diff options
Diffstat (limited to '5382-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 5382-h/5382-h.htm | 24044 |
1 files changed, 24044 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/5382-h/5382-h.htm b/5382-h/5382-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a434030 --- /dev/null +++ b/5382-h/5382-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,24044 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + A Modern Chronicle, by Winston Churchill + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Project Gutenberg's A Modern Chronicle, Complete, by Winston Churchill +[Author is the American Winston Churchill not the British] + +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: A Modern Chronicle, Complete + +Author: Winston Churchill + +Release Date: October 6, 2006 [EBook #5382] +Last Updated: February 26, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MODERN CHRONICLE, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + A MODERN CHRONICLE + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Winston Churchill + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A MODERN CHRONICLE</b> </a><br /><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> <b>BOOK I.</b> </a> WHAT'S IN + HEREDITY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> WHAT'S + IN HEREDITY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> PERDITA + RECALLED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> CONCERNING + PROVIDENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> OF + TEMPERAMENT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> IN + WHICH PROVIDENCE BEEPS FAITH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER + VI. </a> HONORA HAS A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> THE OLYMPIAN ORDER + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> A + CHAPTER OF CONQUESTS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. + </a> IN WHICH THE VICOMTE CONTINUES HIS STUDIES <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> IN WHICH HONORA WIDENS + HER HORIZON <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> WHAT + MIGHT HAVE BEEN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> WHICH + CONTAINS A SURPRISE FOR MRS. HOLT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> + <b>BOOK II.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> + CHAPTER I. </a> SO LONG AS YE BOTH SHALL LIVE! <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER II. </a> "STAFFORD PARK” <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER III. </a> THE GREAT + UNATTACHED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER IV. </a> THE + NEW DOCTRINE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER V. </a> QUICKSANDS + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER VI. </a> GAD AND + MENI <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER VII. </a> OF + CERTAIN DELICATE MATTERS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER + VIII. </a> OF MENTAL PROCESSES—FEMININE AND INSOLUBLE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER IX. </a> INTRODUCING + A REVOLUTIONIZING VEHICLE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER X. + </a> ON THE ART OF LION TAMING <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XI. </a> CONTAINING SOME + REVELATIONS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> <b>BOOK III.</b> </a> + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER I. </a> ASCENDI + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER II. </a> THE PATH + OF PHILANTHROPY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER III. </a> VINELAND + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER IV. </a> THE + VIKING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER V. </a> THE + SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER VI. + </a> CLIO, OR THALIA? <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> + CHAPTER VII. </a> "LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS” + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> IN + WHICH THE LAW BETRAYS A HEART <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> + CHAPTER IX. </a> WYLIE STREET <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER X. </a> THE PRICE OF FREEDOM + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XI. </a> IN WHICH + IT IS ALL DONE OVER AGAIN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER + XII. </a> THE ENTRANCE INTO EDEN <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> OF THE WORLD BEYOND + THE GATES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> CONTAINING + PHILOSOPHY FROM MR. GRAINGER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER + XV. </a> THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> IN WHICH A MIRROR IS + HELD UP <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> THE + RENEWAL OF AN ANCIENT HOSPITALITY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0041"> + CHAPTER XVIII. </a> IN WHICH MR. ERWIN SEEK PARIS + <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + A MODERN CHRONICLE + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK I. + </h2> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. WHAT'S IN HEREDITY + </h2> + <p> + Honora Leffingwell is the original name of our heroine. She was born in + the last quarter of the Nineteenth Century, at Nice, in France, and she + spent the early years of her life in St. Louis, a somewhat conservative + old city on the banks of the Mississippi River. Her father was Randolph + Leffingwell, and he died in the early flower of his manhood, while filling + with a grace that many remember the post of United States Consul at Nice. + As a linguist he was a phenomenon, and his photograph in the + tortoise-shell frame proves indubitably, to anyone acquainted with the + fashions of 1870, that he was a master of that subtlest of all arts, + dress. He had gentle blood in his veins, which came from Virginia through + Kentucky in a coach and six, and he was the equal in appearance and + manners of any duke who lingered beside classic seas. + </p> + <p> + Honora has often pictured to herself a gay villa set high above the + curving shore, the amethyst depths shading into emerald, laced with + milk-white foam, the vivid colours of the town, the gay costumes; the + excursions, the dinner-parties presided over by the immaculate young + consul in three languages, and the guests chosen from the haute noblesse + of Europe. Such was the vision in her youthful mind, added to by degrees + as she grew into young-ladyhood and surreptitiously became familiar with + the writings of Ouida and the Duchess, and other literature of an + educating cosmopolitan nature. + </p> + <p> + Honora's biography should undoubtedly contain a sketch of Mrs. Randolph + Leffingwell. Beauty and dash and a knowledge of how to seat a table seem + to have been the lady's chief characteristics; the only daughter of a + carefully dressed and carefully, preserved widower, likewise a linguist,—whose + super-refined tastes and the limited straits to which he, the remaining + scion of an old Southern family, had been reduced by a gentlemanly + contempt for money, led him 'to choose Paris rather than New York as a + place of residence. One of the occasional and carefully planned trips to + the Riviera proved fatal to the beautiful but reckless Myrtle Allison. + She, who might have chosen counts or dukes from the Tagus to the Danube, + or even crossed the Channel; took the dashing but impecunious American + consul, with a faith in his future that was sublime. Without going over + too carefully the upward path which led to the post of their country's + representative at the court of St. James, neither had the slightest doubt + that Randolph Leffingwell would tread it. + </p> + <p> + It is needless to dwell upon the chagrin of Honora's maternal grandfather, + Howard Allison Esquire, over this turn of affairs, this unexpected + bouleversement, as he spoke of it in private to his friends in his + Parisian club. For many years he had watched the personal attractions of + his daughter grow, and a brougham and certain other delights not to be + mentioned had gradually become, in his mind, synonymous with old age. The + brougham would have on its panels the Allison crest, and his distinguished + (and titled) son-in-law would drop in occasionally at the little apartment + on the Boulevard Haussmann. Alas, for visions, for legitimate hopes + shattered forever! On the day that Randolph Leffingwell led Miss Allison + down the aisle of the English church the vision of the brougham and the + other delights faded. Howard Allison went back to his club. + </p> + <p> + Three years later, while on an excursion with Sir Nicholas Baker and a + merry party on the Italian aide, the horses behind which Mr. and Mrs. + Leffingwell were driving with their host ran away, and in the flight + managed to precipitate the vehicle, and themselves, down the side of one + of the numerous deep valleys of the streams seeking the Mediterranean. + Thus, by a singular caprice of destiny Honors was deprived of both her + parents at a period which—some chose to believe—was the height + of their combined glories. Randolph Leffingwell lived long enough to be + taken back to Nice, and to consign his infant daughter and sundry other + unsolved problems to his brother Tom. + </p> + <p> + Brother Tom—or Uncle Tom, as we must call him with Honora—cheerfully + accepted the charge. For his legacies in life had been chiefly blessings + in disguise. He was paying teller of the Prairie Bank, and the thermometer + registered something above 90 deg. Fahrenheit on the July morning when he + stood behind his wicket reading a letter from Howard Allison, Esquire, + relative to his niece. Mr. Leffingwell was at this period of his life + forty-eight, but the habit he had acquired of assuming responsibilities + and burdens seemed to have had the effect of making his age indefinite. He + was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, his mustache and hair already + turning; his eyebrows were a trifle bushy, and his eyes reminded men of + one eternal and highly prized quality—honesty. They were blue grey. + Ordinarily they shed a light which sent people away from his window the + happier without knowing why; but they had been known, on rare occasions, + to flash on dishonesty and fraud like the lightnings of the Lord. Mr. + Isham, the president of the bank, coined a phrase about him. He said that + Thomas Leffingwell was constitutionally honest. + </p> + <p> + Although he had not risen above the position of paying teller, Thomas + Leffingwell had a unique place in the city of his birth; and the esteem in + which he was held by capitalists and clerks proves that character counts + for something. On his father's failure and death he had entered the + Prairie Bank, at eighteen, and never left it. If he had owned it, he could + not have been treated by the customers with more respect. The city, save + for a few notable exceptions, like Mr. Isham, called him Mr. Leffingwell, + but behind his back often spoke of him as Tom. + </p> + <p> + On the particular hot morning in question, as he stood in his seersucker + coat reading the unquestionably pompous letter of Mr. Allison announcing + that his niece was on the high seas, he returned the greetings of his + friends with his usual kindness and cheer. In an adjoining compartment a + long-legged boy of fourteen was busily stamping letters. + </p> + <p> + “Peter,” said Mr. Leffingwell, “go ask Mr. Isham if I may see him.” + </p> + <p> + It is advisable to remember the boy's name. It was Peter Erwin, and he was + a favourite in the bank, where he had been introduced by Mr. Leffingwell + himself. He was an orphan and lived with his grandmother, an impoverished + old lady with good blood in her veins who boarded in Graham's Row, on + Olive Street. Suffice it to add, at this time, that he worshipped Mr. + Leffingwell, and that he was back in a twinkling with the information that + Mr. Isham was awaiting him. + </p> + <p> + The president was seated at his desk. In spite of the thermometer he gave + no appearance of discomfort in his frock-coat. He had scant, sandy-grey + whiskers, a tightly closed and smooth-shaven upper lip, a nose with-a + decided ridge, and rather small but penetrating eyes in which the blue + pigment had been used sparingly. His habitual mode of speech was both + brief and sharp, but people remarked that he modified it a little for Tom + Leffingwell. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, Tom,” he said. “Anything the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Isham, I want a week off, to go to New York.” + </p> + <p> + The request, from Tom Leffingwell, took Mr. Isham's breath. One of the + bank president's characteristics was an extreme interest in the private + affairs of those who came within his zone of influence and especially when + these affairs evinced any irregularity. + </p> + <p> + “Randolph again?” he asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + Tom walked to the window, and stood looking out into the street. His voice + shook as he answered: + </p> + <p> + “Ten days ago I learned that my brother was dead, Mr. Isham.” + </p> + <p> + The president glanced at the broad back of his teller. Mr. Isham's voice + was firm, his face certainly betrayed no feeling, but a flitting gleam of + satisfaction might have been seen in his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, Tom, you may go,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + Thus came to pass an event in the lives of Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary, that + journey to New York (their first) of two nights and two days to fetch + Honora. We need not dwell upon all that befell them. The first view of the + Hudson, the first whiff of the salt air on this unwonted holiday, the + sights of this crowded city of wealth,—all were tempered by the + thought of the child coming into their lives. They were standing on the + pier when the windows were crimson in the early light, and at nine o'clock + on that summer's morning the Albania was docked, and the passengers came + crowding down the gang-plank. Prosperous tourists, most of them, with + servants and stewards carrying bags of English design and checked steamer + rugs; and at last a ruddy-faced bonne with streamers and a bundle of + ribbons and laces—Honora—Honora, aged eighteen months, gazing + at a subjugated world. + </p> + <p> + “What a beautiful child! exclaimed a woman on the pier.” + </p> + <p> + Was it instinct or premonition that led them to accost the bonne? + </p> + <p> + “Oui, Leffingwell!” she cried, gazing at them in some perplexity. Three + children of various sizes clung to her skirts, and a younger nurse carried + a golden-haired little girl of Honora's age. A lady and gentleman + followed. The lady was beginning to look matronly, and