spite of the expression of superior
+indifference assumed by most of the men and boys composing the crowd, it
+was easy to see that the red-wheeled coach, with its smart team of
+browns, was an object of more than passing interest. A park policeman
+was exchanging a word or two in a knowing manner with the stolid Briton
+in boots and breeches at the leaders' heads, and near him a
+slouch-hatted veteran, wearing a Grand Army badge, was talking
+condescendingly with an ice-man. A large cake of ice, which had been
+carried thus far on its way to the hotel bar, was slowly melting in the
+sun, and little streams of water flowed from it and trickled into the
+gutter; but the veteran and the ice-man still gazed at the shining
+panels of the drag, and eyed the "cattle" with the air of connoisseurs,
+while a butcher's boy with his white apron and basket of meat, and a
+German carpenter with his kit of tools, stood there stolidly, intent
+upon remaining until the show was over. A diminutive Italian boot-black,
+still attired in the rags of his native Naples, had crowded to the curb
+and was standing in front of two Norwegian sailors; just behind them was
+a party of Bohemian laborers, and a peddler from sunny Sicily touched
+elbows with a mortar-covered mason from Erin's shores, while some
+cadaverous clerks from the State Street shops, radiant in the ready-made
+attire of assumed gentility, were there, helping to swell this crowd of
+perhaps a hundred loungers. They were all citizen of the great Republic,
+and though few could speak intelligently the language of their adopted
+home, probably most of them, in their hearts, resented the appearance on
+the Chicago streets of this English coach as something unAmerican, for
+which "them doods" on the Avenue were responsible.</p>
+
+<p>The hands of the hotel clock indicated that the hour was nearing two.
+The thin-faced veteran in the slouch hat plunged his hands deeper into
+his trousers' pockets, and, turning his head to a critical angle, said
+patronizingly to the ice-man: "Them's the things they calls
+'tally-ho's.'" The ice-man rolled his shirt-sleeves a little higher
+above his elbows, folded his brawny arms and replied, in the accent of
+the Teuton, "I dink dot vas it."</p>
+
+<p>"Them swells likes to show off mighty well. Wonder what that machine
+cost," answered the veteran. But before the ice-man could reply, a
+messenger boy at his side shouted out, "Golly! there goes another of
+them 'busses," and the attention of the crowd was attracted toward the
+street, where Jack Elliot's coach, with its team of roans, was passing
+along the Avenue, bearing a party to the races.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish that chap in the white pants'd toot his horn," said the
+messenger boy; but Jack Elliot was a coaching man who did not believe
+in arousing the neighborhood with useless music, so the wish was not
+gratified.</p>
+
+<p>While the attention of the crowd was thus diverted, Sedger and his
+friends emerged from the hotel. The party was composed of Marion and her
+husband, Florence Moreland, Harold Wainwright, a Mrs. Smith from
+Cincinnati, and Walter Sedger. They had been lunching in the restaurant
+of the hotel, and on reaching the sidewalk they at first found some
+difficulty in pushing their way toward the coach; but on seeing them the
+smart park policeman on duty officiously pushed the crowd back and made
+a way for them.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't wait for Grahame any longer," Sedger was saying to Mrs.
+Sanderson. "He couldn't lunch with us, and I told him to be here at
+half-past one. It's a quarter to two, and we shall miss the first race."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't wait for him, then," said Marion, thinking this was the only
+thing to be said, but feeling an inward disappointment at the thought
+that Duncan might not see her in her white crepon gown, with its gold
+corselet and braided trimmings, just sent her by Mrs. Mason of
+Burlington Street, London, W. She knew it was becoming, and she also
+liked her Virot hat, but she didn't think it wise to put Sedger in an
+ill-humor by asking him to wait, so she walked silently to where a groom
+was holding a ladder against the box-seat. Meanwhile Sedger passed round
+to his off side wheeler and picked up his reins. Assorting them in
+correct road fashion he mounted to his seat, wrapped a light driving
+apron about his legs, picked up his whip, caught the lash in a double
+thong, and waited while his party took their places. Marion mounted to
+the box seat and the rest took the longer seat behind. Just as Sedger
+was about to start his team, Marion, who had been constantly looking in
+the direction in which Duncan should appear, saw him hastening around
+the corner of Jackson Street. "There is Mr. Grahame," she called out,
+and while Duncan was hurrying along the street, Roswell Sanderson
+suggested that he and Wainwright had better change to the back seat, so
+as to give Duncan an opportunity of seeing something of the city.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan came up almost breathless from his rapid walking, and after
+exchanging a hurried greeting with the party, mounted to the seat
+beside Florence left vacant by Harold Wainwright. "Let 'em go," Sedger
+called to the grooms. The lead bars rattled, the leaders pranced as the
+grooms jumped from their heads, the wheelers sprang into their collars,
+and the coach rolled off down the Avenue.</p>
+
+<p>It was a bright June day, and all Chicago seemed to be in the long,
+tree-lined boulevard which stretched away to the south. Hundreds of
+vehicles of every description known to the coach-builder's craft were
+rolling over the hard macadam pavement, bearing people to the races, and
+in this motley array were to be found all sorts and conditions of men
+and carriages. Buggies and express wagons, stanhopes and butcher carts,
+mail-phaetons and road-carts, char-à-bancs and extension tops, victorias
+and "hacks," coaches and omnibuses, aristocracy and democracy scattered
+the same dust and rolled toward the same goal. Only the road to Epsom
+can present a scene more varied than this; only the Champs Élysées
+excels the noble avenue down which Walter Sedger tooled his team of
+browns.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a pleasure to live on such a day, with four such horses to drive
+behind, isn't it, Mr. Grahame?" asked Florence, as the coach rolled past
+the Auditorium, and the team settled down to their work.</p>
+
+<p>"I am surprised you think so," answered Duncan, with a bantering
+expression in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I don't see how you reconcile so Anglican an institution as a
+drag with your patriotic sentiments."</p>
+
+<p>"You forget that George Washington hunted, and had his clothes made in
+London."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I am to infer that the highest type of patriot is he who rides to
+hounds and gets his coats on Hanover or Conduit Street."</p>
+
+<p>"You are to infer that the highest type of patriot is not he who
+blusters sectional prejudice from under the shade of a slouch hat, but
+he who is sufficiently liberal to combine foreign excellencies with
+native virtues."</p>
+
+<p>"You have a flow of expression which would do credit to a campaign
+orator," laughed Duncan. "For my part I don't believe in patriotism, at
+least in the sentimental sense of the word. Patriotism is a compound of
+pride and jealousy. Eliminate these two factors, to use an algebraic
+expression, and nothing remains."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear we shall never agree on such questions," said Florence, anxious
+not to enter into a useless argument with Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps, after all, it is my fault," answered Duncan with an expression
+of sadness in his eyes which seemed strange to Florence. "I wish I might
+believe in noble sentiment, but a man who has had his wings clipped in
+Wall Street is not the chap for sentiment."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you will change your mind one day," answered Florence.</p>
+
+<p>"It would only take one example of true sentiment to convert me," said
+Duncan gravely. "Well," he added, after a moment, "there may be rough
+spots in a worldly life, but there is no dullness, and, after all, that
+is what most of us try to avoid. While the sparkle lasts life is sweet,
+but when it is gone one might as well give up the fight."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Smith of Cincinnati interrupted them by asking Florence if she knew
+what the large, brick building on the left was.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the Calumet Club," Florence answered, and then they subsided,
+for a moment, into silence.</p>
+
+<p>Approaching Grand Boulevard the crowd of vehicles became denser, and the
+coaching party found much to amuse them. Sedger pointed his leaders
+around the corner of Thirty-fifth Street, and the coach swayed and
+rocked as the four browns dashed around the turn into the short
+cross-street. The horn was sounded to warn the street cars of their
+approach, and then, after a passing glance of horses, coach, and party,
+reflected in the broad shop windows of the street, another corner was
+turned, and they were rolling along the broad boulevard leading to
+Washington Park. Sedger was late, and, anxious to be in time for the
+first race, he sent his lash under the lead bars, and touched the off
+leader a clip on the legs which made him jump into his collar in quick
+order. The team all caught the inspiration of the lash, the pace was
+quickened, and the great vehicle rumbled on past the small fry of the
+road, quickly measuring off the two miles or more of straight avenue
+stretching away toward the park. The party on the drag laughed and
+talked, and occasionally glanced at the quickly changing scene. Soon the
+coach was rolling past the great, green meadow of the park so English in
+its aspect, and then, after passing a bit of lake where hundreds of
+holiday seekers were now stretched in the cool shade of the shrubs on
+its banks, rattled down the little incline which leads to the Club House
+road. The strains of band-music came over the bit of level ground and
+the party could see the great Grand Stand crowded with its ten thousand
+spectators. By its side was the Club House, standing on a rise of ground
+skirted by lawns and flower-beds, its two verandas filled with people,
+and the driveway in front crowded with arriving vehicles.</p>
+
+<p>Sedger urged his team to a gallop, and the horses scampered through the
+lodge-gate and up the little hill to the Club House, where he brought
+them up "all standing." The people on the veranda crowded forward to see
+the coaching party, while Sedger and his guests descended, and the
+coachman drove the steaming horses off to the stables. Scores of smart
+traps followed the drag up to the club steps, and the party stopped a
+moment to view the brilliant scene. Sleek horses and polished brass,
+neat liveries and shining panels, bright gowns and gay parasols, moved
+in seemingly endless succession to the accompanying music of champing
+bits and the restless pawing of countless hoofs. After watching the
+changing throng for a moment, Sedger and his party walked through the
+Club House to the veranda facing the course, which they found filled
+with members and their friends. On the enclosed lawn before them people
+were sitting in chairs, or walking up and down. Considering this the
+best place to view the sport, they placed seats on the green turf and
+sat down in the shade of the Club House.</p>
+
+<p>"A capital course this," said Duncan to Marion, as he glanced across the
+turf-covered enclosure filled with smartly dressed people to the track
+beyond, where a half dozen racers were taking their preliminary gallop.
+"I had no idea you had such a place as this in Chicago," he added, and
+then Sedger suggested that they go to the betting ring and see how the
+betting was.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait till after this race," put in Wainwright. "There go the horses to
+the post."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if we can't play this race, we must have a hat pool," answered
+Sedger, who felt that not to have something on a race was to lose half
+the sport. "Let's see, there are just seven horses and seven of our
+party. Five dollars apiece for a flyer."</p>
+
+<p>No one objected, so Sedger wrote the seven numbers on little pieces of
+paper which he tore off his programme, and, shaking them up in his hat,
+he passed them about among his party.</p>
+
+<p>"What horse have you, Mrs. Sanderson?" asked Duncan as she drew her
+number from the hat.</p>
+
+<p>"Number seven," answered Marion, and Duncan looked at his card to see
+what horse it was. "Orion," he said, "and his colors are purple and
+white."</p>
+
+<p>"My husband's university colors; that ought to bring me luck."</p>
+
+<p>"Not on Orion, I am afraid," interrupted Sedger, who prided himself on
+his knowledge of the turf. "He was a 'twenty-to-one shot' in town last
+night, but I'll be generous and give you two dollars for him."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I prefer to keep him. Orion may prove a lucky star after all."</p>
+
+<p>"By Jove, they're off!" shouted Duncan, who had been watching the horses
+at the post on the other side of the course. They were all well bunched,
+the red flag dropped, and away they scampered on a five-furlong dash.</p>
+
+<p>"Orion's last, Mrs. Sanderson," called Sedger, who was following the
+race with a large pair of russet-leathered field-glasses. "Orion's last,
+but I'll give you a dollar for your chance."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't take it, Mrs. Sanderson, he's coming up," said Duncan, as the
+horses dashed around the first turn, scattering a cloud of dust behind
+them. Then the crowd in front of the Grand Stand began to surge and
+sway, and the sea of ten thousand hats was lashed to excitement. A
+murmur broke forth from the distant crowd as a mass of color and racers
+emerged from the dust and rushed down the home stretch; then the
+cheering grew louder and the hats swayed more furiously as the horses
+dashed on to the finish.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at Orion now," said Duncan, "he's a good second. By Jove, he
+wins!" he shouted, as the purple and white rushed to the front and won
+hands down by a neck. "I congratulate you, Mrs. Sanderson."</p>
+
+<p>"Who would have thought the brute could beat 'The Wizard' who sold at
+two to one on" said Sedger, and then he suggested that the men should go
+to the betting ring and play the Derby.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan turned to Marion and asked if she would not choose him a horse to
+play. "You are so lucky that I feel sure of winning," he added.</p>
+
+<p>"But I know nothing about the horses," remonstrated Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"Neither do I, so we have a fair chance."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I choose Belle of Newport."</p>
+
+<p>"You think she ought to be fast, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"No, but the Marquis, who, Mr. Sedger says, is a favorite, will be sure
+to follow her."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you play the Belle, Grahame," said Sedger, as he and Duncan left
+the ladies and wandered toward the Grand Stand. "Her owner told me last
+night that he is afraid she isn't fit."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps he intends playing her himself," laughed Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>Sedger and Duncan passed over the bridge connecting the Club House lawn
+with the Grand Stand, and were soon in the midst of the great crowd
+moving toward the betting-rooms. The sun beat down upon the heads of
+this army of enthusiasts, but, despite the heat, thousands of men
+crowded into the low room where scores of keen book-makers, with their
+coats off, were ranged in little booths, calling off the odds on the
+next race, and taking the money of the eager crowd of gamblers. By the
+time Sedger and Duncan had worked their way through this throng up to a
+book-maker, and had purchased two tickets on Marquis and Belle of
+Newport respectively, they were thankful to hurry out of the stifling
+place into the open air.</p>
+
+<p>"I took your advice, Mrs. Sanderson," said Duncan, after he had returned
+to the club lawn. "Belle of Newport is my horse."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope my choice won't bring you ill luck."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall soon know, for there go the horses to the post."</p>
+
+<p>Five of the starters trotted past the Club House, and there was a
+perceptible movement among the people on the veranda and lawn as the
+contestants for the great event passed before them. The Marquis was the
+favorite and he was greeted by a round of applause, as Jockey Gannon
+urged him into a brisk hand gallop. The sleek sides of the chestnut
+gelding glistened in the sunshine, and he certainly looked a winner.
+Close at his heels was the bay Kentucky filly, Belle of Newport, ridden
+by the veteran Forest, and the knowing ones could see that the Southern
+mare was in prime condition. The first horses were followed by three
+stragglers who had been late in saddling, and then the starter's
+carriage rolled across the green turf of the field toward the half-mile
+post at the opposite side of the course. Hundreds of glasses were
+leveled at the bunch of racers over by the stables, restlessly tugging
+at their bits. Then there was a scramble and a rush of horses past the
+red flag, but one horse was slow in getting away and the flag still
+fluttered in the breeze. The jockeys pulled up their mounts and turned
+them back to the starting-post. After much man&oelig;uvring for positions,
+they scrambled away again, scattering the dust behind them. They were
+well bunched, the red flag dropped, and away they went on the mile and
+a half gallop for the American Derby. The crowd surged wildly and eager
+eyes were strained toward the mass of horses scampering over the first
+half-mile of the course.</p>
+
+<p>Down they came to the Grand Stand, a cloud of dust enveloping them and
+almost concealing the bright colors of the riders. Men rushed to the
+railings and strained their eyes down the course; a faint murmur broke
+from the crowd and grew louder and louder. "Marquis! Marquis wins!" was
+shouted by the favorite's friends, as they saw the long stride of the
+chestnut gelding in front. Then the racers clattered past the Grand
+Stand, urged on by cheers and applause.</p>
+
+<p>It was nobody's race yet, but Marquis still led, with Belle of Newport a
+good second. They passed the Club House with Marquis close to the inside
+railing for the turn, when he swerved against the railing and stumbled.
+There was a shout of horror, and the women at the Club House turned
+their heads away. The racers rushed on to the finish, but the favorite
+lay there in the dust, with the blood gushing from a broken knee, and
+Jockey Gannon motionless at his side. Some men ran on to the course and
+carried Gannon away. The poor Marquis tried to rise and looked
+pleadingly at his owner who had rushed to his side. From the distance
+came a cheer. It was for the Belle of Newport, the winner of the great
+race. Jockey Forest had seen the Marquis go down before him, and
+pressing his knees to the sides of the Belle, had raised the filly and
+carried her over the fallen favorite. The other riders had seen the
+accident in time, and, swerving their mounts aside, they had rushed on
+to the finish, while the Marquis lay there in the dust pleading for help
+with his mournful eyes. A veterinary bent over the horse's wound. He
+held a hurried consultation with the owner; then some one placed a
+revolver against the poor beast's head; there was a loud report, a
+convulsive kick, and the noble racer lay dead on the field he had
+striven so hard to win. A pair of work-horses was brought on to the
+course and all that remained of the Marquis was dragged away, while over
+by the little lake, under the shade of an elm, Jockey Gannon lay
+stretched on the turf. A physician was by his side, and a crowd of
+curious people gazed at the pale face before them. "He may live till
+morning," the physician said, and then the wounded jockey was silently
+borne away. The band played again, the blood stains on the course were
+covered by fresh dirt, and the bell rang for the next race. People asked
+a few questions about the dying man, and then he was forgotten in the
+excitement of the sport. It was only a jockey.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, you brought me luck, Mrs. Sanderson," Duncan said to Marion,
+after he had returned from getting his Belle of Newport ticket cashed.
+"Two hundred dollars for forty. That is luck, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but that reminds me of the accident. Do you know, I feel quite
+unnerved after that sight."</p>
+
+<p>"You had better walk with me on the lawn. It will do you good, I am
+sure."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so," said Marion as she rose to go with him.</p>
+
+<p>For perhaps a quarter of an hour they walked up and down the lawn,
+chatting away unconcernedly about the people around them. It was the
+first time they had been alone together since Duncan's return, but he
+made not the slightest reference to their last meeting. He was careless
+and unconcerned, and Marion tried to appear the same, but there was a
+strange feeling in her heart, half of fear and half of resentment, which
+told her that indifference had no place there. She laughed and chatted,
+but waited anxiously, thankful that so many people were there, but
+hopeful that he might say something to tell her that he remembered the
+words he had spoken at the Patricians' ball.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Duncan stopped at a secluded part of the lawn where there was
+an empty bench. "Let us sit down here in the shade. You must be tired,"
+he said, and then, after they had taken seats, a moment of silence came,
+and Marion could feel that Duncan was looking into her face, but she did
+not dare to meet his glance. He leaned toward her and spoke in the soft
+tones she remembered so well. "You are cruel," he said.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up, startled. "Cruel, what do you mean?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"You are cruel to forget so easily. You are cruel to treat me as you
+have."</p>
+
+<p>"I, cruel; I don't understand," she said, and she thought of his
+careless manner and how she had waited for him to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you women are all alike. You play with us men for the moment, and
+then we are cast aside like a toy which no longer pleases. I thought you
+were different from the rest."</p>
+
+<p>Marion looked up into his face with an expression of astonishment. She
+met his grey eyes, and for a moment she felt again that subtle power she
+had been dreaming of so long.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you forgotten?" he said slowly.</p>
+
+<p>Marion turned her head away. "Don't talk of that, Mr. Grahame," she
+answered. "That is all ended."</p>
+
+<p>"It can't be ended while&mdash;&mdash;" He did not finish for he saw a man
+approaching. "Here we are, Sanderson," he called carelessly. "I suppose
+you are looking for your wife."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered Roswell, coming nearer. "Mr. Sedger has tea ready on the
+upper veranda, and he wants his party. You look pale, Marion, is
+anything the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"I felt very much upset by that accident. I came here to get away from
+the people for a moment."</p>
+
+<p>"A cup of tea will put you right," said Duncan.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
+
+<h3>DANGER.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The races were over, and the rays of the setting sun streamed through
+the western window of the little dining-room where Walter Sedger's party
+was seated. The glass and plate glistened in the fading sunlight, and
+cast many deep shadows on the white table cover, while the faces of the
+people sitting there were flushed with the first glow of the approaching
+twilight. The servants moved quietly from place to place, and the merry
+conversation of Sedger's friends mingled with the soft strains of a
+Viennese waltz coming through the open hallway door. The thousands who
+had crowded the course that day had rumbled back over the dusty roads to
+the city. The huge Grand Stand was silent and deserted, and only the few
+parties dining at the club remained of the great crowd that had cheered
+Belle of Newport in her Derby victory. The refreshing cool of the
+evening seemed to inspire the tired people with new spirits, and the
+addition to their number of Jack Elliot and his coaching party supplied
+the zest of variety, while the tales of a clever <i>raconteur</i> produced
+peals of merry laughter and called forth the utmost efforts of the staid
+French waiters to preserve their habitual immobility of countenance.</p>
+
+<p>When the dinner was over and the party had removed to the veranda for
+coffee and cigars, each person there had forgotten, for the moment, all
+the cares of life, and was lost in the delightful joy of living.
+Exception must, however, be made of Marion, for, although the society of
+others usually enabled her to cast aside the depressing influences which
+often afflicted her, on this occasion she was unusually silent, and had
+been quite unresponsive to the loquacious efforts exerted by the grain
+broker on her right to arouse her interest. She now sat a little removed
+from the rest and gazed moodily out over the deserted race-course,
+thinking over the events of the past few months, and wondering, in a
+dazed sort of way, what the outcome would be. The men had gathered
+together and were discussing sport, while the women talked animatedly
+about a certain Mrs. Johnson whose actions had lately been disapproved
+of in certain quarters, so Marion was permitted to follow the current of
+her fancies undisturbed.</p>
+
+<p>It was just dark enough for the freshly lighted cigars to glow in the
+fading light. With the setting of the sun had come the silence evening
+casts over a busy city, and except the occasional croaking of a frog in
+the Club House lake, or the distant whistle of a locomotive, there was
+no sound to break the evening quiet. Away over by the long row of
+red-roofed stables a pair of work-horses were slowly dragging a harrow
+over the deserted race-course, and they and the laborer trudging behind
+them were the only evidences of life which Marion could see. The last
+sun-gleam left the sky, but a fading tinge of light still rested upon
+the clouds. Marion watched it for a moment,&mdash;then it was gone. It seemed
+to her like a life which fades slowly into oblivion. She often thought
+of the unseen, and tried, occasionally, to form some life theory which
+seemed rational. To-night, in the stillness which came after the bustle
+of the day, she felt singularly alone. She looked up into the
+impenetrable darkness and to her fancy the world seemed a frightful pit
+of blackness with a mass of living creatures at the bottom,&mdash;writhing in
+misery and gasping for a breath of happiness. And God? An awful monster
+at the pit's mouth, baiting the distorted souls with pestilence or
+dangling hopes before their burning eyes, only to mock their struggles
+and let them sink down! down! down! Death comes to one sufferer, and
+then, with a gloating laugh, the monster drops another life into the pit
+to let it writhe in its awful misery. Marion shuddered at her fancy, and
+glanced up as if expecting to see the monster's eyes gleaming at the
+pit's mouth. The thought was horrible, and she covered her eyes with her
+hands to shut out her distorted imaginations, asking herself if there
+was no power strong enough to drive away the spirit of gloom which beset
+her, and make her pulses beat with joy. Deep in her heart she felt there
+was such a power, but it troubled her to think of it.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Sanderson." She looked up, startled, and saw Duncan by her side.
+"I thought you might like to walk on the other side of the veranda. It
+is delightfully cool there."</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she hesitated. "What can be the harm?" she thought. "None,"
+was the answer she gave her question, and then she followed Duncan to
+the northern side of the veranda where an arm of the building hid them
+from the others. The moon was rising and her soft light was shed upon
+the soughing trees, and the stretch of white roadway before them. It was
+one of those perfect nights of early summer when the vexatious spirits
+of the day seem lulled to sleep by the mild airs of heaven, and as
+Marion sat there looking out over the moonlit park, she wondered at the
+gruesome fancies which had filled her mind but a moment before.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a joy to live on such a night as this," she said, after the
+moment of silence which followed their coming.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan leaned toward her, and spoke in the deep, soft tones Marion
+remembered so well. "I feel," he said, "that heaven has sent us this
+peaceful night to show us that happiness can be a reality."</p>
+
+<p>"It is fortunate that perfect happiness seldom comes," she replied; "the
+monotony of it would be unendurable."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think it would be monotonous always to love?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Not if it were possible," she answered after a moment of thought.</p>
+
+<p>"I know it is possible," he said firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"How?" she asked, looking up into his face.</p>
+
+<p>His hand touched hers. "Because, when I look into your eyes, I feel a
+love which no power on earth could change." She let her hand remain in
+his, but she turned her face away. "How can I know this love is
+sincere?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"By driving the cruel spirit out of your heart. You may send me away
+again as you did last winter, but I will come back, for, Marion, I love
+you, and I must have your love." Instinctively she started to her feet.
+Duncan was quickly by her side. His arm was about her, and she felt his
+lips against her cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"I love you, my Marion," he whispered passionately; "you shall not leave
+me." For a moment she rested her head against his breast and felt the
+embrace of his strong arms.</p>
+
+<p>"If it were not a sin, Duncan," she said, looking up into his eyes, "I
+might love you."</p>
+
+<p>"No love like ours can be a sin. It is heaven sent."</p>
+
+<p>"If it only were," she sighed; then he drew her closer to him.</p>
+
+<p>"It is, dearest," he said. "If you will listen to me, you will believe
+it, too."</p>
+
+<p>"I must not listen to you, Duncan."</p>
+
+<p>"Must I go away?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I was foolish to fancy I could read love in your eyes."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't torture me."</p>
+
+<p>"I, torture? It is you who send me from you."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, but think of the danger we are in. Leave me to-night,
+Duncan. To-morrow Florence will be with Mr. Wainwright's aunt, and
+Roswell goes to St. Louis. Dine with me at eight, perhaps I can tell you
+then, but not to-night. I must have time to think."</p>
+
+<p>"I will go now," he said, "but I will come to you to-morrow." He kissed
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"God help me," she sighed.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan quietly released her and they walked silently back toward the
+place where they had left the others. At the corner of the building they
+met Sedger. It was too dark for him to notice that Marion was agitated,
+and any possible suspicions were averted by Duncan's saying quietly,
+"Here we are. We had just started to join you. Is the drag ready?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I have been collecting the party. You are the last to be found.
+It's a capital night for a drive and I intend to take you back through
+Jackson Park."</p>
+
+<p>"Splendid," said Marion. "I adore driving in the moonlight."</p>
+
+<p>The party had left the veranda, and Marion and her companions walked to
+where they were waiting. They were obliged to descend the stairs to the
+hallway below, and by the time they reached the rendezvous she felt
+perfectly calm and collected. They were compelled to wait a moment for a
+missing wrap. Marion stood next to Duncan, and a wild sense of pleasure
+was in her heart. The fear had gone, and her love made her defiant. She
+felt that she might give him his answer then.</p>
+
+<p>The missing wrap was found, and the party moved toward the door. As they
+passed out they could see the dark outlines of the drag looming up in
+the moonlight. The great coach lamps cast a flickering light upon the
+roadway and the horses champed impatiently at the bits. Sedger mounted
+to the box and this time Mrs. Smith had the seat beside him. A couple of
+Sedger's friends had been picked up at the club, so Marion said she
+would take the back seat. Duncan joined her there, and she was
+astonished to find her husband next her also.</p>
+
+<p>The drag rolled away from the Club House, and swayed and rocked as
+Sedger let the horses gallop through the gates and along the little
+stretch of road leading to the park. The evening breeze blew softly
+against the faces of the party, and the coach rumbled along past the
+park lake, with the moonlight glistening on its surface, and the slender
+trees standing out grim and shadowy like huge phantoms guarding its
+banks. Then the team settled down to a steady pace, and through the dim
+light the leaders could just be seen huddling together, with their ears
+pricked up for every sound. Horses seem to travel best at night, and the
+steady creaking of the harness, harmonizing with the rattle of the bars
+and the lively clatter of hoofs on the hard ground, came like sweet
+music through the night air. A leader shied at a shadow; the coach
+swayed for a moment, and the party crowded closer together. Some one
+started a college song; the refrain was caught up by the rest, and the
+chorus swelled forth a familiar glee. Along the tree-lined avenues or
+through winding roadways the great coach rolled. Now the leaders plunged
+into the dark shadows of the woods, or trotted merrily past some open
+meadow, while from the long coach-horn the notes of "Who'll buy a
+broom," sounded sharp and clear on the night air:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"For though the sound of the horn is dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the guards are turned to clay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are those who remember the 'yard of tin,'<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the mail of the olden day."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Then, for a while, they sped along the shores of the great lake, and
+mingling with the rumbling of wheels came the splash of the waves upon
+the sandy shore.</p>
+
+<p>The songs grew less frequent, the laughter ceased, and the party
+gradually lapsed into silence. A reckless daring, such as she had never
+known before, possessed Marion. In her imagination she seemed to be
+rolling on toward some dazzling goal, and she laughed at the thought of
+danger. The moon passed under a cloud and she felt the strong grasp of
+Duncan's hand about her own. She looked toward her husband and there was
+a cold, stony feeling in her heart. She was glad to feel that she had
+the courage to break from the trammels of convention which had so long
+bound her, and she felt a delightful sense of freedom which told her
+that at last the depths of her nature had been fathomed, and that the
+love lying there had burst forth in all its strength.</p>
+
+<p>The coach left the park and rolled into the sleeping city. Down the long
+avenue it went, past rows of darkened houses. The cool breezes of the
+lake seemed warmed by the heated pavements, and the freedom of the
+country was lost in the narrow lines of streetway. Marion sat watching
+the two converging rows of flickering street lamps stretching away as
+far as she could see, and down the street before her she saw the lamps
+of Jack Elliot's coach gleaming in the darkness. She remained lost in
+thought, and did not speak again until the brake rattled and the drag
+suddenly stopped.</p>
+
+<p>Late that night Duncan sat in his room at the City Club. He was partly
+undressed and his clothes lay scattered about in heedless confusion. In
+his hand he held a glass of whiskey and soda, and between the occasional
+sips he passed over in his mind the events of the day. He thought also
+of the experiences of his life, and the women he had known came into his
+mind; women who had trusted and loved him while they formed the idle
+amusement of his hours; women who had felt his power for a while, only
+to see him turn away for some later fancy. He smiled as he thought of
+the words of love he had spoken to confiding hearts, but the smile
+brought a tinge of remorse for the harm he had done. He thought of
+Marion in a different light then, and a feeling of pity came into his
+heart which prompted him to curb his selfish nature and act in a
+generous way; but the echo of a cruel laugh came to him, and in fancy
+he saw two mocking black eyes gleaming before him. "A man's a fool," he
+said aloud, "not to take what fortune sends him."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
+
+<h3>A GAME OF SKILL.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The seemingly interminable hours of the Sunday following the races
+passed slowly by. Marion spent the afternoon in her own room trying to
+think over the possibilities of the near future. Her heedless conduct
+had now brought her to a position which demanded resolute decision, and,
+surrounded as she was by a maze of temptations, she required to exercise
+the calmest judgment. A strong nature is able, at such times, to
+penetrate the future and select the wisest course, but it is far easier,
+and perhaps more natural, to drift aimlessly along, trusting to no other
+guide than fatuity. At moments a faint sense of fear feebly urged Marion
+to hold back, but wild fancies burned so impetuously in her heart that
+she was carried on past the point where she might have calmly considered
+the probable result of her conduct.</p>
+
+<p>At last she was a woman, she thought, and felt as other women did.
+After years passed in eking out a monotonous existence amid repellent
+surroundings she felt emancipated by the knowledge that she had found
+the love her nature craved. Now that Duncan had brought her this love
+should she refuse the gift and voluntarily return to the slavery in
+which she had lived so long? This was the question she asked herself. It
+would be transgressing the rules of society if she permitted herself to
+enjoy this love, but what difference did that make? For years she had
+been religiously obeying those rules, and her existence had been one of
+wretched discontent. Certainly the other course could not make her more
+unhappy, and, besides, she had seen women in other cities break loose
+from the bonds of convention and still maintain a standing in the world.
+In fact, they had been almost openly applauded for their action, and
+certainly had not suffered, socially, for their courage. After all,
+virtue was little else than fear, and it was only a weak nature that
+would permit itself to be coerced by the danger of discovery. In older
+places that danger had been modified by the liberality of an advanced
+society, and as she had only the restricted provincialism of Chicago to
+fear, she felt a secret delight in defying the prudish gossips of the
+Knox Presbyterian Church. After all, she felt that she was clever enough
+to elude discovery, and relying on her discretion she permitted herself
+to dismiss fear from her heart as unworthy of a superior nature. It was
+by such reasoning as this that she forced her judgment to approve the
+promptings of her heart.</p>
+
+<p>Marion watched the moments roll by. As the hour approached when she was
+to meet Duncan alone she felt calmer than she had at any time since
+their parting. At six o'clock she heard the brougham drive up to the
+door to take her husband to the station, and when he came into her room
+to bid her good-by, she calmly kissed him, congratulating herself that
+she had not betrayed the slightest agitation. All love for him was dead,
+she felt, and when he lingered for another embrace, she wondered that he
+could not see her heart was cold and unmoved. She smiled as he left.
+"Foolish fellow," she thought, "he has never known the true warmth of my
+heart so he will be content with the cold effigy of love I give him."
+However, the words seemed very harsh, even to her, and she wondered if
+it really were she who had spoken them. Inspired by a curiosity to see
+if she had changed during the day, she looked at herself in the long
+mirror of her dressing-room and felt a secret pleasure in the thought
+that the image before her was that of a woman of the world to whom none
+of the experiences of life were strange. She thought her face showed
+more character, too, and she flattered herself that it would not be easy
+for anyone to read her thoughts in those deep, black eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The little clock on her dressing-table struck half-past six,
+and she rang for her maid to dress her hair. After spending an
+hour-and-a-quarter at her toilet, she again arose and surveyed herself
+in the long mirror. Her pulses seemed, somehow, to be beating more
+rapidly now, and the calmness she had felt before was deserting her. The
+sense of fear came into her heart again, and even her conscience uttered
+a faint remonstrance at the step she was taking. She thought over all
+the chances of discovery and wondered whether there was danger from the
+servants. Her cook and her butler were both French and, as they could
+speak but a few words of English, would say nothing; the footman and
+housemaids she had permitted to go out, and she felt that she could
+trust the discretion of her own maid. As for her neighbors, the people
+living next door were not of her set, and she drew a breath of relief on
+looking out of the window and finding that, owing to a cloudy sky, it
+was already nearly dark. Still she was far from calm, and, thinking she
+looked pale, she pinched her cheeks to bring color into them.</p>
+
+<p>It was time for Duncan to arrive. Should she feign illness and send him
+away? She felt that it was too late for her to turn back now, and the
+thought of Duncan brought back memories which, for the moment, drove
+fear completely from her heart, and aroused the reckless spirit which
+had already carried her so far. She took a hasty glance at herself in
+the glass, gave a final touch to her hair, and hurried down the stairway
+to the little French room where she had been with Duncan on the
+afternoon of Mrs. McSeeney's tea. No longer able to reason out excuses
+for her actions she abandoned herself to the contending fancies which
+filled her mind. She closed her eyes and fancied that she was being
+borne recklessly on toward a frightful precipice by some subtle force
+against whose power she was helpless. It seemed to her that she was
+being dashed down! down! Then she imagined that she saw the remains of
+her former self lying, bruised and shattered, at the bottom of the abyss
+before her. She grasped the chair-arms convulsively, then smiled at her
+childish fancies, yet deep down in her heart there was a feeling,
+growing stronger each moment, which urged her to turn back.</p>
+
+<p>The door-bell rang. Marion could feel her heart beating with suppressed
+excitement, and it seemed an interminable time before the measured steps
+of François resounded on the hardwood floor. The door opened and Duncan
+entered. She could hear him taking off his coat in the hall, and she
+felt her brain whirling with the dizziness of confused emotions. The
+wheels of a carriage rumbled on the pavement outside and seemed to stop
+before the door. What did it mean? Marion trembled at the thought that
+it might be some one coming to the house. Duncan took a step on the hall
+floor and then a key rattled in the front door. Her husband had
+returned. She could feel her pulses stop, and her limbs grow numb with
+fright. Duncan in the house, the hour, the dinner for two. What excuse
+could she make? The door slammed, and she heard her husband's voice in
+the hall. "Hello, Grahame," he said, "are you here? Just going, eh?
+Nonsense, stop and take pot-luck with us. I know my wife will be glad to
+have you. She expected to be alone."</p>
+
+<p>Marion was saved. She could scarcely believe her senses; yet a sincere
+feeling of gratefulness to her husband came into her heart, and she drew
+a deep, free breath which brought the color back to her cheeks, and
+calmed her excited nerves. All her disturbed thoughts seemed quickly to
+vanish, and she felt as though she could hardly restrain herself from
+uttering a shout of joy. An hour before she would have felt resentment
+toward her husband, but the specious arguments with which she had
+pardoned the wrong emotions of her heart seemed, somehow, to have fled,
+and she could realize the danger which had threatened her. Had she been
+left to meet Duncan alone, she might not have proved strong enough to
+resist his personality, but now she felt in her heart that the peril was
+passed.</p>
+
+<p>Roswell and Duncan came into the room. "I missed my train," Roswell
+said, "so I thought I would come back and dine with you, my dear. I
+found Grahame in the hall and persuaded him to remain. I knew you would
+be glad to have him."</p>
+
+<p>"Your husband is extremely kind, Mrs. Sanderson," said Duncan. "I
+expected to dine alone at the Club."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Grahame is always welcome," smiled Marion, wondering what would be
+the outcome of this discordant dinner. She looked at her husband to see
+if his manner betrayed any excitement, but she could notice nothing
+unusual.</p>
+
+<p>"You won't mind if I run away early, my dear, will you?" he said. "There
+is another train at half-past ten."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you wouldn't go to-night, dear," answered Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"I must. The business is important."</p>
+
+<p>Marion turned away thoughtfully, and found her eyes wandering toward
+Duncan. She noticed that his face wore an amused expression, as though
+the situation seemed laughable, and the matter were a huge joke. This
+carelessness provoked Marion, and she caught herself wondering why she
+felt unmoved in his presence. He was in evening dress, and she was
+amazed that her husband did not notice that, for an afternoon call, this
+was an anachronism.</p>
+
+<p>After a few moments of desultory conversation, François appeared in the
+doorway. "Ze dinner ez served, Madame," he solemnly announced, and the
+little party moved silently toward the dining-room. As they crossed the
+hallway Marion could not help smiling at the strange turn affairs had
+taken. It seemed to her so like an amusing situation in some comedy, and
+she felt as though she were an actress going through with a part in a
+play which would, of course, end happily when the curtain was rung down
+on the last act.</p>
+
+<p>The party filed slowly into the dining-room, and took their seats at the
+little, round table. A small candelabrum, placed in the centre of the
+cloth, supplied the only light, and the bright rays of the candles,
+falling on the white table-cover and shining plate, formed a cozy
+contrast to the oak-lined walls looming in the distance. Duncan sat on
+Marion's right, while her husband was placed on her left. During the
+silence which came as they took their places, Marion looked curiously at
+both men. Duncan took his seat with a satisfied air, and as he unfolded
+his napkin a careless smile came to his lips. In her husband's eyes she
+saw an expression of determination, and she thought it unusual and out
+of keeping with the genial manner in which he broke the silence by
+saying: "I consider it very lucky we trapped you into staying, Grahame.
+I have scarcely seen you since you arrived, and I would like to have a
+friendly chat before we come to that elevator business. I shall be back
+from St. Louis on Sunday and we can talk about the loan on Monday."</p>
+
+<p>It was a surprise to Marion to learn that her husband and Duncan were
+evidently so intimate. She thought they were scarcely acquainted.</p>
+
+<p>"Any time will do me, Sanderson," answered Duncan, and then the party
+began to take their soup in silence. François poured out the sherry;
+Duncan took up his glass and drained it at one draught. As he put it
+down, he looked at Marion with an amused expression of triumph, then,
+glancing toward her husband, he shrugged his shoulders in a manner which
+conveyed contempt. Marion felt a sense of resentment toward Duncan for
+assuming such an attitude. His entire manner seemed to give the
+impression that he felt quite as much at home as the master of the
+house, and as the dinner progressed he treated her husband with the easy
+familiarity of one who felt the superiority of his position. Marion
+noticed that Roswell had never once changed the friendly tone of his
+manner, yet she could not help feeling that this extreme affability was,
+in some measure, assumed. The conversation was confined mainly to the
+two men, and Roswell seemed to lead it into channels where it was
+difficult for Duncan to follow, while the familiarity her husband
+showed with the great questions of current interest was astonishing to
+Marion. She had spent so little time with him that she was unfamiliar
+with his tastes, and the keenness with which he argued, together with
+the delicate manner in which he seemed to lay bare Duncan's ignorance,
+surprised her greatly.</p>
+
+<p>Marion was glad to be a listener, as it gave her time to think. She
+seemed to be seized now with a dispassionate calmness, which permitted
+her to view her actions in a way she had never done before. The subtle
+spell which had bound her to Duncan seemed fast breaking, and although
+scarce an hour before she had been ready to confess to him the full
+warmth of her love, she now appeared to be at a great distance from him
+and looking at the past as in the pages of some book. Again and again
+she glanced toward him and wondered why he seemed so changed. She
+observed that he was drinking too much wine, and when he occasionally
+raised his glass and cast an insinuating glance toward her, she felt the
+spirit of resentment grow stronger and stronger. She asked herself if
+his power of fascination had gone, and she confessed that in the
+society of others, at least, he was not the same as when alone with her.
+Then she thought over the words which he had spoken to her, and how in
+his presence she had felt the subtle inspiration of a love which, it
+seemed to her, must burn forever. She looked up to see if she could feel
+the power his grey eyes had so often exerted over her, and she saw an
+angry blush come to his cheek. Roswell had called forth a confession of
+ignorance on a delicate point of finance. Duncan was clever, but he was
+not a deep student, and he often found himself at a loss for facts with
+which to substantiate his theories. He spoke a resentful word or two,
+and Marion thought it was unmanly for him to lose his temper.</p>
+
+<p>The dinner wore on, and Marion found herself becoming more and more
+critical of Duncan's actions. She wondered if he were the man for whom,
+two hours before, she had been willing to venture everything. She began
+to analyze her feelings of the past six months, and she asked herself if
+the feeling he inspired was, after all, the love that her nature craved.
+Perhaps her doubts were momentary and would vanish, leaving her again
+the prey of wild desires. Yet she felt that her nature could not be so
+vacillating. She looked at Duncan again to reassure herself. Was he her
+ideal? He leaned his elbows on the table and made a noise as he ate. She
+wondered why she had not noticed this before, for she abhorred
+carelessness of manners.</p>
+
+<p>"So you think a leisure class is what we need in the West," Roswell was
+saying as François removed the plates after the game course. Marion had
+always felt this lack to be one of the evils of Western life, and she
+looked to Duncan for a defense of her theory.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered Duncan. "I favor a landed class who spend their money
+freely and devote their time to something beside grubbing for dollars."</p>
+
+<p>"I quite agree with you," said Roswell. "We men in the West live at too
+rapid a pace. In the ceaseless toil after money we become callous to the
+finer sentiments of life." Marion looked up in astonishment. She had
+thought her husband irredeemably absorbed in business. "We devote too
+little time," he continued, "to the development of the æsthetic side of
+our natures. I think we should have more people of wealth whose time is
+spent in fostering the arts; but as for men of absolute leisure, I think
+we are better off without them."</p>
+
+<p>"There I can't agree with you," answered Duncan, "if among men of
+leisure you include those whose lives are given to sport. Look at the
+sportsmen of England. We want more of that sort in this country. A hard
+riding set of men who stick at nothing. Such a life as they lead makes
+men of them."</p>
+
+<p>Marion was too fond of literature and the arts to agree with Duncan. She
+had known some of these hunting men and she had a small opinion of their
+talents.</p>
+
+<p>"In a degree I approve of your sentiments," said her husband. "If you
+will eliminate the taste for drink, cards, and vice from your sportsmen.
+Give him some brains and make him a useful member of society, who
+devotes much of his time to the improvement of his tenantry, and I grant
+you that his counterpart would be a desirable acquisition to American
+life."</p>
+
+<p>"So you don't believe in the reckless sportsman of the old school."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I confess I don't."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, may I ask?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think I can best answer that question by telling you an anecdote.
+I was once in North Carolina looking after some property. The place
+Where I was staying was one of the little villages in the mountains
+where the advent of a stranger is a matter of momentous importance.
+I happened to be in the village store one day when one of those
+tweed-and-knickerbocker Englishmen, who occasionally go there for
+shooting, walked in to purchase some powder. After he had received his
+package and was about to leave, the lean-faced cracker store-keeper
+detained him in conversation somewhat after this fashion:</p>
+
+<p>"'Be you from Noo York, stranger?'</p>
+
+<p>"The Englishman shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"'Philadelphy?'</p>
+
+<p>"'No,' was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"'Chicago?'</p>
+
+<p>"Another negative answer.</p>
+
+<p>"'Waal, where be you from?'</p>
+
+<p>"'London.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Whew!' and the cracker gave a long whistle. 'What brought you all the
+way from London to Loneville?'</p>
+
+<p>"'I came to amuse myself.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Ter amuse yerself, heh! Well, that is mighty curious. What d' you do
+when you're to home?'</p>
+
+<p>"'Nothing.'</p>
+
+<p>"'How d' you live, anyway?'</p>
+
+<p>"'My father supports me.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Don't do nothing when you're to home, and yer father keeps ye?'</p>
+
+<p>"'Yes.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Waal, I'd like to ask ye jest one more question. What'ud you do 'f
+your father should bust?'</p>
+
+<p>"That is my theory. I don't think any man should be brought up in such a
+way that he would have nothing to fall back on if his wealth should fail
+him. Give every young man an employment of some sort, no matter how rich
+he may be, and he will know what to do when his father 'busts'."</p>
+
+<p>Marion, somehow, found herself agreeing with her husband's views. His
+ideas had always seemed so restricted before. She wondered why he was
+becoming so sensible.</p>
+
+<p>François cleared the table and changed the glasses; the coffee was
+brought and Duncan and Roswell lighted their cigars. Marion usually
+remained during the smoking when the party was small, so the talk went
+on uninterruptedly, Roswell continuing his easy flow of anecdote and
+argument, and turning the conversation as one subject after another was
+suggested to his mind. Marion caught herself occasionally looking at her
+husband with a feeling of admiration, and wondered why she had never
+before discovered his charm of manner. She felt that he occasionally
+turned his keen eyes toward her as though he understood her thoughts,
+and she was afraid that he might be able to see her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"I read a case in the paper this morning which impressed me sadly," said
+Roswell, putting down his empty coffee cup. "I knew the people and it
+seemed but the outcome of my fears."</p>
+
+<p>"What was it?" asked Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"The wife of a man I have known in business has left him. The husband
+went to Decatur on Thursday, and when he returned he found that she had
+fled the night before with her music teacher."</p>
+
+<p>"It was probably a good riddance, wasn't it," said Duncan.</p>
+
+<p>Marion thought these words unnecessarily harsh and she found herself
+looking appealingly at Roswell for a charitable reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't say that," replied Roswell. "The trouble was that they had
+nothing in common. He was a man who began life as a page on the Board of
+Trade. By careful attention to business he worked his way up until he is
+now a very successful broker. He has, however, absolutely no social
+position, and no prospect of attaining one. When, two years ago, he went
+East, and married a girl who belonged to a good Syracuse family and
+brought her West, it must have been a bitter disappointment to the young
+wife to find herself denied the recognition which she was accustomed to
+receive at home. She was alone in a strange city. Her husband was away
+most of the time, and he was so completely wrapped up in business that
+his wife was left to her own resources. Can you condemn her entirely for
+doing as she did? It is all very well to behave if we have never been
+tempted, when, perhaps, under the same circumstances, we might act no
+better ourselves. For my part I think the husband is probably as much at
+fault as the wife."</p>
+
+<p>Marion felt her heart leap with gratitude when she heard these words.
+Her husband's voice had softened as he spoke them, and his eyes wore a
+sad, thoughtful expression.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think you are right," said Duncan, draining a glass of claret.
+"No one but a fool will permit a woman to go astray under his eyes, and
+a fool deserves to lose his wife."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke these words he looked toward Marion with an insinuating
+expression which told her that his remark was directed at Roswell, and
+that he expected her to appreciate the humor of it. Marion felt a sense
+of thankfulness rise in her heart. Coarseness never could appeal to her
+sensitive nature and she shuddered when she thought that this was the
+man for whom she had been willing to risk her honor. She was beginning
+to find him out. Thank heaven, the knowledge came before it was too
+late.</p>
+
+<p>Roswell was silent for a moment. Then he said, thoughtfully: "Any one of
+us may be cast to play the rôle of fool. Unfortunately we never
+recognize just when we begin to play the part. I used to think as you
+do, Grahame. It is only lately I have begun to feel that it takes two to
+create a difference. Perhaps I am wrong, but I believe that, had my
+friend recognized sooner that his wife was made unhappy by his own
+neglect and the surroundings in which he placed her, the danger might
+have been averted."</p>
+
+<p>For a while no one spoke. Marion gazed thoughtfully at the table; Duncan
+twirled a glass carelessly between his fingers and a smile played on his
+lips, while Roswell silently puffed his cigar and watched the blue
+wreaths of smoke curl gently upward.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we go into the next room, my dear?" said Roswell after a moment,
+dropping his half-finished cigar. "I have just time to catch my train."</p>
+
+<p>"You are not going, are you?" said Marion, looking up, startled. "Please
+put off your trip," she added with a slight tone of appeal in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go," he answered, rising from his chair.</p>
+
+<p>The three people walked toward the hall. As they reached the door,
+Roswell stopped and motioned Duncan to lead the way. The younger man
+passed out, leaving Marion and her husband together. Roswell took both
+his wife's hands and drew her toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"I must leave Grahame with you, my dear. Don't mind my running away. It
+is business and can't be helped."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't go, Roswell," pleaded Marion, and she turned her head away so
+that he could not look into her face.</p>
+
+<p>"I must, my darling. I must," he answered, and she felt his arms about
+her. She hid her face on his breast, and, ashamed of her unworthiness,
+she felt afraid to be left alone. "Good-by, dear," he said, and kissed
+her tenderly on her forehead. They walked silently through the hallway
+to the little French room, by the door. They found Duncan there,
+wandering carelessly about examining the ornaments. Stepping up to him,
+Roswell put out his hand and said simply: "I must leave you, Grahame. I
+have just time to catch my train. Sit here and finish your cigar. My
+wife will do her best to amuse you."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan muttered a word of parting and Roswell hurried into the hallway.
+Marion took a seat in the farther end of the room and gazed thoughtfully
+toward the door where her husband had left. She could hear him putting
+on his coat and then the door closed behind him. The carriage rolled
+off, and as the last echo of the wheels died away she realized that she
+was alone with the man who had played such a strange part in her life.
+She felt brave now. The danger was past and her only thought was to
+prove worthy of the confidence her husband had placed in her. She looked
+at Duncan, wondering what his first move would be. He took a few steps
+on the floor. His eyes seemed to sparkle with merriment. "Well, I must
+say," he said, stopping in his desultory wandering and plunging his
+hands into his pockets, "that husband of yours is the most convenient
+person that I ever came across." Marion cast an angry glance toward him.
+All the resentment in her nature was aroused by these coarse words. Her
+dream of months had vanished, and in its place was a repulsive reality.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan came toward her with a confident step and tried to take her hand.
+Marion jumped to her feet and pushed him back. "Don't touch me," she
+cried.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan laughed. This new-found anger amused him and he did not believe
+she was in earnest. "Marion, dearest, we are alone," he said ardently.
+"We can enjoy our love and no one will interrupt."</p>
+
+<p>He made another movement toward her. She drew back and looked defiantly
+at him.</p>
+
+<p>"I hate you," she said. "Can't you see that I hate you."</p>
+
+<p>"Hate is the first step to love," answered Duncan, still amused by her
+anger. "Let it fade away for I want to see love smile from those
+bewitching eyes."</p>
+
+<p>Then he hesitated. He saw anger flashing from her dark eyes now, but he
+could not believe that he had lost the power he had so lately exerted
+over her, and he fancied that this resentment must be due to some whim.
+"Do you forget the past, dearest?" he said coaxingly, after a moment.
+"Do you forget our love of yesterday?"</p>
+
+<p>"The unreasoning fancy of a moment is not love," answered Marion
+coldly.</p>
+
+<p>Duncan saw now that the heart which he had felt so confident of his
+power to master had slipped from his grasp. Still the thought that so
+emotional a nature might yet be conquered by appeal prompted him to say,
+"What is the meaning of this change? Yesterday you loved me."</p>
+
+<p>"That was yesterday. Much may happen in a day, Mr. Grahame."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," smiled Duncan sarcastically, drawing lines on the floor with the
+toe of his boot. "In a day one may learn the fickle nature of the woman
+one is foolish enough to love."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and the character of the feeling one was foolish enough to fancy
+might be love," added Marion.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you not listen to me?" he answered. "Some one has been poisoning
+your mind against me."</p>
+
+<p>Marion felt that this distasteful interview must end. She had been the
+prey of too many emotions that day to bear up much longer. She felt a
+desire to fly away somewhere and escape from this man. Summoning her
+courage she looked full into Duncan's face and said, in a firm voice:
+"Mr. Grahame, I will not be insulted. I think there is nothing more to
+be said."</p>
+
+<p>The color rose to Duncan's cheeks. His pride was touched, yet deep in
+his heart he could not help feeling ashamed of his own conduct. Revenge
+for another woman's actions had prompted him to act the part he had
+played, and there was still manhood enough in his callous heart to make
+him recognize that he deserved the treatment he was receiving. But pride
+prompted him to retreat boldly. "As you will, Mrs. Sanderson," he
+answered, coolly returning Marion's glance. "I came at your bidding and
+I leave at your command. I had been led to believe, by your actions in
+the past, that I should receive a more responsive welcome, but I
+acknowledge my mistake."</p>
+
+<p>"We understand each other perfectly," said Marion. "Six months ago, Mr.
+Grahame, you challenged me to a game of skill. I think you know the game
+well enough to recognize that you have lost."</p>
+
+<p>Duncan nodded assent and walked slowly toward the door. On the threshold
+he turned and looked at Marion. A feeling of admiration for the woman he
+had so misjudged prompted him to speak "Let me compliment your skill,"
+he said. "I played that game with the assurance of an old hand and I
+lost. You were a novice, but you won."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
+
+<h3>IN THE LIBRARY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Roswell Sanderson was in the library writing. A week had passed since
+his departure for St. Louis, and a considerable accumulation of mail was
+absorbing his attention. He had arrived home that morning on an early
+train, and not caring to awake his wife had gone into the library to
+look over his letters. It was Sunday, and the measured patter of the
+raindrops on the window-panes seemed to forebode a cheerless day, while
+the dismal light, almost obscured by the lowering clouds and heavy
+window draperies, produced an air of gloom intensified, perhaps, by the
+unusual chill of the summer atmosphere. Roswell was alone, and as he
+wrote the scratching of his pen on the paper blended monotonously with
+the pattering raindrops. Perhaps half an hour passed. Marion entered the
+room and stood for a moment near the door. There was a fresher color in
+her cheeks, even in that dim light, and her eyes seemed to have lost
+their look of restless longing. As she watched her husband writing, a
+smile of mingled tenderness and sadness came to her lips. Then she
+walked softly on tip-toe to where he sat, and placed her hand gently on
+his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Roswell looked up startled. "Why, Marion," he said, "I didn't expect to
+see you so early." Then, leaving his seat, he took both his wife's hands
+in his and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>"I am thankful you have come back," said Marion. "I have wanted you so
+much."</p>
+
+<p>She placed her arms around his neck, and rested her head on his
+shoulder. There had been a tenderness in her voice which made Roswell's
+heart beat faster than it had ever done before. "Yes, dear," he said, "I
+have come back, and I think I have a surprise for you, too."</p>
+
+<p>"A surprise," said Marion, looking up.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Sit down and I will tell you all about it."</p>
+
+<p>Roswell resumed his seat, and Marion took a low stool at his side and
+waited for him to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not very much," he said, taking a letter from the table, "but I
+have here a refusal of the McIlvaine cottage at Bar Harbor for the
+season. Would you like to go there?"</p>
+
+<p>An expression of astonishment came to Marion's face. "Is this true?" she
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I am only waiting for you to say yes before sending my reply."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you do this, Roswell?" she said, with a tone of tenderness in
+her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Because I felt it would be better for both of us to go away this
+summer. I am working too hard, I think, and must have a rest. But that
+is only a selfish reason; I feel it would do you good to be among new
+people and new scenes."</p>
+
+<p>Marion looked into his eyes a moment and a dark expression of disgust
+came across her face. "Why don't you speak the truth, Roswell?" she
+said. "Why don't you say that you are going away because your wife is a
+selfish woman who is discontented in her home; why don't you say that
+she is a wicked creature who cares for nothing but her own amusement,
+and that you are taking her where she can find new excitements? Why
+don't you say this?" she repeated, and then she buried her face in her
+hands and sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>Roswell leaned forward and stroked her head softly. "I love my wife," he
+said, "and I will not permit you to say such things about her."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know how wicked she is; you don't know how black her heart
+has been," Marion replied, between the sobs. "O, Roswell, I shall never
+be happy till I tell you all about it and ask you to forgive me. I have
+thought it over every moment since you left, and I have tried to feel
+right in my heart, but I can't until you know how wicked I have been.
+You are too good and generous for a selfish creature like me; but you
+must know that I have been untrue to you in my heart. Roswell, I did not
+love you when I married you; I never loved you until a week ago. I did
+not know your goodness before, and I was thoughtless. O, forgive me,
+Roswell; forgive me."</p>
+
+<p>Roswell raised her head until he could look into her face. "I forgave
+you long ago, dearest," he said, "and now I want to see you dry those
+sweet eyes. I guessed your trouble last winter. At first it was hard
+for me to bear, and I had black thoughts in my heart, too; but when I
+remembered how I had been bound up in my musty cash books and ledgers,
+and how I had failed to enter into your life, I felt I had no right to
+reproach you. I saw that you were drifting from me, and I knew the fault
+was mine. Then I prayed that I might save you and win you back again."</p>
+
+<p>"And you forgive me," said Marion, sobbing still.</p>
+
+<p>Roswell kissed her. "It is I who must be forgiven," he said. "I ought to
+have seen before that a woman like you could not love a crusty old
+banker, who came home every night covered with the dust of the office. I
+am a rough fellow who needs a lot of polishing up, but I want you to try
+and see what you can make of me, and I want your love."</p>
+
+<p>"My darling," said Marion. "I love you as I never knew I could love. I
+thought the wild fancy of the moment was love, but I have learned my
+mistake. If you will take me into your heart again I will try so hard to
+make you a good wife."</p>
+
+<p>A faint sunbeam came through the eastern window and glanced feebly along
+the floor; then it grew stronger and stronger, until the gloomy library
+was brightened by a flood of rich, warm sunlight. The storm had ceased.
+The clouds had rolled away.</p>
+
+<p>"It takes some such trial as ours," Roswell said, "to call forth love.
+We know now how necessary we are to each other, don't we, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>The look of sweet tenderness in Marion's eyes gave him his answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us think no more of those days, my darling," said Roswell, throwing
+his arms about his wife and drawing her closer to his side. "We will
+forget the past and live in the future. What answer shall I send about
+the cottage?" As he said this he reached toward the table to get the
+letter. Marion's eyes followed his hand, and they fell upon a name
+signed to a note lying there.</p>
+
+<p>"That man!" she cried, turning her head away and hiding her face on
+Roswell's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"That man will worry you no more," he said, taking up the note. "Read
+what he says."</p>
+
+<p>Marion took the paper and read:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Sanderson</span>:</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to say that I have obtained the loan I required from
+the 'Grocers' National,' so I shall not need to keep my
+appointment with you. I leave for New York to-day, and shall be
+unable to see you on your return from St. Louis. Thanking you
+for your kindness to me while in Chicago, believe me, with
+kindest regards,</p>
+
+<p>"Yours faithfully,</p>
+
+<p>"June 29. <span class="smcap">Duncan Grahame</span>."</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Marion shuddered as she put down the note. It told its story and she
+felt that there was nothing more to be said.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the letter I want you to answer," said Roswell, taking up the
+one from Bar Harbor.</p>
+
+<p>Marion looked thoughtfully at the floor a moment, then, glancing up, she
+said: "If you don't mind, dear, I should like to go to some quieter
+place. I have had excitements before, but I have never had my husband,
+and I want him all to myself."</p>
+
+<p>"My darling," said Roswell.</p>
+
+<p>Florence entered the room and stood for a moment near the door. At first
+she was too surprised to speak, then, appreciating the propriety of
+making her presence known, she retreated a few steps and said: "May I
+come in?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you may, you dear girl," said Marion, looking up. "You may
+come in and find the happiest woman in the world. Don't look surprised.
+Roswell and I are young lovers, and we are laying plans for our
+honeymoon. I don't deserve my happiness, but I have just discovered that
+I have the best husband in the world."</p>
+
+<p>Florence ran to Marion's side and kissed her. "Let me share your joy,"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>That evening Harold Wainwright dined at the Sandersons, and four happy
+people seated themselves at the little, round table. The candles shed
+the same cheerful light upon the white linen and the glistening plate,
+and François moved from place to place with his wonted precision; but
+the fire of love had kindled on the hearth, and in that home a new life
+had begun.</p>
+
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="MRS_ABBOTTS_BOOKS" id="MRS_ABBOTTS_BOOKS"></a>MRS. ABBOTT'S BOOKS.</h2>
+
+
+<h3>ALEXIA.</h3>
+
+<blockquote><p>We have rarely found a more perfectly idyllic little love story
+than this&mdash;<i>The Living Church, Chicago.</i></p>
+
+<p>The story is told with such an airy touch, such a fine sense of
+humor, such delicate crispness, that the reader is dealt little
+shocks of pleasure at every successive sentence.&mdash;<i>Evening
+Post, Chicago.</i></p>
+
+<p>Little books like this, unpretentious, honest in motive, pure
+in sentiment, and marked by true sympathy are not common in
+current American literature, and therefore appeal all the more
+strongly to people who are tired of the didactic, and so relish
+keenly any representation which depends for its final effect
+not on preconceived notions of the author, but on fidelity to
+life.&mdash;<i>The Beacon, Boston.</i></p></blockquote>
+
+
+<h3>THE BEVERLEYS,</h3>
+
+<h3><i>A Story of Calcutta.</i></h3>
+
+<blockquote><p>As a story of character it is of high and rare merit. Every
+person who appears in it is outlined with a distinctness of
+individuality which cannot be mistaken.&mdash;<i>The Churchman, New
+York.</i></p>
+
+<p>"The Beverleys" is one of the notable novels of the year....
+The writer knows life and has met people of breeding.... In
+Eileen she draws a charming creature whose social adventures in
+Calcutta will be read with unflagging interest.&mdash;<i>The
+Philadelphia Press.</i></p>
+
+<p>To have read "Alexia" is to feel a kindly predisposition
+towards the successor of that charming little book. "The
+Beverleys" has followed it, and it is perhaps unreasonable to
+be disappointed at missing in a novel the wild-rose perfume of
+the story. It is a novel clever in form and style, and in its
+portraits from Calcutta society. The moods and fascinations of
+the wild Irish girl and the labyrinths of her naughty heart are
+prettily described; there are pungent observations on men,
+women, and manners a plenty; what more would one have.&mdash;<i>The
+Nation, New York.</i></p></blockquote>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Other_Books" id="Other_Books"></a>OTHER BOOKS</h2>
+
+
+<h3>MONK AND KNIGHT.</h3>
+
+<h3>An Historical Study in Fiction.</h3>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By the Rev. Dr. F. W. Gunsaulus.</span></h3>
+
+<blockquote><p>This work is one that challenges attention for its ambitious
+character and its high aim. It is an historical novel,&mdash;or,
+rather, as the author prefers to call it, "An Historical Study
+in Fiction." It is the result of long and careful study of the
+period of which it treats, and hence is the product of genuine
+sympathies and a freshly-fired imagination. The field is
+Europe, and the period is the beginning of the sixteenth
+century,&mdash;a time when the fading glow of the later Renaissance
+is giving place to the brighter glories of the dawning
+Reformation.</p>
+
+<p>The book deals, in a broad sense, with the grand theme of the
+progress of intellectual liberty. Many of its characters are
+well-known historical personages,&mdash;such as Erasmus, Sir Thomas
+Moore, Cardinal Wolsey, Henry VIII. of England, Francis I. of
+France, the disturbing monk Martin Luther, and the magnificent
+Pope Leo X.; other characters are of course fictitious,
+introduced to give proper play to the author's fancy and to
+form a suitable framework for the story.</p>
+
+<p>Interwoven with the more solid fabric are gleaming threads of
+romance; and bright bits of description and glows of sentiment
+relieve the more sombre coloring. The memorable meeting of the
+French and English monarchs on the Field of the Cloth of Gold,
+with its gorgeous pageantry of knights and steeds and silken
+banners, and all the glitter and charm of chivalry, furnish
+material for several chapters, in which the author's
+descriptive powers are put to the severest test; while the
+Waldensian heroes in their mountain homes, resisting the
+persecutions of their religious foes, afford some thrilling and
+dramatic situations.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<h3>AN ICELAND FISHERMAN.</h3>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> PIERRE LOTI</h3>
+
+<h3>Translated from the French</h3>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">By ANNA FARWELL de KOVEN.</span></h3>
+
+<blockquote><p>"An Iceland Fisherman" is really a poem in prose. It has a pure
+idyllic quality so unlike most of the work which now comes from
+French hands that one must go back to "Paul and Virginia" to
+find a worthy companion volume. Other French writers, George
+Sand notably, have written idyllic chapters, but "An Iceland
+Fisherman" is a complete idyl from beginning to end. M. Loti is
+an impressionist of the most delicate quality. He feels with
+the keenest sensibility the moods and phases of each passing
+hour. In this little volume one is made aware of all the
+strange, lonely beauty and terror of the North Seas. Few
+writers have made so keen an observation of those elusive
+phases through which sky and sea pass in a day or a season, and
+still fewer have had the faculty of transferring these subtle
+things into speech.&mdash;<i>The Christian Union, New York.</i></p>
+
+<p>The translator of this remarkable story has done her work
+wonderfully well. Her choice of words, apt, pat, and
+picturesque&mdash;words which instantly appeal to the imagination,
+is skillful to an uncommon degree. This is no doubt partly due
+to the characteristics of the original. Whatever may be true of
+the French, the English of this beautiful and wholesome story
+is wonderfully idiomatic and good.&mdash;<i>The Advance, Chicago.</i></p>
+
+<p>Of the story itself nothing can well be too good to say. We
+pity the one who can read it without being deeply stirred by
+its simple, pathetic, and, at moments, solemn beauty.&mdash;<i>The
+Chicago Evening Journal.</i></p>
+
+<p>It is a gem of the purest ray, a lovely idyl, whose strength is
+drawn from what is best in human life.&mdash;<i>The Philadelphia
+Enquirer.</i></p></blockquote>
+
+
+<h3>THE STORY OF TONTY.</h3>
+
+<h3><i>AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.</i></h3>
+
+<h3>By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Mary Hartwell Catherwood</span>.</h3>
+
+<blockquote><p>"The Story of Tonty" is eminently a Western story, beginning at
+Montreal, tarrying at Fort Frontenac, and ending at the old
+fort at Starved Rock, on the Illinois River. It weaves the
+adventures of the two great explorers, the intrepid La Salle
+and his faithful lieutenant, Tonty, into a tale as thrilling
+and romantic as the descriptive portions are brilliant and
+vivid. It is superbly illustrated with twenty-three masterly
+drawings by Mr. Enoch Ward.</p>
+
+<p>Such tales as this render service past expression to the cause
+of history. They weave a spell in which old chronicles are
+vivified and breathe out human life. Mrs. Catherwood, in thus
+bringing out from the treasure-houses of half-forgotten
+historical record things new and old, has set herself one of
+the worthiest literary tasks of her generation, and is showing
+herself finely adequate to its fulfillment.&mdash;<i>Transcript,
+Boston.</i></p>
+
+<p>A powerful story by a writer newly sprung to fame.... All the
+century we have been waiting for the deft hand that could put
+flesh upon the dry bones of our early heroes. Here is a
+recreation indeed.... One comes from the reading of the romance
+with a quickened interest in our early national history, and a
+profound admiration for the art that can so transport us to the
+dreamful realms where fancy is monarch of fact.&mdash;<i>Press,
+Philadelphia.</i></p>
+
+<p>"The Story of Tonty" is full of the atmosphere of its time. It
+betrays an intimate and sympathetic knowledge of the great age
+of explorers, and it is altogether a charming piece of
+work.&mdash;<i>Christian Union, New York.</i></p>
+
+<p>Original in treatment, in subject, and in all the details of
+<i>mise en scène</i>, it must stand unique among recent
+romances.&mdash;<i>News, Chicago.</i></p>
+
+<p>A vivid series of fascinating pictures.&mdash;<i>New York Observer.</i></p></blockquote>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's With Edge Tools, by Hobart Chatfield-Taylor
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of With Edge Tools, by Hobart Chatfield-Taylor
+
+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: With Edge Tools
+
+Author: Hobart Chatfield-Taylor
+
+Release Date: August 24, 2010 [EBook #33528]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH EDGE TOOLS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Clarke, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           WITH EDGE TOOLS
+
+                      BY HOBART CHATFIELD TAYLOR
+
+
+CHICAGO
+A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY
+1891
+
+COPYRIGHT,
+BY A. C. MCCLURG AND CO.
+A. D. 1891.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+       I. THE STATEN CLUB
+
+      II. CROSS FIRE
+
+     III. TWO WOMEN
+
+      IV. IN AN OPERA BOX
+
+       V. A CHALLENGE
+
+      VI. SPANISH CASTLES
+
+     VII. THE PATRICIANS
+
+    VIII. GATHERING CLOUDS
+
+      IX. OAKHURST
+
+       X. "I WILL LAUGH, TOO"
+
+      XI. UNDER THE WILLOWS
+
+     XII. UNREST
+
+    XIII. DERBY DAY
+
+     XIV. DANGER
+
+      XV. A GAME OF SKILL
+
+     XVI. IN THE LIBRARY
+
+
+
+
+WITH EDGE TOOLS.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE STATEN CLUB.
+
+
+In the world of clubs the "Staten" held its head proudly. It was a
+social union comprising the most exclusive men of family and fashion.
+Though its outward walls differed little from those of other clubs which
+lined the avenue, its muster-roll was sacredly guarded by the governors,
+and posted at the hall desk was a long list of waiting aspirants, each
+to undergo in his turn the scrutiny of the committee-room, where all
+antecedents must be known and approved before his card could bear
+"Staten Club" in the left-hand, lower corner. Other club buildings there
+were, in New York, of greater stateliness, with marble walls and
+galleries, and well filled libraries, but the "Staten" cared for none of
+these, and proudly pointed to its members' list, where were inscribed
+five hundred names which no other club could ever hope to equal. Three
+rooms, the restaurant, cafe, and billiard room, received their share of
+patronage, while the lounging room, upon the avenue, where a few papers
+were kept for respectability's sake, and others for use, was the daily
+haunt of some of the choicest spirits. In the early days of the club's
+history, to be sure, a thoughtless governor had inspired the foundation
+of a library. A room upstairs somewhere (few of the members knew where)
+was selected, and into this were placed a set of Dickens, the
+"Britannica," an atlas, a history or two, a dictionary, and perhaps a
+hundred other books, which together formed the nucleus of a store of
+knowledge. But no one went there except Simkins, Rynder and McLaughlin.
+They were a queer lot; none of the men could make them out; it was their
+families that got them elected, and they never seemed to have anything
+better to do than cuddle over musty books. But the choice clique were
+those whose names were most often signed to the wine-room tickets. It
+was they who ran the club and made it the popular place it was.
+
+On a particular January afternoon, of a year not long since passed, one
+of the broad, front windows of the lounging room was occupied by three
+intimates of "the set." There was Rennsler Van Vort, whose ancestor had
+been a red-faced burgher at the time when old Peter Stuyvesant
+rigorously ruled New Amsterdam. His fortune was his name, for the family
+was too old to be wealthy and too proud to be in trade; yet he never
+lacked a berth on a yacht or a room in a country house, and wherever he
+went, he brought a collection of rare tales and a song or two which made
+him the friend of all. Like his burgher ancestor he had a red, round
+face and was bald, but behind his glasses there were two queer, little
+eyes which shone with kindly humor, and from lips half hidden by stubby
+black hairs, bright, timely words were sure to come. Rennsler was the
+senior by several years of his companions, and, if the truth were known,
+he probably cared little for them, but Roland Waterman owned the
+"Phrygia," and Clifford Howard-Jones was a coaching man with a shooting
+box and other convenient accessories.
+
+It had been snowing in the morning, but the sun had turned the snow to
+slush, and the three men, for lack of more exciting sport, were
+watching the omnibus horses slide and struggle down Murray Hill, and the
+pedestrians splash and spatter in their vain efforts to dodge the cabs
+and reach the curbs with unsoiled feet. If the unfortunate wayfarer
+happened to be a woman, and a pretty one at that, the three friends
+would smirk and nudge each other, as the little feet tripped daintily
+from puddle to puddle, or splashed her white skirts with great mud
+blotches, while the owner folded them about her and pattered rapidly on
+her heels, foolishly fancying the more speed the less mud. An occasional
+witticism from Rennsler's lips would heighten the grotesqueness of a
+luckless passer's struggles. The other two would laugh and Howard-Jones
+would add some strained gibe, with the flat effect that forced wit
+always has. Perhaps half an hour was thus passed, when Howard-Jones
+spied a woman leaving a house in a side street. A carriage was waiting
+at the curb, and a footman was vainly endeavoring to protect her
+feathers from the rain; but forgetting the servant and his umbrella, she
+gathered her skirts up frantically and rushed from the bottom step to
+the carriage door, which, of course being closed, left her no
+alternative but to stand patiently in the drenching rain until the
+marked precision of the footman's steps brought relief and the umbrella.
+
+"Look at that action!" shouted Howard-Jones. "Great for park work but
+too high for the open. Easy, my beauty, or you will come a cropper at
+the curb. By Jove, fellows, it is Mrs. Harry Osgood."
+
+"So it is," replied Waterman. "I wonder what she is mousing about that
+street after? She must be searching for her Duncan. Dear girl, how
+pathetically lonesome she looked at Sherry's last night when Grahame
+left her to dance with Mrs. Rossy Platt."
+
+This remark was hailed by Howard-Jones with the world-wise chuckle with
+which a man of narrow sympathy and ill-spent life invariably receives a
+pointed insinuation against a woman's character. Broad sentiments and
+heroic impulses are seldom nursed in clubs, and Howard-Jones had learned
+his ethics within the limits of the world in which he moved.
+
+"If I were Osgood, I would go gunning for Grahame," he retorted. "A
+rounder like Duncan never hovers about a bird so long for nothing."
+
+"He had far better give up dogs and horses and bestow a little attention
+on his wife," Rennsler Van Vort replied. He had the persuasive sympathy,
+possessed by few men, which told him that a woman's heart, though easily
+won by flattery may be as easily lost by neglect. The lack of fortune
+had brought him into contact with the petty meanness of life and if he
+had made friends whose hospitality helped out his meagre purse, he knew
+that without his postprandial accomplishments and unquestioned ancestry
+few boards would have a place for him. He did not imagine that a moral
+truism would deeply affect his companions, but his broad instincts
+prompted him to add that "when a married woman goes astray it is usually
+the fault of her mother or her husband."
+
+"Nonsense, old chap," retorted Howard-Jones. "Mrs. Osgood is a pretty
+woman, and a pretty woman must have admiration. Duncan used to admire
+her, but Osgood had the money and she married him. Duncan Grahame keeps
+right on admiring her and Osgood doesn't, so there you are."
+
+The argument thus incited might have been continued were it not for the
+interruption caused by the familiar voice of a man, who had just
+entered, hailing the group at the window with the somewhat pithy
+expression: "What are you sportsmen doing there? Staring at nothing,
+I'll wager, and I don't believe you have had one drink between you for a
+week."
+
+The men at the window turned, and were startled to see standing in the
+door the man of whom they were speaking, Duncan Grahame. His clothes
+showed that he had just come from the city. His trousers were turned up
+and muddy, and his hat was sprinkled with rain. The merry familiarity of
+his expression told, however, that he had not heard the remark just
+made, but Howard-Jones, a trifle abashed at finding one of the objects
+of his insinuations appear so inopportunely, and feeling that something
+had better be said to remove the embarrassment, took it upon himself to
+reply. "I don't believe we have, but you are just in time to stir us up.
+Rennsler has been preaching and we are awfully dry; just punch that
+bell, won't you."
+
+The appearance of the servant caused the four friends to draw as many
+chairs about a small cherry wood table, supplied with the usual
+complement of bell, match-box and ashtray, and as the servant put the
+familiar question--"What is the order, sir?" it was followed by the
+habitual meditative silence. Grahame threw himself back in his chair and
+pushed his hat back, doubtfully. "I have got a Sahara thirst," he
+finally said, "so I suppose it will have to be a long drink. Bring me a
+whiskey and soda."
+
+"Split the soda with me, won't you?" interjected Howard-Jones.
+
+"Couldn't think of it, my love," Grahame replied; "I have not had a
+drink to-day. Went to lunch with the senior partner and he ordered
+nothing more stimulating than unfiltered Croton. He took me out to talk
+business, and I nearly expired under the strain." Howard-Jones finally
+decided to indulge in a whole bottle of Delatour, but when Rennsler Van
+Vort quietly told the servant he would take an Apollinaris lemonade
+without sugar, it was too much for the dashing Duncan. "When do you take
+orders, old man?" he said. "All you need is a cowl and sandals, for
+nature has kindly tonsured your locks for you. I suppose you will soon
+be leading the singing at noon prayer meetings."
+
+"I am off my liquor," Van Vort replied; "but if I do come to noon
+meetings I feel sure I'll do better with Sankey hymns than I do now with
+comic ditties."
+
+"Don't start Rennsler preaching," Howard-Jones interjected, "he's primed
+with moral bosh and the atmosphere is too depressed already. What brings
+a hard-working man like you uptown at four o'clock? I thought you didn't
+knock off until five."
+
+"I don't," Duncan replied, "but I am going out to Chicago to-morrow and
+I am taking a half holiday to prepare my nerves for the strain."
+
+"Going to Chicago," the three interposed almost in a breath.
+
+"Yes, and, worse luck, I don't know when I shall get back. I am going
+out for an English syndicate we have in tow. The Britons have bought all
+the breweries and stock-yards out there, and now they are after
+elevators."
+
+"'Elevators'", exclaimed Waterman, "I should think they do need a few
+in London; those beastly 'lifts' they have in the hotels there are about
+the only British institution I don't admire. But what have you got to do
+with elevators?"
+
+"Don't be an ass, Roland," Duncan replied. "It is about time you knew
+that the chief industry of 'the city of the future', as some fool
+journalist calls Chicago,--pork of course excepted,--is grain, and
+elevators are the warehouses where it is stored. I am going out to work
+a scheme to buy them all up, make a trust, and sell the stock in London.
+Our house are the middlemen between Chicago and the Britons. Now do you
+see?"
+
+"Well, I'm deuced glad I didn't go into Wall Street," Roland replied. "I
+shouldn't care to be shut up in that beastly hole, Chicago. I don't
+believe there is a sportsman in the place. I stopped there a day once on
+my way to Minnesota, grouse shooting, and I never saw such a rum place.
+I put up at the biggest hotel in the town, and there wasn't much to
+complain of in the size of it; but the dirt and the niggers were too
+much for me. I had to eat dinner at two o'clock and I wish you could
+have seen how they managed it. I was met at the door by a six-foot black
+man in a waistcoat that was perhaps white in the year one, and a coat
+made in the days of Henry Clay. He waltzed us down the room with the
+airs of a drum major and put us at a table with a drummer and a cow-boy.
+There we were given in charge of another colored gentleman who polished
+off the plates with a greasy towel, and placed big tumblers of iced
+water at each place. He took our orders and brought us the soup in
+fairly good shape, except that his black fingers got into all the
+plates; but you ought to have seen the rest of the dinner. He started
+from the kitchen at a record-breaking pace, spinning a tray on the
+forefinger of his right hand. He galloped past us and deposited his
+implements on a side table, then he commenced to sling canary birds'
+bath tubs, filled with heaven knows what, across the table like poker
+chips, until we had a perfect collection of samples of the most
+villainously cooked truck I ever tasted. I tried to make out a 'feed',
+but I gave it up when the black gentleman appeared with all sorts of
+pie, floating island, ice cream and jelly. I then fled in despair and
+went out for a walk, but I didn't find anything but mud, smoke, and
+cable cars. I tell you, Duncan, old man, you don't know what Chicago is,
+or you wouldn't look so beautifully unconcerned."
+
+A burst of laughter greeted Waterman's recital of his pathetic
+experience, and then Duncan, who little relished his coming exile,
+mournfully asked if any of the fellows knew some people of the right
+sort in the place.
+
+"No one but a charming creature of the vintage of forty-nine whom I saw
+at the Pier last summer," retorted Howard-Jones. "She must ride sixteen
+stone, but she canters about like a yearling and plasters her hair all
+over her face in little curlycues, to say nothing of her voice, which
+used to run an effective opposition to the steam horn at the lighthouse.
+But speaking of lighthouses, you should have seen her diamond earrings;
+the light on Point Judith wasn't a circumstance to them. When the heat
+was too much for her, she used to mop her face with a piece of chamois
+and puff like a crippled hunter. The papers called her 'the beautiful
+and accomplished leader of Chicago society.' I tell you, old man, she is
+the girl for you; she'll enliven your weary hours."
+
+Another laugh greeted this effusion, but Van Vort felt compelled to
+interpose an objection. "I don't believe any of you fellows know the
+first thing about the West," he said. "Your ideas are bounded by Bar
+Harbor on the north and Washington on the south, and as for their
+western limits, they don't extend beyond Orange County."
+
+"Come, old chap, you're getting into deep water. Didn't I tell you I had
+been in Chicago?" objected Waterman.
+
+"You went out West after chickens, and you didn't get beyond a Minnesota
+shooting club. As for Chicago, you admit that you were there on a muggy
+day and didn't stir two squares from an hotel which, I wager, wasn't the
+best in the place. As for the people, one of the best mannered women I
+ever met came from Chicago."
+
+"Who was she?" Duncan interrupted. "If there is anybody decent in the
+place I want to know her."
+
+"Her name is Mrs. Sanderson. I met her in Washington last winter. Her
+uncle was in the State Department and she was visiting him. She had a
+friend with her who is also from Chicago, I think, and they both of
+them were better read and had less affectation than any women I have met
+for a year, at least."
+
+"That sounds encouraging," replied Duncan. "I think I have heard Sibyl
+Wright talk about that Mrs. Sanderson. If there is any sport in Chicago
+I am bound to have it. My old college chum, Harold Wainwright, has been
+living out there for three years and he must know the town by this
+time."
+
+"I say, Duncan, won't you have some more liquor? You need it to fortify
+your nerves for that voyage of discovery."
+
+"I think you are right, Roland," Duncan replied. "By Jove, though, I
+don't believe I have time; I have got a date before dinner."
+
+"Oh, yes you have; just one more for luck. Here, waiter, take the
+orders."
+
+The glasses were soon removed and freshly filled ones took their place.
+"When are you off?" said Waterman.
+
+"To-morrow on the 'Limited'" was the reply.
+
+"Then let's drink to the great Duncan and his success among the
+pork-packers," said Howard-Jones.
+
+The four men quickly drained their glasses and Duncan took a hurried
+leave of his friends. "Good-by, Duncan, good-by," were the exchanged
+partings. Duncan hurried through the hall, hailed a cab at the door,
+gave an uptown address to the driver, jumped into the cab, and was off.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+CROSS FIRE.
+
+
+Duncan was dressing. It was already five minutes past the hour named for
+dinner on his invitation, but if Duncan were not late at dinner, it
+would deprive the guests of one stock topic of conversation, and he had
+never yet been so inconsiderate. No one waited for him, and when he
+finally appeared with some trumped up excuse, it was greeted with a
+round of laughter, and served to enliven the naturally trifling _entree_
+conversation; so no one,--least of all the hostess,--blamed him. One who
+has been in an engine house when an alarm of fire is turned in can form
+some idea of Duncan's dressing accomplishments. There were, to be sure,
+no clanging gongs, stamping horses, and scurrying, half-dressed men, but
+there was the same instantaneous assumption of perfect order out of
+bewildering chaos. His servant was his faithful assistant, and when
+Duncan's steps were heard upon the stairs, he would seize a shirt in
+one hand and a pair of trousers in the other, which he held waiting for
+the arrival of his master. Duncan would make a wild rush through the
+door, and his top coat, coat and waistcoat would fly across the room at
+random, while Parker pulled off one pair of trousers and assisted him on
+with another. A dive into a face bath would give Parker time to change
+the odds and ends in Duncan's pockets; while on would go the shirt, and
+the tie would be adjusted and his hair smoothed while the servant
+replaced the muddy boots with evening shoes. Coat and waistcoat would go
+on together, hat, umbrella and overcoat be seized, and off Duncan would
+start in the official time of three minutes and seventeen seconds.
+
+On the present occasion he desisted from his dressing long enough to
+read a small, blue note which he found upon his dressing table. It was
+worded as follows: "The coast is clear at nine, and will be so till
+after midnight. I will see you if you come." There was no signature or
+address. It had been left by a maid in the usual way, so Parker said,
+but even unsigned and non-committal as it was, it did not please
+Duncan. "I wish I could forget that woman," he muttered to himself. "But
+I suppose I will be there and play the fool, just as I always do. I have
+a mind to break away from her, though." Then, turning to Parker, he
+continued audibly, "I am going to Chicago to-morrow morning. Have my
+portmanteau and shirt box packed. You know about what I want, but put in
+plenty of shirts as I may be gone some weeks."
+
+"Very good, sir," replied the taciturn Parker. "Hi suppose you will want
+your hulster for the journey, sir."
+
+"Yes," replied Duncan; then putting on his coat and hat, and seizing a
+pair of gloves and a stick, he rushed down the stairs without stopping
+for that apartment elevator which was never running, jumped into the cab
+he had left waiting, and was off uptown to his dinner. He was only half
+an hour late but his rudeness was punished, for he was placed between a
+debutante and a dowager, and condemned for two mortal hours to endure
+alternately insipid zephyrs and chilling blasts of small talk.
+Stiff-backed chairs were there and stiff-backed people were in them.
+Shaded candles threw a flickering light upon a mass of plate and
+flowers, bonbons, almonds, fruit and glasses. Around the table was a
+circle of bare necks and diamonds, white shirts and ties; and behind the
+chairs solemn footmen silently moved from place to place passing the
+endless courses. Some of the guests were bright and others solemn; some
+brilliant and others stupid; but they were the component parts of a
+fashionable dinner. There was a banker, a broker, a yachtsman, a
+diplomat, a merchant, and a sprinkling of dawdling men of leisure, and
+their wives, daughters, and cousins. The forks rattled and the tongues
+clattered, while each strove to hide his inner nature behind an
+effective pose. The clever succeeded and the stupid failed. Coffee was
+brought; the women arose, a man or two sprawled beneath the table to
+find some fan or glove, and then the women filed slowly out to gossip
+and dissect their neighbors, and the men remained to drink and smoke and
+drink again, while a ribald wag related some choice but scandalous tale,
+and ardent sportsmen took sides in vain disputes about the "Poseidon's"
+time allowance and "Salvador's" Suburban chances.
+
+Duncan was moodily indisposed for banter or dispute. His buoyant and
+careless spirit seldom deserted him, but this dinner only claimed his
+presence because his senior partner was the host, and none of his
+_intimes_ being there, he fell readily into a state of passive
+ill-humor. He dosed over his glass of port, carelessly puffed his cigar
+and occasionally proffered an opinion with a superior air incited by his
+social ascendency over most of the men present. Duncan Grahame was a man
+whose dominant characteristic was assurance, tempered only by an
+intuitive knowledge of the social amenities. He was often bold but never
+vulgar. He was rude in the manner of most society men, but his rudeness
+was a pose prompted by the mannerisms of the age, and designed, as was
+his coat, after the latest London model. He possessed the rare fortune
+of being considered handsome both by men and women. His beauty was of
+the vigorous type, which wins admiration by its manliness rather than
+its perfection. His eyes were great, grey wells, which gave to women a
+Narcissus-like reflection of their own impulses. They charmed by their
+seeming sympathy, but were really the artful tools of conscious power.