no second glance + was required to perceive that she was a person of opinion and character. + Mr. Holt was smaller than his wife, neat in dress and unobtrusive in + appearance. In the rich Mrs. Holt, the friend of the Randolph + Leffingwells, Aunt Mary was prepared to find a more vapidly fashionable + personage, and had schooled herself forthwith. + </p> + <p> + “You are Mrs. Thomas Leffingwell?” she asked. “Well, I am relieved.” The + lady's eyes, travelling rapidly over Aunt Mary's sober bonnet and brooch + and gown, made it appear that these features in Honora's future guardian + gave her the relief in question. “Honora, this is your aunt.” + </p> + <p> + Honora smiled from amidst the laces, and Aunt Mary, only too ready to + capitulate, surrendered. She held out her arms. Tears welled up in the + Frenchwoman's eyes as she abandoned her charge. + </p> + <p> + “Pauvre mignonne!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Holt rebuked the nurse sharply, in French,—a language with + which neither Aunt Mary nor Uncle Tom was familiar. Fortunately, perhaps. + Mrs. Holt's remark was to the effect that Honora was going to a sensible + home. + </p> + <p> + “Hortense loves her better than my own children,” said that lady. + </p> + <p> + Honora seemed quite content in the arms of Aunt Mary, who was gazing so + earnestly into the child's face that she did not at first hear Mrs. Holt's + invitation to take breakfast with them on Madison Avenue, and then she + declined politely. While grossing on the steamer, Mrs. Holt had decided + quite clearly in her mind just what she was going to say to the child's + future guardian, but there was something in Aunt Mary's voice and manner + which made these remarks seem unnecessary—although Mrs. Holt was + secretly disappointed not to deliver them. + </p> + <p> + “It was fortunate that we happened to, be in Nice at the time,” she said + with the evident feeling that some explanation was due. “I did not know + poor Mrs. Randolph Leffingwell very—very intimately, or Mr. + Leffingwell. It was such a sudden—such a terrible affair. But Mr. + Holt and I were only too glad to do what we could.” + </p> + <p> + “We feel very grateful to you,” said Aunt Mary, quietly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt looked at her with a still more distinct approval, being + tolerably sure that Mrs. Thomas Leffingwell understood. She had cleared + her skirts of any possible implication of intimacy with the late Mrs. + Randolph, and done so with a master touch. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Honora had passed to Uncle Tom. After securing the little + trunk, and settling certain matters with Mr. Holt, they said good-by to + her late kind protectors, and started off for the nearest street-cars, + Honora pulling Uncle Tom's mustache. More than one pedestrian paused to + look back at the tall man carrying the beautiful child, bedecked like a + young princess, and more than one passenger in the street cars smiled at + them both. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. PERDITA RECALLED + </h2> + <p> + Saint Louis, or that part of it which is called by dealers in real estate + the choice residence section, grew westward. And Uncle Tom might be said + to have been in the vanguard of the movement. In the days before Honora + was born he had built his little house on what had been a farm on the + Olive Street Road, at the crest of the second ridge from the river. Up + this ridge, with clanking traces, toiled the horse-cars that carried Uncle + Tom downtown to the bank and Aunt Mary to market. + </p> + <p> + Fleeing westward, likewise, from the smoke, friends of Uncle Tom's and + Aunt Mary's gradually surrounded them—building, as a rule, the high + Victorian mansions in favour at that period, which were placed in the + centre of commodious yards. For the friends of Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary + were for the most part rich, and belonged, as did they, to the older + families of the city. Mr. Dwyer's house, with its picture gallery, was + across the street. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of such imposing company the little dwelling which became the + home of our heroine sat well back in a plot that might almost be called a + garden. In summer its white wooden front was nearly hidden by the + quivering leaves of two tall pear trees. On the other side of the brick + walk, and near the iron fence, was an elm and a flower bed that was Uncle + Tom's pride and the admiration of the neighbourhood. Honora has but to + shut her eyes to see it aflame with tulips at Eastertide. The eastern wall + of the house was a mass of Virginia creeper, and beneath that another + flower bed, and still another in the back-yard behind the lattice fence + covered with cucumber vine. There were, besides, two maples and two + apricot trees, relics of the farm, and of blessed memory. Such apricots! + Visions of hot summer evenings come back, with