+To most men's minds curly hair is a blemish which barbers' shears and
+bristly brushes may remove, but to women Duncan Grahame's short; crispy
+black curls were a seldom failing charm. Although his eyes might deceive
+even one who knew the countless evidences of breeding and career, his
+mouth, partly hidden by a short moustache, betrayed the hard,
+unmistakable markings of indulgence, and a student of life would have
+mentally described him by the trite, though significant expression, "a
+man of the world." And such was Duncan Grahame,--no better and no worse
+than scores whose names adorn the blue books of metropolitan life. There
+was once a time, not many years before, when he had been an innocent and
+confiding boy. He had gone to school and then to college,--a dangerous
+experiment at best, but, with a boy like Duncan, who had been brought up
+within the strictness of a Connecticut home and turned upon the world
+without a knowledge of it, pretty sure to result as it had turned out in
+his case. It was the old story of weakness, ignorance, and a desire to
+emulate his upper classmen and be a man. The first step was not taken
+without a struggle, but one by one the cards of which the Puritan moral
+structure was built were blown away, and, left without support, the
+edifice collapsed. What other result could be expected? His Christian
+ethics were but the expurgated teachings of the pulpit, tempered by
+dogmas and doctrines, and in his home the faintest whisperings of the
+real world brought blushes to his parents, and stilted, meaningless
+words of warning. His first intimations of worldly ways were gathered
+surreptitiously in the streets, and his first knowledge of the nature of
+sin came with the temptation. The struggle was brief; perhaps it was as
+strong as could be expected; and soon he was the careless, fearless
+leader of the mischievous, rollicking set to be found in every college.
+He became, he thought, a man, and knew the world. He left college and
+after two years in London and Paris came to New York. His family was
+excellent, his appearance attractive, his manners good, and his
+assurance unbounded,--all that was needed, except money, to win social
+success in the metropolis. Money he did not have, but he resolved to
+make it, so into Wall Street he went, and was so successful there, that
+at the end of three years he became the junior partner of a great
+brokerage house and was entrusted with the furtherance of many delicate
+schemes. In society he had won his way to a leadership in not the best,
+but the best advertised, set in New York. The plunge into the cold
+torrent of Wall Street deception was sufficient to chill even a stronger
+optimistic ardor than Duncan's, but when he was carried on into the
+whirling, flashing eddies of smart society, only to be left shivering
+upon the cruel reefs of selfishness and debauchery, every chivalrous
+sentiment was gone, and when he gathered courage for the second plunge,
+it was as a designing, selfish disciple of utility.
+
+To return to the dinner. The men had left their coffee and cigars and
+the lucky ones had singled out attractive adversaries, with whom to
+thrust and parry bright, sharp phrases in those exhilarating
+practice-bouts of love, sure to precede the desperate encounters where
+mask and buttoned foil are cast aside. Others, to whom fortune was less
+kind, were striving to cull from unsympathetic neighbors some evidences
+of interest and intelligence, or had resigned themselves to the
+melancholy fate of being bored. Duncan wandered restlessly about awhile.
+He found no one to interest him, and being too selfish deliberately to
+resign himself to another dowager, he remembered that his intended
+journey to the West offered a plausible reason for retiring, so, making
+his excuses to the hostess, he took his departure, feeling, as he folded
+his muffler about his neck and buttoned his great-coat, that for a
+successful dinner more depends on the choice of guests than the choice
+of wines.
+
+The little blue note found upon his dressing table turned his steps
+still farther uptown. The thaw of the afternoon was over; it was
+snowing, and cold blasts blew the flakes against his face, biting his
+cheeks and chilling his humor, so that when he had trudged the three
+squares he had to go, he felt the ill-temper which a raw wind invariably
+produces in one whose moods change with the barometer. He approached the
+particular flight of brown stone steps he sought, and observing that
+the street both ways was free from passers, and that the curtains of the
+adjoining houses were drawn, he ascended and rang the bell; a servant
+soon opened the door and he entered quickly. The door closed, and,
+instead of darkness and snowflake blasts, there was warmth and light,
+and a pretty woman standing just inside the drawing-room door, murmuring
+playfully in a soft tone: "Duncan, you cold, naughty fellow, I was
+willing to lay a dozen bottles of Houbigant that this wind would have
+blown away what little was left of your flighty heart."
+
+"Don't chaff me. I'm in no mood for it. I wish you had sat out a stupid
+dinner and afterward had tramped three blocks in the snow."
+
+"I actually believe that the usually serene nature of Mr. Duncan Grahame
+is a trifle, that is to say only a trifle, ruffled," she ironically
+replied. "I fancied that while Henry Stokes Osgood, Esquire, whom the
+laws designate my lord and master, was attending the Yacht Club
+election, Mr. Grahame might deign to amuse me. If I was not mistaken,
+his lordship, when he has removed his outer garments, can find me in the
+back drawing-room."
+
+Duncan was left standing in the hallway. He had silently permitted her
+to retire because he had been unable to find a ready reply to her words.
+He had made up his mind to be disagreeable, and it angered him to have
+his guns silenced after the first fire.
+
+He was in the habit of bullying women, but such tactics had invariably
+proved useless against Helen Osgood. When he was away from her he felt
+ashamed to think that her's was the stronger nature. He fancied, at
+times, that he did not care for her, and was resolved for policy's sake
+to break away from her influence, but each attempt of his to anger her,
+instead of producing tears and pleadings, ended, as he feared this
+would, in a meek surrender on his part. "That woman understands me," he
+muttered as he removed his great-coat. He was never sure of his ability
+to read her subtle blue-black eyes; even her soft, olive cheeks never
+changed their delicate shading, and her thin, languid lips were often
+determined and cold. Her hair was of a lustreless black, and her figure
+was delicately, but superbly, formed. She was the blended type of Celt
+and Creole, her father being Scotch and her mother of Louisiana French
+descent. In her the cold cunning of the North bridled the reckless
+warmth of the South. Her acts were prompted by impulse but masked by
+design, and if Duncan seemed at times to reach her Southern heart, the
+canny Scotch nature quickly veiled her feelings, and he was left at a
+loss to know whether he had inspired passion or merely aroused
+amusement.
+
+But it was not his nature to analyze deeply or reflect long. He removed
+his coat, walked slowly down the long hallway, and entered the back
+drawing-room door. Mrs. Osgood was gracefully ensconced in the corner of
+a divan from the Orient, and her eyes were fixed apparently upon the
+latest work of Paul Bourget. A tall, bronze lamp was at her side and its
+rays were tempered by a carefully selected shade of the most becoming
+tinge. The other lights were dimmed, and beyond could be seen the
+subdued forms of graceful plants, while beneath her feet the yielding
+fur of an Arctic bear half hid two tiny bronze-tipped slippers and just
+enough of scarlet silk.
+
+Duncan stood silently before her. Uncurbed natures are the most
+capricious, and as he gazed his anger turned to admiration, and he
+softly sat down beside her, took her hand, and said winningly, "Nell,
+dear, let's be friends."
+
+She pushed him away, and with a quick, proud toss of her head coldly
+said, "Not till my lord Duncan has humbly sued for pardon."
+
+"Pardon for what?"
+
+"For intended flight to the West without permission and leave-taking."
+
+"Am I not, then, the master of my actions?" Duncan replied in a somewhat
+ruffled tone.
+
+"Not if you expect my favor." Then, lowering her large, black eyes, and
+pointing authoritatively to the floor, she continued: "Down on your
+knees and confess you were attempting to act without my knowledge."
+
+Duncan started angrily. He was nettled at the tone of authority she
+assumed, so he replied: "I will do nothing of the kind. I see no reason
+why my actions should be accounted to, much less pardoned by, you."
+
+"You big, foolish fellow," she laughingly said. "You have been spoilt by
+women. You expect that a declaration of independence delivered with so
+much bluster will anger me. Down on your knees and ask forgiveness."
+
+Duncan jumped to his feet and paced the floor. He was too angry to speak
+at first, but he finally said in defiant tones: "I should think that my
+intended departure without your being informed of it, would be
+sufficient to advise you that your possible feelings on the subject were
+of supreme indifference to me."
+
+"Indeed!" she replied, carelessly tossing aside the Bourget novel. "So I
+am to infer that Mr. Duncan Grahame, being weary of the woman upon whom
+he has previously pretended to bestow his favors, imagines that the
+easiest, and of course the most manly, way to rid himself of her is
+surreptitiously to steal away and leave her to discover his change of
+heart as best she can. Very well, so be it. But I really wish you would
+not molest that poor bear's head with the toe of your boot. If you have
+no regard for me, you should, at least, consider the feelings of my
+rug."
+
+She quietly commenced reading her book, and the careless and continued
+tapping of the little bronze-toed slipper on the rug seemed to emphasize
+her apparently complete absorption in the words of the French romancer.
+There is no man--or woman either--who will not chafe under the strain of
+indifference, and Duncan was no exception to the rule. Open war he
+relished, but to be dismissed with peremptory coldness when he had
+intended to be the aggressor was humiliating to the strongest sentiment
+of his nature, his pride. He silently watched her, trying, meanwhile, to
+formulate some plan of action. Angry words rose to his lips but were
+checked by prudence. He had lost his temper too much, he thought. His
+eyes carelessly wandered toward the book she was reading; "Coeur de
+femme" were the words printed across the yellow cover leaf. "If that
+Frenchman understands his subject," he thought, "she will read somewhere
+in that book that a woman's heart adores its master and detests its
+slave. Bourget is an analyst of nature, they say. Could he teach me
+more than that submission can never be success. Thank you, Monsieur
+Bourget; your yellow cover has given me an idea." Then, assuming an air
+of mock humility, he said: "I have been waiting to hear if you have
+anything further to add to your discharge."
+
+She slowly raised her eyes from her book and said coolly, "Nothing
+whatever. I think you understand me perfectly; if you are satisfied I
+am." Then she turned again to the book, apparently vexed at the
+interruption.
+
+"Very well," he replied. "Since the understanding is mutually perfect,
+please accept the conventional expressions of leave taking, and permit
+me to say 'adieu'."
+
+"That is a favor you can easily obtain," she replied. "But pray spare me
+the task of calling a servant; this book is intensely amusing, and I
+feel sure you know all the doors of the house."
+
+"By Jove, you are a keen one," Duncan muttered to himself; then he
+slowly walked to the door, put on his coat, took his hat, turned up his
+collar, opened the door, and descended the steps. "That woman," he
+thought, "is a sportsman to the bone, but it will do her good to leave
+her for a while. She's a thoroughbred, though, and I wish I didn't love
+her."
+
+Mrs. Osgood listened quietly until the door had shut and the sound of
+his steps had died away. "So he expected me to act like a school-girl,"
+she said, half aloud. "Some women are fools, I suppose. I am glad he did
+not bluster any more. I hate a man who loses his temper. So, Mr. Duncan,
+you want to leave me. You have my permission; but you will soon be back,
+and then perhaps you will hear me tell you that I--no you won't, for I
+want to keep your handsome, curly head all for myself."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+TWO WOMEN.
+
+
+We have all seen a manly young fellow go up to college. Full of life and
+vigor, he sees the world before him; but the thought of all its battles
+rouses no fear in his young heart, and, though his pranks are boyish and
+his manners rough, he stumbles good humoredly and persistently on into
+success. His upper classmen patronizingly smile upon him, while his
+natural enemy, the Soph, taunts and teases him, but is sometimes brought
+down and punished by his strong, young arms. Youthful, growing Chicago
+reminds one of this college boy. She has left the school of preparation
+and has taken her place among the great cities of the earth, where, full
+of energy and life, she is fighting her way to the front. Her mature
+colleagues of the Old World smile patronizingly at her efforts, but
+doubt her powers; while the cities of the East, seeing in her a young
+rival, taunt and ridicule her with jealous anger. She is young; but
+strong and active; and if she is sometimes carried away by the very
+energy of her youth, she is never daunted, and the older cities of the
+East have already felt the vigor of her sinewy grasp. Chicago, with her
+broad avenues and stupendous buildings, her spacious parks and stately
+homes, her far-reaching railways and towering chimneys, her bustling
+marts and busy, surging crowds of active men and women, is the archetype
+of American energy,--the creation of yesterday and the marvel of to-day.
+But the mortar is scarcely dry and the stones are still undimmed by
+time. She is as the mason, the carpenter, and the builder have left
+her--crude and fresh, without the dignified stains of age, without the
+majestic polish which time alone can give. Her social structure, like
+her brick and mortar buildings, is solidly laid and firmly built, but
+new. Her people built Chicago and she is the best memorial of their
+energy. They are still young and vigorous; in them the ardor of the
+pioneer is scarcely dead; the lethargy of long-held wealth has yet to
+come.
+
+In the library of an imposing, but new, grey stone mansion on Chicago's
+Lake Shore Drive two women were dawdling together over Petrarch's
+"Canzoniere" in the original. A well-thumbed dictionary was in the lap
+of one, and by the other's side lay Volume IV. of Symond's "Renaissance
+in Italy." It was cold January, and the broad, low window showed the
+angry lake dashing against the great sea wall and splashing the
+sparkling spray far over the roadway. The moaning north wind furiously
+rattled the long casements and sent occasional puffs of smoke and
+cinders out from the brightly blazing hearth fire; but these outward
+signs of winter were unable to affect the inviting coziness of the
+apartment. Fortunately the decorator's work had stopped at the walls;
+so, although artistically arranged, it was also a room to live in.
+Though the chairs were carved to match the panels, they were
+also--pardon the term--sittable; and though the bindings on the low
+book-shelves blended well with the tapestries and rugs, the books
+themselves were readable. The same judgment which had chosen the books
+had selected bronzes and porcelain, tiles and tapestries, and the
+tasteful arrangement of the art objects at once bespoke the dilettante.
+
+The elder student of Italian lyrics, glancing up from the "Rime in vita
+e morte" said interrogatively to her friend: "I wish I knew, Florence,
+whether Madonna Laura were once a living woman or merely the divine
+creation of the poet's soul."
+
+"I am sure she must have been a fancy," the other replied. "She is too
+ideal for flesh and blood, and besides, she was married. I don't think
+it is natural for any man so sincerely to love another man's wife."
+
+"You horrid girl! You forget that Petrarch was a poet."
+
+"No, I don't, my dear Marion; but so were Shelley, Byron, de Musset, and
+scores of others. The same broad collar and velvet jacket often cover
+both an artistic temperament and a fleshly nature. Now I, for one, don't
+believe in pardoning in genius what we condemn in mediocrity. If Laura
+was an inspiration of Petrarch's soul, the poet has my admiration; if
+she was merely another man's wife with whom he was enamored,--no matter
+how delightfully he may have sung of her,--I lose respect for
+Petrarch."
+
+"You have no appreciation of the beautiful, Florence."
+
+"I appreciate the beautiful, but I also respect virtue. There is enough
+that is beautiful in this world but not enough that is good."
+
+"O, you Philistine. How can you go on reading these exquisite lyrics and
+not soar above Puritan casuistry in the enjoyment of beauty for its own
+sake?"
+
+"You misunderstand me, my dear. I never said that I did not appreciate
+the beauties of this rhythm and the subtleties of this language. What I
+mean is that I see no reason why a poet's errors should be pardoned
+because his quatrains are above criticism. Now Petrarch, by his own
+confession, was not exceptionally well-behaved, but whatever his morals
+may have been they should not be judged by his lyrics. Nor, for that
+matter, should his lyrics be judged by his behavior."
+
+"You have lived in a New Hampshire village too long to view the world
+through the broad lenses of cosmopolitanism."
+
+"I have been away from a New Hampshire village long enough to look
+through the sordid spectacles of worldliness, and I was glad enough to
+return to my Puritan blue glasses."
+
+"Stop talking such nonsense, Florence. I don't believe a word of it.
+Here you are not quite twenty-four years old. You have had the same
+education I had; we went to the same school, studied the same books,
+lived in the same room, traveled about Europe together for nearly a
+year, met the same people, have almost the same tastes, and have spent a
+winter in Washington together, to say nothing of our countless letters
+to each other in the interim. The only real difference between us is
+that you were born in Fairville and I in Chicago, that I am married and
+you are not, and that I am fourteen months your senior; yet with all
+this affinity of tastes and education, you deliver a bit of
+straight-laced Calvinism which makes me shudder and smell sulphur and
+roasting flesh."
+
+"I deny the implied accusation, although, if finding fault with the
+recklessness of life of the present day constitutes being a Puritan, I
+fear I shall be compelled to plead guilty. They say one's face is an
+index of one's character, so I suppose mine is as long as the one
+hundred and nineteenth Psalm, and as narrow as it is long."
+
+"No, Florence, you are a dissembler, for your sparkling blue eyes,
+bright cheeks, and soft brown hair are more Parisienne than Puritan, to
+say nothing of those white teeth and that sweet little mouth. No, my
+dear, there is nothing narrow about your face; in fact, I think it is
+almost round enough for a Breton peasant."
+
+"You cruel woman! I shall never forgive you for such an insulting
+remark. You could say nothing worse except to call me buxom. I know I am
+not classic, or antique Etruscan, or Ptolemaic, but I don't think you
+need tell me to my face that I am _paysanne_."
+
+"Don't lose your temper, dear. If I told the truth, I should say that
+your beauty is of that charming eclectic type which only America can
+produce. Intelligence and fidelity shine in your deep blue eyes, and any
+woman would give ten years of her life for your coloring, to say nothing
+of your superbly tall figure."
+
+"I feel a trifle better, but I can't quite forgive you for the round
+face."
+
+"If Miss Florence Moreland is still provoked, she may have revenge by
+telling me exactly what she thinks of my personal appearance and
+character as interpreted by my features."
+
+"Mrs. Roswell Sanderson is most formal, but I assure her that if I
+speak, it will be to tell the truth."
+
+"Come, Florence, I am really in earnest, and I promise not to be angry.
+I should so like to know exactly what you think of me."
+
+"I think you are the dearest friend I ever had, and I don't intend to
+lose you by criticism."
+
+"Nonsense, Florence, I promise not to be angry, and I feel that it will
+actually do me good."
+
+"Well, if you will hear things quite as disagreeable as 'the round
+face,' here goes. I shall begin with your eyes. I believe novelists call
+them the lanterns of the soul. You have superb, dreamy, black eyes; eyes
+to fill a woman with envy or a man with love,--but they are both
+absent-minded and ambitious; they show a restless longing after
+unattained hopes. In other words, they are dissatisfied and cold, but
+from an artistic standpoint that only enhances their attractiveness."
+
+"You horrid creature! But I promised to be quiet, so go on."
+
+"So much for the eyes; now the nose. It is exquisitely moulded and
+classic. I shall dismiss the nose as perfect."
+
+"O, thank you so much."
+
+"Now the mouth. It has a cupid's bow and it droops at the corners. I
+like your mouth, but I think it also looks dissatisfied. An artist would
+rave over it, but when his eyes fell on that transparently white
+complexion, and that glossy hair so artistically knotted at the back, I
+am sure he would think you were a creation of Phidias lost from the
+Elgin rooms of the British Museum. If you did call me eclectic, I must
+admit that your type is pure, unalloyed Greek; but I won't let you off
+altogether, for I consider your figure a trifle too stubby. Does that
+pay you up for 'the round face'?"
+
+"I promised to keep my temper, so I will spare you; besides, I must
+confess that I did not come off so badly after all. 'The creation of
+Phidias' was quite flattering; but what makes you think I look
+dissatisfied?"
+
+"I am sure you should not look so, for of all women in the world you
+have the least to make you discontented."
+
+"O, Florence, don't talk that way. You, who have been my best friend and
+my only confidante, ought to know that even the brightest surroundings
+have their shadows." Then Marion looked out over the angry, grey waters,
+and Florence saw in her deep, black eyes just the dissatisfied, longing
+look she had described.
+
+"I think," said Florence, "that what you call shadows on your bright
+surroundings are but tarnish which neglect has left there. A little
+extra care will make all bright."
+
+"I want sympathy, not sermons, Florence. I was brought up on texts and
+tracts, and the Westminster catechism was my daily nourishment."
+
+"Why, Marion, dear, I don't want to preach; I want to help you; but it
+is hard for me to understand why you should not be perfectly happy. Your
+husband adores you; he is rich and denies you nothing; you are a leader
+in society, young, handsome and admired. What more do you want?"
+
+"I don't know, I really don't. If some fairy queen were to appear in a
+blaze of light and spangles out of that coal-scuttle and promise to
+fulfill any wish, I should be at a loss to tell her what I really want,
+but I am not happy. To myself I find fault with everything and
+everybody. Some people bore me, some people upset my nerves; at times I
+feel utterly lifeless, and at times I get into such a state of mind that
+I almost scream, and all over nothing at all. When I go out and meet the
+same old set over and over again,--and such a narrow, prosaic set at
+that,--it seems as though I should fairly go mad. What I want is a
+change. I am perfectly contented away from this depressing place. When I
+was in Washington last spring, I felt almost like another woman; in fact
+I don't believe it is anything but the provincialism of Chicago which is
+putting me in such states of mind."
+
+"Don't be foolish, Marion. As though such a cause could make you
+discontented. If it does, then you don't appreciate your native city. I
+like Chicago and I would rather visit here than in any place I know."
+
+"Perhaps it is because your old friend, Harold Wainwright, lives here,"
+said Marion insinuatingly. Just a tinge of color rose in her friend's
+cheeks, but she did not reply, so Marion continued: "You don't have to
+live here nine months in the year, and you don't know all the
+intricacies and peculiarities of our society."
+
+"Perhaps I don't, but to me the peculiarities are all in Chicago's
+favor. I love the go-ahead spirit, and I love the lack of affectation
+among the people one meets."
+
+"The go-ahead spirit you love," Marion replied, "is but an insatiable
+craving for the 'mighty dollar', and the lack of affectation resolves
+itself into a lack of _savoir faire_."
+
+"Why, Marion, how can you say such things. You have friends here with as
+much knowledge of the world as any one."
+
+"Yes, but how many? Perhaps fifty, or be liberal and say a hundred, and
+they were all brought up away from Chicago, or, like myself, have lived
+away from here a good many years of their lives. If they remain here
+long enough they will stagnate like the natives."
+
+"You unpatriotic rebel. I have almost a mind to denounce you to the
+people you are slandering."
+
+"I am not slandering them. I am only speaking my convictions. You think
+I am captious, but I merely understand the subject, and I ought to, for
+heaven knows I have had a long enough experience. One has the choice
+here between parvenu vulgarity and Puritanic narrow mindedness. The one
+makes us the butt of the comic papers and the other is simply
+unbearable. I was brought up in the latter, and of course all ancient
+families,--that is to say, those dating from before the fire,--come
+under that eminently respectable classification, but I actually believe
+one would find the pork-packers more distracting."
+
+"What do you call Puritanic narrow-mindedness, Marion?"
+
+"I call it that carping sanctimoniousness which makes certain people
+throw up their hands in horror at the slightest appearance of advanced
+and civilized ideas. It is scarcely more than five years since a woman
+who wore decollete evening gowns was one of the chosen of Beelzebub, a
+warm meal on Sunday night was a sacrilege, and wine at dinner the
+creation of the Devil himself; but the people who hold such ideas will
+talk scandal by the hour while making red flannel shirts for heathen
+babies. I don't believe you know how a few of us have struggled to
+liberalize this city and raise its society a little above that of a
+country village."
+
+"You are too bitter, Marion."
+
+"No, I am not. You should have witnessed the tussle I had with mama,
+before I was married, in order to get livery on our coachman, and to
+abolish the anachronism of a one-o'clock dinner."
+
+"It seems to me, Marion, that your criticisms apply to the Chicago of
+the past and not to the Chicago of to-day. I am sure I never endured a
+noon dinner, and as for the turn-outs one meets, many of them are quite
+as well appointed as one could desire."
+
+"I grant you that, but then it is the same limited few that have wrought
+all these changes, and, improved as the city is, we have had to overcome
+almost insurmountable prejudices. I grant you that Chicago has passed
+the chrysalis age. It is no longer a village but it is far from being a
+metropolis."
+
+"You have everything here which makes a city: opera, theatres, parks,
+drives, shops, art galleries, libraries, restaurants, and even races.
+What more do you desire?"
+
+"People, Florence; people. We want people with the instinctive sense of
+the fitness of things, people with refined tastes and cultivated minds,
+people whose souls are not bound up either in dollars or in psalms."
+
+"Why, Marion! I can name you, off-hand, twenty as advanced and
+cultivated people as I ever met."
+
+"Of course you can, and perhaps fifty more, but there you will have to
+stop. Three or four score of people do not make society."
+
+"If you talk that way I shall believe you are more bigoted than the
+sanctified families you have just described. I really believe you go
+about conjuring up imaginable faults in your friends merely to carry out
+your ideas."
+
+"Don't be nasty, Florence."
+
+"No, my dear, I love you too much for that; but it is really dreadful
+for you to get into such states of mind. I think I understand what you
+feel; you have led a nomadic existence, and you were educated in a
+different atmosphere. An acquaintance with three languages, a season in
+London, a winter in Washington, and a strong love of variety all combine
+to make you discontented with the life here. You want a kaleidoscopic
+existence, an ever shifting scene, and because you are here, a thousand
+miles from the nearest city worthy of the name, it is quite natural that
+you should tire of meeting the same people day after day. You think of
+London, New York, and Washington, where society is continually shifting,
+where new people come and go, where every one does not know or care
+about his neighbor's business; but, Marion, granting all this, are you
+not a little too bitter?"
+
+"Perhaps; but just think of the lack of _savoir faire_ that one finds
+here; the striving to do a thing correctly and missing it just
+sufficiently to ruin the effect."
+
+"That is a criticism which might be applied to American society in
+general. It is only a poor imitation of the English model. For my part,
+I almost wish we could go back to pumpkin-pie and Johnny-cake. I wish
+we could go 'buggy riding with our beaux' and 'spark in the back
+parlor.' It was all more original, and, what is more to the point, more
+American."
+
+"You fairly make me shudder, Florence. Where did you get such
+Jeffersonian ideas?"
+
+"In my New Hampshire home, perhaps; but despite my patriotism, I
+recognize that the buggy and the back parlor have gone never to return.
+I don't regret it, either, for I am just as fond of refinement as you
+are; but what I do object to is the introduction of extraneous ideas
+which are contrary to the spirit of Americanism. I love Chicago because
+it is fairly American, and represents more truly than the older cities
+the Yankee spirit which made us a free people. You may have vulgar
+parvenus here, but where are they not to be found? This may be the only
+large city where New England Puritanism affects society, but it is, at
+least, American, and better than European immorality. There may be only
+a few people here who are initiated into the esoterics of manners and
+manias, but how many good husbands, loving wives, and happy children
+are there among your rich! you may dine at seven o'clock and go to
+dances at ten; some of you may talk with a twang and pronounce _u_ like
+double _o_; but how many snobs and sycophants, how many unemployed and
+dissipated men, how many intriguers and gamblers have you in Chicago
+society? For my part I love refinement and _les petits soins_ as much as
+you do, Marion; but if we can't have the good of European life without
+the bad, if we can't cultivate manners without vices, better far go back
+to sewing bees and church sociables, and keep our morals pure; better
+have baked beans and blue laws than truffled capon and depravity. There,
+I feel quite exhausted, but I have had my say."
+
+"Really, Florence, you almost take my breath away. I have not heard such
+a screeching of the American eagle since I can remember. It ought to
+make me very much ashamed, I suppose, but somehow the flapping of the
+bird of freedom's wings never did inspire me."
+
+"I positively refuse to quarrel any more, but I do wish you could feel
+different; you would be so much happier," Florence replied.
+
+"O, it is of no use. I am discontented by nature, I suppose. My ideals
+are too high, my realities too low. Success among people of rank,
+reputation, and intellect, is what I desire; a position among merchants,
+manufacturers, and shop-keepers is what I have. For intellectual variety
+I read a few papers before the Renaissance Club, and meet such
+occasional notables as stop over here long enough to view the
+stock-yards. I am the wife of a Chicago banker with all the prerogatives
+of that position, but nothing more, and with no prospect of being
+anything more."
+
+"Nothing short of a coronet and a Court appointment would satisfy you, I
+fear. As for merchants and shop-keepers, all American society is
+composed mainly of them or their spendthrift children. But I am firm in
+my intention not to argue any more, so let us go back to Madonna Laura.
+If you want to feel better satisfied with Chicago, think about the
+sickening spectacle of Roman society at the time of Petrarch, and the
+futile efforts of his friend, Rienzi, to regenerate it."
+
+"We sha'n't have time either for reading or discussion before dinner.
+There is Roswell's key in the door, and he was never known to leave the
+office before six o'clock. What gown are you going to wear? Something
+charming, as usual; but don't forget that the drapery in the Auditorium
+is old gold plush."
+
+"Why, Marion, I had quite forgotten we were going to the Opera to-night.
+Tamagno in 'Otello': that will be a treat."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+IN AN OPERA BOX.
+
+
+A long and motley line of carriages was slowly arriving at the
+Auditorium entrance. A surging, gaping crowd was jostling the few
+policemen on duty and trying to catch a glimpse of the brilliant dresses
+of the women hurrying into the lobby. Long, furry wraps and covered
+heads, perhaps a gleam of hidden diamonds, were all they saw; but it was
+a passing glance into a forbidden, dazzling world. Footmen scurried,
+doors were slammed, horses stamped, and husky-voiced policemen called
+out orders to the coachmen. A long awning covered the carpeted walk, and
+electric lamps shed a brilliant light upon the muffled comers and the
+eager faces of the waiting crowd. It was not a wan, hungry crowd of
+starving beggars, such as often surrounds a foreign theater; it was not
+a silent, wondering crowd; but American-like, it was cheerful and
+humorous, envious, perhaps, but merry in its envy. It laughed and gibed
+at every novelty, and its jokes were shared alike by the smart English
+coachmen and the driver of the antiquated family "carry-all." It was
+impudent, too, but it was the impudence of the great Republic,--the bold
+assertion of freedom and prosperity.
+
+In the crowded lobby long lines of people were depositing wraps at the
+cloak-room windows, some were standing in little groups, and hundreds of
+others were passing up the grand marble staircase into the hall above;
+Libretto sellers' cries and the scurrying tread of many feet upon the
+hard mosaic mingled with the distant strains of music, and scores of
+glittering lights shone upon the marble walls, and the countless,
+brilliant dresses of the moving throng. On into the great hall the
+people went. Five thousand seats were being filled, and, tier above
+tier, they rose like a section of a Roman theatre. Two rows of boxes
+lined the sides. Delicate wall tints and carefully toned lights blended
+softly with pretty faces and many colored gowns. The colors were an
+artist's work and masterly was it done. Up from the stage rose a mass
+of faces. An unbroken multitude it was, grand and impressive. Down at
+the front a little man was frantically leading an army of skilled
+musicians, whose rhythmical efforts filled the noble audience-room with
+the overture of Verdi's masterpiece, and as the last note rolled far
+away, up into the balcony loft, and was lost amid the subdued
+whisperings and rustling programmes, the lights were dimmed, the stately
+curtain slowly rose, and ten thousand hands applauded a welcome to the
+great singer from distant Italy. Thousands of music lovers wonderingly
+listened to the amazing power and range of Tamagno's voice, hundreds
+stood at the back of the amphitheatre, and even the little swinging
+gallery away up in the eaves was crowded with humble enthusiasts. But
+there were a conspicuous few whose whisperings and laughter mingled with
+the artist's notes; a few whose bids were highest at the auction sale of
+boxes, and whose tardy, noisy coming accentuated their social prominence
+and exasperated every lover of good music and good manners.
+
+Among these was Mrs. Roswell Sanderson, who, with her husband, Florence
+Moreland, and Mr. Walter Sedger, had just entered a box, in the upper,
+left-hand tier.
+
+"What a superb audience-room," said Florence Moreland as she put aside
+her fur-lined cloak and took her opera glass out of its case. "How
+beautifully it lights up. I don't think I ever saw a finer sight."
+
+"Do you think so, Florence?" replied Marion Sanderson. "To me it is just
+like everything else Chicago produces, stupendous and gaudy. They have
+tried to make an opera house, a concert hall and a convention room, and,
+consequently, have produced a building which is neither fish, flesh, nor
+fowl."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Florence.
+
+"I mean that as an opera house it is a woful failure. They have shoved
+two tiers of boxes off at the sides and have given the entire house up
+to seats; they have put in a hideous organ where the proscenium boxes
+ought to be, and have invented all manner of machines for lowering the
+roof and shutting off the galleries; and as for those miserable little
+columns holding up that balcony, they are simply ridiculous."
+
+"Marion very seldom admires home productions," Roswell Sanderson
+interposed.
+
+"That is just the trouble," added Florence. "For my part I admire the
+progressive spirit which prompted the architect to depart from
+conventional ideas. If there are no boxes at the back, every one can see
+and hear, and I think that mass of people rising gently from the stage
+one of the most superb sights one could wish to see. The effects of the
+Paris and Vienna opera houses are not to be compared to it."
+
+"Don't be so disagreeably contradictory to all I say," retorted Marion.
+
+"I sha'n't for the present, dear, because I wish to hear some of that
+glorious music. You must not take what I say seriously."
+
+Then they were silent, for, unconsciously, they were brought under the
+spell of the great tenor's art.
+
+"What a divine voice that man has," said Florence, as the curtain slowly
+fell after the first act. "I fairly held my breath during that high _C_.
+Mr. Sedger, please applaud, and help bring him out. There he comes!
+Bravo, bravo, Tamagno!"
+
+"I did the best I could, Miss Moreland," Walter Sedger said, after the
+applause of two recalls had died away. "But do you really enjoy this
+music so much? For my part I prefer opera-bouffe."
+
+"I admire your frankness, Mr. Sedger," she replied. "There are so many
+people who adore Wagner because he is the fashion, and sneer at Verdi
+and the Italian school, when, if the truth were known, they have not the
+slightest conception of the good qualities of either. For my part I like
+any music from a hurdy-gurdy up, though an extended term of suffering
+under a German professor has finally produced a taste for such music as
+Verdi has given us in 'Otello', which seems to me quite as remarkable as
+some of Wagner's masterpieces."
+
+"Well, I am glad you enjoy it, Miss Moreland, but I fear my education
+did not extend beyond the 'Mikado' and 'Ermine'; so when it comes to
+grand opera I must confess my pleasure is confined to the _entre acte_.
+I love to see the people, and if it were not for being rude I think I
+should be tempted to run down to the club while the curtain is up."
+
+"You have my permission, Mr. Sedger, but tell me who is that
+good-looking man with Mr. Wainwright, coming down this way?"
+
+"He is a New Yorker; Duncan Grahame is his name. I met him at the club
+this afternoon."
+
+"What is he doing here? One always seems to ask what a stranger is doing
+in Chicago: I don't know why, I am sure."
+
+"He is out here on business in connection with an elevator trust. He
+seems to be a capital fellow, and, as he is a member of the Staten Club,
+I suppose he needs no further patent of respectability. But here he
+comes, so you can judge of him for yourself."
+
+The two men of whom they were speaking entered the box. Harold
+Wainwright spoke to the ladies and introduced his friend. Mrs. Sanderson
+offered Duncan a seat beside her and said: "I have heard of you quite
+frequently, Mr. Grahame, from a friend in New York, Miss Sibyl Wright,
+and I think you should be grateful for having such an enthusiastic
+admirer."
+
+"Doubly so considering that she is a woman and it was to you she spoke.
+I also have heard of you from scores of people in the East, and I made
+Wainwright introduce me at the first opportunity. I arrived only this
+morning, and I assure you I am quite without a guiding hand."
+
+"You make me smile and frown by turns," she replied. "I was tempted to
+feel flattered at the first part of your speech, but if it is a question
+of any shade in the desert, I shall not feel strongly inclined to offer
+you my protection in the Chicago wilderness."
+
+"I think it would be advisable to interpret my speech as a compliment,
+as I seldom make them."
+
+"Really, Mr. Grahame, I am tempted to call you rude."
+
+"It is not rudeness but frankness, I assure you, and I spoke the truth.
+I have really been most anxious to meet you, and now that my desire has
+been gratified I trust you will not be so cruel as to let the frown
+remain. There goes the curtain. I am going to beg permission to return
+after the next act."
+
+"You deserve punishment for your rudeness, so I refuse to grant it. As a
+penance for your offense I shall expect you to remain where you are
+during this entire act and devote your energies to amusing me."
+
+"I suppose I must submit, but please talk to me, as I am not bold and
+feel sure that your friend is a musical fiend who is quite prepared to
+cast furious glances at me should I be audacious enough to speak above a
+whisper."
+
+"I see you are an analyst of character."
+
+"Rather more of a synthesist, I imagine. I collect what both enemies and
+friends say of an individual and then build his character from those
+materials."
+
+"How horrible! I trust you will never try your method on me."
+
+"I have done so already."
+
+"You wretch! What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I have heard considerable about you in New York, and that I
+dined with six men at the City Club this evening. You were the one
+person in Chicago I was most desirous of meeting, so I managed to
+collect some most useful materials from which I have built my estimate
+of your character."
+
+"I must call that the boldest piece of assurance I ever heard of."
+
+"Why any more so than for me to judge you by my own impressions? My
+method is more judicial. As in a court of law, I hear both sides of a
+case, and do not permit myself to be biased by personal charms."
+
+"You are a clever pleader. I feel tempted to throw myself on the mercy
+of the court and receive its verdict."
+
+"Before the verdict can be given the court must be cleared of reporters;
+as that seems impracticable, sentence must be deferred."
+
+"Is it then so horrible? If so, I shall feel tempted to 'jump bail'."
+
+"I think you have nothing to fear; but how did you acquire such a
+knowledge of the law?"
+
+"At one time I had a passion for reading accounts of trials, and I even
+went with a party to see the Anarchists when they were on trial."
+
+"What a morbid curiosity!"
+
+"Another impertinence."
+
+"If it is so considered, I humbly ask pardon, and meanwhile I move that
+the court take a recess which shall be employed in instructing me in the
+intricacies of Chicago society."
+
+"I see you want more material with which to construct characters; if so,
+we had far better listen to the opera."
+
+"O, bother the opera! It is vulgar to listen to an opera; it shows a
+lack of conversational powers. Don't you think so?"
+
+"One can easily see that you came from New York, and, like all New York
+men, I suppose you expect to be pampered."
+
+"Of course I expect it, so please tell me about those people in the
+opposite boxes. You need not fear to speak the truth, as I am an entire
+stranger."
+
+"If I do, as a friend I shall expect you to let my opinions go no
+further."
+
+"_Cela va sans dire._"
+
+"You must first understand, then, that every man here has an employment.
+We have absolutely no 'unemployed rich'."
+
+"Idleness must be at a premium."
+
+"On the contrary it is tabooed. However, though we are all in trade we
+have distinctions as intricate as the most ancient aristocracy."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"In the peculiar meshes from which society is woven. For example: a
+wholesale dry-goods merchant is an aristocrat, a retailer a plebeian; a
+hotel keeper may be a lord, a restaurant keeper a commoner; a car
+builder is a prince, a carriage builder a burgher; a brewer may be a
+count, a beer seller a churl; and so on, although even if a member of a
+certain trade is in society, his _confreres_ may be without the pale."
+
+"Much the same as in New York, only there hotels and dry goods are
+commoners, while tobacco and skins are lords."
+
+"Yes, but at least society is older there. The skins have been buried
+for a generation or two."
+
+"In some cases, yes, but in others they are still uncured. I am a
+working man myself, and I must defend my class."
+
+"But surely you have respect for established institutions."
+
+"Yes, but not for dead ancestors. Suppose I search through the dusty
+archives of the Herald's College for a drop of Norman blood; I find that
+it was spilt on Saxon land by some hireling freebooter, or landgrabber,
+who followed at the heels of a conscienceless adventurer."
+
+"You are republican enough to please the taste of my friend, Miss
+Moreland."
+
+"I fear you misunderstand me. I am not patriotic, or republican, or
+anything else, for that matter."
+
+"Except the incarnation of contrariety."
+
+"I hate polemics, so I will cry _touche_ as one does in fencing after a
+thrust, and end the contest."
+
+"You mean you would rather thrust than parry. You men are all alike. You
+told the truth when you expressed a fondness for being pampered, and, as
+it is the duty of our sex to be compliant, I await your pleasure."
+
+"If I am to be so indulged, I confess to feeling a craving to hear the
+promised lecture about those people across the way."
+
+"I would willingly comply but that falling curtain says it must again be
+deferred. On second thought, perhaps it would be better to give you an
+object lesson, so if you will come and see me to-morrow about five, I
+will take you to a tea where you may meet them all and judge for
+yourself."
+
+"I see you mean to prevent my favorite method of character study. I fear
+you will succeed, as the enticing preventive you suggest cannot possibly
+fail to be effectual. I willingly submit to your cure and will come to
+you at the appointed hour."
+
+The fall of the act drop was followed by a confused fluttering of
+dresses and hum of voices; people stretched and rose, talked, or
+wandered toward the foyer, while hundreds of glasses were leveled at the
+boxes, and every one of mark or notoriety was scrutinized by hundreds of
+eyes and criticised by hundreds of tongues. Society was there paraded in
+two rows of little pens, labeled and ticketed at so many millions per
+head, to be gazed upon by the curious and envious of that great throng.
+Society was the operatic side-show, and society paid dearly for the
+privilege of being seen.
+
+"Do you like to be gazed at by a crowd, Mr. Grahame?" said Florence,
+after a momentary silence.
+
+"Yes, I think I do," he replied. "It makes one feel so superior to be up
+above, looking down on the 'madding crowd'."
+
+"Do you think so? I always feel like a caged animal at a menagerie,
+where each one who pays the admission fee can gratify the curiosity he
+has about me, and poke me with his umbrella if he does not like my
+looks."
+
+"How absurd; but I understand you are democratic in your feelings and
+object to class distinctions."
+
+"Not in the least; on the contrary I believe in them. Nature herself has
+decreed that no two creatures can be equal. What I object to are
+inflated distinctions which rest on no foundation, and collapse
+completely when pricked by sound opinion."
+
+"Miss Moreland believes in an aristocracy of merit," interposed Harold
+Wainwright.
+
+"Yes," replied Florence, "but where is it to be found?"
+
+"Not in a republic," retorted Duncan. "A democracy is a breeding ground
+of plutocrats."
+
+"Perhaps, when its Government discourages every intellectual pursuit,"
+replied Wainwright. He felt strongly the ungratefulness of republics, as
+his father had been a Federal judge on a miserly salary, with no pension
+after years of faithful service.
+
+"I quite agree with you, Harold," replied Florence, "and I only wish I
+were a man."
+
+"Why?" interposed Mrs. Sanderson, who had just finished interchanging
+polite platitudes with Walter Sedger.
+
+"So that I might express my views about the evils of our political
+system."
+
+"And be called by that expressive word which is not in the dictionary,
+'a crank'," said Duncan ironically. "That is the reward of a reformer."
+
+"John Bright and Wendell Phillips were both 'cranks' in their day," was
+the reply, "but I would not object to their reputation. By the way, here
+comes a 'crank' whom I almost love," she added, as a stout, kindly
+faced, elderly man, whose features wore the sweet expression of earnest
+and well guided intelligence, approached the box.
+
+"Who is he?" asked Duncan, following her eyes.
+
+"Dr. Maccanfrae, physician and philanthropist, missionary and moralist,
+and the dearest man in the world, besides," she replied. "He does more
+good in a day than twenty Poor Boards do in a week, and has more genuine
+Christian charity in his soul than a score of average parsons, although
+he is an evolutionist and a pantheist combined."
+
+"A most flattering description," said Duncan. "I hope he deserves such
+adulation."
+
+"He certainly merits it all," added Wainwright.
+
+Dr. Maccanfrae entered the box and Walter Sedger improved the
+opportunity to slip away and visit some friends. The Doctor spoke to
+Mrs. Sanderson, then moved toward the corner occupied by Florence
+Moreland, while Duncan dropped quietly into the seat left vacant by Mr.
+Sedger.
+
+"What can bring so industrious a man as Dr. Maccanfrae to the opera?"
+said Florence as the Doctor took the seat beside her.
+
+"The opera itself, Miss Florence. I am devoted to music and never lose
+an opportunity of hearing it well rendered. Isn't Tamagno doing grandly
+to-night?"
+
+Her reply was interrupted by the appearance of a tall, plainly dressed
+woman, who, pencil and paper in hand, entered the box door. Her face was
+refined, though careworn, and bore the mark of better days. She
+hesitated for a moment, as though realizing fully her intrusive calling,
+then advanced toward Duncan. "May I ask you, sir, to give the names of
+your party for the _Morning Stentor_?" she finally said.
+
+"What does she mean?" said Duncan, turning to Mrs. Sanderson for an
+explanation.
+
+"It is one of the peculiarities of Chicago life," she replied. "It is
+for to-morrow's society column."
+
+"And do you give them the information?" he asked.
+
+"O, yes, it is better to have it right, as they publish it anyway, right
+or wrong," she replied, and then she told the reporter the names.
+
+"Might I trouble you to describe your dress?" was the next question
+asked. "I am sorry to be so intrusive, but it is the city editor's
+orders, and we have to do the best we can."
+
+"You are a woman, and understand such matters, so I think you had better
+do that yourself," Mrs. Sanderson replied.
+
+The reporter thanked her and withdrew. When she had gone Duncan said
+wonderingly: "We have society reporters in New York, but they never go
+quite so far as to ask one to describe oneself. Who reads such
+particulars anyway?"
+
+"Ask Dr. Maccanfrae, he is wiser than I," she replied.
+
+"Dr. Maccanfrae, who should you say read the society columns of the
+newspapers?" he asked.
+
+"People who expect to find their names in print, and people who think
+their names ought to be in print, to say nothing of those who read
+society columns, as they do society scandals, in order to get a
+reflection of the tinsel and tarnish of an unknown world."
+
+"That must include a great portion of newspaper readers," replied
+Duncan.
+
+"Precisely; that is why society scandals and fashions occupy so large a
+portion of our papers," the Doctor replied. "But there comes the
+conductor, so I must get back to my place."
+
+"Won't you remain here, Doctor?" said Mrs. Sanderson.
+
+"No, I thank you. I only came in to pay my respects, and, as I have a
+musical friend with me, I must get back to him."
+
+The Doctor hurried away and the little man away down in front lifted his
+baton. Ninety musicians watched the beat of the first bar, and, as the
+baton fell, sixty bows moved in unison, and trumpets, horns, trombones,
+and reeds, added their strains, while the act drop slowly rose
+disclosing the great stage, gorgeously set as Otello's audience-chamber.
+
+"I must tell you an amusing tale about 'Otello,'" whispered Mrs.
+Sanderson to Duncan Grahame. "I was in Rome when the opera was brought
+out there, and went with the American minister and his wife. Revere was
+their name and they came from Tallahassee. He had been a congressman,
+but she had never been away from home until she went as the wife of our
+representative in Austria, so you can imagine her ignorance of the
+world. She watched the opera quietly until she noticed that the black
+Otello bore some relation to the white Desdemona. That made her hem and
+fidget, but when Otello embraced his wife, she put up her fan in
+disgust, and said indignantly to me: 'How outrageous! I assure you such
+conduct would not be tolerated in Tallahassee.'"
+
+Grahame laughed, and then they listened to the grand music of Verdi for
+a while, but it was not the opera which inspired their interest, for the
+subtle spell of similarity seemed to arouse the sympathy of kindred
+taste. Bright phrases and pleasing words flashed between them, and
+quickly another act passed. Again the people rose and talked, again
+visitors came to the box and uttered conventional insipidities. Finally
+Roswell Sanderson himself returned. He had passed the evening in the
+manager's office with some friends, but his wife did not even express a
+curiosity to know it. The curtain rose on the last act. "Come," said
+Wainwright to Duncan, "we must go back to our seats. Good-night, Mrs.
+Sanderson." "Good-night, Mr. Grahame." "_A demain_," said Duncan, and he
+was off. Another act of the opera was rendered, then the great house was
+slowly emptied, and hundreds of carriages bore their occupants away. The
+lights went out, the weary artists hurried home, the Auditorium was left
+cold, silent and deserted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+A CHALLENGE.
+
+
+Marion Sanderson's surroundings kept her in a continual state of
+irritation. Her fancy created an ideal life with harmonious environments
+and sympathetic friends, but the reality was what she termed "an utterly
+commonplace existence." From early childhood her parents and
+acquaintances had jarred upon her, so that her fanciful mind had carried
+on incessant warfare with her prosaic surroundings. Her father and
+mother were respectable representatives of practical Calvinism, who,
+endeavoring to make their child a pillar of the Church, had persistently
+combated her natural tendencies. For days at a time, during her younger
+years, the poor child would obediently follow the routine of prayer
+prescribed for her until worn out by the drastic Scotch tenets; then
+rebellious tears would flow, and she would permit some natural
+sentiments to escape from her impulsive heart. Such outbursts most
+frequently occurred on Sunday, and they invariably called from her
+mother's lips the time-tried reproof: "I think, Marion, you forget the
+day. Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy." Resentful and disgusted
+the child would expostulate, only to be frigidly denounced as one
+possessed of an evil spirit; then she would rush to her room and remain
+for hours sobbing and yearning for sympathy. "Fox's Book of Martyrs,"
+"The Church at Home and Abroad," and "Baxter's Saints' Rest" were her
+literary diet, but she managed to devour, surreptitiously, romance after
+romance, and her greatest pleasure was to live over, in fancy, the lives
+of those she had read about. Thus for fifteen years the restless child
+tugged unsuccessfully at the parental tethers till relief came from an
+unexpected quarter.
+
+Marion's mother, despairing of her child's spiritual welfare, decided
+curiously enough, to send her abroad to the care of her sister-in-law,
+the wife of the United States minister to France. This aunt, being a
+woman of broad sympathies and experience, questioned the girl about her
+education, and, finding that it had been confined to the three R's and
+the Westminster catechism, decided to send her to school. So Marion was
+forthwith ensconced in a select _pension_ patronized by the Faubourg St.
+Germain nobility. Here a new life was opened to Marion, and, freed from
+her childhood's restraints, she eagerly sought companionship with these
+girls of a different world. She learned a new language and new
+sentiments, and though novels were forbidden in the school, the pages of
+Balzac, Merimee, Sand and Gautier, surreptitiously read, fed her fancy
+with new impressions and created new aspirations. Florence Moreland was
+the only other American in the school, and to her Marion was attracted
+by the very oppositeness of her nature. The frank practicality and keen
+perception of Florence fascinated her, and although the two girls
+disagreed on most subjects, a warm affection always kept their hearts
+united.
+
+Marion left the _pension_ at the age of seventeen. By that curious
+process of expatriation which few but Americans can successfully
+undergo, her childhood's sentiments had been removed, and European ideas
+had been engrafted in their place. Her aunt, who during Marion's
+_pension_ days had vibrated between Paris and the Riviera, now took her
+for a few months of travel. Florence was invited to accompany them, and
+after making the conventional summer-garden tour of the Continent, they
+went to Nice for the winter. There the two girls studied Italian and
+mixed in the quasi Anglo-European society of the place--certainly not
+the best for a girl first to enter.
+
+The transfer of Marion's uncle to the English mission brought them to
+London, and they were just enjoying the excitement of a first season
+when Marion's parents ordered her home. A child when she left Chicago,
+she was now a woman. Her home, which had been uncongenial before, was
+now intolerable. Her life became a continual struggle against the
+prejudices of her parents. She longed to pull down the sombre
+drawing-room curtains and pitch the stiff-backed, haircloth chairs out
+of the window; but her father, though a millionaire, would brook no
+change. Still she struggled on, demanding an alteration in the dinner
+hour, wine at table and the discarding of the family carry-all. "Do you
+want me to open the house to Satan?" her mother asked in horrified
+tones. "I want you to be civilized beings and not anchorites," she
+replied. Her mother's friends were practically limited to the
+communicants of the Knox Presbyterian Church, but such a society only
+served to exasperate her more. To her the men were stupid slaves of
+business and the women narrow-minded prudes. There was a progressive set
+whose companionship she desired, but in her mother's mind they were the
+Devil's chosen, and were consequently forbidden the house. In
+desperation Marion sought relief and it came in the shape of a husband.
+Roswell Sanderson was vice-president of her father's bank, rich,
+prominent, and,--what was more to her,--liberal-minded. He asked her to
+be his wife, and, without analyzing her feelings further than the sense
+of gratefulness which she felt, she accepted him. After a brief
+engagement they were married and her new life began.
+
+Marion's husband was a country boy who had been sent to an Eastern
+college; and possessing American energy and perception in a marked
+degree, he rapidly won a place in the first rank of Chicago business
+men. He was a man of broad ideas and sympathies, but lacked the delicate
+veneer of manners which distinguishes the cosmopolite from the
+provincial. In Marion's eyes this fault soon became greatly magnified.
+His flat pronunciation and Western inflection, his cordial, unstudied
+manner and hearty laughter so mortified her that in the presence of
+those who were capable of recognizing his shortcomings, her manner
+became apologetic. His open-hearted frankness, which made him a friend
+of high and low, so rasped her ideas of convention that all sense of
+sympathy was destroyed, and her married life was no more congenial than
+that at home had been. Roswell never criticised her actions, so she was
+enabled to seek relief in society. She saw the gradual enlargement and
+improvement of Chicago but she was able to pick flaws in the struggles
+of society to break the shackles of provincialism, and she longed to
+hasten the _metropolizing_ process. Unlike Florence Moreland she could
+not admire the vigor and freshness of Western life, but permitted
+herself to suffer from intense mortification at the faults which others
+would have passed unnoticed. Marriage and society having failed to
+supply the happiness she desired, she turned to books. Her selections of
+reading, however, were destined to intensify her restlessness, for in
+the pages of Daudet, Bourget and de Maupassant she found the anomalies
+of human weakness painted in brilliant and exculpatory colors. The
+clever portraitures of these subtle analysts created a spirit which
+caused her to explain her eccentricities of feeling by comparison with
+the emotions described in their yellow-covered records. She became a
+disciple of the modern philosophy of introspection, which, unlike that
+of the stoic and anchorite, is not intended to humble desire, but to
+create a morbid craving for the unattainable. Recognizing that the
+absorbing passion of her life was yet to come, she scrupulously analyzed
+each impulse she felt and resolved it into infinitesimal atoms of
+feeling, which again were subjectively compared with the minutest
+details of her analytical romances. The consequence was that her
+emotions were kept in a state of continual irritation, and ordinary
+pleasures becoming less and less gratifying, a desire for new
+excitements and experiences was created. It was in such a state of mind
+that Florence Moreland had found her, and, since the latter's arrival in
+Chicago she had striven unsuccessfully to dispel the spirit of
+depression which had taken possession of her friend.
+
+On the afternoon of the day following the performance of "Otello,"
+Florence, cold and rosy from tobogganing, burst into the drawing room.
+She expected to find Marion in one of her moods, and she was astonished
+to find her dressed to go out and carelessly strumming on the piano.
+Marion looked up, and, seeing Florence, burst into laughter at her
+tousled locks and red cheeks. "You had better stand over the register
+and get thawed out," Marion remarked cheerfully; then, thumping the
+piano again, she continued: "How was the slide?"
+
+"Capital! and hundreds of people there," was Florence's reply. Then,
+wondering at Marion's sudden change of spirits, she added, "Are you
+going to the McSeeney's tea?"
+
+"Yes; I intend to take Mr. Grahame."
+
+"I suppose I shall have to get there the best way I can."
+
+"You can take the brougham. What do you think of him?"
+
+"Who, the brougham?"
+
+"No; Mr. Grahame, you silly."
+
+"O, he is like many New Yorkers, one-third clothes and two-thirds
+conceit. I asked him if he thought he should like Chicago, and, knowing
+I was from the East, he confidently replied: 'It is not New York, you
+know, but I suppose one can get used to anything in time.'"
+
+"I don't care, I like him," Marion replied.
+
+"Hush, here he comes," said Florence hurriedly.
+
+A servant announced Mr. Grahame, and as Duncan entered, Marion said in a
+somewhat surprised tone, "Are you always so prompt?"
+
+"No; it is quite a mistake, I assure you," he replied. "I will not be so
+vulgarly exact next time."
+
+"It is a provincialism quite permissible in the West," said Marion.
+
+"Indeed! But I have not yet said good afternoon," replied Duncan; "have
+you recovered from the dissipation of last evening?"
+
+"Quite."
+
+"And you, Miss Moreland?"
+
+"Look at her cheeks, Mr. Grahame," interjected Marion.
+
+"I see it is needless to ask about your health, Miss Moreland, but I
+trust I may say I admire your snow costume."
+
+"You must have a fondness for brilliant colors," said Florence.
+
+"Decidedly; shades and tints were made for funerals and frowns," he
+replied.
+
+"I don't like to interrupt," interposed Marion hurriedly, "but I fear it
+is time for Mr. Grahame and me to be going."
+
+"Are you not to accompany us, Miss Moreland?" said Duncan.
+
+"Not in this costume, certainly," laughed Florence.
+
+"Then I shall say _au revoir_."
+
+"Where am I to be taken?" said Duncan, as he and Marion descended the
+steps of the house.
+
+"To meet my most bitter enemy, Mrs. McSeeney," she replied.
+
+"I admire your courage," he said.
+
+"O, there is no danger of bodily harm, as we are quite on speaking
+terms; a sort of armed neutrality, you know."
+
+"Am I to be used as an offensive or a defensive weapon?" Duncan asked.
+
+"Neither; I shall use you as a flag of truce; but whatever happens don't
+you dare to say she is good looking or brilliant."
+
+"I promise," he answered, "but please tell me who she is and what she
+is."
+
+"You ought to know her; she is a New Yorker,--at least she was three
+years ago--her husband is the president of an elevated railway company
+and made her come here to live. She hates Chicago, and takes her revenge
+by saying disagreeable things about it. For some reason she has singled
+me out as the particular object of her antipathy and you can imagine
+there is no love lost between us. But here we are at her door, so I
+can't tell you any more."
+
+They had reached an awning-covered doorway where numerous carriages were
+arriving and depositing their occupants. They ascended the steps and
+were ushered into a crowded room where a well dressed throng were
+jostling about and trying to keep off one another's toes. Near the door
+Mrs. McSeeney was undergoing the laborious experience of greeting her
+friends, while about the room Mrs. Nobody could be heard cackling loudly
+and Mrs. Somebody peeping meekly, while Mr. Smart was smirking and Mr.
+Plain was awkwardly striving to interest ugly Miss Croesus. It was a
+prattling, garrulous society. The world over it is the same,
+differentiated by race and place, perhaps, but still society.
+
+Duncan was taken about and introduced to scores of people whose names he
+did not even hear. A smile here and a word there was all he had time
+for, but he managed to meet all "the people one should know," and, being
+a new man, caused a flutter of expectation among the women. "Who is he?"
+"What is he?" "Where is he from?" were the questions asked by all, but
+they scarcely received a satisfactory answer before Marion hurried
+Duncan into an adjoining room where numerous pretty girls were
+dispensing that universal anodyne of modern life, tea. What should we
+moderns do without tea? It is the prop of society, and without this
+precious Chinese plant we might still be cupping the sack, and beating
+our wives between the draughts. In fact a noted moralist has said that
+"tea has checked our boisterous revels, raised women to a new position,
+refined manners, and softened the character of men." Perhaps! but let a
+man with a full cup of tea, and the spoon balanced on the edge of the
+saucer, try to rise from a low chair and shake hands; then ask him what
+he thinks about the effect of tea on a man's character.
+
+After responding scores of times to the question, "How do you like
+Chicago?" with the reply, "I don't know," and after answering quite as
+frequently and in the same manner the question, "How long do you expect
+to remain here?" Duncan was finally rescued by Marion Sanderson and
+taken away.
+
+"You don't often have strangers here, do you?" Duncan gasped when they
+were outside. "I seem as much of a curiosity as a white man on the
+Congo."
+
+"Not quite so bad as that," Marion laughed, "though I must confess a new
+man is an attraction here, especially at a tea, where there are at least
+two women to every one of the other sex."
+
+"I suppose the natives are frightened away."
+
+"No, you wretch, they are all in business."
+
+"Lucky beggars."
+
+Marion gave him a side glance intended to be annihilating, and silently
+walked the few remaining steps. When they reached her door she stopped
+and said, somewhat coldly: "Won't you come in, Mr. Grahame?"
+
+"I certainly will, as I cannot leave with the mercury of your manners so
+low."
+
+"You surely do not fancy that you can make it rise."
+
+"I do," he said confidently.
+
+Marion looked at him scornfully, but it was an assumed scorn; as to
+herself she admitted a fondness for assurance like Duncan's. Florence
+Moreland would have called it presumption, but Marion felt that it
+indicated a strong nature worthy of careful analysis. Her manner was
+often the naivete of inexperience. She fancied that she knew the world,
+but her knowledge was theoretically culled from her yellow-covered
+romances. She frequently allowed men a freedom of speech which might be
+misunderstood at times, and excused herself by the thought that such
+carelessness became a woman of the world. She courted admiration
+because she felt it to be her due, and in her search for experiences of
+the world she often displayed an artlessness which was singularly liable
+to be misinterpreted by the men with whom she came in contact.
+
+Just inside the door on the right of the hall was a wee room decorated
+in _Louis Quinze_ style, and into this they went. Delicate and cozy,
+with a polished floor, a leopard's skin rug, soft tinted walls, white
+and gold woodwork, a tiny open fire, a brocade screen, a chair or two
+and a tete-a-tete seat,--it was, in fact, a delightful expression of
+Marion's taste.
+
+"Charming," said Duncan as he sat down opposite Marion on the
+tete-a-tete and looked about him.
+
+"I am glad something pleases you," she replied as she threw aside her
+jacket. "Your assurance amazes me," she continued. "Last night you told
+me you had been about collecting bits of gossip about me in order to
+understand my character, and now you coolly inform me that you are
+capable of influencing my feelings. I ought to detest you."
+
+Duncan silently looked with his large, grey eyes into her face for a
+moment and then said, "I wish you would."
+
+"Why?" she questioned wonderingly.
+
+"Because we might end by being friends."
+
+"A repellent manner of attracting, certainly," she replied.
+
+"Exactly! kindred natures always repel one another with a force equal to
+their subsequent attraction."
+
+"That sounds like a proposition in physics."
+
+"In metaphysics, perhaps," he answered. "It means that if we first
+quarrel we shall eventually become sympathetic friends."
+
+"Polemical enemies, I should say," Marion replied sharply.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I am not willing to admit I am of so changeable a nature," she
+replied.
+
+"A mediocre nature will never change; an uncommon one invariably does,"
+he said confidently.
+
+"Another slur."
+
+"A compliment, I should say, as your opinion of me will change."
+
+"On what do you base your presumption?" she said with assumed
+indignation.
+
+He was silent. She glanced about the room. It was nearly dark and the
+fire was flickering on the hearth. Unconsciously she looked up as
+though seeking an answer to her question. Again two grey eyes looked
+softly through the twilight into her own. "Because I feel certain of
+it," he said quietly and emphatically, as though in answer to her
+questioning glance.
+
+"Then you shall acknowledge yourself mistaken," she slowly replied.
+"I'll give you a fair chance. Will you dine with us on Friday?"
+
+"A day of ill luck, but I accept," he replied as he rose to go. "Shall
+it be a truce in the interim?" he added, offering his hand.
+
+"If you like," she replied.
+
+"Good-by," he said, taking her hand. "It shall be a fair game and I will
+play to win."
+
+"But you will lose," she answered.
+
+Her eyes followed him as he left the room. "An interesting nature to
+study," she thought, "but I wish he would not look at me in that way."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+SPANISH CASTLES.
+
+
+Mrs. Sanderson had arranged designedly the dinner to which she had
+invited Duncan. He had been much in her thoughts in the interim, and,
+being anxious to see what method he would adopt to overcome her assumed
+enmity, she looked forward to their next meeting with curiosity. She was
+a strong impressionist, and when she had first heard him described by
+her New York friend, Sibyl Wright, she had mentally resolved that he was
+a person she would one day meet and like. She had also formed a picture
+of him in her mind, and, curiously enough, the likeness had been exact.
+She now felt that her impression had been a presentiment, and this
+thought appealed to her peculiarly constituted nature. She wanted to
+know Duncan better and analyze his character, so she arranged her table
+to further this desire, placing him at her right, and, as Florence
+Moreland did not like him, she was given the next seat; next to
+Florence she put Harold Wainwright, feeling sure that they would both be
+oblivious to their neighbors, while about the table she maliciously
+scattered a trio of drawing-room musicians. There was Herr von
+Steubenblaetter, a musical professor, Mdlle. de Longchamps, an amateur
+soprano, and Mr. John Smith, who, after studying singing in Italy and
+passing five years without an engagement, had now assumed the more
+euphonious name of Signor Frivogini. Besides these there were several
+inoffensive people who never said much, but who would consider it their
+duty to applaud the musicians and keep them employed after dinner, so
+that Marion and Duncan might talk unobserved.
+
+Unfortunately Duncan's manner was not at all what she had expected. He
+talked to her about the most conventional and trivial subjects in a most
+conventional and trivial way, until about the second _entree_, when he
+entered into a literary argument with Florence which lasted during the
+entire dinner. Both Marion and Wainwright considered themselves very
+much abused, and Marion in particular thought that somehow her
+elaborate plans had failed and that Duncan was purposely neglecting her.
+She endeavored to listen to a discourse on the relative merits of
+canvas-back and red-head, delivered by an experienced diner on her left,
+but she felt much relieved when she was able to make the signal for the
+ladies to file out. When the men had finished their cigars and found
+their way to the drawing-room she boldly conducted Herr von
+Steubenblaetter to the piano, trusting, from her experience of the opera,
+that Duncan would disregard the music and talk to her. Marion had
+provided a formidable array of drawing-room musicians, but they failed
+to serve the purpose for which they were invited. They played and sang
+in continuous succession, but Duncan, instead of taking a seat beside
+her and making the music a cloak for conversation, went to the other
+side of the room and sat down near pretty, smirking Miss Ender. There he
+chatted assiduously and made her giggle so loudly that Herr von
+Steubenblaetter sent withering glances through his gold bowed spectacles
+which made the poor girl blush and stop simpering for two entire
+minutes.
+
+Marion was furious with everything, but with Duncan most of all. She
+tried to conceal her anger and listen to the insipid chatter of an
+under-graduate, but her replies were generalities, delivered without
+reference to the sophomore's platitudes, and her thoughts were entirely
+across the room. "What did Duncan mean by such negligence? Why did he
+challenge her to a verbal combat and then refuse an engagement? Why had
+he appeared to be interested in her on one day and then utterly
+indifferent the next?" It was in forming and revolving such questions
+in her mind that she passed the evening, and, meanwhile, the harmless
+college boy struggled and sputtered on.
+
+At one end of the Sanderson drawing-room was a settee placed behind a
+few palms; although it was in the room, it was sufficiently hidden to
+remove people sitting there from the observation of others. When music
+had been suggested Florence Moreland and Harold Wainwright had wandered
+toward this seat. The two had been childhood friends and in later years
+the intimacy had continued. Harold had been left an orphan without
+fortune, and Florence had always taken a deep interest in his success.
+
+After leaving college Harold had come to the western metropolis and, by
+hard and creditable work had built up a flourishing law-practice. He was
+only twenty-seven and possessed in a marked degree the best qualities of
+young American manhood. He was one of those young men so numerous in
+Western cities, whose earnest and energetic characters, untouched by Old
+World follies and vices, make them the heirs of the pioneer of the past.
+Florence had admired Harold as a sister might admire a strong, splendid
+brother. She trusted and looked up to him, and she often confided her
+thoughts to him. He was a sympathetic friend, but that was all; she, at
+least, was not a lover.
+
+"Do you know, Harold," Florence said, as they took their seats on the
+settee, "that we have not had one of our old talks since you were home
+last summer. There has been a succession of bothersome people to
+interfere ever since I arrived. Tell me, are you working as hard as
+ever?"
+
+"Yes," he replied. "I am still toiling away, but to what end I don't
+know."
+
+"That doesn't sound like you, Harold."
+
+"Why?" he asked.
+
+"Because you are not the man to mind the bumps in life's road. You can
+see beyond them."
+
+Harold was silent; he seemed thoughtful; a little sigh escaped him. "Can
+I, Florence?" he finally said. "You know me better than I know myself.
+What can I see?"
+
+"A successful career."
+
+"Is that all?"
+
+"No; friends."
+
+"Of what use are they?"
+
+"Dr. Johnson called friendship 'the cordial drop that makes the nauseous
+draught of life go down'."
+
+"He was wrong."
+
+"Why, Harold! you forget that I am your friend."
+
+"No, Florence, I don't; I wish I could."
+
+"How strangely you act to-night," she replied in puzzled tones. "I don't
+understand you."
+
+"That cordial drop of friendship is a poison, sweet, subtle, and
+deadly," he answered mournfully.
+
+Florence drew back, startled. "Harold, you forget the past," she said
+anxiously.
+
+"I wish I could," he replied sadly. "I wish you were not my friend."
+
+"Why?" she asked, frightened, and almost afraid to hear the reply.
+
+"Because I love you, Florence," he slowly and earnestly replied. "If you
+were not my dearest friend you might love me, too."
+
+She looked wonderingly into his face, almost expecting to read there
+that his words were in jest. She was so startled that the full meaning
+of what he said did not, at first, appear to her, but slowly she
+realized that this friendship that had lasted so long and had been so
+sweet must end. She covered her face with her hands as though hoping to
+hide this thought from her mind. "Why did you say it? Why did you say
+it?" she moaned. "It was so sweet before."
+
+"It was in my heart, dearest; it has been there a very long time. I have
+tried to keep it friendship, but I couldn't." Harold slowly rose and
+stood beside her. "Forgive me," he continued. "I couldn't help it,
+Florence; I couldn't."
+
+She took his hand; it was cold. "Forgive you," she said, "I have nothing
+to forgive."
+
+His hand tightened about hers. "I love you, Florence," he said. "Will
+you be my wife?"
+
+She raised her eyes and looked full into his face. "Would you marry your
+best friend?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
+
+Calmly he returned her glance. "No," he replied. "Not unless she brought
+me the same love I gave."
+
+"Then I cannot promise to be your wife," she said hesitatingly, as
+though the words were painful.
+
+He released her hand slowly. "May I hope that some day it will be
+different?"
+
+"Let us both hope so," she replied. They remained silent and motionless,
+each feeling that an epoch of life had come; each wondering what
+futurity concealed. Perhaps a minute passed, though it seemed much
+longer, then Florence spoke. "We had better not remain here, Harold, the
+world sometimes misunderstands even friends."
+
+He walked silently beside her, back to where the others were. Duncan saw
+them approaching and took the opportunity to leave Miss Ender. Harold
+felt that he could not endure the laughter and merriment about him; so
+he left Florence with Duncan and wandered off to the dark, silent
+library across the hall. Florence, too, wanted to be alone; but she
+could see no way to evade Duncan, and so she was left to talk to a man
+for whom she had an instinctive distaste.
+
+"I see you are independent in society as well as in politics, Miss
+Moreland," Duncan said, as soon as Harold had left them.
+
+"In what way?" she replied inquiringly.
+
+"Instead of remaining here to be bored by bad music, you were
+independent enough to desert."
+
+"Perhaps the bad music drove me away. Real independence cannot be
+driven."
+
+"Even in that you are original; society is not driven, it meekly follows
+its leaders."
+
+"You seem decided to have me a caprice of nature," she replied.
+
+"I think you are."
+
+"Is that impudence or irony?"
+
+"Neither. I am an evolutionist and you aid my theories. I believe one of
+the proofs of Darwinism lies in the imitative sense possessed by the
+individuals composing American society. When some strange animal from
+across the water comes among us, we try to copy every grimace and
+action, until someone else arrives with new affectations and mannerisms,
+when we begin all over again. We, as a race, are not sufficiently
+developed to possess originality; we are still a species of the genus
+ape. Now you, Miss Moreland, are the only member of American society I
+have yet discovered who is independent enough to possess original and
+patriotic ideas. You are an American of position and yet not an ape, so
+you must be a connecting link between us and the more highly developed
+societies of Europe."
+
+"I think that your conclusions are somewhat erroneous," she replied. "I
+admit that the society that you describe is typical of the descent of
+man, but not in a Darwinian sense. It marks a descension from the higher
+plane reached by the vigorous pioneers who planted and reared our social
+tree. The leaves toward the East, which have breathed the fetid air of
+Europe, have shriveled and decayed, but toward the West they are still
+kept green and vigorous by the pure, native breezes. Some people seem
+to admire the varied brilliancy of the fading foliage, but I enjoy the
+vivid native color."
+
+"_Aut Americanus aut nullus_ should be your motto," he replied.
+
+"Could I have a better?"
+
+"You might say _l'Americaine c'est moi_. No one of your sex and
+surroundings would dispute the pretension."
+
+"You compliment me, but not my sex. Millions of my country-women would
+compete for that distinction."
+
+"My observations have been confined to society in its restricted sense;
+I am not, I acknowledge, the mouth-piece of the rabble."
+
+"Since you admit your ability to act as society's mouth-piece, how do
+you define society?"
+
+"Society is a limited liability company engaged in the production of
+snobs. Formerly its shares were non-transferable, but financial straits
+necessitated the placing of the common stock upon the open market; the
+preferred stock, however, is still held by the heirs of the original
+incorporators. The Anglo-Saxon company has its head office in London,
+with agencies in the various cities of the United Kingdom, America, and
+the Colonies; Albert Edward Guelph, Esq., is chairman of the executive
+committee, and the most refined products of the corporation are sealed
+and labeled by his own hand. There are two distinct stages in the
+process of manufacture, called respectively toadying and snubbing, which
+must be successfully undergone before the perfected article is obtained.
+For instance, raw material is gathered at an American agency and after
+passing through the first toady stages it is put through the more
+intricate process of snubbing; then at a certain stage of maturity it is
+sent to the London office to be again subjected to a more refined toady
+process. Unfortunately the American material, being supplied by
+purchasers of the common stock, can never reach a more refined stage,
+so, after receiving the toady _cachet_ of the chairman, it goes back to
+America again where it is put upon the market as a superior imported
+article."
+
+"Then I am to infer, Mr. Grahame," Florence replied sarcastically, "that
+an American is doomed always to remain a toady, and can never hope to
+attain the distinction of being a full-fledged snob. I do not think your
+prospectus is sufficiently attractive to induce me to purchase stock, at
+least, not until the native industry is sufficiently thriving to
+manufacture the higher grades at home and exclude the foreign brands
+from our market." Then she left him abruptly and walked toward a group
+of girls who were discussing the coming "Patricians'" ball.
+
+When a man of Duncan's nature receives a rebuff, he is amused or
+angered, but not humiliated. Duncan regarded Florence's patriotism as a
+mere pose, and her dislike of him he considered amusing; so when she
+thus coolly left him, he merely laughed and turned away without being in
+the slightest degree offended. As for Florence, she felt in no mood for
+conversation, and had taken the first opportunity to rid herself of a
+person whom she considered actually displeasing. Duncan, feeling it was
+expedient to smooth the feathers he had purposely rumpled, approached
+Marion, and, assuming a penitent air, he sat down beside her and said
+with mock humility: "Am I not to be permitted to address you at all;
+does your hatred extend that far?"
+
+"You haven't tried," said Marion, her resentment increasing.
+
+"How could I?" replied Duncan. "You seemed so engrossed by that young
+collegian's charms, that you could scarcely expect me, whom you avow to
+be an enemy, to increase your wrath by interrupting."
+
+"I think you were mistaken," answered Marion. "You said you intended to
+make me your friend even against my will. There was no avowed enmity on
+my part; I merely considered your method of procedure somewhat
+eccentric."
+
+"Indeed! In what way, may I ask?"
+
+"It was you who challenged. Do you expect a victory without an
+engagement?"
+
+"Those were the tactics the Russians used against Napoleon."
+
+"Coldness was their chief weapon," Marion replied, "and you certainly
+are well armed with it."
+
+"You forget the fire at Russia's heart."
+
+"Was it not the fire of hate?" she asked.
+
+"No," he said. "The fire of the heart is love, and hate is but its
+ashes." His voice had softened as he spoke, and Marion felt that his
+eyes were scanning her thoughts; she turned her head away, but her eyes
+were drawn slowly back until they for a moment met his glance. The
+knowledge that anyone could so influence her frightened her; but it was
+a fascinating fear which tempted investigation. She was about to reply
+when she became conscious of the presence of others; they were departing
+guests, who announced a breaking up of the party, and Marion was obliged
+to exchange conventional civilities with her friends until the room was
+slowly emptied. Harold had hurried away alone, without even a word with
+Florence. The poor fellow had not the heart to speak to her again that
+night, and he felt that she would understand the reason for his
+rudeness. Duncan was thus left to his own resources, and, seeing that
+Roswell Sanderson and Florence had gone into the library, and that all
+the guests had departed, he made the conventional move to leave.
+
+"Don't hurry," said Marion, "it is only eleven o'clock, and you see I
+am left quite alone."
+
+"I will remain," replied Duncan, as he took a seat beside her on a
+dainty _Louis Seize_ sofa, "because I have a favor to ask."
+
+"A favor of an enemy," said Marion, with an air of astonishment.
+
+"Yes," he answered. "Like the Spartans I cannot fight when the omens are
+unpropitious, so I wish to beg the favor of a truce and to ask that
+during it the hostiles may dance the Patricians' cotillon together."
+
+"A dance of hostiles would be a war dance, would it not?"
+
+"War is a cruel word," he replied. "To me the dance is symbolic of the
+highest sentiment."
+
+"That is religion, is it not?" she asked, laughingly.
+
+"No; a higher sentiment than religion is love."
+
+"Of that there are many kinds."
+
+"There is but one kind," he answered. "Other feelings may receive that
+name, but they are base alloys of the pure sentiment."
+
+"And what is this perfect love of which you seem to know so much?"
+
+"It is the irresistible union of two similar natures."
+
+"Why irresistible?" Marion asked.
+
+"Because all organism is a union of limitless atoms, which are brought
+together out of chaos by the attraction of similarity."
+
+"That is a novel theory, but what has it to do with love?" she
+questioned.
+
+"Love is the idealization of that theory. Man and woman are the most
+perfect blending of the atoms, and love is the transcendent union of
+their two natures."
+
+"And is there no creator?" Marion asked.
+
+"None but love. Love is the symbolism of the creative power; love is
+God."
+
+Marion laughed; his theory was too absurd to be taken seriously, but
+somehow it pleased her. "Have you felt this irresistible love power?"
+she asked.
+
+"I must first find my affinity," he replied evasively.
+
+"Have you not met her yet?" said Marion, looking up with an air of
+astonishment.
+
+Duncan's eyes quickly caught her glance. "I think I have," he replied in
+a way that was at once bold, insinuating, and tender. Marion turned her
+head away quickly and a tinge of color came into her cheeks. It was
+resentment, but somehow a sense of pleasure tingled amid the anger. "You
+are an enigma," she said, ashamed at having colored. "I thought you were
+a cynical speculator, but now you seem a fanciful dreamer."
+
+"You must guess again," he replied. "I am neither a cynic nor a
+visionist."
+
+"What are you?" she asked abruptly.
+
+"I am a disciple of love," he replied.
+
+"Then I was right in calling you a dreamer, for love itself is a fantasm
+inspired by hope or memory."
+
+"You are a Philistine," he said softly. "Some day you may feel, and that
+is to believe."
+
+"_Che sara sara_, but I have my doubts," she replied. Duncan's glance
+was contradictory, but he did not reply. After a moment of silence he
+rose to leave. "Is the truce to be granted?" he said. "Do we dance
+together?"
+
+"Yes, if you wish it so," replied Marion.
+
+"Then to-morrow we meet at the ball. Remember hostilities have ceased.
+Good-night." Marion extended her hand and Duncan held it for a moment.
+"Don't let the hate grow too strong," he said pleadingly.
+
+"It couldn't," she replied; then she quickly withdrew her hand and
+turned away.
+
+When Duncan reached the street he stopped to light a cigar. As he threw
+the match away and returned his match-safe to his pocket, he carelessly
+soliloquized: "When a moth sees a fire, it flutters around it to see
+what it is like, and it hasn't sense enough to keep from getting burned.
+A woman is much the same: excite her curiosity by the flame called love,
+and it is ten to one she gets singed before she finds out what it is. I
+have been talking a lot of trash, but it's all in the trade. Talk sense
+to a woman and treat her decently, and she thinks you are a muff; talk
+enigmatical bosh, and knock her about, and she loves you. They are all
+alike. No, by Jove! they are not; Helen Osgood outclasses them all, and
+she has 'hands for any sort'. Oh, well, as the Frenchman says: 'if you
+haven't got what you love, love what you have.' The Sanderson is a good
+looker, and you must have sport, Duncan, old man." Then shoving his
+stick under his arm, and plunging his hands into his coat pockets, he
+started off at a swinging pace in search of a cab.
+
+Marion had remained seated where she and Duncan had been together. She
+had listened to hear the door close behind him, and then, her face
+resting in both hands, she sat thinking. Her imagination rapidly created
+a visionary structure of dazzling possibilities, but the dismal silence
+which follows in the steps of revelry came, and with it unrest. Quickly
+her Spanish castle crumbled and faded to a lonely ruin. "It is always
+so," she thought; "it is always so. Like children at a pantomime, who
+picture to their minds brilliant jewels in the fairy queen's tiara, and
+learn in after life that they were tawdry counterfeits, we imagine ideal
+gems of possibility only to find the reality of life papier mache and
+paint. Is love also a tinsel that tarnishes at the touch? So far mine
+has been so. But might it not be different? Yes, but the thought is
+wicked." Marion looked hurriedly about her as though fearful that
+someone might have seen the thought which crept into her mind. "He
+believes in love," she continued. "He says the right one exists. I
+wonder if it is true."
+
+Florence came into the room to say good-night. Marion usually enjoyed
+repeating her day's experiences, and discussing her impressions with her
+friend, and Florence knew that at such times she was expected to approve
+of every sentiment, or be called unsympathetic, but when Florence kissed
+her good-night Marion made no suggestion about talking over experiences,
+and as neither woman felt inclined for an exchange of confidences,
+Florence hurried away to her room. Marion's eyes followed her as she
+left. "She acts strangely," she thought; "I wonder if her friendship
+could change? Perhaps, for we are so different. No one understands me,"
+she sighed after a moment. "If I only had someone I could trust and
+love." A man stood in the doorway behind her. He heard the sigh, and he
+remained for a moment silently thinking of the time when she had
+promised to be his wife. Then he had drawn a hopeful picture of the
+future, a picture full of brightness and sunshine, with a loving wife
+for the central figure and happy, romping children playing about her.
+That dream had flashed like a brilliant light which blazes for a moment
+and dies as suddenly away, leaving black, charred ashes to mark its
+place.
+
+"Marion," he said gently.
+
+She looked up startled. "Is it only you?" she said, with just a tone of
+disappointment in her voice.
+
+"Yes, it is only I," he answered. "Shall I ring to have the lights
+turned out?"
+
+"O, I suppose so," she sighed.
+
+A servant came to secure the house for the night. When he appeared,
+Marion slowly followed her husband upstairs, and as they passed
+Florence's room, she saw a light burning. Usually Marion would have gone
+in to talk, but this time she went on to her own apartment.
+
+Long after Marion had passed that light continued to burn. With her
+dress loosened and her soft brown hair falling over her white shoulders
+Florence sat before the fire thinking. Between her hands was a picture.
+It was Harold's, and as she gazed at the face she seemed to hear the
+words: "Florence, I love you; if you were not my dearest friend, you
+might love me too." "Why did he say it; why did he say it," she
+murmured. Then moments from her childhood came softly back to her mind,
+and she saw Harold, her old-time playmate, grow to manhood. "Playmate,
+friend," she thought. "Why not more? Why not?" she repeated.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+THE PATRICIANS.
+
+
+Perhaps the only city of considerable proportions in which the rigorous
+proprieties of a New England village exist side by side with the
+gorgeous trappings of metropolitanism is Chicago. Its growth has been so
+marvelous that in a single generation the simple garb of provincialism
+has been exchanged for the more imposing mantle of a great city. Streets
+and boulevards have spread forth like the countless antennae of some
+mighty monster; gigantic structures have arisen almost as at the touch
+of magic, and ten thousand lanky chimneys have begun to belch forth
+black and sooty smoke, all within the memory even of the middle-aged
+inhabitant. Fifty years ago Chicago was a frontier town; twenty years
+ago a fearful scourge laid her in ruins; to-day she stands among the
+first ten of the world's great cities. Countless forces have in a score
+of years heaped up a mighty metropolis, and, perhaps, it is not
+surprising to find almost buried beneath this gigantic pile the simple
+and pure society of the early days.
+
+During all these rapid changes the older families have altered little.
+They have built more pretentious homes, they drive more modern
+equipages, they eat more elaborate dinners, but even these innovations
+have been reluctantly received, and the hearts of the old residents have
+remained untouched by _fin de siecle_ looseness and cynicism. In no
+older city are the social lines more strictly drawn, and year after year
+the same faces appear at the select gatherings, unconscious of the rapid
+change about them. Of millionaires there are many, but the foundations
+of their fortunes were laid in the early days of pioneering, and if
+occasionally a Croesus of recent growth creeps partly in, the
+shoulders turned toward him are cold, and his golden key never quite
+unlocks the inner doors. Chicago has perhaps suffered unduly at the
+hands of cursory and captious critics, but its society should not be
+judged by a hastily written paragraph or the clanking chains of the
+parvenu's carriage. Whatever be its faults, and they are doubtless
+many, it is thoroughly American, and slow to accept the lax scepticism
+and hollow manners of the older world. It is still too young to be the
+home of art and letters, and still too sensible to breed idlers. Happy
+city, if its society could continue as it is, unaffected, progressive,
+and moral; but the naturalness of Chicago cannot endure forever; already
+Puritan simplicity has fought the first skirmish with bare-necked folly
+and been worsted. French dresses and English drags have come to stay;
+insincerity and disbelief will follow.
+
+The best society is hard to define,--especially in America,--but by some
+indescribable process people are shaken up, and so sifted into cliques
+and circles that they become mysteriously classified and labeled without
+the scrutinizing care of a satin-coated Lord Chamberlain. When the
+inhabitants of Chicago were passed through the social sieve, the finest
+particles formed a little heap labeled "The Patricians." This was the
+set that gave the most exclusive subscription dances, and, though there
+were other organizations which might feel strong enough to compete with
+this select assembly, it was noticed that the name of no Patrician was
+ever found upon another list, and no outsider ever declined to become a
+Patrician subscriber. There is a classic story which says that when,
+after their victory at Salamis, the generals of the various Greek states
+voted the prizes for distinguished merit, each assigned the first place
+of excellence to himself, but they all concurred in giving their second
+votes to Themistocles. Were the Chicagoans called upon to vote for the
+most exclusive organization of their city, each would probably cast his
+first vote for the one of which he is a member, but the second votes
+would all be given to the "Patricians." It was an ancient organization,
+dating from before the fire, and its membership list had been sacredly
+guarded ever since. Simple and informal at first, it had gradually
+assumed pretentious proportions, until it had passed from a North Side
+hall, cold suppers, lemonade and nine o'clock, to the Hotel Mazarin,
+terrapin, _brut_ champagne, and eleven o'clock. In the early days there
+had been three fiddlers and a man to call off, but now there was an
+orchestra, a Hungarian band and a cotillon: "_O tempora, O mores!_"
+"_Imitatores, servum pecus._"
+
+Marion Sanderson was a patroness of the "Patricians," and to her efforts
+the innovations were, in a great measure, due. They had been coldly
+received at first, and when the changes culminated in champagne, some of
+the stricter members withdrew their names and refused permission to
+their daughters to attend, but the foundations of the Patricians had
+been too firmly laid to be shattered even by such defection.