Uncle Tom, in his + seersucker coat, with his green watering-pot, bending over the beds, and + Aunt Mary seated upright in her chair, looking up from her knitting with a + loving eye. + </p> + <p> + Behind the lattice, on these summer evenings, stands the militant figure + of that old retainer, Bridget the cook, her stout arms akimbo, ready to + engage in vigorous banter should Honora deign to approach. + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, 'Nora darlint, it's a young lady yell be soon, and the beaux + a-comin' 'round!” she would cry, and throw back her head and laugh until + the tears were in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + And the princess, a slim figure in an immaculate linen frock with red + ribbons which Aunt Mary had copied from Longstreth's London catalogue, + would reply with dignity: + </p> + <p> + “Bridget, I wish you would try to remember that my name is Honora.” + </p> + <p> + Another spasm of laughter from Bridget. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to that now!” she would cry to another ancient retainer, Mary Ann, + the housemaid, whose kitchen chair was tilted up against the side of the + woodshed. “It'll be Miss Honora next, and George Hanbury here to-day with + his eye through a knothole in the fence, out of his head for a sight of + ye.” + </p> + <p> + George Hanbury was Honora's cousin, and she did not deem his admiration a + subject fit for discussion with Bridget. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” declared Mary Ann, “it's the air of a princess the child has.” + </p> + <p> + That she should be thought a princess did not appear at all remarkable to + Honora at twelve years of age. Perdita may have had such dreams. She had + been born, she knew, in some wondrous land by the shores of the summer + seas, not at all like St. Louis, and friends and relatives had not + hesitated to remark in her hearing that she resembled—her father,—that + handsome father who surely must have been a prince, whose before-mentioned + photograph in the tortoise-shell frame was on the bureau in her little + room. So far as Randolph Leffingwell was concerned, photography had not + been invented for nothing. Other records of him remained which Honora had + likewise seen: one end of a rose-covered villa—which Honora thought + was a wing of his palace; a coach and four he was driving, and which had + chanced to belong to an Englishman, although the photograph gave no + evidence of this ownership. Neither Aunt Mary nor Uncle Tom had ever + sought—for reasons perhaps obvious—to correct the child's + impression of an extraordinary paternity. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Mary was a Puritan of Southern ancestry, and her father had been a + Presbyterian minister, Uncle Tom was a member of the vestry of a church + still under Puritan influences. As a consequence for Honora, there were + Sunday afternoons—periods when the imaginative faculty, in which she + was by no means lacking, was given full play. She would sit by the hour in + the swing Uncle Tom had hung for her under the maple near the lattice, + while castles rose on distant heights against blue skies. There was her + real home, in a balconied chamber that overlooked mile upon mile of + rustling forest in the valley; and when the wind blew, the sound of it was + like the sea. Honora did not remember the sea, but its music was often in + her ears. + </p> + <p> + She would be aroused from these dreams of greatness by the appearance of + old Catherine, her nurse, on the side porch, reminding her that it was + time to wash for supper. No princess could have had a more humble + tiring-woman than Catherine. + </p> + <p> + Honora cannot be unduly blamed. When she reached the “little house under + the hill” (as Catherine called the chamber beneath the eaves), she beheld + reflected in the mirror an image like a tall, white flower that might + indeed have belonged to a princess. Her hair, the colour of burnt sienna, + fell evenly to her shoulders; her features even then had regularity and + hauteur; her legs, in their black silk stockings, were straight; and the + simple white lawn frock made the best of a slender figure. Those frocks of + Honora's were a continual source of wonder and sometimes of envy—to + Aunt Mary's friends; who returned from the seaside in the autumn, after a + week among the fashions in Boston or New York, to find Honora in the + latest models, and better dressed than their own children. Aunt Mary made + no secret of the methods by which these seeming miracles were performed, + and showed Cousin Eleanor Hanbury the fashion plates in the English + periodicals. Cousin Eleanor sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Mary, you are wonderful,” she would say. “Honora's clothes are + better-looking than those I buy in the East, at such fabulous prices, from + Cavendish.