+
+Three evenings after the events of the last chapter the inviting French
+ball-room of the Hotel Mazarin was lighted for the first "Patricians'"
+dance of the season. The florist had arranged his last cluster, and the
+floor had received its last polishing; the dainty canary draperies were
+coquettishly caught up with garlands of flowers, while here and there
+slender palms cast their graceful shadows upon the shining floor, and
+white and gold woodwork peeped from behind smilax and roses. A row of
+waiting chairs around the room seemed to add to the stillness, which was
+broken only by the hollow, echoing steps of two managers who were taking
+a final glance at the preparations. Soon a jabbering of German, and the
+squeak of violins behind the gallery palms, announced the arrival of the
+orchestra, while down-stairs by the supper rooms the twang of a
+Hungarian cymballo proclaimed the presence of the Tzigan band.
+Chattering Frenchmen were scurrying about the tables putting on the
+finishing touches, and the usually suave and smirking _maitre d'hotel_
+was scolding an unfortunate "omnibus" hurrying upstairs with the punch
+glasses. "_Depeche toi, Gustave, ces gens vont venir a l'instant_" he
+cried; but though an hour had passed since the time for which the guests
+were invited, the ball-room remained deserted.
+
+Down-stairs a solitary woman sat quaking in the ladies' dressing-room,
+and her husband braved the patronizing glances of the servants in the
+hall. They were from a Western town, and both were wondering what nine
+o'clock on the invitation meant. For nearly another hour they sat there,
+and then the rustling of a satin dress announced the arrival of a
+patroness who had promised to come early to receive. Soon a few men
+straggled in, another patroness arrived, and finally a little knot of
+women who had collected in the dressing-room mustered sufficient courage
+to enter the great, empty ball-room. The orchestra struck up a Viennese
+waltz, a couple started to dance, and a few others followed their
+example. The fashionable hour had arrived; men, maidens and matrons
+crowded in, the room became quickly filled with a talking, laughing
+multitude; brilliant colors and bright smiles dispelled the gloom, and a
+giddy whirling mass of tulle and cheviot announced that the ball had
+opened.
+
+Marion Sanderson was among the late arrivals. She had been unusually
+long at her toilette, but the time had been profitably spent, for when
+she entered the room her perfectly fitting gown of yellow satin and old
+lace produced an envious murmur among the women. Marion looked well at
+any time, but she was especially attractive in evening dress, for the
+lights and excitement seemed to produce an extra glow of beauty which
+few failed to notice. When she came, it was at the close of a dance, and
+a knot of men quickly formed around her, but Duncan was not of the
+number. She had expected to find him looking for her, and when she saw
+him near her, talking to her enemy, Mrs. McSeeney, she felt an
+unpleasant tinge of jealousy. After the excitement her entrance created
+had subsided, he came slowly toward her.
+
+"I believe I have to thank you, Mr. Grahame," she said, giving him her
+hand, "for these beautiful yellow roses."
+
+"On the contrary, it is I who must thank you for carrying them," he
+replied. "Besides, they are typical of jealousy."
+
+"Jealousy," repeated Marion in a wondering tone. "Were you ever
+jealous?"
+
+"A lover is always jealous," Duncan replied. Then he added gently: "I am
+a lover."
+
+"Then all the world must love you," she said laughingly.
+
+"I wish it did, for you are in the world," he answered.
+
+A glance of reproof was her only reply, for Walter Sedger came to claim
+a dance, and she had just time to promise the next but one to Duncan
+before she was whirled away into the gliding throng. Duncan's eyes
+followed her for a moment; she saw his glance and a slight tinge of
+color came into her cheek. In a moment she was lost amid the dancers.
+Mechanically she danced a waltz and a polka, scarcely noticing her
+partner's remarks, for in her heart she felt a strange apprehension that
+she could not understand. There was a fascination in Duncan's
+personality she dared not attempt to explain.
+
+When the first strains of Duncan's dance began, he came to her
+immediately, and, without speaking, quietly took her hand and placed his
+arm gently about her waist; then, catching the time of the music, they
+glided away into a dreamy waltz. It was their first dance together, and
+as he guided her gracefully and easily through the whirling maze of
+waltzers, Marion felt that she had never really danced before. Silently
+they waltzed awhile, enjoying the delicious excitement of the movement,
+then he said softly: "I have never understood the power of the dance
+before, but to-night our steps, gliding together to this glorious music,
+seem to me like the love of two natures, who feel and act in perfect
+unison."
+
+Marion looked up silently until her eyes met his glance; she grew icy
+cold, but she could feel the quick throb of each pulse beat. Duncan
+pressed her gently nearer, but she drew back and tossed her head
+forcibly away. She laughed a hollow little laugh at the fear in her
+heart, for here at least she was mistress of herself. Rhythmically their
+steps moved on to the enchanting music. Marion closed her eyes and tried
+to shut out the thoughts in her heart. In the darkness she seemed to be
+carried softly on through space, like some spirit borne away in the arms
+of dreamy happiness. Duncan drew her closer to his side; she felt a
+delicious sense of joy, such as she had never known before, and, almost
+dizzy, she glided on over the shining floor, her heart beating with
+wild, delightful pleasure. The music stopped. For a moment they danced
+on, but the dream had faded; she was back in the noisy, humming world of
+people.
+
+Marion had arrived so late that people were already flocking toward the
+supper table. She had long before promised to take supper with Walter
+Sedger, who was to lead the cotillon; but when he appeared, she
+suggested that as Duncan was alone he had better join them. So the three
+wandered down-stairs and entered the supper-room. The weird Hungarian
+_Czardas_ was being played by the Tzigans in the hallway, and it seemed
+to Marion that it did not harmonize with the clattering plates and the
+laughter. She had once heard that fantastic melody in Buda, and then it
+created strange sensations of unrest and aroused the wildest feelings of
+her nature. In her present state of mind she felt thankful for the noisy
+rattle of the supper-room.
+
+The tables were placed in a large, oblong room, and were arranged for
+parties of four or six, but Marion, being a patroness, was conducted to
+a large, round table at the farther end, reserved for the managers and
+their friends. She hoped that the presence of other people would spare
+her the necessity of talking much, but at first she was obliged to
+manufacture conversation, in order to keep her two companions amused.
+Duncan made no attempt to conceal the fact that the presence of Sedger
+was distasteful to him, and he amused himself by delivering occasional
+satirical remarks upon the latter's conversation which did not tend to
+improve the relations between the two men. Accidentally, however, both
+Duncan and Sedger were drawn into the general talk of the table, and
+Marion was left to herself. She felt lonesome, in spite of the gaiety
+around her, and realized that there is no loneliness so deep as that
+which comes amid merriment one cannot join. She looked about at the
+pretty faces and the brilliant colors made brighter by the lights; she
+saw the sparkling eyes and glittering diamonds, she heard merry laughter
+mingling with the rattling dishes and scurrying feet, but all seemed
+hollow and far away. She knew that she had just been brought under the
+influence of an unknown power, and she was faintly endeavoring to
+collect her senses and understand herself. Almost unwarned she had felt
+impetuous love flash forth in her heart, and now, in a dazed sort of
+way, she was trying to bring her mind to act. She was impressionable and
+reckless, but not so reckless as quite to forget her position. One
+thought grew strongest in her mind; it was fear. She was brought back to
+her surroundings by a remark addressed to her by Mrs. McSeeney: "You
+look quite pale, my dear, are you ill?"
+
+"Not in the least," replied Marion, smiling faintly, "but this room
+seems close. Don't you think so?"
+
+"I had not noticed it," was the answer spoken equivocally.
+
+The supper was somehow worried through. As they were leaving the table
+Walter Sedger said: "I have saved the seats of head couple for you, Mrs.
+Sanderson; if you will come with me, I will show them to you. I lead
+alone, but I hope you will permit me to take you out for an occasional
+extra turn."
+
+"I shall be delighted," Marion replied. Sedger gave her his arm, and
+Duncan, glowering more than ever, was obliged to wander on behind.
+
+The musicians' gallery did not project into the ball-room, but was
+supported by columns in the hall outside. Just under it an attractive
+nook had been arranged, with palms and foliage plants, a rug and a
+divan. The lights were kept low and the palms were so thickly placed as
+almost to conceal the people who might chance to sit there. At each side
+of this recess was a door leading into the ball-room, and as Marion and
+her two companions were passing through the one at the right, they met
+Florence Moreland and Roswell Sanderson coming out.
+
+"I am looking for my fan, Mr. Grahame," said Florence, stopping. "Don't
+you want to help me search for it?"
+
+"Of course I do, and I'll wager I find it," said Duncan, walking
+directly toward the nook just described.
+
+"You need not express your disapproval of me so pointedly," called
+Florence, protestingly. "I assure you it is not in here," she continued,
+following him until they were both concealed by the palms.
+
+"A thousand pardons for my blunder," replied Duncan. "I thought I saw
+you coming out of here after one of the dances with Dr. Maccanfrae."
+
+"I see I must confess my guilt," answered Florence, smiling; "but I
+relied on the protection of his grey hairs."
+
+"I gather you don't approve of this corner," replied Duncan. "At least,"
+he continued, looking around, "you were not so indiscreet as to leave
+your fan here."
+
+"I suppose the place has its uses," she answered laughingly, "at least
+the managers think so, if one is to judge by the care bestowed on its
+arrangement."
+
+"If I were bold," Duncan said, as they passed out, "I would say that it
+is like a fire escape, only to be used on pressing occasions."
+
+Florence frowned at this atrocious punning, and he added, meekly: "May I
+have permission to admire your gown?"
+
+"I am surprised that you like it," she replied. "This is its second
+season."
+
+"I think it is charming," he continued. "But might I inquire if it is
+ardent affection for each other which prompts you and Mrs. Sanderson to
+select the same color to-night?"
+
+"It was not a case of affection, but quite an accident," Florence
+replied. "In fact, when Marion saw me coming down-stairs arrayed so like
+herself, she wanted to make me change my gown, but it was so late that I
+refused."
+
+They reached the ball-room door, and there they met Roswell Sanderson
+with the lost fan, which he had found in the supper-room. Duncan left
+Florence with Marion's husband and went in search of his partner. He
+found Marion already in her place for the cotillon and took his seat
+beside her. A double row of chairs had been arranged around the room,
+and poor Walter Sedger was flying about trying to make people take their
+places, so that he might commence his first figure. The one occasion
+when all intelligence seems to desert the average mortal,--especially if
+he be a man,--is when he is called upon to dance in a cotillon, and
+already the leader's difficulties had commenced. When Sedger had
+succeeded in seating a group in one place, he would turn around and find
+that people whom he had fairly implored to take their places were
+wandering across the room, or that others, who were seated in the back
+row, were having angry controversies with people who had placed their
+chairs in front of them. All expected Sedger to find them seats, and all
+insisted upon being in the front row; as there were some eighty couples
+to dance, and only forty could sit in front, this, to an intelligent
+mind, would seem an impossible proposition; but not a single one of
+those one hundred and sixty people seemed to understand it. Finally poor
+Sedger conceived the brilliant idea of starting the music, and the
+people who were squabbling over places, fearing they might be left out
+altogether, scrambled recklessly after seats, and thus the floor was
+cleared. Sedger was now master of the situation, and soon he was leading
+a troup of sprawling men through a maze of pretty gowns, in the
+performance of the intricate evolutions of a cotillon figure.
+
+Duncan, instead of favoring someone, had persuaded Marion to dance the
+figure through with him. The band played a fantastic polka, and,
+catching the exciting inspiration of the Hungarian strains, they glided
+fleetly over the slippery floor. It was no longer the dreamy waltz, but
+the wild abandon of rapid motion, and as they danced Marion seemed
+carried away by the exhilarating movement. On, on, they danced, until
+the music stopped; then Duncan led her quickly out of the ball-room to
+the nook under the musicians' gallery, where, breathless from the
+exercise, she sank down on the divan. Duncan, seating himself beside
+her, rested his arm upon one of the cushions, and leaned forward so that
+he could see her face. Her cheeks glowed from the exercise, and there,
+in the soft light, her large black eyes glistening with excitement, she
+seemed to Duncan the most glorious creature he had ever seen. Delighted
+he gazed until Marion raised her eyes and met his eager glance.
+
+"Why did you bring me here?" she asked.
+
+"To say good-by."
+
+"What do you mean?" she said, with a frightened tone in her voice.
+
+"I mean that I leave to-morrow. I have been called back to the East."
+
+"Are you glad?" she asked sadly.
+
+"Yes, I am glad," he replied softly; "glad to have known you, glad to
+feel that you exist."
+
+Wild thoughts flashed impetuously through her mind. "Why?" she asked.
+
+He leaned forward till his face was near hers, and she could see his
+grey eyes, now black in the dim light, almost next her own. He took her
+hand and held it; then he whispered passionately: "Because I love you."
+
+"For the sake of both of us, don't say that," she said hoarsely, drawing
+back her hand.
+
+"For the sake of both of us I will," he replied. "What is there to
+prevent our loving?"
+
+"My husband," she said, and the words brought back fear to her heart.
+
+"I thought you were a woman of the world," he replied scornfully. "Do
+you mean to tell me that you are afraid?"
+
+"Yes," said Marion resolutely.
+
+"Then you must drown your fear in love," he answered, drawing his arm
+about her shoulders.
+
+"You must leave me," she pleaded, trying to release herself.
+
+"Not until you say you love me," was his answer.
+
+"That I do not hate you ought to tell you that; O, I can't say any more.
+Leave me, I entreat you."
+
+"I will not leave you, my Marion," he replied impetuously. "I must have
+your love." And he leaned forward and kissed her. A dress rustled behind
+the palms. Duncan heard it and quickly released Marion, who darted away
+and ran toward the ball-room; and Duncan, glancing anxiously through the
+foliage, saw a crimson gown hurrying through the other door. "Confound
+my luck!" he muttered. "I thought I knew something about this sort of
+thing, but I was a fool to take such chances."
+
+Inside the ball-room Marion found her husband, standing among a group of
+men, watching the dancing. "I am going home, Roswell," she said, taking
+his arm and drawing him away. "Find Florence, won't you?"
+
+"Yes, dear," he replied. "Are you ill?" he added, thinking it unusual
+for his wife to leave so early.
+
+"I feel tired, that is all. Tell Florence she can go home with Mrs.
+Smythe if she chooses."
+
+Roswell Sanderson went in search of Florence and soon returned with her.
+He had given her Marion's message, but Florence did not care to remain,
+so she excused herself to her partner in the cotillon and hurried away
+with Roswell. "What is the matter?" she anxiously asked Marion.
+
+"I feel a little faint and I think I will go home," was the answer.
+Florence thought Marion seemed agitated rather than faint. She wondered
+what had happened, but thinking it unwise to pursue the matter further,
+she walked on quietly beside Marion and her husband. On the stairs they
+met Duncan; Marion tried to avoid him, but he came toward her and said
+calmly: "I have been looking everywhere for you, Mrs. Sanderson. Have
+you forgotten you have a partner in the cotillon?"
+
+"No;" Marion replied. "But you must excuse me as I feel quite tired; I
+am going home."
+
+"I feel cheated," answered Duncan; "the more so as I leave to-morrow and
+must say good-by, now." He put out his hand and Marion took it. She
+tried not to look at him, but an indefinable attraction compelled her to
+raise her eyes. "Good-by," he said, softly pressing her hand.
+
+"Good-by," she answered. Then she quickly drew back her hand and turned
+away. As she descended the stairs she felt that he was still looking at
+her. She wanted to look back, but she closed her eyes and pressed
+closely to her husband's arm till they reached the cloak-room door.
+While she and Florence were putting on their wraps, she could hear the
+distant strains of music coming from the ball-room; they seemed to her
+like the last echo of the love which had flamed so brilliantly for a
+moment in her heart, and now must die and become a memory. The music
+stopped. "It is all over," she thought; then she hurried away with
+Florence and her husband down the great stairway to the street door.
+"Mrs. Sanderson's carriage," called a servant on the stairs. "Mrs.
+Sanderson's carriage," was echoed from the street. She heard a rumbling
+noise of wheels; then the street door opened, and she felt a blast of
+cold, refreshing air. "The carriage is here, ma'am," called her footman,
+and they passed out into the darkness. At the end of the awning-covered
+passage the carriage lamps burned dimly, and she could hear the restless
+champing of bits. They reached the carriage and took their places; the
+door was closed; the servant mounted the box, the carriage rolled away
+crunching the crisp snow under its wheels. Marion sank into a corner and
+tried to think. "I did my best," she said to herself again and again. "I
+did my best, but it was so hard." Over the snow-muffled stones the
+carriage rolled past massive structures, black and silent in the
+darkness. Huge, scowling ogres, they seemed to Marion, coldly frowning
+their displeasure. On through the darkened streets they went and over
+the river bridge; she could see the flickering street lamps faintly
+glistening on the ice, and she thought they were feeble hope rays
+shining through the darkness. Marion closed her eyes and listened to the
+wheels creaking through the snow. How long it was she did not know, but
+after a time she felt a sense of stillness. She opened her eyes. They
+were home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+GATHERING CLOUDS.
+
+
+"Are you going to the 'Renaissance Club' tea, Marion, dear?" said
+Florence Moreland, coming into the library on the afternoon following
+the "Patricians'" ball. Marion was sitting on the low front window seat,
+and she held a sash curtain crumpled in her hand. Her eyes were slowly
+following the numerous sleighs gliding up and down the Lake Shore Drive.
+The sun shone brightly on the glistening snow, the bells jingled
+merrily, and the waving plumes of graceful sleighs combined, with the
+rosy faces of their fur-clad occupants, to form a cheery winter picture.
+But with all this brightness before her Marion looked thoughtful and
+disturbed. Perhaps the restless lake beyond, dashing its troubled waves
+against the grey sea wall, better expressed the thoughts which caused
+the discontented wandering of her eyes. She did not reply to Florence's
+question but continued looking out over the roadway, as though unaware
+of her friend's presence.
+
+"Marion, dear," called Florence in a louder tone; "didn't you hear me?"
+
+Mrs. Sanderson slowly dropped the sash curtain and looked up. "O, are
+you there?" she said vaguely.
+
+"Yes, and I have been here an age trying to make you hear me," Florence
+replied. "What are you dreaming about?"
+
+"O, nothing much," Marion sighed; but her voice told her friend that
+this was not quite true.
+
+"You are in one of your moods again," said Florence. "You need me to
+cheer you up; but first of all tell me if you are going to the tea this
+afternoon?"
+
+"O, I fancy so," Marion replied somewhat mournfully. "I wish the
+'Renaissance Club' were in Kamtschatka, or some other such place, but
+Roswell actually promised to come home in time to take us, so I suppose
+we shall have to go. It is not time yet, though."
+
+"I know it," said Florence, "but I think I had better change my gown
+now."
+
+"You look well enough as you are," Marion replied, casting her eyes
+critically over her friend's attire. "Put on your gold-braided jacket
+and you will look as smart as any girl there."
+
+"Very well, then I shall go as I am. I would much rather talk than
+bother about dressing." Saying this Florence approached Marion and sat
+down beside her on the window seat. Marion did not notice her, but
+continued to look thoughtfully out of the window. Florence watched her
+for a moment, as though trying to read the thoughts behind her restless
+eyes; then she gently took both her friend's hands, and holding them in
+her own said inquiringly: "What is troubling you, dear."
+
+"Nothing," Marion sighed.
+
+"Then why do you seem so far away?"
+
+"Because I was thinking."
+
+"Of what?" asked Florence.
+
+"Of how like a human life the waters of that lake are."
+
+"I don't understand," said her friend.
+
+"Why, like a life they roll waywardly on until they pass to mother earth
+again, or are borne upward to the clouds. Sometimes they lie peacefully
+at rest, or they ripple merrily like children at play, only to be rudely
+awakened and lashed to angry fury in an aimless struggle with the winds.
+Like a life they are merely the agents of some greater power, helplessly
+following their destiny."
+
+"I think you theorize too much, my dear," said Florence. "If you want
+happiness, you must take life as it comes."
+
+"Happiness," laughed Marion cynically. "Happiness is like the golden
+bowl at the rainbow's base; no matter how desperately you chase after
+it, it still glitters in the distant future."
+
+"Possibly," replied Florence, "though I remember reading somewhere that
+'the reason there is so little happiness in the world is because so few
+people are engaged in producing it.' Perhaps that is why we are
+unhappy."
+
+"Do you know the formula for the production of this rarity?" sneered
+Marion.
+
+"No, but I suppose it has something to do with the time honored saying,
+'be virtuous,' and so forth."
+
+"Yes, I know; the kind of happiness that comes from the knowledge that
+one is good," put in Marion. "It is a sort of self-satisfied,
+touch-me-not happiness, with a better-than-you-are smirk about it."
+
+"Can't one have a clear conscience without being a Pharisee?" asked
+Florence.
+
+"I don't know," sighed Marion. "It is all a question of temptation, I
+suppose. Some people seem to be good from birth; they are never tempted,
+and have no charity for those who are."
+
+"I don't call such people good," replied Florence; "a St. Anthony
+without a temptation would be a sorry picture of virtuous self-control."
+
+Marion did not reply. For a moment she remained quietly thinking, as
+though Florence's words had inspired her with an idea; finally she
+spoke, in slowly chosen words: "Do you think what the Bible says about a
+mental sin being as great as the outward act can be true?"
+
+"I think it depends entirely upon circumstances," replied Florence.
+
+Marion turned her eyes thoughtfully upon the floor, then, restlessly
+twisting a cushion tassel between her fingers, she asked earnestly: "Do
+you think a woman who is tempted and resists, yet feels the subtle
+poison still in her heart, has sinned?"
+
+Florence was silent a moment, as though weighing the question in her
+mind. "I would not condemn such a woman," she finally said; "I would
+pity her."
+
+"What ought she to do?" asked Marion.
+
+"She has kept her self-respect, and I think on that foundation she
+should build the negative happiness called peace of mind."
+
+"What if the sting is too fresh, the poison too strong? What if the cup
+is still before her?"
+
+"Then she should dash it resolutely from her, and trust that time will
+heal the wound."
+
+Marion smiled faintly. She was thinking of an express train rushing
+toward the East and bearing danger farther and farther away. "Perhaps
+destiny is kind sometimes," she thought. "Were you ever unhappy,
+Florence?" she asked after a moment.
+
+"Why, what an absurd question," her friend replied. "Is there any one
+who has not been unhappy at some time?"
+
+"O, of course people have unpleasant moments which they get over,"
+Marion answered; "but what I call unhappiness is to feel that one has
+made an irreparable mistake in life, and then to be suddenly shown the
+unattainable possibility."
+
+"I should think such a person would feel something like a hungry pauper,
+gazing into a pastry cook's window. The glimpse of possibility must
+intensify his craving."
+
+"You are utterly practical and entirely unsympathetic," said Marion,
+somewhat ruffled at Florence's levity. "Sometimes I think you are a most
+unsatisfactory person."
+
+"I will not be dismissed as a person," laughed Florence. "You may call
+me anything you like, but don't subject me to the degradation of being
+styled a person."
+
+"I think you deserve it for turning my seriousness so inconsiderately
+into ridicule," said Marion with an injured air.
+
+"It is just the best thing for you," Florence replied. "You worry
+unnecessarily."
+
+"You always say that," sighed Marion, "but you don't understand."
+
+"Yes, I do. No one understands you as well as I do."
+
+"Then why don't you sympathize with me more?"
+
+"You don't need sympathy; that only panders to your discontent. What you
+need is to be shaken up and made to forget yourself."
+
+"You're a cruel girl."
+
+"I know it, and I am going home to-morrow."
+
+"Are you daft, Florence?" said Marion, amazed at her friend's
+abruptness.
+
+"No, I mean it," replied Florence. "But it is not because you have
+treated me badly, my dear. I did not mean to tell you so suddenly, but
+something happened a short time ago which makes me feel I had better
+leave. Please don't ask me about it, dear," she continued, seeing the
+questioning expression in Marion's eyes. "I only feel that it will be
+wiser for me to go away."
+
+"Why, Florence," said Marion sympathetically, "can't you trust me?"
+
+"It is not because I can't trust you, my dear," she replied. "You
+understand me, don't you? I think it would be kinder for me not to
+remain, and then," she added hesitatingly, "I want to be away where I
+can better think it over."
+
+"Yes, I understand," Marion answered. "You are such a queer girl,
+though; how could you keep so quiet about it?"
+
+"I didn't feel that I could talk about it. I am queer, I suppose, but
+you will forgive me if I go away, won't you? I have thought it over for
+three days and I feel it is best."
+
+"I will forgive you, of course, my dear; but, O, Florence, do be sure
+you are doing right. Don't make a mistake."
+
+"That is why I am going away. I will know better then."
+
+At this moment a man quietly entered the room. He had delicately cut
+features and a determined mouth, softened by gentle, brown eyes. His
+dark hair was slightly tinged with grey upon the temples, and his
+colorless complexion indicated a man whose life was little spent in the
+open air, a fact somewhat emphasized by his slightly stooping shoulders
+and thin, nervous hands. His clothes were plain and neat, but without
+any of the pronounced effects of fashion, and his entire appearance was
+decidedly that of one who is termed in America "a business man."
+
+"Why don't you speak when you enter a room, Roswell?" said Mrs.
+Sanderson, looking up suddenly, startled at seeing her husband. "Did you
+hear what we were talking about?"
+
+"I am not an eavesdropper, my dear," he said quietly. "I merely came to
+tell you that I am back from the bank. Are you ready to go to the tea?"
+
+"I had no idea it was so late," said Marion looking at her watch. "We
+must hurry, Florence." The two women went to put on their hats, and when
+they returned all three entered the carriage waiting at the door and
+were driven quickly toward the rooms of the "Renaissance Club" in lower
+Wabash Avenue.
+
+The institution which bore the name of "Renaissance Club" was a ladies'
+literary society devoted to studying the effect of humanism upon the
+literature of the world. It held meetings in its tastefully arranged
+rooms on each alternate Thursday afternoon throughout the season, and on
+these occasions original papers were read and discussed with an amount
+of erudition which astonished the members unacquainted with the usual
+works of reference, and rendered the club the admiration and pride of
+feminine Chicago. It is true that literary ability was by no means the
+first requisite for admission, and that the membership list might be
+used with impunity for directing invitations to the smartest dances; but
+despite these facts, there was a decidedly literary flavor about the
+meetings of the club, enhanced perhaps by the presence of two or three
+ladies who had actually experienced the delight of seeing their writings
+in print. Of course the talking was confined to a confident set, who
+enjoyed the excitement of a literary discussion; for as no one else
+desired to undergo the tortures of speaking in public, the vast majority
+assumed a dignified expression of wisdom, and remained discreetly
+silent. The club had discussed Dante and Petrarch, Villani and Ariosto,
+even Lorenzo de Medici; it had laughed over Cervantes and blushed
+profusely over Boccaccio and Rabelais, but the meeting to which the
+Sandersons and Florence Moreland had gone was called for no such
+intellectual purpose. Once during the season the club gave a tea to
+which men were invited, and on such occasions the entertainment was
+confined to the efforts of elocutionists and balladists. Whether the
+club dared not expose its intellectual attainments to public criticism,
+or did not care to have its literary efforts judged by the standard of
+the Board of Trade, was never sufficiently clear; but in spite of the
+fact that no literature was ever discussed at the annual tea, this
+meeting was invariably the most fully attended of any during the season.
+
+When the Sanderson party entered there was such a hum of subdued voices,
+that the efforts of a young woman engaged in singing were scarcely
+audible above the animated whisperings of the people who thronged the
+club-rooms. Numerous small tea tables supplied with all manner of dainty
+tea things were scattered about. Each of these was presided over by a
+pretty girl, and each was surrounded by a knot of black-coated youths.
+Although young men were there in abundance, those of mature years were
+conspicuously absent; but it is one of the peculiarities of a busy city
+like Chicago, that while young employes are able to appear at afternoon
+gatherings, the heads of firms are invariably detained at their
+offices.
+
+The balladist's song was followed by an uninterrupted flow of feminine
+voices, punctuated with occasional masculine laughs, coming like
+intermittent grumblings of thunder during a pattering storm of rain. The
+American girl who does not talk is a rarity, indeed, but, though
+climatic influences have parched her vocal cords, her harsh, hearty
+voice saying something is a pleasurable contrast to the subdued vacuity
+of the average English maiden of twenty. The animated clatter of an
+occidental gathering may seem discordant when compared with the
+solemnity of a London drawing-room; but in this artificial age it should
+prove refreshing to one who admits a fondness for open-hearted
+naturalness. There was an intimacy among the people gathered in the
+"Renaissance Club" rooms which is rarely met with in the larger cities.
+They were nearly all acquainted with one another, and most of them were
+people who met with such frequency that many restrictions of formality
+had passed away. A person whose life is continuously passed amid such
+surroundings may develop an inclination to magnify his own _entourage_
+to the disparagement of the great world he knows so little of; but he
+will be spared a realization of the atomic nature of a person's position
+in that world, and he will never know the fitful interest cosmopolitan
+society takes in any individual.
+
+Marion Sanderson looked upon this society as provincial, and she felt
+inexpressibly bored at the thought that she must meet absolutely the
+same people night after night, and know by premonition what each of them
+would have to say on any given subject. Her senses had once been dazzled
+by the varied glitter of the metropolitan kaleidoscope. Had she been
+given time to investigate the tawdry shams, of which it is so largely
+composed, she might have appreciated better the less brilliant world
+about her; but with her superficial experience inciting discontent,
+Marion wandered about, that afternoon, pitying the restricted resources
+of the people she met, and congratulating herself and her intimates upon
+the aid they had already rendered toward the development of Chicago
+society.
+
+Florence Moreland, however, appreciated this society, which, surrounded
+by all the appurtenances of civilization, was still so natural and
+sincere. She regretted that she had decided to leave, and she entered so
+heartily into the spirit of Western life, that she was more than once
+tempted to alter her decision; but, remembering that her presence seemed
+to torture Harold, she realized that her own peace of mind would be more
+easily attained in her New Hampshire home. She wandered about the room,
+taking leave of her many friends, who were, of course, greatly surprised
+at the suddenness of her departure, until she was accosted by Mrs.
+McSeeney. Her eyes beamed so triumphantly that Florence felt an
+instinctive dread of an encounter with a woman whom she knew to be
+Marion's enemy. Mrs. McSeeney spoke with a suavity which Florence felt
+to be entirely feigned, and she was at a loss to account for this sudden
+pleasantness of manner.
+
+"I have just heard, my dear," said Mrs. McSeeney, "that you are going
+away, and I can't tell you how deeply we shall all miss you. What
+induced you to leave so suddenly?"
+
+"I am called home because my father says he must have me there,"
+Florence replied, thinking it the easiest excuse to make. "I am the only
+child, and he gets extremely lonesome when I am long away."
+
+"You forget that while he is but one person, there are many others here.
+You are inconsiderate of the claims of the majority," said Mrs.
+McSeeney. "However, you may carry away the satisfaction that you looked
+absolutely heavenly at the ball last night in that charming yellow gown.
+How like it is to Marion's, was that intentional?"
+
+"That is the second time I have been asked that question, but I assure
+you it was quite an unexpected coincidence."
+
+"A coincidence which created a fortunate contrast," replied Mrs.
+McSeeney, with increased suavity. "Fortunate for you, at least."
+
+"What does this extreme agreeableness mean?" Florence wondered, and for
+a moment she was lost for a reply. "By the way," continued Mrs.
+McSeeney, "what has become of that charming Mr. Grahame whom Marion
+brought to my house last week? I don't see him here."
+
+"He went back to New York to-day," answered Florence somewhat coolly,
+as she wished to end the conversation.
+
+"What a pity!" said Mrs. McSeeney, speaking in a louder tone. "Mr.
+Grahame was such a delightful man, and dear Marion Sanderson must miss
+him so."
+
+Instinctively feeling that some one else might have overheard this
+remark, Florence looked hurriedly behind her, and was horrified to see
+Roswell Sanderson and Harold Wainwright standing there. She saw the
+meaning of Mrs. McSeeney's action now; she had laid this trap to injure
+Marion in the eyes of her husband, and Roswell's expression of mingled
+anger and anxiety told her plainly that he had overheard. Frightened for
+Marion's happiness she turned to Mrs. McSeeney and said angrily: "You
+have no right to connect Marion's name with Mr. Grahame's in such a
+manner."
+
+"Indeed!" Mrs. McSeeney replied with exasperating coolness. "I think
+that when a woman of Marion Sanderson's prominence is indiscreet in her
+actions, she must expect to cause comment. I happened to see Mr. Grahame
+kiss Mrs. Sanderson, under the musicians' gallery, at the ball last
+night. I think I am justified in any conclusions I may draw."
+
+Florence heard a low exclamation behind her. For a moment countless
+thoughts rushed through her brain in jumbled confusion, then she seemed
+to understand it all. Mrs. McSeeney told the truth. No woman would dare
+make such an accusation falsely, and this explained Marion's strange
+talk of the afternoon. Poor Marion! was there no way to save her? With
+the suddenness of inspiration an idea came to her. She remembered seeing
+a play in which two women were mistaken for each other by the similarity
+of their gowns; she had also been with Duncan under the musicians'
+gallery, and she knew it was too dark to distinguish faces accurately
+there. She turned quickly toward Roswell Sanderson, and seizing his hand
+drew him forward. He was about to speak but she stopped him; then,
+facing Mrs. McSeeney, she said defiantly: "You have conceived a clever
+plan to ruin Mr. Sanderson's wife. Your motive, I think, is evident to
+all who know you, but, fortunately, your statement is untrue. 'Twas I
+who was with Mr. Grahame under the musicians' gallery."
+
+Mrs. McSeeney drew back astonished at this sudden statement, but she
+quickly recovered from her surprise and said ironically: "Such a
+melodramatic sacrifice seems out of place in real life, but I suppose
+you are one of those heroic maidens who enjoy tarnishing their own
+reputation to clear a friend. I admit that the darkness and the
+similarity of your gowns may have rendered the confusion possible, but I
+assure you I was not mistaken about the facts. I suppose you are
+prepared to admit them also?"
+
+"I am," said Florence deliberately.
+
+"Well, you are ingenuous, I must say," said Mrs. McSeeney, astonished at
+Florence's determined manner. "Perhaps you will think better of your
+foolishness when you realize the position in which you have placed
+yourself before society. In the meantime I trust Mr. Sanderson accepts a
+statement which, considering my experience of the world, I believe
+extremely improbable."
+
+Roswell clenched his fists to suppress his anger. "Mr. Sanderson," he
+said slowly, "believes absolutely in the fidelity of his wife, and he
+warns Mrs. McSeeney that she must answer to him for any future slurs
+upon her character."
+
+Mrs. McSeeney's eyes flashed as she said coolly: "I am glad Mrs.
+Sanderson enjoys so absolutely the confidence of her husband." Then,
+shrugging her shoulders slightly, she turned and walked toward the door.
+It was growing so late that the distant room in which this scene
+occurred was quite empty, and fortunately no one but Harold Wainwright
+had overheard the conversation. An anxious witness of the scene, he had
+appeared at first dumfounded by Florence's self-accusation; but he now
+calmly followed Mrs. McSeeney toward the door. He quickly caught up with
+her, and speaking so quietly that she turned about somewhat frightened,
+he said: "May I speak with you a moment? I have something of importance
+to say."
+
+"Certainly," she replied, and they passed on into the next room.
+
+Florence was left alone with Roswell Sanderson. The first excitement of
+the resolution to save Marion had passed, and she now realized the
+position in which she had so suddenly placed herself, and her foremost
+desire now was to get away somewhere. Above all she dared not speak to
+Roswell. She was still holding his hand which she had grasped so
+earnestly in the midst of her excitement, and now she tried to release
+it. This action Roswell resisted, and, turning until he could see into
+her face, he said earnestly: "You are a brave girl, Florence, and I
+thank you for it from the bottom of my heart."
+
+Florence lowered her eyes. "Don't talk about it," she said anxiously,
+"and please promise not to say one word to Marion of all this. I am
+going away, and, if you can keep her from knowing about it, it will make
+me so happy."
+
+Roswell was silent a moment. A curious expression of sad determination,
+which Florence did not understand, came into his eyes.
+
+"I promise," he finally said, "but you must answer me one question now
+that we are alone. Did you speak the truth?"
+
+Florence trembled slightly. She had been expecting this question and
+felt that everything depended on her answer. She pressed his hand
+firmly, and, looking up into his face, said in tones which bore the
+resolute accent of truth: "Roswell, I assure you that Marion has been
+true to you."
+
+"I will ask no more," he replied, and she saw that determined expression
+come back again to his eyes. They heard the sound of approaching steps,
+and he quickly released her hand. Turning round they saw Marion
+approaching. "What under heaven are you doing here?" Marion said, as she
+entered the room. "Don't you know everyone has gone home, and we shall
+be late for dinner?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+OAKHURST.
+
+
+On a Saturday morning in early June, about five months after Duncan's
+visit to Chicago, Rennsler Van Vort, attired in tweeds and carrying a
+bag in one hand and a bundle of coats and sticks in the other, pushed
+rapidly past the ticket collector of a Jersey City ferry. He was on his
+way to spend Sunday with the Osgoods at their place near Morristown, and
+his haste was inspired by the knowledge that if he missed the next boat
+he would be left to wander about the most unattractive portion of New
+York for at least another half-hour. He managed, however, to reach the
+ferry-boat just before she started, and was congratulating himself on
+his good fortune, when he observed a man with a bag in each hand,
+running in hot haste down the incline leading to the boat. The iron
+gates were closed; the windlasses were clicking rapidly as the mooring
+hawsers were being wound around, and the great paddle wheels had begun
+to stir the waters of the slip to seething foam. The man at the windlass
+tried to restrain the tardy passenger's efforts to reach the boat, but
+he brushed past him and leapt onto her deck, just as she had begun to
+move out from the slip.
+
+"Great Scot! Duncan, did you drop from the clouds?" said Van Vort, as
+the breathless runner, aided by a deck hand, clambered over the iron
+gate.
+
+"No, I beat the gate-keeper," replied Duncan, as he came to a stop
+beside Rennsler and deposited his bags on the deck. "He was just
+shutting the stile, and called to me to stop, but I didn't care to bask
+on the docks for an hour, so I gave him the slip and here I am."
+
+"That explains your flying leap on the boat, but did you jump across the
+pond also?" asked Van Vort. "The last time I saw you, you were going to
+Chicago; then I heard you were in London, and now you make an amazing
+appearance on a Jersey ferry. You must have taken up jugglery, old
+chap."
+
+"An old loafer like you doesn't know anything about business; if you did
+you might appreciate my flights."
+
+"Never mind if I don't," answered Van Vort, resting his arm on the rail
+and gazing into the water as it surged under the paddle wheels. "Tell me
+what took you to London and what brought you back."
+
+"Well, I went to Chicago, as you know," answered Duncan, "to look after
+an elevator syndicate. I was there a week, got things straightened up,
+took the 'Limited' on Thursday, reached New York Friday night, spent
+Saturday morning at the office, and sailed that afternoon, on the
+Umbria, to look after the London end of the scheme."
+
+"That was last January. How have you been eluding your friends ever
+since?"
+
+"I was in London until two weeks ago. I came in on the Etruria this
+morning; we should have landed Sunday, but we broke our shaft and had to
+be towed in."
+
+"Well, Duncan, I am glad to see you back; but you must give an account
+of yourself. What did you do in London besides business?"
+
+"During February and March I was groping about in the fog after Britons
+to invest in Chicago elevators, or following the hounds in the Shires.
+London in winter is the beastliest place in Christendom, and when I
+could get away I was in the country."
+
+"Yes; I know London in the winter," put in Van Vort. "Fogs and
+suffocation, rain and muddy boots, slush and colds, sleet and influenza,
+all combine to make a dreary mackintosh and umbrella existence, which
+you can vary in-doors by shivering before fires that won't burn."
+
+"I see you've been there," answered Duncan; "but you want to add
+something about empty theatres and clubs, and say it is a city deserted
+by every person who can buy, borrow, or steal a railway ticket to the
+country. But for one guardian angel, I should not be here to tell this
+tale."
+
+"I can name that angel," said Van Vort; "it is Scotch whiskey."
+
+"Right!" answered Duncan.
+
+"I thought so. All sufferers seek the same cure; but April and May were
+better, weren't they?"
+
+"I should think so."
+
+"Did you meet many people?"
+
+"Plenty. I fell in with Lady Brock on the steamer, and she came in
+handy. I knew some people when I was there before, and took out some
+good letters; and then there is the American colony."
+
+"Yes, the American colony," said Van Vort; "who are they?"
+
+"Some of them are people one doesn't know at home, but the English don't
+mind that, so why should we? You remember Mrs. Raynor, that pretty woman
+who used to be about New York, and afterward so scandalized the prudes
+by an affair with a Russian Grand Duke that no one received her when she
+came home?"
+
+"Of course; did you run across her?"
+
+"Yes; she is in London now, the smartest of the smart; the friend of the
+prince and the envy of American turf hunters. They wouldn't have her in
+New York, but now they flock to her house because she is in the London
+smart set, and she is clever enough to receive them and forget the
+malarious past."
+
+"I suppose you went there; the malarious past didn't frighten you away."
+
+"Of course not. I was her right-hand man, and used to help entertain
+the people at her Wednesday afternoons. Not only that, but I was
+hand-in-glove with Mrs. Smallpage."
+
+"What! the wife of the late furniture dealer on Fifth Avenue?"
+
+"Yes; I didn't know her in New York, but she has a house in Mayfair and
+hobnobs with half the peerage. Good looks and money, that's all the
+Londoners care for. I heard a countess say that all Americans are alike.
+We have no aristocracy, therefore our social distinctions are absurd.
+The reception of an American in London depends on whether he is rich
+enough to entertain, good looking enough to be attractive, or queer
+enough to be amusing."
+
+"I say, Duncan, we are just getting into the slip," said Van Vort,
+looking forward, "and you haven't told me yet where you are going, and
+what brought you aboard this ferry."
+
+"Why, I met Harry Osgood this morning, just after I landed, and he asked
+me out to his place for Sunday. I hate New York on the blessed Sabbath,
+so here I am."
+
+"I am bound for the Osgoods, too," answered Van Vort. "I am in luck to
+find some one going out. But come on, we must hurry or we sha'n't get
+seats in the train."
+
+The ferry-boat brushed violently against the side of the slip, and most
+of the passengers, losing their balance, were compelled to grasp each
+other unconventionally for support. The engine-room bell clanged
+furiously; there were more jars and creakings as the boat scraped past
+the great piles and reached her moorings; then the restless van horses
+stamped, the chains rattled over the windlasses, and the passengers
+crowded forward to the bows. The iron gates were opened, and the living
+sea of people flowed rapidly up the incline toward the railway station.
+It was the mighty ebbing of the human tide which daily floods the great
+city across the river. Could one stand there, watching the weary throng
+come forth, and, like the Spanish student of old, find a willing
+Asmodaeus at one's elbow, what stories of hopes and disappointments, what
+tales of trouble and misery could he not unfold for inspection. Pallid
+shop-girls and weary seamstresses were there; grimy laborers with their
+tools, tired clerks, toiling mothers with their babes, and pale,
+careworn children, early driven to the wheel, with here and there a
+face on whom prosperity had set her seal, and perhaps a few, like
+Duncan, whose lives are passed in that dazzling upper world, so
+hopelessly closed to the toiling masses. All these, and more, streamed
+off the ponderous ferry, hurrying to their homes. But Duncan and Van
+Vort had no time to moralize, and being anxious to get seats in the
+smoking car they pushed rapidly to the front of the moving mass of
+people, showed their tickets to the inspector, and passed through the
+station door to the platform.
+
+The Morristown train was drawn up on the right-hand track. They found it
+already well filled with people brought over by the first boat; and
+after wandering the entire length of the smoking car they were about
+despairing of finding seats when they were hailed by a familiar voice:
+"Hello, fellows, where are you going?" Looking around they saw
+Howard-Jones, with a yellow-covered novel under his arm and a freshly
+lighted cigar between his lips, standing on the station platform and
+looking the picture of masculine content.
+
+"We are trying to find a seat, but the place is full," said Duncan.
+"Are you going on this train?"
+
+"Yes; going out to Osgood's."
+
+"So are we," put in Van Vort, "but we don't want to stand up all the
+way. You look as unconcerned as though you were sporting a private car."
+
+"So I am," replied Howard-Jones carelessly. "Just go into the car ahead
+and find Waterman; mention the fact that you are friends of mine, and
+perhaps he will give you a seat, but be sure you speak politely.
+Waterman won't stand impertinence."
+
+"Well, if you and he have seats in there, and there are no more to be
+had," said Duncan, "you might as well make up your mind to stand up.
+Come on, Rennsler, let's see if Howard-Jones is trying to do us." Saying
+this, Duncan started into the next car and was closely followed by Van
+Vort. This car had been kept till the last moment, so they found it just
+filling up, and at the farther end they discovered Waterman, trying to
+stretch himself over four seats and convince the numerous comers that
+they were engaged.
+
+"I beg pardon, but can a lady have this seat?" said Duncan, coming up
+behind Waterman.
+
+"I am sorry, but it's engaged," grunted the latter without looking up.
+"This is a smoker anyway."
+
+"Well, this lady is going to sit on your lap, you old brute."
+
+"Hello, Duncan," said Waterman, looking up somewhat startled. "Osgood
+told me you were back; I am deuced glad to see you."
+
+"Pull down those feet and give us some room, and then I'll talk,"
+answered Duncan.
+
+Waterman made room for his friends, and depositing their luggage on the
+floor they sat down opposite him. As the train moved slowly out of the
+station, Howard-Jones sauntered into the car and took the seat
+remaining, next to Waterman.
+
+"Well, how is Chicago?" Waterman asked Duncan.
+
+"Don't talk to him about Chicago," interrupted Van Vort. "Don't you know
+he has just come from London?"
+
+"Of course I do, but I know all about London. I want to hear about Mr.
+Breezy and Miss Lakeside, and all the other queer people one reads
+about in _Life_ and _Puck_. Don't you remember the last time we saw
+Duncan? He was going gunning for elevators, and I want to hear about
+them. How are the pork-packers, Duncan?"
+
+"I didn't meet any."
+
+"What, and you went to Chicago!"
+
+"Exactly," Duncan replied. "They say there that one has to go away to
+meet them. The right sort don't seem to know them."
+
+"What were the people like, anyway?" asked Howard-Jones.
+
+"The women are dears, some of the men are queer, most of them are
+passable, and a few are the whitest chaps I ever came across. I was
+treated like a prince. I lived at the City Club, and they could not do
+enough for me there."
+
+"Did you get anything fit to eat?" asked Howard-Jones dubiously.
+
+"You must imagine the people out there eat jerked venison and dine in
+their shirt-sleeves," replied Duncan. "They don't live in wigwams, and
+buffalo don't run wild in the streets."
+
+"Don't get huffy, Duncan; I was only judging by what I had heard. You
+remember what Waterman said about Chicago."
+
+"Yes, and I repeat again," replied that worthy, "it is the beastliest
+hole it has ever been my luck to get stranded in."
+
+"Then you display your ignorance," said Duncan.
+
+"I admit I have heard something about Chicago being the centre of the
+universe," retorted Waterman, "but I thought that opinion was confined
+to the breezy inhabitants of the windy city."
+
+"Well, in my opinion," said Duncan, "Chicago isn't a half bad place.
+'Tisn't New York, of course, but you can't expect that. They've got most
+of the things there that we have, and some that we haven't. There's one
+thing about the people, too, that I like; they keep awake when the rest
+of the world is dozing, and that is bound to tell in the end."
+
+"That's right, Duncan," echoed Van Vort.
+
+"Sit down on sectional ignorance and prejudice. New Yorkers are getting
+to be as provincial as Parisians, and it is time they learned that the
+sun doesn't rise and set on Manhattan Island."
+
+"You are all wrong, Rennsler," answered Howard-Jones. "Duncan is drawing
+a big salary for booming Chicago real estate; you'd do the same thing if
+you got paid for it."
+
+"No back talk, Hyphenated-Jones," said Duncan facetiously. "Just crawl
+behind that French novel and don't let me hear from you again."
+
+"I will if you will shut up about Chicago; you make me weary."
+
+"Anything to keep you quiet," answered Duncan.
+
+The four friends gradually settled themselves behind afternoon papers or
+novels, and remained silent. The train rattled on through small suburban
+towns and now and then drew up before a dainty, vine-covered station,
+with low walls and high gabled roofs, where the brakeman put his head
+inside the door and called off some name in unintelligible accents.
+People got out hurriedly, their arms filled with packages of all
+descriptions, the door slammed, the train started, the newsboy passed
+through with the papers, pop-corn, puzzles, and everything else that
+nobody wanted, the conductor poked dozing passengers for their tickets,
+the atmosphere grew blue with smoke, and the minutes passed with the
+exasperating slowness of time spent on a suburban train.
+
+"I say, Duncan," said Waterman, yawning behind his paper, "how would you
+like to take this trip twice a day?"
+
+"I'd rather die a natural death and be done with it, if I did not have a
+private opinion that Hades is a suburban town, where the Devil tortures
+his victims by making them bolt breakfast in two minutes and run to
+catch a train, only to be brought back again after dark just in time to
+sleep and take the next train in the morning."
+
+"That's the joy of living in the country," replied Waterman. "However, I
+can tell you how to pass the time to-day."
+
+"How?" asked Duncan.
+
+"Go back and talk to the Simpson girls. I saw them getting into the last
+car, and I think they are going out to Osgood's, too."
+
+"None of that for me."
+
+"Better send Rennsler to look after them," suggested Waterman; "I think
+I can recommend him as a safe and suitable chaperon."
+
+"What's that?" said Van Vort, glancing over his paper at the sound of
+his name.
+
+"We think you had better go back and talk to the charming Miss Simpson,"
+said Duncan.
+
+"Which? The one with freckles, or the one who squints."
+
+"Both," replied Waterman.
+
+"From such a fate, good Lord deliver us," answered Van Vort contritely.
+
+"Your prayer is answered," said Duncan, "for here we are at the
+getting-off place. I never remember the name of it, so I always book
+through to Morristown, and look out for that red barn over there."
+
+The engine slackened its pace while the four friends hurriedly gathered
+their things together and walked toward the car door. When the train
+stopped they passed out and alighted on the deserted platform of a small
+country station. The village consisted of three or four houses and a
+barn, and the station was merely a covered shed and platform, without
+the usual complement of station-master, baggageman, etc. It was of so
+little importance that trains did not stop there except by signal or
+request, and the Osgoods made use of it merely because it was nearer
+their place than was Morristown. On this occasion, however, there was no
+one there to meet the travelers, and it seemed to them that they had
+been forgotten. The train had pulled out immediately, and they were left
+to their own resources in a small, New Jersey hamlet, four miles from
+their destination. There was no one in sight except the Simpson girls,
+who had alighted at the other end of the platform, and the four men felt
+it their duty to wander toward them and proffer such civilities as the
+occasion demanded.
+
+"We had no idea you were on the train," said Duncan, as they reached the
+place where the girls were standing. "I suppose you are bound for the
+Osgoods?"
+
+"Yes," replied the elder Miss Simpson, "but we seem to be stranded here.
+What shall we do?"
+
+"Wait until we are rescued," said Van Vort. "I don't believe Osgood is
+cruel enough to leave us here long."
+
+"No, by Jove! for there are his leaders," interposed Waterman, as a team
+of chestnuts and a smart char-a-bancs, driven by Harry Osgood himself,
+with his wife on the box seat, swept rapidly around the corner of
+Duncan's red barn. There were two girls sitting behind the Osgoods, whom
+they recognized as Miss Warner and Miss Reine Merrit,--two of their
+set,--and the men had just time to take off their hats before the trap
+was driven up beside the platform.
+
+"Been waiting long?" called Osgood, as he pulled up his team. "My near
+leader picked up a stone, and I have the stage timed so close that any
+delay makes me late."
+
+"It will teach you to take more time, Harry," said his wife, as, without
+accepting the proffered aid of a servant, she jumped to the ground. "How
+do you do, everybody," she continued, when she lighted on the platform.
+"Why, Duncan Grahame! Where in heaven's name did you come from?"
+
+"From London, to see you, but I don't seem to be expected," replied
+Duncan.
+
+"I forgot to tell Helen I had asked you, but it's all right," called
+Harry Osgood from his high seat.
+
+"Of course it is," replied his wife, "but I wish you wouldn't shock me
+so again. I thought I had seen a ghost."
+
+"Never mind ghosts, but get the people up," said her husband.
+
+Harry Osgood's char-a-bancs was a vehicle he had had constructed for use
+over the rough country roads. It was built somewhat like the two boots
+of a drag put together without the body, and had seats for ten persons,
+besides the servants, placed in three rows, and all facing forward,
+while its lightness rendered it very convenient for the purpose for
+which it was designed. The servants stowed the luggage away and Mrs.
+Osgood assigned places to the party. The elder Miss Simpson was given
+the box seat, the next was occupied by Reine Merrit, Waterman,
+Howard-Jones, and the younger Miss Simpson, while Miss Warner, Van Vort,
+Duncan and Helen Osgood mounted to the remaining one.
+
+"Let em go," shouted Osgood as he shoved the brake back. The grooms
+jumped from the horses heads, the wheelers sprang into their collars,
+and the trap rolled away from the station. "Oakhurst," the Osgood place,
+was a short four miles distant, and the road, a fairly good one for
+America, ran, for the most part, through a forest of maples, broken here
+and there by the country seat of some New Yorker, or an occasional farm.
+The country was quite rolling, and the road, running as it did over a
+succession of small hills, made the driving a delight to Harry Osgood.
+He was a coachman who had learned his trade in England, and having been
+a subscriber to the _Guildford Coach_ for two seasons, he was able to
+"sit his bench" like a veteran, and work his team with the smartness of
+one who has done "out of London roading"; but, with all his experience
+he was not a careful workman. He invariably made the four miles, from
+the station to his house, a galloping stage, and it was his pride to do
+the distance just under the twenty minutes; so, as soon as he turned the
+corner by the red barn, he sprang his team into a gallop, and they
+scarcely trotted another step of the way. Up hill and down the horses
+scampered, while the trap rocked like a ship at sea, now to this side
+and now to that, and when rounding the corners it often seemed as though
+the vehicle would certainly be turned over and the entire party landed
+in a hopeless muddle in the ditch; but nothing worse than a few feminine
+screams occurred until they reached the place where the road entered the
+Morristown turnpike.
+
+Here Osgood espied another team coming up the main road, and as both
+traps were about an equal distance from the fork, he considered it a
+glorious chance for a race; so, giving his horses their heads, he urged
+them into a run. The driver of the other four, as ready for sport as
+Osgood, did the same, and the two traps came furiously on to where the
+roads met. The men cheered while the women held on to their seats,
+trembling with fright; and as the two traps came together at the fork,
+the other coachman tried to crowd in front of Osgood by taking some of
+the latter's road. There was no time to pull up, and seeing that his
+only safety from a wicked upset was to beat his rival, Osgood called on
+his horses for an extra spurt. The leaders were neck and neck, and the
+stranger had crowded him so far toward the edge of the road that he felt
+his hind wheel slipping down the embankment. The women shut their eyes
+and screamed while the men prepared to jump, but Osgood, acting with
+presence of mind, hit his rival's off-wheeler across the head with his
+whip, and "toweled" his own wheelers a good stinging cut across the
+shoulders. The wheel horse of the other trap, frightened at this sudden
+attack, jumped toward the pole, and, with his weight, swayed the vehicle
+toward the near side of the road, while Osgood's own wheelers sprang
+forward under the lashing and drew the trap onto the road before it had
+time to upset. Osgood darted ahead of his rival, and the party breathed
+freer as all visions of broken limbs and mangled bodies vanished from
+their frightened minds.
+
+"Well done, old man," called Howard-Jones, who was himself a coaching
+man. "I like sport, but such a lubberly bit of work as that ought not to
+go unpunished."
+
+"A man who will do a trick like that ought not to be trusted with a
+donkey," replied Osgood, as he pulled his team together after the
+excitement of the spurt.
+
+"That's the trouble, nowadays," continued Howard-Jones. "After a lesson
+or two in the park, at team work, chaps set up as experienced
+coachmen."
+
+"Who is the duffer, anyway?" called Duncan from behind.
+
+"Jack Ashton. You know him, don't you?" replied Howard-Jones. "He has
+the place just beyond Harry's."
+
+"I ought to," said Duncan. "He was in my class at college. I didn't
+recognize him, though."
+
+"Do you always forget your friends so easily?" said Helen Osgood with an
+ironical sparkle in her blue-black eyes.
+
+"Sometimes I try to," Duncan answered.
+
+"Are you always successful?" she asked.
+
+"No, Helen," he whispered, "not always."
+
+The trap had reached the stone gateway of the Osgood place. As they
+turned in, a call was sounded on the horn to announce their coming to
+the servants, and, after passing the lodge, they could see the low,
+white country house, with rambling wings and numerous stables and
+outhouses in the rear, standing on a rise of ground at the end of the
+winding road. The place had been in the Osgood family for more than a
+hundred years. The oak-covered grounds about the house, and the green,
+rolling lawn in front, were typical of an English park; but the old
+wooden, colonial house, with its rambling additions and green blinds,
+its stately veranda and Doric columned portico, was American, of a type
+fast disappearing before the modern house decorator with his tints and
+_bibelots_.
+
+The trap dashed up to the door, a knot of servants appeared, the grooms
+placed the ladder against the steps, and the guests alighted and were
+conducted to their apartments, where, for the next hour, the house party
+was occupied in the task of dressing for dinner.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+"I WILL LAUGH, TOO."
+
+
+Harry Osgood was a man whose life was devoted to sport, and as he had
+inherited a large fortune, he was able to indulge his tastes to the
+fullest extent. Some one of his friends had said facetiously, that he
+was fond of horses, hounds, and his wife, in the order named, and no one
+who knew him well would deny that more of his life was spent in his
+stables and kennels than in his home. He had passed many years in
+England, and most of his time there was spent in a hard riding country,
+where everyone, including the parson, followed the hounds. To Osgood,
+therefore, there was no sport like hunting, and no music like the
+inspiriting cry of the pack. He had been brought up on the "pigskin" and
+felt a supreme contempt for many of the men about New York who went in
+for sport, not for the love of it, but as a pose which enabled them to
+wear the pink and talk the slang of the shires. He had seen so many
+chaps of that description come an ignominious "cropper" at the first
+fence, that he paid little attention to the talk of the clubs, and never
+passed his opinion on a would-be sportsman until he saw him in the
+hunting field. In his opinion it took something more than a pink coat to
+make a hunting man, so he endeavored to collect around him, in New
+Jersey, a few of as hard riders as ever followed hounds.
+
+The Essex Hunt had become famous for its long runs, and as few men not
+born to the saddle cared to risk their necks over the rolling country
+about Morristown, this hunt was decidedly unpopular with the
+drawing-room sportsmen. However, if the field was small at the meet, it
+diminished little at the finish. For years Harry Osgood had been M. F.
+M. of the Essex Hunt, and the pack could not have been in better hands,
+as he had a capital huntsman of long experience with the Quorn Hunt, and
+he devoted his own time, during the hunting season, entirely to the
+sport. Osgood had this peculiarity, however, he must have sport all the
+year round; so he was as much at home on the box seat, or at the
+tiller, as in the saddle. There is a popular impression that a man
+cannot be both a horseman and a sailor, but Harry Osgood had often
+refuted it. In the summer months, when there was no hunting, and it was
+too hot for driving, he went to sea, and his schooner, "Persephone," was
+one of the crack flyers of the N. Y. Y. C. fleet, while her owner was a
+qualified navigator who had taken an English Board of Trade yachtsman's
+certificate.
+
+It is, therefore, not surprising that Helen Osgood entered little into
+her husband's life, for, except when frost was in the ground, he had no
+time to devote to his wife. Helen, however, heartily approved of his
+neglect, and, except for the fact that he compelled her to reside so
+much of the time in the country, was perfectly satisfied with her
+husband. She always managed to have at least one amusing man in the
+house who did not go in for hunting, and as she never interfered with
+Harry's sport, theirs was a _menage_ where husband and wife were both
+contented and amused. The world had been surprised at Harry Osgood's
+marriage, but probably no one was more astonished than himself. A
+country house, a rare day's sport, a good dinner, a cozy corner, a pair
+of bewitching blue-black eyes, a hasty word, and his fate was sealed
+before he had had time fully to realize the situation; but, having been
+"landed," as he expressed it, he made up his mind to bear it like a man
+and make the best of a hasty bargain. The marriage was, however, no
+surprise to Helen. She had carefully arranged it in her mind several
+months before, and Harry Osgood's proposal was but the consummation of
+her plans. He was precisely the kind of man that she considered an
+attractive, poor girl ought to marry, and women like Helen seem to
+possess a faculty for adjusting their lives according to their desires.
+She was the only woman whom Duncan Grahame had ever asked to be his
+wife, and perhaps for the reason that she had refused him, she continued
+to occupy the most central cell of his somewhat honeycombed heart. She
+had declined to marry Duncan because, at that time, he was poor, and she
+knew that he possessed too quick a perception, and too arbitrary a
+disposition, to be a suitable husband for a woman of her ambitions. She
+had, however, since her marriage, granted Duncan the privileges of a
+somewhat equivocal friendship, which, owing to a general misconception
+of Helen Osgood's character, the world often misapprehended. Her
+acquaintances fancied her unhappy in her home life, but she was
+perfectly contented. Her friends believed she was a woman of strong
+feelings and sympathies, but she was subtle and calculating. The world
+thought her friendship for Duncan must be of a serious nature, while, in
+reality, it was scarcely more than a _passe temps_. Though not harassed
+by any scruples, she was too cold really to love, and too clever
+actually to compromise herself. But she was, however, sufficiently
+selfish to receive without giving, and sufficiently vain to enjoy the
+continued admiration of so scarred and complex a heart as Duncan's. She
+had been gifted with a peculiar insight into human character, and having
+studied the nature of man as a scientist might that of a mollusk, she
+felt that she understood every masculine vagary. Prompted mostly by
+curiosity, she singled out Duncan as the specimen best calculated to
+demand the full exercise of her powers. If she had, at times, permitted
+certain familiarities which the world might not entirely approve, she
+had been careful to define the boundaries beyond which they must not
+pass; and the fact that his actions were governed in a manner so
+contrary to his wishes kept Duncan in a continuous state of irritation,
+and served at the same time to produce a continuity of affection quite
+unusual in his other experiences.
+
+For nearly four years this peculiar friendship, so galling to Duncan, so
+gratifying to Helen, had continued intermittently; and though many
+ruptures had occurred, they had all ended in Duncan's suing for peace.
+The long continuance of so unnatural a relation was rendered possible
+only by the fact that Helen Osgood had, so far, been incapable of
+experiencing the feelings of other women, and seeing no reason to
+transgress where there was no temptation, she contented herself with
+inspiring a love where others excited a passing fancy. Other women might
+amuse Duncan, but she would control him; other women might love him, but
+she would study him; other women might lose him, but she would remain
+his master. That was her analysis of the affair, and, so far, she felt
+that it had been correct. It is true she had not seen Duncan since the
+quarrel in January, and she knew that he must, in the meantime, have
+been intimate with other women; but she felt confident that he would
+come back to her and plead again for the love she had so often refused
+him. She did not believe that Duncan's passion was of a lofty nature. On
+the contrary, she doubted his sincerity just as she doubted the
+sincerity of every man of the world. She knew perfectly well the view of
+life held by the men about her, and she often said that were she a man
+she would be a freebooter too, and capture the hearts that came in her
+way. She thought that if a woman was weak enough to be trapped into
+taking a false step, she got her deserts. She, for one, would go armed,
+not because her conscience troubled her, but because she did not
+consider the game worth the risk.
+
+The unexpected return of Duncan had been somewhat of a surprise to
+Helen; but, in order to impress upon him that it was a matter of
+indifference to her, she avoided him as much as possible during the
+evening of his arrival at Oakhurst. The house party spent the evening
+playing pool in the billiard-room, and in that atmosphere of whiskey,
+soda, and smoke, where the conversation was hilarious and general, and
+often interspersed with familiar repartee and laughter, it was not
+difficult for Helen to keep Duncan at a convenient distance, while,
+however much he might chafe under the restraint, he was unable to free
+himself from his unpleasant position. There is nothing so exasperating
+to a man of Duncan's disposition and experience as to feel that he is
+being made a fool of by a woman. Though nothing had been said, Duncan
+realized the galling fact that Helen Osgood was playing with him. After
+the women had gone to bed he sat in the smoking-room, sulking over his
+"night-cap," and though Osgood and Howard-Jones carried on a heated
+discussion about the merits of perch bits, he paid not the slightest
+attention to what was being said. Waterman and Van Vort occasionally
+tried to chaff him, but he was so snappish in his manner that they
+wisely decided to let him alone. Meanwhile Duncan was thinking of the
+time, at Newport, when, jogging home after a day with the hounds, he had
+asked Helen Osgood to marry him. He had felt confident that she would do
+so, but instead, he got laughed at for his sincerity, and he had been
+laughed at ever since. He had often brought himself to the point of
+believing that he did not care for her, but the next time he was brought
+under her subtle influence he was compelled to acknowledge that he was
+still under her spell. Other women had surrendered to him with a
+facility that destroyed the pleasure of an exciting contest, but other
+women were not Helen Osgood.
+
+The next morning none of the house party put in an appearance before
+eleven o'clock, and it was not until luncheon that they all met
+together. Some of the men had, it is true, been out to the kennels, and
+Osgood and Howard-Jones had taken out a tandem--much to the horror of
+neighboring Sabbath-keepers--but Mrs. Osgood and the girls managed to
+keep secluded until the luncheon-hour. Dinner was the only formal meal
+at Oakhurst, and there was a freedom about the life that made it very
+attractive to the men. Any sort of lounging costume was permissible
+during the daytime, and the guests straggled in at luncheon without
+regard for promptness. No one waited for the others, and the last to
+come was the last to be served. The conversation was chiefly about
+horses and dogs, with social gossip for a relish, but no topic more
+intellectual than the last French novel or the latest comedy at Daly's
+was permissible. In fact, any one bold enough to inaugurate a literary
+or political discussion would have been greeted with a stare of mingled
+pity and astonishment. If any of the guests were acquainted with matters
+literary or artistic, they were usually discreet enough to remain silent
+out of deference to the host; but on one occasion a school friend of
+Helen's, from Boston, hearing some remarks about the last story of
+Bourget, took the opportunity to start a discussion upon the poetic
+psychology of Sully-Prudhomme, which was greeted in a manner that made
+the poor girl fancy she had said something very indiscreet. At the first
+favorable opportunity, however, Helen reassured her, but advised her not
+to talk about books, if she wanted to get on with the Essex Hunt.
+
+On the present occasion the conversation was confined to the stables,
+and after luncheon the house party sought amusement for the afternoon.
+Osgood suggested a drive, so a team was put to the drag, and the
+afternoon, until tea-time, was spent behind three chestnuts and a
+piebald "tooled" by the host.
+
+Meanwhile Duncan chafed under the discipline to which he felt he was
+being carefully subjected, but it was not until after an elaborately
+prepared dinner, served by the late butler of His Grace, the Duke of
+Northampton, and two footmen, that he was permitted a word alone with
+Helen. The other guests had gone into the drawing-room, at Helen's
+suggestion, to listen to Van Vort's latest comic song, and feeling that
+they would be off her hands for a while, she detained Duncan in the
+passage-way leading to the library. Between the two doors was a broad
+lounge, which had been placed there to offer an opportunity for a quiet
+talk, and Helen took the initiative by seating herself and motioning
+Duncan to a place beside her. He sat down sulkily, and remained silent
+for a while, trying to drive off the peculiarly helpless feeling which
+a man invariably experiences in the presence of a woman whose
+personality is stronger than his own. Duncan plunged his hands into his
+pockets and sank into a corner of the lounge, mentally deciding that he
+was an ass, and trying to bring his reason to control his feelings. He
+looked at Helen a moment, but when he met her glance, he winced and
+turned his eyes away, and she felt that she had not been wrong in her
+confidence that he would come back to her unchanged.
+
+"You are solemn enough for a _croque-mort_," said Helen, after a few
+moments of silence. "Aren't you going to amuse me?"
+
+"No," grunted Duncan peevishly, "you brought me here."
+
+"I didn't bring you here to sulk. I hope, for your own sake, you haven't
+been behaving this way for the past six months. I understand you, but
+strangers might not appreciate such manners." She said this in the
+indifferent manner she invariably assumed when Duncan indulged in a
+display of temper, and it was this indifference which always made his
+outbursts so abortive.
+
+"There is no need to behave so with strangers," he replied, trying to
+assume a sarcastic manner, and feeling, inwardly, that it was not
+successful. "They are usually civil to me."
+
+"O, indeed! and pray how do I treat you?"
+
+"Like a dog," he sneered gruffly.
+
+"Like a pet poodle," she replied, "whom I allow to lie about the house
+in the snuggest corners; like a pet poodle whom I fondle when he is
+agreeable, and humor when he is snappish; but take care how you behave
+or I may think you are only a puppy."
+
+Duncan jumped to his feet. "I won't be blackguarded," he muttered
+angrily.
+
+Helen leaned forward and caught his hand.
+
+"Come, Duncan, dear," she said, drawing him gently toward her, "you must
+sit down and tell me who it was that commenced this quarrel."
+
+Duncan permitted himself to be drawn to the seat beside her. His heart
+was consumed with conflicting sentiments, but he felt that the courage
+which had made the quarrel in January possible was failing, and that he
+would be compelled to sue for peace. "I am not a child," he said, as
+though to expostulate against her manner.
+
+"Yes, you are," answered Helen softly, "but a big, lovable child of whom
+I am very fond."
+
+Duncan looked into her eyes to see if he could read behind her words,
+but he only felt the deep, mysterious power which had brought him under
+her influence that day in Newport. Then he had felt a hopeful, honest
+love, for a moment, but it had been crushed out by her laughter. Before
+that he had been a thoughtless boy, taking life as only a holiday
+frolic. Had she given him her love, he felt that to him life would have
+been different; but that laughter had chilled his heart, and the
+hopeful, honest love had gone out forever. She had married and he had
+loved her again, but it was a feeling of a different sort, for the man
+who speaks of love to a married woman casts out honesty from his heart.
+He loved her with a heated longing which her coldness fanned. He wanted
+to possess her for his own, yet felt that he was balked by his stupidity
+and cowardice. In her presence he was a shrinking child with the
+yearning of a man. "Helen," he said, after a moment, "I will not be
+played with; I am too much in earnest."
+
+"You frighten me by your seriousness," she said, with a roguish tone in
+her voice. "I like you better when you are angry. It suits you."
+
+"I will not be trifled with, Helen," he said; "you have no right to
+treat me so."
+
+"I have the right of a billigerent," she laughed. "You declared war, you
+remember."
+
+"Then I sue for peace."
+
+"And I grant it," she replied softly, putting out her hand. "Come, let
+us be friends."
+
+Duncan took her hand and pressed it to his lips. He looked up into her
+tantalizing eyes and felt again the warm impulse of the old love burning
+in his heart. "I cannot be your friend, Helen," he said passionately,
+"for I love you."
+
+She drew her hand away quickly and patted his cheek disapprovingly, as
+she might have patted a child's; then with a little, playful laugh, she
+said: "don't be silly, you know I don't like it."
+
+Man of the world as he was, without scruples and usually reckless, he
+felt cowed. For a moment he sat moving his hands nervously; then he
+looked up and asked in a serious tone: "Why didn't you marry me?"
+
+"Because I liked you too well."
+
+"That is no answer."
+
+"Because I wanted to keep your love."
+
+"That is not true."
+
+"Well, because marriage is a business partnership, which, to be
+successful, requires a person of experience and a person of money. You
+had too much experience and I had no money, _le voila_."
+
+"You are a heartless flirt," Duncan said, slowly and earnestly.
+
+"That's what a man always says of a woman when he fails to make her love
+him."
+
+"You are a heartless flirt, I repeat," he answered. "You stole the best
+love in my heart; you crushed it and threw it aside like a flower which
+no longer pleased you."
+
+"Nonsense, Duncan, such poetic similes are ridiculous. Better say that
+love, to a man, is an apple of Sodom, fair to behold; but when he has it
+in his grasp it crumbles to sickening ashes."
+
+"You stole my love, Helen; a man never loves but once."
+
+"And in revenge, to use your metaphor, you have plucked and trampled
+under foot every flower within your reach. I know you, Duncan. It is
+only because I was stronger than the rest that I still bloom fair in
+your eyes."
+
+Duncan looked full into Helen's face with an injured expression in his
+eyes. "Helen," he said finally, "'tis women like you who make us men
+distrust your sex; who make us what we are."
+
+Helen returned his glance, and replied scornfully: "No; it is men like
+you who drag us down. We women must go through life armed, like
+travelers of old, against the attacks of you highwaymen. If we are weak,
+we are robbed of our best possessions, and left helpless by the way; if
+we are strong and ward off your attacks, you take your revenge on those
+who fall into your unscrupulous hands. But that is moralizing, and I am
+no moralist; I take the world as it is."
+
+"Then why not take the pleasure in it?" said Duncan insinuatingly.
+
+"Because it doesn't amuse me," she answered coldly. "I am not like other
+women, I suppose; at least, what you call pleasure disgusts me."
+
+"Then why have you let me be your friend so long?"
+
+"Because you amuse me," she replied carelessly. "I like to see you
+bluster and go away, and then come back to me. Other women pander to
+you, but I don't; other women love you, but I don't."
+
+As Duncan listened to these words, a blush of anger came to his cheek.
+He thought of how strong had been his influence over other women, and
+how weak he had always been in Helen's hands. "After all, love is a game
+of strength," he mused. He had been no better than a ball to be tossed
+about at pleasure, but he would throw off the spell of this woman, which
+had bound him so fast--he who thought he knew the world so well. An
+expression of firmness came into his face, and he said: "I loved you
+once, Helen, but I hate you now."
+
+"I am glad," she answered; "now there is a chance that your passion will
+be returned."
+
+Duncan did not reply. He left his seat beside her and walked slowly into
+the next room. Helen's eyes followed him. "Silly boy," she thought, "I
+hope he will hate me; I might love him then."
+
+Long after the lights in the smoking-room had gone out, long after the
+laughter had ceased, Duncan slowly paced his room. His hands were deep
+in his pockets and he held a briar pipe between his lips. Occasionally
+he would take a draw at the pipe, and then watch the blue smoke curl
+gently upward and fade away in long, thin streaks; but all the time he
+was thinking over the part Helen Osgood had played in his life. "She is
+right," he said, half aloud; "I do bluster and go away, and come back to
+her, and I will do it again. No, by Jove! I won't. A man can't forget
+that he has been played fast and loose with, and I would not be a man if
+I went back to that woman. I hate her. I hate her," he repeated. "She
+might have made a different man of me. I was young and might have taken
+life better, but she laughed me into the selfish brute I am. O, well,"
+he sighed, as he thought of his past, "I suppose I am no worse than
+those around me. We all worry over what might have been, but we don't
+take the pleasure that comes to us. A man's an ass to break his neck for
+any woman. There are others in the world, good looking ones, too, who
+will love for the asking." He returned his pipe to its case and closed
+it with a loud snap. "I have been in the garden before," he continued,
+"and I will go there again and pluck the flowers that come in my path. I
+will hold them for a minute; then I will crush them and cast them aside,
+and I will laugh, too."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+UNDER THE WILLOWS.
+
+
+The bell of the Fairville Presbyterian Church was slowly tolling the
+hour of morning service, and its tones, clanging out through the bright
+green shutters of the belfry on the peaceful Sabbath air, summoned the
+congregation to worship. The sun shone brightly upon the little white
+church, with its peaked roof and its tall, weather-vaned steeple, and
+its rays glanced hotly down upon the dusty roadway and wooden sidewalks
+of the long, village street. Two rows of white frame houses, fronted by
+little green patches, each enclosed by a picket fence and a swinging
+gate, extended away in the distance. Two lines of stately elms cast
+their shadows partially over the dusty street, while above them
+stretched the blue vault of the June sky.
+
+The tolling of the bell was the only sound that disturbed the perfect
+quiet of the day, for even the birds seemed to have ceased their
+chirping in deference to the Sabbath. Soon, however, in answer to the
+call to prayer, the little picket gates swung open, and far down the
+street a slender line of people began to walk, with the measured tread
+of conscious righteousness, toward the little church which gleamed so
+white in the sunshine at the end of the street. The board walk creaked
+under the squeaking tread of Sunday shoes, and solemn lips spoke in
+subdued Sunday tones, as elders and laity slowly wended along under the
+shade of the stately elms. White lawn dresses, leghorn bonnets and blue
+shawls, folded cross-wise, and lisle-thread gloves, were interspersed
+among flopping broadcloth coats and straight brimmed hats in the throng
+which passed along the street and through the doors of the church. Once,
+just after the last tone of the bell had died away, the stillness was
+broken by the rumble of wheels, and a single carriage rolled through the
+dust up to the church door. It was a modest equipage, plain in its
+appointments, but some of the congregation frowned disapprovingly as the
+door opened and Florence Moreland and her father descended. Without
+heeding these glances of disapprobation, they walked quietly into the
+church and passed down the long aisle to the family pew. The movement of
+numerous fans ceased and many heads were turned to see the Judge and his
+daughter take their seats, while several pairs of young and envious eyes
+were directed toward the last production of a city milliner. After the
+fans had begun to move again, the cadaverous minister rose from his seat
+and in harsh, nasal tones announced the hymn. There was a hemming and
+coughing in the choir's gallery, the organ bellows wheezed, hymn-books
+rustled, and then, as the first strains of the organ sounded, the old
+familiar lines beginning, "All people that on earth do dwell," swelled
+forth in zealous tones.
+
+Just as the last notes of the tune floated away and the congregation
+were taking their seats, a man stole quietly down the aisle and entered
+the pew behind Florence Moreland. His well-made clothes attracted
+curious eyes, and during the seemingly interminable prayer for the
+exorcism of every evil and the granting of all known blessings, many
+covert glances were sent in his direction. It seemed to those who
+looked, that during the prayer and the long didactic discourse upon
+Solomon and Sheba's queen, which followed, his eyes were kept
+continuously fixed upon the back of a gold-braided jacket in front of
+him. The doctor's daughter next him glanced over his book during the
+last hymn and saw that it was not open at the right place, while the
+elder who passed the plate looked wonderingly at the young Croesus who
+placed a greenback among the coppers and silver; but during the entire
+service his eyes were not removed from the form in front of him. The
+last roll of the organ died away and the minister pronounced his
+benedictory prayer. During the conventional moment of silence which
+followed, the sun streamed through the stained glass windows and danced
+in colored shadows on the backs of the white lawn gowns; then the frocks
+rustled as the congregation slowly filed out, and the solemn, Sunday
+faces were relaxed into smiles of friendly greeting.
+
+Florence Moreland waited until most of the people had passed out, then
+she placed her hand upon the pew door, and was about to open it, when
+she was startled by the sight of a familiar face behind her. "Harold,"
+she said, when she had recovered from her surprise. "What brought you to
+Fairville?"
+
+"I came as the bearer of a message for you," Harold Wainwright replied,
+as he opened the pew door for her.
+
+"For me! From whom?" asked Florence in astonishment.
+
+"If I may walk home with you I will tell you; otherwise you must wait."
+
+"You are very dictatorial," she replied, "but when a woman's curiosity
+is aroused, she is easily managed. If father will drive home alone, I
+consent to your terms. Father," she continued, turning around and
+interrupting a conversation which Judge Moreland was holding with an
+elder, "here is Harold Wainwright."
+
+"Glad to see you, Harold," said the Judge, taking Wainwright's hand and
+giving it the hearty shake of unaffected cordiality. "Glad to see the
+son of the best friend I ever had. You must bring your grip up to the
+house. What brought you to Fairville?"
+
+Harold was about to reply to these numerous and disconnected remarks,
+but he was interrupted by Florence. "Harold brings news I must hear; he
+won't tell me unless I promise to let him walk home with me. Do you
+mind, father?"
+
+"Certainly not. I'll take Elder Jones home--if I can persuade him to
+ride on Sunday," the Judge added in a whisper.
+
+"Very well, then. Good-by, father," said Florence, moving toward the
+door.
+
+"Good-by, children. It's a hot day, so don't hurry. If you want to stop
+under the willows to rest, I sha'n't mind, and I'll wait lunch for you.
+Don't forget to move up to the house, Harold."
+
+"Thank you, Judge," said Harold, "but as I leave in the morning, I don't
+believe I had better bother you."
+
+"Nonsense, my boy," called the Judge. "I'll send down for your traps
+this afternoon."
+
+When Florence and Harold reached the street, the congregation had mostly
+dispersed. Instead of following the villagers along under the shady elms
+into the heart of the village, they turned to the left, and tramped in
+the hot sun toward the shore of the little lake which lay at the end of
+the town. Judge Moreland's place was on the opposite bank, and although
+the grey tower on the north wing of the house, rising above the
+surrounding oak trees, seemed quite near, they were obliged to follow
+the road for a mile and a half along the lake shore. About half way was
+a clump of willow trees growing by the water, under whose shade they had
+often stopped to rest. Florence and Harold both loved this little lake,
+sunk like a gem amid the rough setting of the mountain crags, and they
+both felt, instinctively, that they did not care to talk much until they
+reached their old haunt under the willows. Even Florence forgot her
+curiosity, and as she walked beside Harold over the road they had so
+often tramped together, she seemed to forget that he had been away, and
+that at their last meeting in distant Chicago so much that was
+unpleasant had occurred. Here in the New Hampshire mountains all seemed
+so different; she felt freed from the tainted atmosphere of the city
+which had made her restless and uncertain in mind. Florence had not
+forgotten her last words with Harold in Chicago; indeed she had thought
+of them over and over again, during the long months that had passed
+since that interview; the unpleasant episode at the Renaissance Club was
+also seldom absent from her mind; but to-day it all seemed to have faded
+quietly from her heart. Harold had come into church so silently, and it
+seemed so natural to be walking by his side, that she was carried back
+to the years before she went to Europe, when, still a child, she used to
+romp and play with him over these same New Hampshire hills.
+
+They reached the willows, and Florence sat down on the green turf and
+leaned her back against a tree. She took off her hat and let the breeze
+cool her temples, while Harold, stretched out on the bank beside her,
+lay for a while resting upon his elbow, and carelessly watching the
+pebbles, he threw from time to time, skip lightly from ripple to ripple
+and finally sink from sight. The sunlight danced on the gently ruffled
+surface of the water; in the distance the bold side of a mountain rose
+abruptly above the lake, its rough outlines standing out sharply in
+relief against the clear blue of the sky; and the little white
+farmhouses, perched here and there high up on its slopes, glistened in
+the sunshine.
+
+They sat there enjoying the scene, until Florence seemed to awaken, as
+from a pleasant dream, and feel all her troubled thoughts come rudely
+back to her. She remembered that Harold had come from the distant city
+in the West and had not yet told her the meaning of his unexpected
+visit. "We must not dream on forever, Harold," she said, as he lazily
+sent another pebble skipping from wave to wave; "you have not yet told
+me the nature of the message you have brought."
+
+Harold slightly shifted his position and, resting his head on his hand,
+looked up into her face with a surprised expression, as though he, too,
+had forgotten the present and was startled at being called back to it.
+"I brought a command for you to return to Chicago," he said, smiling.
+
+"A command from whom?" she asked in astonishment.
+
+"Here it is," he answered, reaching into his pocket and producing a
+letter which he handed to Florence.
+
+It was addressed in Marion Sanderson's hand. Florence hastily broke the
+seal and read as follows:
+
+"DEAREST FLORENCE:--
+
+"I have never forgiven you for your sudden flight last winter, and the
+offense is of such long standing that I summon you to appear in Chicago
+before Derby Day to answer a charge of infidelity to me. You will be
+imprisoned here for at least one month,--longer if possible,--and I
+charge Mr. Wainwright with the execution of this warrant. In other
+words, dearest girl, I cannot live any longer without seeing you, and
+must have you here for a visit. Pack up and come immediately, as the
+Derby is a great 'function' here, and is run on the twenty-first of
+June.
+
+    "With a world of love,
+        "I am, your devoted
+                "MARION."
+
+"Did you come all the way from Chicago to bring me this?" Florence
+asked, after she had finished the letter.
+
+Harold was sitting up now, and looking into her face he said quietly: "I
+came to tell you again that I love you."
+
+Florence felt a sudden emotion thrill her heart, but a doubtful
+expression came into her eyes as she glanced down and said slowly: "You
+forget what happened the day before I left Chicago."
+
+Harold smiled. He took her hand and held it firmly between his own. "I
+remember that you are the bravest girl in the world," he said, "and
+that, to save a friend, you accused yourself."
+
+"You don't know that," said Florence anxiously.
+
+"I know that nothing could make me believe you did wrong, for you are
+incapable of it." Then he added earnestly: "I know, too, that I love you
+better than my life."
+
+Florence looked up into his face and he must have read her answer in
+those gentle, brown eyes, for, without waiting for her to speak, he drew
+her to his side and kissed her on both cheeks. "I love you, I love you,"
+he repeated, as he held her tightly in his strong arms; "but I must hear
+love spoken by those dear lips."
+
+"I love you, Harold," she said, and the words made his heart leap with
+happiness.
+
+"Then why were you so cruel to me last winter?" he asked reproachfully.
+
+"I did not know it then," she answered. "It was not until I left the
+smoky city and came away into the free country air that I knew I cared
+for you, Harold, dear."
+
+"I wondered you cared for me at all," he replied laughingly. "We had
+been friends so long that it was strange for me to speak of love."
+
+"Yes; I always believed that love was some giant who crushes one by his
+mighty power," she said, "and I found he was a little rascal who stole
+into my heart before I knew he was anywhere about. But, O, Harold, I am
+so happy now."
+
+She rested her head on his shoulder and looked up into his face again.
+He kissed her, and, as he did so, the wind caught Marion Sanderson's
+note lying in her lap, and carried it out onto the lake, where, resting
+on the water, it sailed slowly away toward the western shore. Harold saw
+it and asked what message it bore from her to Marion.
+
+"I had forgotten the note," she answered. "It makes me think of that
+woman and the danger poor Marion was in. I had better not go to
+Chicago," she said, after a moment's thought.
+
+"Why not, sweet one?" asked Harold.
+
+"Because of that woman. She would say such things about me."
+
+Harold smiled. "Don't you think they would have been said long ago, if
+she had intended saying them?" he asked.
+
+"Perhaps she did say them, though I have heard nothing, and one usually
+hears the unpleasant things that are said of one."
+
+"I know you have heard nothing, dear," he replied, "and I know you never
+will."
+
+"You forget what I admitted to her, and you don't know what a spiteful
+woman is capable of."
+
+"I know Mrs. McSeeney," he said.
+
+"And you think that she can be trusted? I am surprised at you, Harold."
+
+"I think she is the last woman in the world I would trust," he replied.
+
+"Then what do you mean?" she asked.
+
+"Mrs. McSeeney and I are old acquaintances. I think I can answer for
+her."
+
+"You speak in enigmas, Harold, and you ought not to keep any secrets
+from me, you know."
+
+"I don't think you had better ask to know more," he said laughingly.
+
+"But I do," she answered.
+
+"Then I obey. Mrs. McSeeney and I were at Bar Harbor the same summer. I
+got to know her very well, perhaps better than she liked."
+
+"Well, what has that to do with the affair in Chicago?" Florence asked
+impatiently.
+
+"Nothing much except that Mrs. McSeeney thinks it would be wise never to
+mention it."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I can't tell you. It is a secret between Mrs. McSeeney and myself."
+
+"Harold Wainwright," she said, in a tone of authority that startled him,
+"I forbid you to have any secrets from me."
+
+"Well," replied Harold, "if you command me to tell more, I must admit
+that Mrs. McSeeney and I had a confidential talk directly after it
+happened, and I persuaded her that she had better not mention the matter
+again."
+
+"You persuaded her? How ridiculous! You must have threatened her with
+something. What was it?"
+
+"I merely asked her if she remembered a certain evening at Bar Harbor
+when there was a _fete_ at the Canoe Club."
+
+"Well, what of it? I don't see anything unusual in that."
+
+"I can't tell you more; only when I reminded her of that evening she
+acknowledged that it would be discreet for her to remain silent
+concerning you and Marion Sanderson. You see I happened accidentally to
+observe some of Mrs. McSeeney's actions on that occasion, and,
+considering that you were in her power, I felt justified in informing
+her of the fact."
+
+"Then it was you who saved Marion and me from her spiteful tongue," said
+Florence in a relieved tone. "You don't know how grateful I am, and how
+I have worried over that matter."
+
+"You need worry no longer, my girl," replied Harold. "But I must tell
+you again how plucky you were to try to save your friend in the way you
+did, and now let's forget all about it."
+
+"Yes, dear," said Florence fondly. "We have pleasanter things to think
+of."
+
+"'Tis true, my darling," he replied, taking both of her hands in his.
+"To-day you have made me the happiest man in the world. Do you know why
+I love you?"
+
+"No; why?"
+
+"Because you have so much common sense."
+
+Florence smiled. "I never showed it until I began to love you," she
+replied; "but what time do you suppose it is? Just think of poor papa
+waiting all this time."
+
+"Only to find he has lost his best possession," answered Harold.
+
+Judge Moreland was sitting in the library when they reached the house,
+and although he had been waiting patiently for nearly an hour since the
+servant had announced luncheon, he did not seem ill-humored, for, on
+seeing the delinquents enter, he smiled good-humoredly, and shook his
+head with mock disapproval, as he said: "Three-quarters of an hour late,
+children. That is more than I bargained for, but you will be punished.
+The luncheon is cold and you will be compelled to eat it without
+grumbling."
+
+Harold took Florence's hand and they both stood before the Judge; then
+Harold said penitently: "The fault is mine, sir, but I have a greater
+sin to answer for. I have robbed you of your daughter, and I come to ask
+your clemency."
+
+"I think I understand," answered the Judge. "Yours is a very grave
+offense, and the only way you can obtain pardon is by seeking benefit of
+clergy. Florence, my girl, come here and let me kiss you. You have made
+me very happy."
+
+"Happy," echoed Florence, "I feared you would never forgive me."
+
+"Not forgive you for loving the son of Judge Wainwright? He was my best
+friend and his son will make my daughter the best husband in the world.
+Give me your hand, Harold," he continued, after he had kissed Florence
+affectionately, "you are your father's own boy."
+
+"That is the best compliment you could pay me," answered Harold.
+
+"I know it is, and you know I mean it when I say I expect to see you on
+the federal bench yourself some day."
+
+"Luncheon is getting cold, sir," said the old family butler, coming into
+the room and looking far from amiable.
+
+"Let it wait, Thomas," said the Judge, "until you can get a bottle of
+champagne up from the cellar. We have some healths to drink to-day,
+haven't we, children?"
+
+That evening the little church was lighted up for evening service, and
+again the rustling of fans ceased, and heads were turned around as
+Florence and Harold took their seats. But Harold's eyes were no longer
+directed toward the pew in front of him, and the doctor's daughter
+remarked that the two people in front of her stood unnecessarily close
+to each other during the hymns, while the postmaster's wife made up her
+mind that people who "smirk and look so silly durin' meetin' must be
+sparkin'." In fact the homely folk of Fairville were not slow of
+perception; many were the gossiping heads put together that night, and
+it was a curious coincidence that there was no dissenting voice in
+regard to the probability of a certain event having taken place that
+afternoon.
+
+Going home that night, Florence and Harold walked with the tarrying step
+of lovers, but the Judge was not waiting luncheon, and, as the evening
+was warm and bright, they rested again under the willows, watching the
+moonlight play on the ripples of the lake. They were planning for the
+future, and many were the rosy tinted castles reared in that soft night
+air under the shade of the trees they loved so well. The moon shone
+kindly over the mountain top at the farther end of the lake, and the
+waves plashed softly on the pebbles at their feet, as Florence sat there
+with her head resting on Harold's shoulder, dreaming the sweetest dream
+of life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+UNREST.
+
+
+The sun was streaming through the Sanderson's library window, and the
+curtains were fluttering in the soft lake breeze which blew through the
+open casement. Across the driveway a policeman was chatting with a trim
+nursery maid, and two or three loungers were leaning over the sea wall,
+watching the blue water splash lazily against the grey stones. The white
+sails of the lake craft in the offing glistened in the sunshine, and the
+smoke from the steamers settled along the horizon in long black streaks,
+while the passing of an occasional vehicle along the driveway produced a
+little cloud of dust, which for a moment obscured the view, and then was
+carried away by the summer breeze and scattered along the roadway. The
+atmosphere had the hazy hue peculiar to one of those first warm days of
+early summer, when the air seems charged with lassitude, and one is
+overpowered with a depressing sense of _ennui_, which precludes the
+possibility of any sort of action.
+
+Marion Sanderson and Florence Moreland were there in the library, trying
+to keep cool and talking over the events of the past six months. Marion
+was stretched on a lounge with an Eau-de-Cologne bandage bound about her
+forehead to relieve the _migraine_ from which she was suffering, and
+Florence sat beside her, plying a palm-leaf fan and trying to amuse her
+friend by accounts of the small doings of her life in New Hampshire.
+
+"So you think I must have had a stupid winter," said Florence, in answer
+to Marion's last remark.
+
+"I am sure of it. You had much better have remained here with me."
+
+"You are very inconsistent," laughed Florence. "Last minute you said
+Chicago was the dullest place you knew anything about."
+
+"I meant dull in comparison with London or New York. It is certainly
+better than a place where life is made up of prayer meetings and snow
+banks."
+
+"I am glad you are beginning to appreciate the advantages of your home,"
+said Florence.
+
+"Don't chaff me, Florence. I can't bear it. I am too nervous. I wish you
+had this headache for five minutes and perhaps you would feel sorrier
+for me."
+
+"Why, my dear, I do feel sorry for you; isn't there anything I can do?"
+
+"No; Dr. Maccanfrae is coming this morning and I suppose he will give me
+a lot of stuff, but it won't do me any good. I have taken every known
+medicine this winter, and I have had this headache every day for months.
+I can't eat anything. I can't sleep, and I am tired and bored all the
+time. The Doctor calls it neurasthenia, but I don't know what good it
+does to put such a big name to it, when he can't do me any good."
+
+"There must be something that will help you," said Florence.
+
+"Of course there is. If I could go somewhere else to live I know I
+should feel better. What I need is some new distraction, but how can I
+have that in this stupid town?" Then she was silent for awhile and
+during that time she thought of the few days last winter when a new
+element had come into her life only to vanish as quickly again. She
+thought of a ball-room, an exciting dance, and the magnetic impulse of a
+moment which had made life seem so sweet. Why had she resisted that
+temptation, she asked herself. The other course could not have made her
+more unhappy, and it, at least, was no more a mockery than her present
+life, with that love still burning fiercely to the wild accompaniment of
+Tzigan strains, echoing in her heart. "What is the use of being good?"
+she asked herself. Then she smiled a mocking answer, turned over on the
+lounge and buried her face in the cushions.
+
+Florence watched Marion anxiously for a moment. She was extremely
+worried about the state of nervous depression in which she had found her
+friend on returning to Chicago, and she was trying to think of some way
+in which she could help her. She leaned over her and slowly stroked her
+rich black hair. Marion looked up and smiled faintly. Then she seized
+Florence's hand and began to sob nervously. "You love me, don't you
+Florence; you love me, don't you?" she said between the sobs.
+
+"You don't need to ask that, Marion."
+
+"I know it," she replied; "I think you are the only person in the world
+who understands me, the only person who loves me."
+
+"You are wrong in that, my dear, I am sure."
+
+"No, I am not," she moaned. "I want love, I must have love. O, I can't
+live without it!"
+
+Florence stroked Marion's head again, and tried to soothe her hysterical
+sobbing. "Dear," she said softly, "there is one man who would die for
+you if it would bring you happiness. I am sure of it."
+
+Marion turned her head away and did not reply. Florence felt pity for
+her friend's unhappy state of mind, which she considered was, in a great
+measure, self-produced, but she knew it was useless to talk to Marion
+about her husband, as she was a woman who could not be influenced by
+persuasive words. Florence wanted to help her friend to understand the
+danger she was in, but she could not see a way which promised success;
+so, thinking that the best course was to divert her mind from herself,
+she took Marion's hand and said cheerfully, "I have a secret to tell
+you, dear, but you must sit up and look pleased."
+
+"I hope it is interesting," said Marion somewhat mournfully. "I haven't
+heard a secret for months."
+
+"Guess what it is."
+
+"Is it an engagement?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Whose?"
+
+"Guess."
+
+"I can't. You must tell me immediately. I am dying to know," answered
+Marion, brightening considerably.
+
+"It is mine."
+
+"You horrid creature," said Marion, sitting up and hurling one of the
+sofa cushions at Florence.
+
+"That is a novel way to treat a friend at such a time," Florence said as
+she dodged the pillow.
+
+"You are an awful girl not to tell me before. How could you be in the
+house since yesterday and not say anything? I suppose Harold Wainwright
+is the man, but I don't much care who he is. You are a provoking
+creature," and she emphasized her remarks by throwing another cushion
+which hit wide of the mark, and sent some books spinning off the library
+table onto the floor.
+
+Marion was over her depression now, and, jumping up, she threw her arms
+about Florence and kissed her, saying: "Sit down, dear, and tell me all
+about it. When did it happen? When is it going to be announced? When are
+you going to be married? I always felt you would marry him. Who are you
+going to have for bridesmaids?"
+
+Florence laughed at Marion's multitude of questions. "You dear girl,"
+she said, kissing her, "I am glad I made you smile again; but I can
+answer only one of those questions. It happened last Sunday at
+Fairville."
+
+"And you didn't tell me until now! O, I will pay you up for this. But
+come, let's talk it all over and decide about the wedding and the
+bridesmaids."
+
+A servant entered the room and announced "Dr. Maccanfrae." Marion and
+Florence hurriedly assumed different positions and adjusted their
+ruffled hair. Then the kind face of the philanthropic physician appeared
+in the doorway.
+
+"How do I find my patient this morning?" said the Doctor, coming toward
+the window where they were seated.
+
+"Better, I hope," said Florence, turning round.
+
+"Miss Moreland!" exclaimed the Doctor in astonishment. "I thought you
+were somewhere in the White Mountains."
+
+"No; I came back yesterday," she continued as he shook her hand. "I
+thought you needed a nurse for your patient."
+
+"Nurse and remedy combined, for you are the best cure I could prescribe
+for Mrs. Sanderson."
+
+"You are very flattering, Doctor. Under your advice I shall try to do my
+best, but, if you will excuse me, I shall run away and do some
+unpacking." Saying this, Florence left her seat, and, bidding the Doctor
+good-by, walked toward the door. As she was leaving the room she called
+to him, asking when he would give her another lecture on pantheism.
+
+"I fear if I do I shall have to suffer for the sin of corrupting the
+heart of a Puritan," said the Doctor.
+
+"A Puritan is always fortified against Satan's wiles," she answered
+laughingly, as she stopped in the doorway, "and, besides, my
+grandfathers, for six generations, were ministers."
+
+"A case of the transmission of the original sin, I suppose," answered
+the Doctor, as she retired through the door. "And how is my patient
+to-day?" he repeated, as Florence's laughter died away and her steps
+were heard hurrying up the stairs.
+
+"I don't think I am a bit better," said Marion somewhat mournfully,
+having relapsed into her former state in the presence of the Doctor.
+After adjusting the cloth on her aching head, she continued: "I have no
+animation or ambition; I have these frightful nervous pains and
+headaches; my appetite is all gone; nothing seems to amuse me any more,
+and I lie here all day long feeling utterly wretched. In the evening I
+manage to develop animation enough to take me out, and, for a while, I
+forget myself, but when it is over I feel worse than ever. Oh, Doctor,
+what is the matter with me?"
+
+Dr. Maccanfrae looked at Marion a moment as though hesitating to answer
+her question, then, feeling her pulse, he replied: "Mrs. Sanderson,
+there is nothing the matter with you."
+
+"What do you mean, Doctor?" said Marion somewhat angrily. "Do you
+suppose I don't know how I feel?"
+
+"When I say there is nothing the matter with you, I mean you have no
+organic disease. You are simply suffering from the fashionable complaint
+of nervous depression, or neurasthenia, as we physicians call it. Almost
+every woman in your station in life has it sooner or later. It is
+nothing but a symptom, but it may grow into a great many worse things."
+
+"Well, why don't you cure me then, if it is nothing?" remarked Marion in
+a provoked manner.
+
+The Doctor looked at her a moment; then he asked slowly, but with an
+emphasis which seemed to carry a hidden meaning: "Do you want to get
+well, Mrs. Sanderson?"
+
+Marion looked up somewhat startled. "Why do you ask such a question?"
+she replied.
+
+"Because you produced the disease yourself, and you alone can cure it."
+
+"You are positively rude, Doctor."
+
+"I know I should ask pardon for my brusqueness, but I am your physician,
+and I desire to see you well again. The only way that can be
+accomplished is for you to take the case in your own hands."
+
+"I don't understand, Doctor."
+
+"I take a sincere interest in you and your husband. If you will let me
+talk to you as a friend, and will take my advice, I hope I may do you
+much good; but if I am to remain the physician and must confine myself
+to writing prescriptions for worthless drugs, I fear the improvement
+will be slow."
+
+"Go on, Doctor. I promise to listen," said Marion, prompted more by a
+curiosity to hear his advice than by a resolution to follow it.
+
+"I may say some very plain things. Will you promise to take them in the
+friendly way in which they are meant?"
+
+"Go on, Doctor. I shall not get angry, I promise you."
+
+The Doctor leaned forward and said, in a more sympathetic manner: "Mrs.
+Sanderson, every physician whose patients are drawn from the classes we
+call society has to deal with scores of cases precisely like yours. One
+of us will administer bromides; another will feed his patients on
+extract of beef; another will use electricity; another will recommend
+massage, and so on. But all these remedies are fruitless except in so
+far as they assist the sufferer to believe that she is improving, or
+afford some temporary relief. The disease, if so I may term a depressed
+state of the nervous system, is caused by the habits of the patient, and
+can only be cured by changing those habits."
+
+"I am not dissipated," said Marion somewhat resentfully.
+
+"I did not say that, Mrs. Sanderson, but if you desire to get well you
+must completely change your mode of life."
+
+"What must I do?"
+
+"I fear you will only laugh when I tell you, and call me a silly old
+fool."
+
+"No, I sha'n't; I promise."
+
+"You must go to bed before eleven every night. You must be up by
+half-past seven. You must walk or ride every morning, drink no wine,
+tea, or coffee, eat plain food, and read no novels. You must develop an
+interest in your household affairs, get a wholesome occupation for every
+hour of the day, and take no more medicine. When you feel a headache go
+into the fresh air; when you feel depressed, throw the mood off by
+finding some work to do."
+
+"But, Doctor, I had almost sooner die than do all that. I could never
+live in such a routine of the commonplace."
+
+"I know that is very hard, but perhaps it is not all," said the Doctor.
+"You have no children, Mrs. Sanderson."
+
+"No, thank heaven. I am worried enough without that."
+
+"Unfortunately we are confronted in this world with a certain amount of
+worry. I think experience proves that it is better to accept the worries
+nature intended than to create worse ones by trying to circumvent her.
+However, I see you weary of my preaching. Think it over until Monday,
+and then I shall give you some more advice provided you think your
+nerves can bear it."
+
+"You are just as bad as Dr. Thompson."
+
+"Only I have no choir boys and spring bonnets to attract an audience,"
+replied the Doctor, rising to leave. Then he continued in a different
+tone: "I trust you will pardon what I have said, and even if you don't
+follow my disagreeable _regime_, I want you to feel that I gave you the
+best advice that I could."
+
+The Doctor bade her good-by, and when he was gone she buried her face in
+the pillows and thought over what he had said. "I never could do all
+that," she thought; "besides, he is a perfect crank on fresh air and
+diet. If I thought Roswell would let me, I would go to someone else. I
+think he is too old to be up with the times, and Mrs. Smythe says Dr.
+Wimbleton is a perfect dear and helped her from the first day she went
+to him. O, my poor head, how it does ache!" she called out, half
+expecting sympathy from the oak book-shelves and the bric-a-brac; then
+she turned over nervously and continued her restless thinking. "I wish I
+were dead," she moaned. "So little comes into my life that living it is
+scarcely worth the trouble. If there were only someone to bring me
+sympathy. If I could only forget those days when, for a few moments, I
+felt as other women feel."
+
+Florence came into the room again and Marion, hearing her step, looked
+up. "Is it you?" she said.
+
+"Yes," answered Florence; "I heard the Doctor go out so I thought I
+would come back. What did he say?"
+
+"O, a lot of nonsense which I really did not listen to. He ought to do
+more to cure me and talk less. In fact, I think his personality
+exasperates me, and I am afraid I shall have to change physicians if I
+want to get any better."
+
+"Poor Dr. Maccanfrae," said Florence. "He is the dearest, kindest, best
+intentioned man in the world. Think of the good he does among the poor."
+
+"O, I know all about that, but that's no reason why he should lecture me
+like a child about going to bed early and taking exercise."
+
+"Perhaps he believes more in such medicine than in drugs. Don't you
+think yourself that it is some such _regime_ that you need?"
+
+"Don't you begin to lecture me, too," said Marion, with a sigh. "Life
+is hard enough without your making it worse."
+
+"I shall not lecture you, I promise, but," she continued, taking
+Marion's hands and pulling her up from the lounge, "as your nurse, I
+must see that you have a change. Come, tell me what are the plans for
+to-day."
+
+"Why, there's the luncheon at Mrs. Ryder's."
+
+"Good, and what else?"
+
+"Why, we dine at the Beemers' to-night."
+
+"And to-morrow?"
+
+"We go to the races on Walter Sedger's drag, and dine at the Washington
+Park Club."
+
+"Is your husband going?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"How does he leave his business?"
+
+"I make him."
+
+"Very well, then this morning before luncheon we take a walk as far as
+Lincoln Park."
+
+"I can't walk that far, Florence."
+
+"You are going to walk that far," said Florence, authoritatively. "I am
+your nurse, and I insist upon it."
+
+"But I shall be ill all day."
+
+"Never mind, you will get over it this afternoon when we read some
+Thackeray, and to-morrow morning you and I will do the marketing."
+
+"You are crazy, Florence, I do believe."
+
+"I never was more sane in my life. Come, I am in earnest. You would have
+me here, you know, and I shall make myself so disagreeable that you will
+be thankful when I am gone."
+
+"O, Florence, how can you be so rough?" said Marion, as Florence dragged
+her toward the door.
+
+"There, now," said Florence, after they had passed into the hall, "go
+and put on your hat. I brought mine with me."
+
+"Just think of the heat, Florence," said Marion as she disappeared up
+the stairs.
+
+In a few minutes Marion returned looking brighter already, Florence
+thought, and the two women were soon strolling along the lake shore
+talking over the countless trivialities women find to talk about, and at
+tea-time, after a day of Florence's nursing, Marion was forced to admit
+that she had passed an unusually cheerful day. Roswell Sanderson came in
+just as they were finishing tea, and after taking a seat and declining
+a cup of the beverage, he said in a careless manner: "By the way,
+Marion, an old friend of yours came into the bank just before I left."
+
+"Who?" asked Marion.
+
+"That New Yorker, Duncan Grahame."
+
+Marion felt a sudden sinking in her heart and was conscious that the
+color was fading from her cheeks, but she took a large swallow of tea
+and tried to look unconcerned. Florence watched Roswell's face closely
+and saw the same expression come into his eyes which she had noticed
+that afternoon at the Renaissance Club tea.
+
+"When did he come?" asked Marion, after a moment.
+
+"This morning on the 'Limited'. He has been in England all winter. You
+will see him to-morrow, as he told me Sedger had asked him on his
+coach."
+
+"What fate has brought him back again?" thought Marion.
+
+Roswell Sanderson was silent for a moment, then he came toward his wife.
+Taking a seat beside her, he asked tenderly if she remembered what day
+it was; then he took a package from his pocket which he dropped into her
+lap.
+
+"Why, it's the anniversary of our wedding. I had quite forgotten it."
+
+Florence had left the room a moment before, so that they were alone.
+Marion untied the parcel in her lap, and found that it was a case
+containing a string of pearls. She looked up into her husband's face and
+kissed him, and a feeling of shame came into her heart. She saw a love
+in his eyes which she could not return, and she prayed that he might
+find the means to make her love him. This thought was in her heart only
+for a moment, then she was playing with the pearls, and wondering again
+why Duncan had come back into her life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+DERBY DAY.
+
+
+A small crowd was collected in front of the Hotel Mazarin, and its
+proportions were gradually being swelled by passing Saturday loungers.
+Walter Sedger's drag, drawn up in front of the hotel to receive his
+party for the races, was the attraction which drew together this
+inquisitive throng, and in spite of the expression of superior
+indifference assumed by most of the men and boys composing the crowd, it
+was easy to see that the red-wheeled coach, with its smart team of
+browns, was an object of more than passing interest. A park policeman
+was exchanging a word or two in a knowing manner with the stolid Briton
+in boots and breeches at the leaders' heads, and near him a
+slouch-hatted veteran, wearing a Grand Army badge, was talking
+condescendingly with an ice-man. A large cake of ice, which had been
+carried thus far on its way to the hotel bar, was slowly melting in the
+sun, and little streams of water flowed from it and trickled into the
+gutter; but the veteran and the ice-man still gazed at the shining
+panels of the drag, and eyed the "cattle" with the air of connoisseurs,
+while a butcher's boy with his white apron and basket of meat, and a
+German carpenter with his kit of tools, stood there stolidly, intent
+upon remaining until the show was over. A diminutive Italian boot-black,
+still attired in the rags of his native Naples, had crowded to the curb
+and was standing in front of two Norwegian sailors; just behind them was
+a party of Bohemian laborers, and a peddler from sunny Sicily touched
+elbows with a mortar-covered mason from Erin's shores, while some
+cadaverous clerks from the State Street shops, radiant in the ready-made
+attire of assumed gentility, were there, helping to swell this crowd of
+perhaps a hundred loungers. They were all citizen of the great Republic,
+and though few could speak intelligently the language of their adopted
+home, probably most of them, in their hearts, resented the appearance on
+the Chicago streets of this English coach as something unAmerican, for
+which "them doods" on the Avenue were responsible.
+
+The hands of the hotel clock indicated that the hour was nearing two.
+The thin-faced veteran in the slouch hat plunged his hands deeper into
+his trousers' pockets, and, turning his head to a critical angle, said
+patronizingly to the ice-man: "Them's the things they calls
+'tally-ho's.'" The ice-man rolled his shirt-sleeves a little higher
+above his elbows, folded his brawny arms and replied, in the accent of
+the Teuton, "I dink dot vas it."
+
+"Them swells likes to show off mighty well. Wonder what that machine
+cost," answered the veteran. But before the ice-man could reply, a
+messenger boy at his side shouted out, "Golly! there goes another of
+them 'busses," and the attention of the crowd was attracted toward the
+street, where Jack Elliot's coach, with its team of roans, was passing
+along the Avenue, bearing a party to the races.
+
+"I wish that chap in the white pants'd toot his horn," said the
+messenger boy; but Jack Elliot was a coaching man who did not believe
+in arousing the neighborhood with useless music, so the wish was not
+gratified.
+
+While the attention of the crowd was thus diverted, Sedger and his
+friends emerged from the hotel. The party was composed of Marion and her
+husband, Florence Moreland, Harold Wainwright, a Mrs. Smith from
+Cincinnati, and Walter Sedger. They had been lunching in the restaurant
+of the hotel, and on reaching the sidewalk they at first found some
+difficulty in pushing their way toward the coach; but on seeing them the
+smart park policeman on duty officiously pushed the crowd back and made
+a way for them.
+
+"I can't wait for Grahame any longer," Sedger was saying to Mrs.
+Sanderson. "He couldn't lunch with us, and I told him to be here at
+half-past one. It's a quarter to two, and we shall miss the first race."
+
+"Don't wait for him, then," said Marion, thinking this was the only
+thing to be said, but feeling an inward disappointment at the thought
+that Duncan might not see her in her white crepon gown, with its gold
+corselet and braided trimmings, just sent her by Mrs. Mason of
+Burlington Street, London, W. She knew it was becoming, and she also
+liked her Virot hat, but she didn't think it wise to put Sedger in an
+ill-humor by asking him to wait, so she walked silently to where a groom
+was holding a ladder against the box-seat. Meanwhile Sedger passed round
+to his off side wheeler and picked up his reins. Assorting them in
+correct road fashion he mounted to his seat, wrapped a light driving
+apron about his legs, picked up his whip, caught the lash in a double
+thong, and waited while his party took their places. Marion mounted to
+the box seat and the rest took the longer seat behind. Just as Sedger
+was about to start his team, Marion, who had been constantly looking in
+the direction in which Duncan should appear, saw him hastening around
+the corner of Jackson Street. "There is Mr. Grahame," she called out,
+and while Duncan was hurrying along the street, Roswell Sanderson
+suggested that he and Wainwright had better change to the back seat, so
+as to give Duncan an opportunity of seeing something of the city.
+
+Duncan came up almost breathless from his rapid walking, and after
+exchanging a hurried greeting with the party, mounted to the seat
+beside Florence left vacant by Harold Wainwright. "Let 'em go," Sedger
+called to the grooms. The lead bars rattled, the leaders pranced as the
+grooms jumped from their heads, the wheelers sprang into their collars,
+and the coach rolled off down the Avenue.
+
+It was a bright June day, and all Chicago seemed to be in the long,
+tree-lined boulevard which stretched away to the south. Hundreds of
+vehicles of every description known to the coach-builder's craft were
+rolling over the hard macadam pavement, bearing people to the races, and
+in this motley array were to be found all sorts and conditions of men
+and carriages. Buggies and express wagons, stanhopes and butcher carts,
+mail-phaetons and road-carts, char-a-bancs and extension tops, victorias
+and "hacks," coaches and omnibuses, aristocracy and democracy scattered
+the same dust and rolled toward the same goal. Only the road to Epsom
+can present a scene more varied than this; only the Champs Elysees
+excels the noble avenue down which Walter Sedger tooled his team of
+browns.
+
+"It is a pleasure to live on such a day, with four such horses to drive
+behind, isn't it, Mr. Grahame?" asked Florence, as the coach rolled past
+the Auditorium, and the team settled down to their work.
+
+"I am surprised you think so," answered Duncan, with a bantering
+expression in his eyes.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I don't see how you reconcile so Anglican an institution as a
+drag with your patriotic sentiments."
+
+"You forget that George Washington hunted, and had his clothes made in
+London."
+
+"Then I am to infer that the highest type of patriot is he who rides to
+hounds and gets his coats on Hanover or Conduit Street."
+
+"You are to infer that the highest type of patriot is not he who
+blusters sectional prejudice from under the shade of a slouch hat, but
+he who is sufficiently liberal to combine foreign excellencies with
+native virtues."
+
+"You have a flow of expression which would do credit to a campaign
+orator," laughed Duncan. "For my part I don't believe in patriotism, at
+least in the sentimental sense of the word. Patriotism is a compound of
+pride and jealousy. Eliminate these two factors, to use an algebraic
+expression, and nothing remains."
+
+"I fear we shall never agree on such questions," said Florence, anxious
+not to enter into a useless argument with Duncan.
+
+"Perhaps, after all, it is my fault," answered Duncan with an expression
+of sadness in his eyes which seemed strange to Florence. "I wish I might
+believe in noble sentiment, but a man who has had his wings clipped in
+Wall Street is not the chap for sentiment."
+
+"Perhaps you will change your mind one day," answered Florence.
+
+"It would only take one example of true sentiment to convert me," said
+Duncan gravely. "Well," he added, after a moment, "there may be rough
+spots in a worldly life, but there is no dullness, and, after all, that
+is what most of us try to avoid. While the sparkle lasts life is sweet,
+but when it is gone one might as well give up the fight."
+
+Mrs. Smith of Cincinnati interrupted them by asking Florence if she knew
+what the large, brick building on the left was.
+
+"That is the Calumet Club," Florence answered, and then they subsided,
+for a moment, into silence.
+
+Approaching Grand Boulevard the crowd of vehicles became denser, and the
+coaching party found much to amuse them. Sedger pointed his leaders
+around the corner of Thirty-fifth Street, and the coach swayed and
+rocked as the four browns dashed around the turn into the short
+cross-street. The horn was sounded to warn the street cars of their
+approach, and then, after a passing glance of horses, coach, and party,
+reflected in the broad shop windows of the street, another corner was
+turned, and they were rolling along the broad boulevard leading to
+Washington Park. Sedger was late, and, anxious to be in time for the
+first race, he sent his lash under the lead bars, and touched the off
+leader a clip on the legs which made him jump into his collar in quick
+order. The team all caught the inspiration of the lash, the pace was
+quickened, and the great vehicle rumbled on past the small fry of the
+road, quickly measuring off the two miles or more of straight avenue
+stretching away toward the park. The party on the drag laughed and
+talked, and occasionally glanced at the quickly changing scene. Soon the
+coach was rolling past the great, green meadow of the park so English in
+its aspect, and then, after passing a bit of lake where hundreds of
+holiday seekers were now stretched in the cool shade of the shrubs on
+its banks, rattled down the little incline which leads to the Club House
+road. The strains of band-music came over the bit of level ground and
+the party could see the great Grand Stand crowded with its ten thousand
+spectators. By its side was the Club House, standing on a rise of ground
+skirted by lawns and flower-beds, its two verandas filled with people,
+and the driveway in front crowded with arriving vehicles.
+
+Sedger urged his team to a gallop, and the horses scampered through the
+lodge-gate and up the little hill to the Club House, where he brought
+them up "all standing." The people on the veranda crowded forward to see
+the coaching party, while Sedger and his guests descended, and the
+coachman drove the steaming horses off to the stables. Scores of smart
+traps followed the drag up to the club steps, and the party stopped a
+moment to view the brilliant scene. Sleek horses and polished brass,
+neat liveries and shining panels, bright gowns and gay parasols, moved
+in seemingly endless succession to the accompanying music of champing
+bits and the restless pawing of countless hoofs. After watching the
+changing throng for a moment, Sedger and his party walked through the
+Club House to the veranda facing the course, which they found filled
+with members and their friends. On the enclosed lawn before them people
+were sitting in chairs, or walking up and down. Considering this the
+best place to view the sport, they placed seats on the green turf and
+sat down in the shade of the Club House.
+
+"A capital course this," said Duncan to Marion, as he glanced across the
+turf-covered enclosure filled with smartly dressed people to the track
+beyond, where a half dozen racers were taking their preliminary gallop.
+"I had no idea you had such a place as this in Chicago," he added, and
+then Sedger suggested that they go to the betting ring and see how the
+betting was.
+
+"Wait till after this race," put in Wainwright. "There go the horses to
+the post."
+
+"Well, if we can't play this race, we must have a hat pool," answered
+Sedger, who felt that not to have something on a race was to lose half
+the sport. "Let's see, there are just seven horses and seven of our
+party. Five dollars apiece for a flyer."
+
+No one objected, so Sedger wrote the seven numbers on little pieces of
+paper which he tore off his programme, and, shaking them up in his hat,
+he passed them about among his party.
+
+"What horse have you, Mrs. Sanderson?" asked Duncan as she drew her
+number from the hat.
+
+"Number seven," answered Marion, and Duncan looked at his card to see
+what horse it was. "Orion," he said, "and his colors are purple and
+white."
+
+"My husband's university colors; that ought to bring me luck."
+
+"Not on Orion, I am afraid," interrupted Sedger, who prided himself on
+his knowledge of the turf. "He was a 'twenty-to-one shot' in town last
+night, but I'll be generous and give you two dollars for him."
+
+"No, I prefer to keep him. Orion may prove a lucky star after all."
+
+"By Jove, they're off!" shouted Duncan, who had been watching the horses
+at the post on the other side of the course. They were all well bunched,
+the red flag dropped, and away they scampered on a five-furlong dash.
+
+"Orion's last, Mrs. Sanderson," called Sedger, who was following the
+race with a large pair of russet-leathered field-glasses. "Orion's last,
+but I'll give you a dollar for your chance."
+
+"Don't take it, Mrs. Sanderson, he's coming up," said Duncan, as the
+horses dashed around the first turn, scattering a cloud of dust behind
+them. Then the crowd in front of the Grand Stand began to surge and
+sway, and the sea of ten thousand hats was lashed to excitement. A
+murmur broke forth from the distant crowd as a mass of color and racers
+emerged from the dust and rushed down the home stretch; then the
+cheering grew louder and the hats swayed more furiously as the horses
+dashed on to the finish.
+
+"Look at Orion now," said Duncan, "he's a good second. By Jove, he
+wins!" he shouted, as the purple and white rushed to the front and won
+hands down by a neck. "I congratulate you, Mrs. Sanderson."
+
+"Who would have thought the brute could beat 'The Wizard' who sold at
+two to one on" said Sedger, and then he suggested that the men should go
+to the betting ring and play the Derby.
+
+Duncan turned to Marion and asked if she would not choose him a horse to
+play. "You are so lucky that I feel sure of winning," he added.
+
+"But I know nothing about the horses," remonstrated Marion.
+
+"Neither do I, so we have a fair chance."
+
+"Well, I choose Belle of Newport."
+
+"You think she ought to be fast, I suppose."
+
+"No, but the Marquis, who, Mr. Sedger says, is a favorite, will be sure
+to follow her."
+
+"Don't you play the Belle, Grahame," said Sedger, as he and Duncan left
+the ladies and wandered toward the Grand Stand. "Her owner told me last
+night that he is afraid she isn't fit."
+
+"Perhaps he intends playing her himself," laughed Duncan.
+
+Sedger and Duncan passed over the bridge connecting the Club House lawn
+with the Grand Stand, and were soon in the midst of the great crowd
+moving toward the betting-rooms. The sun beat down upon the heads of
+this army of enthusiasts, but, despite the heat, thousands of men
+crowded into the low room where scores of keen book-makers, with their
+coats off, were ranged in little booths, calling off the odds on the
+next race, and taking the money of the eager crowd of gamblers. By the
+time Sedger and Duncan had worked their way through this throng up to a
+book-maker, and had purchased two tickets on Marquis and Belle of
+Newport respectively, they were thankful to hurry out of the stifling
+place into the open air.
+
+"I took your advice, Mrs. Sanderson," said Duncan, after he had returned
+to the club lawn. "Belle of Newport is my horse."
+
+"I hope my choice won't bring you ill luck."
+
+"We shall soon know, for there go the horses to the post."
+
+Five of the starters trotted past the Club House, and there was a
+perceptible movement among the people on the veranda and lawn as the
+contestants for the great event passed before them. The Marquis was the
+favorite and he was greeted by a round of applause, as Jockey Gannon
+urged him into a brisk hand gallop. The sleek sides of the chestnut
+gelding glistened in the sunshine, and he certainly looked a winner.
+Close at his heels was the bay Kentucky filly, Belle of Newport, ridden
+by the veteran Forest, and the knowing ones could see that the Southern
+mare was in prime condition. The first horses were followed by three
+stragglers who had been late in saddling, and then the starter's
+carriage rolled across the green turf of the field toward the half-mile
+post at the opposite side of the course. Hundreds of glasses were
+leveled at the bunch of racers over by the stables, restlessly tugging
+at their bits. Then there was a scramble and a rush of horses past the
+red flag, but one horse was slow in getting away and the flag still
+fluttered in the breeze. The jockeys pulled up their mounts and turned
+them back to the starting-post. After much manoeuvring for positions,
+they scrambled away again, scattering the dust behind them. They were
+well bunched, the red flag dropped, and away they went on the mile and
+a half gallop for the American Derby. The crowd surged wildly and eager
+eyes were strained toward the mass of horses scampering over the first
+half-mile of the course.
+
+Down they came to the Grand Stand, a cloud of dust enveloping them and
+almost concealing the bright colors of the riders. Men rushed to the
+railings and strained their eyes down the course; a faint murmur broke
+from the crowd and grew louder and louder. "Marquis! Marquis wins!" was
+shouted by the favorite's friends, as they saw the long stride of the
+chestnut gelding in front. Then the racers clattered past the Grand
+Stand, urged on by cheers and applause.
+
+It was nobody's race yet, but Marquis still led, with Belle of Newport a
+good second. They passed the Club House with Marquis close to the inside
+railing for the turn, when he swerved against the railing and stumbled.
+There was a shout of horror, and the women at the Club House turned
+their heads away. The racers rushed on to the finish, but the favorite
+lay there in the dust, with the blood gushing from a broken knee, and
+Jockey Gannon motionless at his side. Some men ran on to the course and
+carried Gannon away. The poor Marquis tried to rise and looked
+pleadingly at his owner who had rushed to his side. From the distance
+came a cheer. It was for the Belle of Newport, the winner of the great
+race. Jockey Forest had seen the Marquis go down before him, and
+pressing his knees to the sides of the Belle, had raised the filly and
+carried her over the fallen favorite. The other riders had seen the
+accident in time, and, swerving their mounts aside, they had rushed on
+to the finish, while the Marquis lay there in the dust pleading for help
+with his mournful eyes. A veterinary bent over the horse's wound. He
+held a hurried consultation with the owner; then some one placed a
+revolver against the poor beast's head; there was a loud report, a
+convulsive kick, and the noble racer lay dead on the field he had
+striven so hard to win. A pair of work-horses was brought on to the
+course and all that remained of the Marquis was dragged away, while over
+by the little lake, under the shade of an elm, Jockey Gannon lay
+stretched on the turf. A physician was by his side, and a crowd of
+curious people gazed at the pale face before them. "He may live till
+morning," the physician said, and then the wounded jockey was silently
+borne away. The band played again, the blood stains on the course were
+covered by fresh dirt, and the bell rang for the next race. People asked
+a few questions about the dying man, and then he was forgotten in the
+excitement of the sport. It was only a jockey.
+
+"You see, you brought me luck, Mrs. Sanderson," Duncan said to Marion,
+after he had returned from getting his Belle of Newport ticket cashed.
+"Two hundred dollars for forty. That is luck, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, but that reminds me of the accident. Do you know, I feel quite
+unnerved after that sight."
+
+"You had better walk with me on the lawn. It will do you good, I am
+sure."
+
+"I hope so," said Marion as she rose to go with him.
+
+For perhaps a quarter of an hour they walked up and down the lawn,
+chatting away unconcernedly about the people around them. It was the
+first time they had been alone together since Duncan's return, but he
+made not the slightest reference to their last meeting. He was careless
+and unconcerned, and Marion tried to appear the same, but there was a
+strange feeling in her heart, half of fear and half of resentment, which
+told her that indifference had no place there. She laughed and chatted,
+but waited anxiously, thankful that so many people were there, but
+hopeful that he might say something to tell her that he remembered the
+words he had spoken at the Patricians' ball.
+
+Suddenly Duncan stopped at a secluded part of the lawn where there was
+an empty bench. "Let us sit down here in the shade. You must be tired,"
+he said, and then, after they had taken seats, a moment of silence came,
+and Marion could feel that Duncan was looking into her face, but she did
+not dare to meet his glance. He leaned toward her and spoke in the soft
+tones she remembered so well. "You are cruel," he said.
+
+She looked up, startled. "Cruel, what do you mean?" she asked.
+
+"You are cruel to forget so easily. You are cruel to treat me as you
+have."
+
+"I, cruel; I don't understand," she said, and she thought of his
+careless manner and how she had waited for him to speak.
+
+"Yes, you women are all alike. You play with us men for the moment, and
+then we are cast aside like a toy which no longer pleases. I thought you
+were different from the rest."
+
+Marion looked up into his face with an expression of astonishment. She
+met his grey eyes, and for a moment she felt again that subtle power she
+had been dreaming of so long.
+
+"Have you forgotten?" he said slowly.
+
+Marion turned her head away. "Don't talk of that, Mr. Grahame," she
+answered. "That is all ended."
+
+"It can't be ended while----" He did not finish for he saw a man
+approaching. "Here we are, Sanderson," he called carelessly. "I suppose
+you are looking for your wife."
+
+"Yes," answered Roswell, coming nearer. "Mr. Sedger has tea ready on the
+upper veranda, and he wants his party. You look pale, Marion, is
+anything the matter?"
+
+"I felt very much upset by that accident. I came here to get away from
+the people for a moment."
+
+"A cup of tea will put you right," said Duncan.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+DANGER.
+
+
+The races were over, and the rays of the setting sun streamed through
+the western window of the little dining-room where Walter Sedger's party
+was seated. The glass and plate glistened in the fading sunlight, and
+cast many deep shadows on the white table cover, while the faces of the
+people sitting there were flushed with the first glow of the approaching
+twilight. The servants moved quietly from place to place, and the merry
+conversation of Sedger's friends mingled with the soft strains of a
+Viennese waltz coming through the open hallway door. The thousands who
+had crowded the course that day had rumbled back over the dusty roads to
+the city. The huge Grand Stand was silent and deserted, and only the few
+parties dining at the club remained of the great crowd that had cheered
+Belle of Newport in her Derby victory. The refreshing cool of the
+evening seemed to inspire the tired people with new spirits, and the
+addition to their number of Jack Elliot and his coaching party supplied
+the zest of variety, while the tales of a clever _raconteur_ produced
+peals of merry laughter and called forth the utmost efforts of the staid
+French waiters to preserve their habitual immobility of countenance.
+
+When the dinner was over and the party had removed to the veranda for
+coffee and cigars, each person there had forgotten, for the moment, all
+the cares of life, and was lost in the delightful joy of living.
+Exception must, however, be made of Marion, for, although the society of
+others usually enabled her to cast aside the depressing influences which
+often afflicted her, on this occasion she was unusually silent, and had
+been quite unresponsive to the loquacious efforts exerted by the grain
+broker on her right to arouse her interest. She now sat a little removed
+from the rest and gazed moodily out over the deserted race-course,
+thinking over the events of the past few months, and wondering, in a
+dazed sort of way, what the outcome would be. The men had gathered
+together and were discussing sport, while the women talked animatedly
+about a certain Mrs. Johnson whose actions had lately been disapproved
+of in certain quarters, so Marion was permitted to follow the current of
+her fancies undisturbed.
+
+It was just dark enough for the freshly lighted cigars to glow in the
+fading light. With the setting of the sun had come the silence evening
+casts over a busy city, and except the occasional croaking of a frog in
+the Club House lake, or the distant whistle of a locomotive, there was
+no sound to break the evening quiet. Away over by the long row of
+red-roofed stables a pair of work-horses were slowly dragging a harrow
+over the deserted race-course, and they and the laborer trudging behind
+them were the only evidences of life which Marion could see. The last
+sun-gleam left the sky, but a fading tinge of light still rested upon
+the clouds. Marion watched it for a moment,--then it was gone. It seemed
+to her like a life which fades slowly into oblivion. She often thought
+of the unseen, and tried, occasionally, to form some life theory which
+seemed rational. To-night, in the stillness which came after the bustle
+of the day, she felt singularly alone. She looked up into the
+impenetrable darkness and to her fancy the world seemed a frightful pit
+of blackness with a mass of living creatures at the bottom,--writhing in
+misery and gasping for a breath of happiness. And God? An awful monster
+at the pit's mouth, baiting the distorted souls with pestilence or
+dangling hopes before their burning eyes, only to mock their struggles
+and let them sink down! down! down! Death comes to one sufferer, and
+then, with a gloating laugh, the monster drops another life into the pit
+to let it writhe in its awful misery. Marion shuddered at her fancy, and
+glanced up as if expecting to see the monster's eyes gleaming at the
+pit's mouth. The thought was horrible, and she covered her eyes with her
+hands to shut out her distorted imaginations, asking herself if there
+was no power strong enough to drive away the spirit of gloom which beset
+her, and make her pulses beat with joy. Deep in her heart she felt there
+was such a power, but it troubled her to think of it.
+
+"Mrs. Sanderson." She looked up, startled, and saw Duncan by her side.
+"I thought you might like to walk on the other side of the veranda. It
+is delightfully cool there."
+
+For a moment she hesitated. "What can be the harm?" she thought. "None,"
+was the answer she gave her question, and then she followed Duncan to
+the northern side of the veranda where an arm of the building hid them
+from the others. The moon was rising and her soft light was shed upon
+the soughing trees, and the stretch of white roadway before them. It was
+one of those perfect nights of early summer when the vexatious spirits
+of the day seem lulled to sleep by the mild airs of heaven, and as
+Marion sat there looking out over the moonlit park, she wondered at the
+gruesome fancies which had filled her mind but a moment before.
+
+"It is a joy to live on such a night as this," she said, after the
+moment of silence which followed their coming.
+
+Duncan leaned toward her, and spoke in the deep, soft tones Marion
+remembered so well. "I feel," he said, "that heaven has sent us this
+peaceful night to show us that happiness can be a reality."
+
+"It is fortunate that perfect happiness seldom comes," she replied; "the
+monotony of it would be unendurable."
+
+"Do you think it would be monotonous always to love?" he asked.
+
+"Not if it were possible," she answered after a moment of thought.
+
+"I know it is possible," he said firmly.
+
+"How?" she asked, looking up into his face.
+
+His hand touched hers. "Because, when I look into your eyes, I feel a
+love which no power on earth could change." She let her hand remain in
+his, but she turned her face away. "How can I know this love is
+sincere?" she asked.
+
+"By driving the cruel spirit out of your heart. You may send me away
+again as you did last winter, but I will come back, for, Marion, I love
+you, and I must have your love." Instinctively she started to her feet.
+Duncan was quickly by her side. His arm was about her, and she felt his
+lips against her cheek.
+
+"I love you, my Marion," he whispered passionately; "you shall not leave
+me." For a moment she rested her head against his breast and felt the
+embrace of his strong arms.
+
+"If it were not a sin, Duncan," she said, looking up into his eyes, "I
+might love you."
+
+"No love like ours can be a sin. It is heaven sent."
+
+"If it only were," she sighed; then he drew her closer to him.
+
+"It is, dearest," he said. "If you will listen to me, you will believe
+it, too."
+
+"I must not listen to you, Duncan."
+
+"Must I go away?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then I was foolish to fancy I could read love in your eyes."
+
+"Don't torture me."
+
+"I, torture? It is you who send me from you."
+
+"I know it, but think of the danger we are in. Leave me to-night,
+Duncan. To-morrow Florence will be with Mr. Wainwright's aunt, and
+Roswell goes to St. Louis. Dine with me at eight, perhaps I can tell you
+then, but not to-night. I must have time to think."
+
+"I will go now," he said, "but I will come to you to-morrow." He kissed
+her.
+
+"God help me," she sighed.
+
+Duncan quietly released her and they walked silently back toward the
+place where they had left the others. At the corner of the building they
+met Sedger. It was too dark for him to notice that Marion was agitated,
+and any possible suspicions were averted by Duncan's saying quietly,
+"Here we are. We had just started to join you. Is the drag ready?"
+
+"Yes. I have been collecting the party. You are the last to be found.
+It's a capital night for a drive and I intend to take you back through
+Jackson Park."
+
+"Splendid," said Marion. "I adore driving in the moonlight."
+
+The party had left the veranda, and Marion and her companions walked to
+where they were waiting. They were obliged to descend the stairs to the
+hallway below, and by the time they reached the rendezvous she felt
+perfectly calm and collected. They were compelled to wait a moment for a
+missing wrap. Marion stood next to Duncan, and a wild sense of pleasure
+was in her heart. The fear had gone, and her love made her defiant. She
+felt that she might give him his answer then.
+
+The missing wrap was found, and the party moved toward the door. As they
+passed out they could see the dark outlines of the drag looming up in
+the moonlight. The great coach lamps cast a flickering light upon the
+roadway and the horses champed impatiently at the bits. Sedger mounted
+to the box and this time Mrs. Smith had the seat beside him. A couple of
+Sedger's friends had been picked up at the club, so Marion said she
+would take the back seat. Duncan joined her there, and she was
+astonished to find her husband next her also.
+
+The drag rolled away from the Club House, and swayed and rocked as
+Sedger let the horses gallop through the gates and along the little
+stretch of road leading to the park. The evening breeze blew softly
+against the faces of the party, and the coach rumbled along past the
+park lake, with the moonlight glistening on its surface, and the slender
+trees standing out grim and shadowy like huge phantoms guarding its
+banks. Then the team settled down to a steady pace, and through the dim
+light the leaders could just be seen huddling together, with their ears
+pricked up for every sound. Horses seem to travel best at night, and the
+steady creaking of the harness, harmonizing with the rattle of the bars
+and the lively clatter of hoofs on the hard ground, came like sweet
+music through the night air. A leader shied at a shadow; the coach
+swayed for a moment, and the party crowded closer together. Some one
+started a college song; the refrain was caught up by the rest, and the
+chorus swelled forth a familiar glee. Along the tree-lined avenues or
+through winding roadways the great coach rolled. Now the leaders plunged
+into the dark shadows of the woods, or trotted merrily past some open
+meadow, while from the long coach-horn the notes of "Who'll buy a
+broom," sounded sharp and clear on the night air:
+
+    "For though the sound of the horn is dead,
+        And the guards are turned to clay,
+    There are those who remember the 'yard of tin,'
+        And the mail of the olden day."
+
+Then, for a while, they sped along the shores of the great lake, and
+mingling with the rumbling of wheels came the splash of the waves upon
+the sandy shore.
+
+The songs grew less frequent, the laughter ceased, and the party
+gradually lapsed into silence. A reckless daring, such as she had never
+known before, possessed Marion. In her imagination she seemed to be
+rolling on toward some dazzling goal, and she laughed at the thought of
+danger. The moon passed under a cloud and she felt the strong grasp of
+Duncan's hand about her own. She looked toward her husband and there was
+a cold, stony feeling in her heart. She was glad to feel that she had
+the courage to break from the trammels of convention which had so long
+bound her, and she felt a delightful sense of freedom which told her
+that at last the depths of her nature had been fathomed, and that the
+love lying there had burst forth in all its strength.
+
+The coach left the park and rolled into the sleeping city. Down the long
+avenue it went, past rows of darkened houses. The cool breezes of the
+lake seemed warmed by the heated pavements, and the freedom of the
+country was lost in the narrow lines of streetway. Marion sat watching
+the two converging rows of flickering street lamps stretching away as
+far as she could see, and down the street before her she saw the lamps
+of Jack Elliot's coach gleaming in the darkness. She remained lost in
+thought, and did not speak again until the brake rattled and the drag
+suddenly stopped.
+
+Late that night Duncan sat in his room at the City Club. He was partly
+undressed and his clothes lay scattered about in heedless confusion. In
+his hand he held a glass of whiskey and soda, and between the occasional
+sips he passed over in his mind the events of the day. He thought also
+of the experiences of his life, and the women he had known came into his
+mind; women who had trusted and loved him while they formed the idle
+amusement of his hours; women who had felt his power for a while, only
+to see him turn away for some later fancy. He smiled as he thought of
+the words of love he had spoken to confiding hearts, but the smile
+brought a tinge of remorse for the harm he had done. He thought of
+Marion in a different light then, and a feeling of pity came into his
+heart which prompted him to curb his selfish nature and act in a
+generous way; but the echo of a cruel laugh came to him, and in fancy
+he saw two mocking black eyes gleaming before him. "A man's a fool," he
+said aloud, "not to take what fortune sends him."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+A GAME OF SKILL.
+
+
+The seemingly interminable hours of the Sunday following the races
+passed slowly by. Marion spent the afternoon in her own room trying to
+think over the possibilities of the near future. Her heedless conduct
+had now brought her to a position which demanded resolute decision, and,
+surrounded as she was by a maze of temptations, she required to exercise
+the calmest judgment. A strong nature is able, at such times, to
+penetrate the future and select the wisest course, but it is far easier,
+and perhaps more natural, to drift aimlessly along, trusting to no other
+guide than fatuity. At moments a faint sense of fear feebly urged Marion
+to hold back, but wild fancies burned so impetuously in her heart that
+she was carried on past the point where she might have calmly considered
+the probable result of her conduct.
+
+At last she was a woman, she thought, and felt as other women did.
+After years passed in eking out a monotonous existence amid repellent
+surroundings she felt emancipated by the knowledge that she had found
+the love her nature craved. Now that Duncan had brought her this love
+should she refuse the gift and voluntarily return to the slavery in
+which she had lived so long? This was the question she asked herself. It
+would be transgressing the rules of society if she permitted herself to
+enjoy this love, but what difference did that make? For years she had
+been religiously obeying those rules, and her existence had been one of
+wretched discontent. Certainly the other course could not make her more
+unhappy, and, besides, she had seen women in other cities break loose
+from the bonds of convention and still maintain a standing in the world.
+In fact, they had been almost openly applauded for their action, and
+certainly had not suffered, socially, for their courage. After all,
+virtue was little else than fear, and it was only a weak nature that
+would permit itself to be coerced by the danger of discovery. In older
+places that danger had been modified by the liberality of an advanced
+society, and as she had only the restricted provincialism of Chicago to
+fear, she felt a secret delight in defying the prudish gossips of the
+Knox Presbyterian Church. After all, she felt that she was clever enough
+to elude discovery, and relying on her discretion she permitted herself
+to dismiss fear from her heart as unworthy of a superior nature. It was
+by such reasoning as this that she forced her judgment to approve the
+promptings of her heart.
+
+Marion watched the moments roll by. As the hour approached when she was
+to meet Duncan alone she felt calmer than she had at any time since
+their parting. At six o'clock she heard the brougham drive up to the
+door to take her husband to the station, and when he came into her room
+to bid her good-by, she calmly kissed him, congratulating herself that
+she had not betrayed the slightest agitation. All love for him was dead,
+she felt, and when he lingered for another embrace, she wondered that he
+could not see her heart was cold and unmoved. She smiled as he left.
+"Foolish fellow," she thought, "he has never known the true warmth of my
+heart so he will be content with the cold effigy of love I give him."
+However, the words seemed very harsh, even to her, and she wondered if
+it really were she who had spoken them. Inspired by a curiosity to see
+if she had changed during the day, she looked at herself in the long
+mirror of her dressing-room and felt a secret pleasure in the thought
+that the image before her was that of a woman of the world to whom none
+of the experiences of life were strange. She thought her face showed
+more character, too, and she flattered herself that it would not be easy
+for anyone to read her thoughts in those deep, black eyes.
+
+The little clock on her dressing-table struck half-past six,
+and she rang for her maid to dress her hair. After spending an
+hour-and-a-quarter at her toilet, she again arose and surveyed herself
+in the long mirror. Her pulses seemed, somehow, to be beating more
+rapidly now, and the calmness she had felt before was deserting her. The
+sense of fear came into her heart again, and even her conscience uttered
+a faint remonstrance at the step she was taking. She thought over all
+the chances of discovery and wondered whether there was danger from the
+servants. Her cook and her butler were both French and, as they could
+speak but a few words of English, would say nothing; the footman and
+housemaids she had permitted to go out, and she felt that she could
+trust the discretion of her own maid. As for her neighbors, the people
+living next door were not of her set, and she drew a breath of relief on
+looking out of the window and finding that, owing to a cloudy sky, it
+was already nearly dark. Still she was far from calm, and, thinking she
+looked pale, she pinched her cheeks to bring color into them.
+
+It was time for Duncan to arrive. Should she feign illness and send him
+away? She felt that it was too late for her to turn back now, and the
+thought of Duncan brought back memories which, for the moment, drove
+fear completely from her heart, and aroused the reckless spirit which
+had already carried her so far. She took a hasty glance at herself in
+the glass, gave a final touch to her hair, and hurried down the stairway
+to the little French room where she had been with Duncan on the
+afternoon of Mrs. McSeeney's tea. No longer able to reason out excuses
+for her actions she abandoned herself to the contending fancies which
+filled her mind. She closed her eyes and fancied that she was being
+borne recklessly on toward a frightful precipice by some subtle force
+against whose power she was helpless. It seemed to her that she was
+being dashed down! down! Then she imagined that she saw the remains of
+her former self lying, bruised and shattered, at the bottom of the abyss
+before her. She grasped the chair-arms convulsively, then smiled at her
+childish fancies, yet deep down in her heart there was a feeling,
+growing stronger each moment, which urged her to turn back.
+
+The door-bell rang. Marion could feel her heart beating with suppressed
+excitement, and it seemed an interminable time before the measured steps
+of Francois resounded on the hardwood floor. The door opened and Duncan
+entered. She could hear him taking off his coat in the hall, and she
+felt her brain whirling with the dizziness of confused emotions. The
+wheels of a carriage rumbled on the pavement outside and seemed to stop
+before the door. What did it mean? Marion trembled at the thought that
+it might be some one coming to the house. Duncan took a step on the hall
+floor and then a key rattled in the front door. Her husband had
+returned. She could feel her pulses stop, and her limbs grow numb with
+fright. Duncan in the house, the hour, the dinner for two. What excuse
+could she make? The door slammed, and she heard her husband's voice in
+the hall. "Hello, Grahame," he said, "are you here? Just going, eh?
+Nonsense, stop and take pot-luck with us. I know my wife will be glad to
+have you. She expected to be alone."
+
+Marion was saved. She could scarcely believe her senses; yet a sincere
+feeling of gratefulness to her husband came into her heart, and she drew
+a deep, free breath which brought the color back to her cheeks, and
+calmed her excited nerves. All her disturbed thoughts seemed quickly to
+vanish, and she felt as though she could hardly restrain herself from
+uttering a shout of joy. An hour before she would have felt resentment
+toward her husband, but the specious arguments with which she had
+pardoned the wrong emotions of her heart seemed, somehow, to have fled,
+and she could realize the danger which had threatened her. Had she been
+left to meet Duncan alone, she might not have proved strong enough to
+resist his personality, but now she felt in her heart that the peril was
+passed.
+
+Roswell and Duncan came into the room. "I missed my train," Roswell
+said, "so I thought I would come back and dine with you, my dear. I
+found Grahame in the hall and persuaded him to remain. I knew you would
+be glad to have him."
+
+"Your husband is extremely kind, Mrs. Sanderson," said Duncan. "I
+expected to dine alone at the Club."
+
+"Mr. Grahame is always welcome," smiled Marion, wondering what would be
+the outcome of this discordant dinner. She looked at her husband to see
+if his manner betrayed any excitement, but she could notice nothing
+unusual.
+
+"You won't mind if I run away early, my dear, will you?" he said. "There
+is another train at half-past ten."
+
+"I wish you wouldn't go to-night, dear," answered Marion.
+
+"I must. The business is important."
+
+Marion turned away thoughtfully, and found her eyes wandering toward
+Duncan. She noticed that his face wore an amused expression, as though
+the situation seemed laughable, and the matter were a huge joke. This
+carelessness provoked Marion, and she caught herself wondering why she
+felt unmoved in his presence. He was in evening dress, and she was
+amazed that her husband did not notice that, for an afternoon call, this
+was an anachronism.
+
+After a few moments of desultory conversation, Francois appeared in the
+doorway. "Ze dinner ez served, Madame," he solemnly announced, and the
+little party moved silently toward the dining-room. As they crossed the
+hallway Marion could not help smiling at the strange turn affairs had
+taken. It seemed to her so like an amusing situation in some comedy, and
+she felt as though she were an actress going through with a part in a
+play which would, of course, end happily when the curtain was rung down
+on the last act.
+
+The party filed slowly into the dining-room, and took their seats at the
+little, round table. A small candelabrum, placed in the centre of the
+cloth, supplied the only light, and the bright rays of the candles,
+falling on the white table-cover and shining plate, formed a cozy
+contrast to the oak-lined walls looming in the distance. Duncan sat on
+Marion's right, while her husband was placed on her left. During the
+silence which came as they took their places, Marion looked curiously at
+both men. Duncan took his seat with a satisfied air, and as he unfolded
+his napkin a careless smile came to his lips. In her husband's eyes she
+saw an expression of determination, and she thought it unusual and out
+of keeping with the genial manner in which he broke the silence by
+saying: "I consider it very lucky we trapped you into staying, Grahame.
+I have scarcely seen you since you arrived, and I would like to have a
+friendly chat before we come to that elevator business. I shall be back
+from St. Louis on Sunday and we can talk about the loan on Monday."
+
+It was a surprise to Marion to learn that her husband and Duncan were
+evidently so intimate. She thought they were scarcely acquainted.
+
+"Any time will do me, Sanderson," answered Duncan, and then the party
+began to take their soup in silence. Francois poured out the sherry;
+Duncan took up his glass and drained it at one draught. As he put it
+down, he looked at Marion with an amused expression of triumph, then,
+glancing toward her husband, he shrugged his shoulders in a manner which
+conveyed contempt. Marion felt a sense of resentment toward Duncan for
+assuming such an attitude. His entire manner seemed to give the
+impression that he felt quite as much at home as the master of the
+house, and as the dinner progressed he treated her husband with the easy
+familiarity of one who felt the superiority of his position. Marion
+noticed that Roswell had never once changed the friendly tone of his
+manner, yet she could not help feeling that this extreme affability was,
+in some measure, assumed. The conversation was confined mainly to the
+two men, and Roswell seemed to lead it into channels where it was
+difficult for Duncan to follow, while the familiarity her husband
+showed with the great questions of current interest was astonishing to
+Marion. She had spent so little time with him that she was unfamiliar
+with his tastes, and the keenness with which he argued, together with
+the delicate manner in which he seemed to lay bare Duncan's ignorance,
+surprised her greatly.
+
+Marion was glad to be a listener, as it gave her time to think. She
+seemed to be seized now with a dispassionate calmness, which permitted
+her to view her actions in a way she had never done before. The subtle
+spell which had bound her to Duncan seemed fast breaking, and although
+scarce an hour before she had been ready to confess to him the full
+warmth of her love, she now appeared to be at a great distance from him
+and looking at the past as in the pages of some book. Again and again
+she glanced toward him and wondered why he seemed so changed. She
+observed that he was drinking too much wine, and when he occasionally
+raised his glass and cast an insinuating glance toward her, she felt the
+spirit of resentment grow stronger and stronger. She asked herself if
+his power of fascination had gone, and she confessed that in the
+society of others, at least, he was not the same as when alone with her.
+Then she thought over the words which he had spoken to her, and how in
+his presence she had felt the subtle inspiration of a love which, it
+seemed to her, must burn forever. She looked up to see if she could feel
+the power his grey eyes had so often exerted over her, and she saw an
+angry blush come to his cheek. Roswell had called forth a confession of
+ignorance on a delicate point of finance. Duncan was clever, but he was
+not a deep student, and he often found himself at a loss for facts with
+which to substantiate his theories. He spoke a resentful word or two,
+and Marion thought it was unmanly for him to lose his temper.
+
+The dinner wore on, and Marion found herself becoming more and more
+critical of Duncan's actions. She wondered if he were the man for whom,
+two hours before, she had been willing to venture everything. She began
+to analyze her feelings of the past six months, and she asked herself if
+the feeling he inspired was, after all, the love that her nature craved.
+Perhaps her doubts were momentary and would vanish, leaving her again
+the prey of wild desires. Yet she felt that her nature could not be so
+vacillating. She looked at Duncan again to reassure herself. Was he her
+ideal? He leaned his elbows on the table and made a noise as he ate. She
+wondered why she had not noticed this before, for she abhorred
+carelessness of manners.
+
+"So you think a leisure class is what we need in the West," Roswell was
+saying as Francois removed the plates after the game course. Marion had
+always felt this lack to be one of the evils of Western life, and she
+looked to Duncan for a defense of her theory.
+
+"Yes," answered Duncan. "I favor a landed class who spend their money
+freely and devote their time to something beside grubbing for dollars."
+
+"I quite agree with you," said Roswell. "We men in the West live at too
+rapid a pace. In the ceaseless toil after money we become callous to the
+finer sentiments of life." Marion looked up in astonishment. She had
+thought her husband irredeemably absorbed in business. "We devote too
+little time," he continued, "to the development of the aesthetic side of
+our natures. I think we should have more people of wealth whose time is
+spent in fostering the arts; but as for men of absolute leisure, I think
+we are better off without them."
+
+"There I can't agree with you," answered Duncan, "if among men of
+leisure you include those whose lives are given to sport. Look at the
+sportsmen of England. We want more of that sort in this country. A hard
+riding set of men who stick at nothing. Such a life as they lead makes
+men of them."
+
+Marion was too fond of literature and the arts to agree with Duncan. She
+had known some of these hunting men and she had a small opinion of their
+talents.
+
+"In a degree I approve of your sentiments," said her husband. "If you
+will eliminate the taste for drink, cards, and vice from your sportsmen.
+Give him some brains and make him a useful member of society, who
+devotes much of his time to the improvement of his tenantry, and I grant
+you that his counterpart would be a desirable acquisition to American
+life."
+
+"So you don't believe in the reckless sportsman of the old school."
+
+"No, I confess I don't."
+
+"Why, may I ask?"
+
+"I think I can best answer that question by telling you an anecdote.
+I was once in North Carolina looking after some property. The place
+Where I was staying was one of the little villages in the mountains
+where the advent of a stranger is a matter of momentous importance.
+I happened to be in the village store one day when one of those
+tweed-and-knickerbocker Englishmen, who occasionally go there for
+shooting, walked in to purchase some powder. After he had received his
+package and was about to leave, the lean-faced cracker store-keeper
+detained him in conversation somewhat after this fashion:
+
+"'Be you from Noo York, stranger?'
+
+"The Englishman shook his head.
+
+"'Philadelphy?'
+
+"'No,' was the reply.
+
+"'Chicago?'
+
+"Another negative answer.
+
+"'Waal, where be you from?'
+
+"'London.'
+
+"'Whew!' and the cracker gave a long whistle. 'What brought you all the
+way from London to Loneville?'
+
+"'I came to amuse myself.'
+
+"'Ter amuse yerself, heh! Well, that is mighty curious. What d' you do
+when you're to home?'
+
+"'Nothing.'
+
+"'How d' you live, anyway?'
+
+"'My father supports me.'
+
+"'Don't do nothing when you're to home, and yer father keeps ye?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'Waal, I'd like to ask ye jest one more question. What'ud you do 'f
+your father should bust?'
+
+"That is my theory. I don't think any man should be brought up in such a
+way that he would have nothing to fall back on if his wealth should fail
+him. Give every young man an employment of some sort, no matter how rich
+he may be, and he will know what to do when his father 'busts'."
+
+Marion, somehow, found herself agreeing with her husband's views. His
+ideas had always seemed so restricted before. She wondered why he was
+becoming so sensible.
+
+Francois cleared the table and changed the glasses; the coffee was
+brought and Duncan and Roswell lighted their cigars. Marion usually
+remained during the smoking when the party was small, so the talk went
+on uninterruptedly, Roswell continuing his easy flow of anecdote and
+argument, and turning the conversation as one subject after another was
+suggested to his mind. Marion caught herself occasionally looking at her
+husband with a feeling of admiration, and wondered why she had never
+before discovered his charm of manner. She felt that he occasionally
+turned his keen eyes toward her as though he understood her thoughts,
+and she was afraid that he might be able to see her heart.
+
+"I read a case in the paper this morning which impressed me sadly," said
+Roswell, putting down his empty coffee cup. "I knew the people and it
+seemed but the outcome of my fears."
+
+"What was it?" asked Marion.
+
+"The wife of a man I have known in business has left him. The husband
+went to Decatur on Thursday, and when he returned he found that she had
+fled the night before with her music teacher."
+
+"It was probably a good riddance, wasn't it," said Duncan.
+
+Marion thought these words unnecessarily harsh and she found herself
+looking appealingly at Roswell for a charitable reply.
+
+"I can't say that," replied Roswell. "The trouble was that they had
+nothing in common. He was a man who began life as a page on the Board of
+Trade. By careful attention to business he worked his way up until he is
+now a very successful broker. He has, however, absolutely no social
+position, and no prospect of attaining one. When, two years ago, he went
+East, and married a girl who belonged to a good Syracuse family and
+brought her West, it must have been a bitter disappointment to the young
+wife to find herself denied the recognition which she was accustomed to
+receive at home. She was alone in a strange city. Her husband was away
+most of the time, and he was so completely wrapped up in business that
+his wife was left to her own resources. Can you condemn her entirely for
+doing as she did? It is all very well to behave if we have never been
+tempted, when, perhaps, under the same circumstances, we might act no
+better ourselves. For my part I think the husband is probably as much at
+fault as the wife."
+
+Marion felt her heart leap with gratitude when she heard these words.
+Her husband's voice had softened as he spoke them, and his eyes wore a
+sad, thoughtful expression.
+
+"I don't think you are right," said Duncan, draining a glass of claret.
+"No one but a fool will permit a woman to go astray under his eyes, and
+a fool deserves to lose his wife."
+
+As he spoke these words he looked toward Marion with an insinuating
+expression which told her that his remark was directed at Roswell, and
+that he expected her to appreciate the humor of it. Marion felt a sense
+of thankfulness rise in her heart. Coarseness never could appeal to her
+sensitive nature and she shuddered when she thought that this was the
+man for whom she had been willing to risk her honor. She was beginning
+to find him out. Thank heaven, the knowledge came before it was too
+late.
+
+Roswell was silent for a moment. Then he said, thoughtfully: "Any one of
+us may be cast to play the role of fool. Unfortunately we never
+recognize just when we begin to play the part. I used to think as you
+do, Grahame. It is only lately I have begun to feel that it takes two to
+create a difference. Perhaps I am wrong, but I believe that, had my
+friend recognized sooner that his wife was made unhappy by his own
+neglect and the surroundings in which he placed her, the danger might
+have been averted."
+
+For a while no one spoke. Marion gazed thoughtfully at the table; Duncan
+twirled a glass carelessly between his fingers and a smile played on his
+lips, while Roswell silently puffed his cigar and watched the blue
+wreaths of smoke curl gently upward.
+
+"Shall we go into the next room, my dear?" said Roswell after a moment,
+dropping his half-finished cigar. "I have just time to catch my train."
+
+"You are not going, are you?" said Marion, looking up, startled. "Please
+put off your trip," she added with a slight tone of appeal in her voice.
+
+"I must go," he answered, rising from his chair.
+
+The three people walked toward the hall. As they reached the door,
+Roswell stopped and motioned Duncan to lead the way. The younger man
+passed out, leaving Marion and her husband together. Roswell took both
+his wife's hands and drew her toward him.
+
+"I must leave Grahame with you, my dear. Don't mind my running away. It
+is business and can't be helped."
+
+"Don't go, Roswell," pleaded Marion, and she turned her head away so
+that he could not look into her face.
+
+"I must, my darling. I must," he answered, and she felt his arms about
+her. She hid her face on his breast, and, ashamed of her unworthiness,
+she felt afraid to be left alone. "Good-by, dear," he said, and kissed
+her tenderly on her forehead. They walked silently through the hallway
+to the little French room, by the door. They found Duncan there,
+wandering carelessly about examining the ornaments. Stepping up to him,
+Roswell put out his hand and said simply: "I must leave you, Grahame. I
+have just time to catch my train. Sit here and finish your cigar. My
+wife will do her best to amuse you."
+
+Duncan muttered a word of parting and Roswell hurried into the hallway.
+Marion took a seat in the farther end of the room and gazed thoughtfully
+toward the door where her husband had left. She could hear him putting
+on his coat and then the door closed behind him. The carriage rolled
+off, and as the last echo of the wheels died away she realized that she
+was alone with the man who had played such a strange part in her life.
+She felt brave now. The danger was past and her only thought was to
+prove worthy of the confidence her husband had placed in her. She looked
+at Duncan, wondering what his first move would be. He took a few steps
+on the floor. His eyes seemed to sparkle with merriment. "Well, I must
+say," he said, stopping in his desultory wandering and plunging his
+hands into his pockets, "that husband of yours is the most convenient
+person that I ever came across." Marion cast an angry glance toward him.
+All the resentment in her nature was aroused by these coarse words. Her
+dream of months had vanished, and in its place was a repulsive reality.
+
+Duncan came toward her with a confident step and tried to take her hand.
+Marion jumped to her feet and pushed him back. "Don't touch me," she
+cried.
+
+Duncan laughed. This new-found anger amused him and he did not believe
+she was in earnest. "Marion, dearest, we are alone," he said ardently.
+"We can enjoy our love and no one will interrupt."
+
+He made another movement toward her. She drew back and looked defiantly
+at him.
+
+"I hate you," she said. "Can't you see that I hate you."
+
+"Hate is the first step to love," answered Duncan, still amused by her
+anger. "Let it fade away for I want to see love smile from those
+bewitching eyes."
+
+Then he hesitated. He saw anger flashing from her dark eyes now, but he
+could not believe that he had lost the power he had so lately exerted
+over her, and he fancied that this resentment must be due to some whim.
+"Do you forget the past, dearest?" he said coaxingly, after a moment.
+"Do you forget our love of yesterday?"
+
+"The unreasoning fancy of a moment is not love," answered Marion
+coldly.
+
+Duncan saw now that the heart which he had felt so confident of his
+power to master had slipped from his grasp. Still the thought that so
+emotional a nature might yet be conquered by appeal prompted him to say,
+"What is the meaning of this change? Yesterday you loved me."
+
+"That was yesterday. Much may happen in a day, Mr. Grahame."
+
+"Yes," smiled Duncan sarcastically, drawing lines on the floor with the
+toe of his boot. "In a day one may learn the fickle nature of the woman
+one is foolish enough to love."
+
+"Yes, and the character of the feeling one was foolish enough to fancy
+might be love," added Marion.
+
+"Will you not listen to me?" he answered. "Some one has been poisoning
+your mind against me."
+
+Marion felt that this distasteful interview must end. She had been the
+prey of too many emotions that day to bear up much longer. She felt a
+desire to fly away somewhere and escape from this man. Summoning her
+courage she looked full into Duncan's face and said, in a firm voice:
+"Mr. Grahame, I will not be insulted. I think there is nothing more to
+be said."
+
+The color rose to Duncan's cheeks. His pride was touched, yet deep in
+his heart he could not help feeling ashamed of his own conduct. Revenge
+for another woman's actions had prompted him to act the part he had
+played, and there was still manhood enough in his callous heart to make
+him recognize that he deserved the treatment he was receiving. But pride
+prompted him to retreat boldly. "As you will, Mrs. Sanderson," he
+answered, coolly returning Marion's glance. "I came at your bidding and
+I leave at your command. I had been led to believe, by your actions in
+the past, that I should receive a more responsive welcome, but I
+acknowledge my mistake."
+
+"We understand each other perfectly," said Marion. "Six months ago, Mr.
+Grahame, you challenged me to a game of skill. I think you know the game
+well enough to recognize that you have lost."
+
+Duncan nodded assent and walked slowly toward the door. On the threshold
+he turned and looked at Marion. A feeling of admiration for the woman he
+had so misjudged prompted him to speak "Let me compliment your skill,"
+he said. "I played that game with the assurance of an old hand and I
+lost. You were a novice, but you won."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+IN THE LIBRARY.
+
+
+Roswell Sanderson was in the library writing. A week had passed since
+his departure for St. Louis, and a considerable accumulation of mail was
+absorbing his attention. He had arrived home that morning on an early
+train, and not caring to awake his wife had gone into the library to
+look over his letters. It was Sunday, and the measured patter of the
+raindrops on the window-panes seemed to forebode a cheerless day, while
+the dismal light, almost obscured by the lowering clouds and heavy
+window draperies, produced an air of gloom intensified, perhaps, by the
+unusual chill of the summer atmosphere. Roswell was alone, and as he
+wrote the scratching of his pen on the paper blended monotonously with
+the pattering raindrops. Perhaps half an hour passed. Marion entered the
+room and stood for a moment near the door. There was a fresher color in
+her cheeks, even in that dim light, and her eyes seemed to have lost
+their look of restless longing. As she watched her husband writing, a
+smile of mingled tenderness and sadness came to her lips. Then she
+walked softly on tip-toe to where he sat, and placed her hand gently on
+his shoulder.
+
+Roswell looked up startled. "Why, Marion," he said, "I didn't expect to
+see you so early." Then, leaving his seat, he took both his wife's hands
+in his and kissed her.
+
+"I am thankful you have come back," said Marion. "I have wanted you so
+much."
+
+She placed her arms around his neck, and rested her head on his
+shoulder. There had been a tenderness in her voice which made Roswell's
+heart beat faster than it had ever done before. "Yes, dear," he said, "I
+have come back, and I think I have a surprise for you, too."
+
+"A surprise," said Marion, looking up.
+
+"Yes. Sit down and I will tell you all about it."
+
+Roswell resumed his seat, and Marion took a low stool at his side and
+waited for him to speak.
+
+"It is not very much," he said, taking a letter from the table, "but I
+have here a refusal of the McIlvaine cottage at Bar Harbor for the
+season. Would you like to go there?"
+
+An expression of astonishment came to Marion's face. "Is this true?" she
+asked.
+
+"I am only waiting for you to say yes before sending my reply."
+
+"Why did you do this, Roswell?" she said, with a tone of tenderness in
+her voice.
+
+"Because I felt it would be better for both of us to go away this
+summer. I am working too hard, I think, and must have a rest. But that
+is only a selfish reason; I feel it would do you good to be among new
+people and new scenes."
+
+Marion looked into his eyes a moment and a dark expression of disgust
+came across her face. "Why don't you speak the truth, Roswell?" she
+said. "Why don't you say that you are going away because your wife is a
+selfish woman who is discontented in her home; why don't you say that
+she is a wicked creature who cares for nothing but her own amusement,
+and that you are taking her where she can find new excitements? Why
+don't you say this?" she repeated, and then she buried her face in her
+hands and sobbed.
+
+Roswell leaned forward and stroked her head softly. "I love my wife," he
+said, "and I will not permit you to say such things about her."
+
+"You don't know how wicked she is; you don't know how black her heart
+has been," Marion replied, between the sobs. "O, Roswell, I shall never
+be happy till I tell you all about it and ask you to forgive me. I have
+thought it over every moment since you left, and I have tried to feel
+right in my heart, but I can't until you know how wicked I have been.
+You are too good and generous for a selfish creature like me; but you
+must know that I have been untrue to you in my heart. Roswell, I did not
+love you when I married you; I never loved you until a week ago. I did
+not know your goodness before, and I was thoughtless. O, forgive me,
+Roswell; forgive me."
+
+Roswell raised her head until he could look into her face. "I forgave
+you long ago, dearest," he said, "and now I want to see you dry those
+sweet eyes. I guessed your trouble last winter. At first it was hard
+for me to bear, and I had black thoughts in my heart, too; but when I
+remembered how I had been bound up in my musty cash books and ledgers,
+and how I had failed to enter into your life, I felt I had no right to
+reproach you. I saw that you were drifting from me, and I knew the fault
+was mine. Then I prayed that I might save you and win you back again."
+
+"And you forgive me," said Marion, sobbing still.
+
+Roswell kissed her. "It is I who must be forgiven," he said. "I ought to
+have seen before that a woman like you could not love a crusty old
+banker, who came home every night covered with the dust of the office. I
+am a rough fellow who needs a lot of polishing up, but I want you to try
+and see what you can make of me, and I want your love."
+
+"My darling," said Marion. "I love you as I never knew I could love. I
+thought the wild fancy of the moment was love, but I have learned my
+mistake. If you will take me into your heart again I will try so hard to
+make you a good wife."
+
+A faint sunbeam came through the eastern window and glanced feebly along
+the floor; then it grew stronger and stronger, until the gloomy library
+was brightened by a flood of rich, warm sunlight. The storm had ceased.
+The clouds had rolled away.
+
+"It takes some such trial as ours," Roswell said, "to call forth love.
+We know now how necessary we are to each other, don't we, dear?"
+
+The look of sweet tenderness in Marion's eyes gave him his answer.
+
+"Let us think no more of those days, my darling," said Roswell, throwing
+his arms about his wife and drawing her closer to his side. "We will
+forget the past and live in the future. What answer shall I send about
+the cottage?" As he said this he reached toward the table to get the
+letter. Marion's eyes followed his hand, and they fell upon a name
+signed to a note lying there.
+
+"That man!" she cried, turning her head away and hiding her face on
+Roswell's shoulder.
+
+"That man will worry you no more," he said, taking up the note. "Read
+what he says."
+
+Marion took the paper and read:
+
+     "DEAR MR. SANDERSON:
+
+     "I wish to say that I have obtained the loan I required from
+     the 'Grocers' National,' so I shall not need to keep my
+     appointment with you. I leave for New York to-day, and shall be
+     unable to see you on your return from St. Louis. Thanking you
+     for your kindness to me while in Chicago, believe me, with
+     kindest regards,
+
+     "Yours faithfully,
+
+     "June 29. DUNCAN GRAHAME."
+
+Marion shuddered as she put down the note. It told its story and she
+felt that there was nothing more to be said.
+
+"This is the letter I want you to answer," said Roswell, taking up the
+one from Bar Harbor.
+
+Marion looked thoughtfully at the floor a moment, then, glancing up, she
+said: "If you don't mind, dear, I should like to go to some quieter
+place. I have had excitements before, but I have never had my husband,
+and I want him all to myself."
+
+"My darling," said Roswell.
+
+Florence entered the room and stood for a moment near the door. At first
+she was too surprised to speak, then, appreciating the propriety of
+making her presence known, she retreated a few steps and said: "May I
+come in?"
+
+"Of course you may, you dear girl," said Marion, looking up. "You may
+come in and find the happiest woman in the world. Don't look surprised.
+Roswell and I are young lovers, and we are laying plans for our
+honeymoon. I don't deserve my happiness, but I have just discovered that
+I have the best husband in the world."
+
+Florence ran to Marion's side and kissed her. "Let me share your joy,"
+she said.
+
+That evening Harold Wainwright dined at the Sandersons, and four happy
+people seated themselves at the little, round table. The candles shed
+the same cheerful light upon the white linen and the glistening plate,
+and Francois moved from place to place with his wonted precision; but
+the fire of love had kindled on the hearth, and in that home a new life
+had begun.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+MRS. ABBOTT'S BOOKS.
+
+
+ALEXIA.
+
+     We have rarely found a more perfectly idyllic little love story
+     than this--_The Living Church, Chicago._
+
+     The story is told with such an airy touch, such a fine sense of
+     humor, such delicate crispness, that the reader is dealt little
+     shocks of pleasure at every successive sentence.--_Evening
+     Post, Chicago._
+
+     Little books like this, unpretentious, honest in motive, pure
+     in sentiment, and marked by true sympathy are not common in
+     current American literature, and therefore appeal all the more
+     strongly to people who are tired of the didactic, and so relish
+     keenly any representation which depends for its final effect
+     not on preconceived notions of the author, but on fidelity to
+     life.--_The Beacon, Boston._
+
+
+THE BEVERLEYS,
+
+_A Story of Calcutta._
+
+     As a story of character it is of high and rare merit. Every
+     person who appears in it is outlined with a distinctness of
+     individuality which cannot be mistaken.--_The Churchman, New
+     York._
+
+     "The Beverleys" is one of the notable novels of the year....
+     The writer knows life and has met people of breeding.... In
+     Eileen she draws a charming creature whose social adventures in
+     Calcutta will be read with unflagging interest.--_The
+     Philadelphia Press._
+
+     To have read "Alexia" is to feel a kindly predisposition
+     towards the successor of that charming little book. "The
+     Beverleys" has followed it, and it is perhaps unreasonable to
+     be disappointed at missing in a novel the wild-rose perfume of
+     the story. It is a novel clever in form and style, and in its
+     portraits from Calcutta society. The moods and fascinations of
+     the wild Irish girl and the labyrinths of her naughty heart are
+     prettily described; there are pungent observations on men,
+     women, and manners a plenty; what more would one have.--_The
+     Nation, New York._
+
+
+
+
+Other Books
+
+
+MONK AND KNIGHT.
+
+An Historical Study in Fiction.
+
+BY THE REV. DR. F. W. GUNSAULUS.
+
+     This work is one that challenges attention for its ambitious
+     character and its high aim. It is an historical novel,--or,
+     rather, as the author prefers to call it, "An Historical Study
+     in Fiction." It is the result of long and careful study of the
+     period of which it treats, and hence is the product of genuine
+     sympathies and a freshly-fired imagination. The field is
+     Europe, and the period is the beginning of the sixteenth
+     century,--a time when the fading glow of the later Renaissance
+     is giving place to the brighter glories of the dawning
+     Reformation.
+
+     The book deals, in a broad sense, with the grand theme of the
+     progress of intellectual liberty. Many of its characters are
+     well-known historical personages,--such as Erasmus, Sir Thomas
+     Moore, Cardinal Wolsey, Henry VIII. of England, Francis I. of
+     France, the disturbing monk Martin Luther, and the magnificent
+     Pope Leo X.; other characters are of course fictitious,
+     introduced to give proper play to the author's fancy and to
+     form a suitable framework for the story.
+
+     Interwoven with the more solid fabric are gleaming threads of
+     romance; and bright bits of description and glows of sentiment
+     relieve the more sombre coloring. The memorable meeting of the
+     French and English monarchs on the Field of the Cloth of Gold,
+     with its gorgeous pageantry of knights and steeds and silken
+     banners, and all the glitter and charm of chivalry, furnish
+     material for several chapters, in which the author's
+     descriptive powers are put to the severest test; while the
+     Waldensian heroes in their mountain homes, resisting the
+     persecutions of their religious foes, afford some thrilling and
+     dramatic situations.
+
+
+AN ICELAND FISHERMAN.
+
+BY PIERRE LOTI
+
+Translated from the French
+
+BY ANNA FARWELL de KOVEN.
+
+     "An Iceland Fisherman" is really a poem in prose. It has a pure
+     idyllic quality so unlike most of the work which now comes from
+     French hands that one must go back to "Paul and Virginia" to
+     find a worthy companion volume. Other French writers, George
+     Sand notably, have written idyllic chapters, but "An Iceland
+     Fisherman" is a complete idyl from beginning to end. M. Loti is
+     an impressionist of the most delicate quality. He feels with
+     the keenest sensibility the moods and phases of each passing
+     hour. In this little volume one is made aware of all the
+     strange, lonely beauty and terror of the North Seas. Few
+     writers have made so keen an observation of those elusive
+     phases through which sky and sea pass in a day or a season, and
+     still fewer have had the faculty of transferring these subtle
+     things into speech.--_The Christian Union, New York._
+
+     The translator of this remarkable story has done her work
+     wonderfully well. Her choice of words, apt, pat, and
+     picturesque--words which instantly appeal to the imagination,
+     is skillful to an uncommon degree. This is no doubt partly due
+     to the characteristics of the original. Whatever may be true of
+     the French, the English of this beautiful and wholesome story
+     is wonderfully idiomatic and good.--_The Advance, Chicago._
+
+     Of the story itself nothing can well be too good to say. We
+     pity the one who can read it without being deeply stirred by
+     its simple, pathetic, and, at moments, solemn beauty.--_The
+     Chicago Evening Journal._
+
+     It is a gem of the purest ray, a lovely idyl, whose strength is
+     drawn from what is best in human life.--_The Philadelphia
+     Enquirer._
+
+
+THE STORY OF TONTY.
+
+_AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE._
+
+By Mrs. MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD.
+
+     "The Story of Tonty" is eminently a Western story, beginning at
+     Montreal, tarrying at Fort Frontenac, and ending at the old
+     fort at Starved Rock, on the Illinois River. It weaves the
+     adventures of the two great explorers, the intrepid La Salle
+     and his faithful lieutenant, Tonty, into a tale as thrilling
+     and romantic as the descriptive portions are brilliant and
+     vivid. It is superbly illustrated with twenty-three masterly
+     drawings by Mr. Enoch Ward.
+
+     Such tales as this render service past expression to the cause
+     of history. They weave a spell in which old chronicles are
+     vivified and breathe out human life. Mrs. Catherwood, in thus
+     bringing out from the treasure-houses of half-forgotten
+     historical record things new and old, has set herself one of
+     the worthiest literary tasks of her generation, and is showing
+     herself finely adequate to its fulfillment.--_Transcript,
+     Boston._
+
+     A powerful story by a writer newly sprung to fame.... All the
+     century we have been waiting for the deft hand that could put
+     flesh upon the dry bones of our early heroes. Here is a
+     recreation indeed.... One comes from the reading of the romance
+     with a quickened interest in our early national history, and a
+     profound admiration for the art that can so transport us to the
+     dreamful realms where fancy is monarch of fact.--_Press,
+     Philadelphia._
+
+     "The Story of Tonty" is full of the atmosphere of its time. It
+     betrays an intimate and sympathetic knowledge of the great age
+     of explorers, and it is altogether a charming piece of
+     work.--_Christian Union, New York._
+
+     Original in treatment, in subject, and in all the details of
+     _mise en scene_, it must stand unique among recent
+     romances.--_News, Chicago._
+
+     A vivid series of fascinating pictures.--_New York Observer._
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's With Edge Tools, by Hobart Chatfield-Taylor
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
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author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-14 19:59:41 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-14 19:59:41 -0700
commit	6f1c00c4d2e47b7ab905224a4e772cc14de01168 (patch)
tree	85947dddefc6244ab0c7e48f5da79eb2b898cd34