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, no woman was ever farther removed from personal vanity than Aunt + Mary. She looked like a little Quakeress. Her silvered hair was parted in + the middle and had, in spite of palpable efforts towards tightness and + repression, a perceptible ripple in it. Grey was her only concession to + colour, and her gowns and bonnets were of a primness which belonged to the + past. Repression, or perhaps compression, was her note, for the energy + confined within her little body was a thing to have astounded scientists: + And Honora grew to womanhood and reflection before she had. guessed or + considered that her aunt was possessed of intense emotions which had no + outlet. Her features were regular, her shy eye had the clearness of a + forest pool. She believed in predestination, which is to say that she was + a fatalist; and while she steadfastly continued to regard this world as a + place of sorrow and trials, she concerned herself very little about her + participation in a future life. Old Dr. Ewing, the rector of St. Anne's, + while conceding that no better or more charitable woman existed, found it + so exceedingly difficult to talk to her, on the subject of religion that + he had never tried it but once. + </p> + <p> + Such was Aunt Mary. The true student of human nature should not find it + surprising that she spoiled Honora and strove—at what secret + expense, care, and self-denial to Uncle Tom and herself, none will ever + know—to adorn the child that she might appear creditably among + companions whose parents were more fortunate in this world's goods; that + she denied herself to educate Honora as these other children were + educated. Nor is it astonishing that she should not have understood the + highly complex organism of the young lady we have chosen for our heroine, + who was shaken, at the age of thirteen, by unfulfilled longings. + </p> + <p> + Very early in life Honora learned to dread the summer, when one by one the + families of her friends departed until the city itself seemed a remote and + distant place from what it had been in the spring and winter. The great + houses were closed and blinded, and in the evening the servants who had + been left behind chattered on the front steps. Honora could not bear the + sound of the trains that drifted across the night, and the sight of the + trunks piled in the Hanburys' hall, in Wayland Square, always filled her + with a sickening longing. Would the day ever come when she, too, would + depart for the bright places of the earth? Sometimes, when she looked in + the mirror, she was filled with a fierce belief in a destiny to sit in the + high seats, to receive homage and dispense bounties, to discourse with + great intellects, to know London and Paris and the marts and centres of + the world as her father had. To escape—only to escape from the + prison walls of a humdrum existence, and to soar! + </p> + <p> + Let us, if we can, reconstruct an August day when all (or nearly all) of + Honora's small friends were gone eastward to the mountains or the seaside. + In “the little house under the hill,” the surface of which was a hot slate + roof, Honora would awake about seven o'clock to find old Catherine bending + over her in a dun-coloured calico dress, with the light fiercely beating + against the closed shutters that braved it so unflinchingly throughout the + day. + </p> + <p> + “The birds are before ye, Miss Honora, honey, and your uncle waterin' his + roses this half-hour.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Tom was indeed an early riser. As Honora dressed (Catherine + assisting as at a ceremony), she could see him, in his seersucker coat, + bending tenderly over his beds; he lived enveloped in a peace which has + since struck wonder to Honora's soul. She lingered in her dressing, even + in those days, falling into reveries from which Catherine gently and + deferentially aroused her; and Uncle Tom would be carving the beefsteak + and Aunt Mary pouring the coffee when she finally arrived in the dining + room to nibble at one of Bridget's unforgettable rolls or hot biscuits. + Uncle Tom had his joke, and at quarter-past eight precisely he would kiss + Aunt Mary and walk to the corner to wait for the ambling horse-car that + was to take him to the bank. Sometimes Honora went to the corner with him, + and he waved her good-by from the platform as he felt in his pocket for + the nickel that was to pay his fare. + </p> + <p> + When Honora returned, Aunt Mary had donned her apron, and was + industriously aiding Mary Ann to wash the dishes and maintain the + customary high polish on her husband's share of the Leffingwell silver + which, standing on the side table, shot hither and thither rays of green + light that filtered through the shutters into the darkened room. The child + partook of Aunt Mary's pride in that silver, made for a Kentucky + great-grandfather Leffingwell by a famous Philadelphia silversmith + three-quarters of a century before. Honora sighed. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Honora?” asked Aunt Mary, without pausing in her + vigorous rubbing. + </p> + <p> + “The Leffingwells used to be great once upon a time, didn't they, Aunt + Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “Your Uncle Tom,” answered Aunt Mary, quietly, “is the greatest man I + know, child.” + </p> + <p> + “And my father must have been a great man, too,” cried Honora, “to have + been a consul and drive coaches.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Mary was silent. She was not a person who spoke easily on difficult + subjects. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you ever talk to me about my father, Aunt Mary? Uncle Tom + does.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know your father, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Aunt Mary, dipping her cloth into the whiting; “I saw him at + my wedding. But he was very, young.” + </p> + <p> + “What was he like?” Honora demanded. “He was very handsome, wasn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, child.” + </p> + <p> + “And he had ambition, didn't he, Aunt Mary?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Mary paused. Her eyes were troubled as she looked at Honora, whose + head was thrown back. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of ambition do you mean, Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Honora, “to be great and rich and powerful, and to be + somebody.” + </p> + <p> + “Who has been putting such things in your head, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “No one, Aunt Mary. Only, if I were a man, I shouldn't rest until I became + great.” + </p> + <p> + Alas, that Aunt Mary, with all her will, should have such limited powers + of expression! She resumed her scrubbing of the silver before she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “To do one's duty, to accept cheerfully and like a Christian the + responsibilities and burdens of life, is the highest form of greatness, my + child. Your Uncle Tom has had many things to trouble him; he has always + worked for others, and not for himself. And he is respected and loved by + all who know him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, Aunt Mary. But—” + </p> + <p> + “But what, Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “Then why isn't he rich, as my father was?” + </p> + <p> + “Your father wasn't rich, my dear,” said Aunt Mary, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Aunt Mary!” Honora exclaimed, “he lived in a beautiful house, and + owned horses. Isn't that being rich?” + </p> + <p> + Poor Aunt Mary! + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” she answered, “there are some things you are too young to + understand. But try to remember, my dear, that happiness doesn't consist + in being rich.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have often heard you say that you wished you were rich, Aunt Mary, + and had nice things, and a picture gallery like Mr. Dwyer.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to have beautiful pictures, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like Mr. Dwyer,” declared Honora, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't say that, Honora,” was Aunt Mary's reproof. “Mr. Dwyer is an + upright, public-spirited man, and he thinks a great deal of your Uncle + Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it, Aunt Mary,” said Honora. “I think he enjoys being—well, + being able to do things for a man like Uncle Tom.” + </p> + <p> + Neither Aunt Mary nor Honora guessed what a subtle criticism this was of + Mr. Dwyer. Aunt Mary was troubled and puzzled; and she began to speculate + (not for the first time) why the Lord had given a person with so little + imagination a child like Honora to bring up in the straight and narrow + path. + </p> + <p> + “When I go on Sunday afternoons with Uncle Tom to see Mr. Dwyer's + pictures,” Honora persisted, “I always feel that he is so glad to have + what other people haven't or he wouldn't have any one to show them to.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Mary shook her head. Once she had given her loyal friendship, such + faults as this became as nothing. + </p> + <p> + “And when” said Honora, “when Mrs. Dwyer has dinner-parties for celebrated + people who come here, why does she invite you in to see the table?” + </p> + <p> + “Out of kindness, Honora. Mrs. Dwyer knows that I enjoy looking at + beautiful things.” + </p> + <p> + “Why doesn't she invite you to the dinners?” asked Honora, hotly. “Our + family is just as good as Mrs. Dwyer's.” + </p> + <p> + The extent of Aunt Mary's distress was not apparent. + </p> + <p> + “You are talking nonsense, my child,” she said. “All my friends know that + I am not a person who can entertain distinguished people, and that I do + not go out, and that I haven't the money to buy evening dresses. And even + if I had,” she added, “I haven't a pretty neck, so it's just as well.” + </p> + <p> + A philosophy distinctly Aunt Mary's. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Tom, after he had listened without comment that evening to her + account of this conversation, was of the opinion that to take Honora to + task for her fancies would be waste of breath; that they would right + themselves as she grew up. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it's inheritance, Tom,” said Aunt Mary, at last. “And if so, + it ought to be counteracted. We've seen other signs of it. You know Honora + has little or no idea of the value of money—or of its ownership.” + </p> + <p> + “She sees little enough of it,” Uncle Tom remarked with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “Well.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I think I've done wrong not to dress her more simply. I'm + afraid it's given the child a taste for—for self-adornment.” + </p> + <p> + “I once had a fond belief that all women possessed such a taste,” said + Uncle Tom, with a quizzical look at his own exception. “To tell you the + truth, I never classed it as a fault.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don't see why you married me,” said Aunt Mary—a periodical + remark of hers. “But, Tom, I do wish her to appear as well as the other + children, and (Aunt Mary actually blushed) the child has good looks.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you go as far as old Catherine, and call her a princess?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want me to ruin her utterly?” exclaimed Aunt Mary. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Tom put his hands on his wife's shoulders and looked down into her + face, and smiled again. Although she held herself very straight, the top + of her head was very little above the level of his chin. + </p> + <p> + “It strikes me that you are entitled to some little indulgence in life, + Mary,” he said. + </p> + <p> + One of the curious contradictions of Aunt Mary's character was a never + dying interest, which held no taint of envy, in the doings of people more + fortunate than herself. In the long summer days, after her silver was + cleaned and her housekeeping and marketing finished, she read in the + book-club periodicals of royal marriages, embassy balls, of great town and + country houses and their owners at home and abroad. And she knew, by means + of a correspondence with Cousin Eleanor Hanbury and other intimates, the + kind of cottages in which her friends sojourned at the seashore or in the + mountains; how many rooms they had, and how many servants, and very often + who the servants were; she was likewise informed on the climate, and the + ease with which it was possible to obtain fresh vegetables. And to all of + this information Uncle Tom would listen, smiling but genuinely interested, + while he carved at dinner. + </p> + <p> + One evening, when Uncle Tom had gone to play piquet with Mr. Isham, who + was ill, Honora further surprised her aunt by exclaiming: “How can you + talk of things other people have and not want them, Aunt Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I desire what I cannot have, my dear? I take such pleasure out + of my friends' possessions as I can.” + </p> + <p> + “But you want to go to the seashore, I know you do. I've heard you say + so,” Honora protested. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see the open ocean before I die,” admitted Aunt Mary, + unexpectedly. “I saw New York harbour once, when we went to meet you. And + I know how the salt water smells—which is as much, perhaps, as I + have the right to hope for. But I have often thought it would be nice to + sit for a whole summer by the sea and listen to the waves dashing upon the + beach, like those in the Chase picture in Mr. Dwyer's gallery.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Mary little guessed the unspeakable rebellion aroused in Honora by + this acknowledgment of being fatally circumscribed. Wouldn't Uncle Tom + ever be rich? + </p> + <p> + Aunt Mary shook her head—she saw no prospect of it. + </p> + <p> + But other men, who were not half so good as Uncle Tom, got rich. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Tom was not the kind of man who cared for riches. He was content to + do his duty in that sphere where God had placed him. + </p> + <p> + Poor Aunt Mary. Honora never asked her uncle such questions: to do so + never occurred to her. At peace with all men, he gave of his best to + children, and Honora remained a child. Next to his flowers, walking was + Uncle Tom's chief recreation, and from the time she could be guided by the + hand she went with him. His very presence had the gift of dispelling + longings, even in the young; the gift of compelling delight in simple + things. Of a Sunday afternoon, if the heat were not too great, he would + take Honora to the wild park that stretches westward of the city, and + something of the depth and intensity of his pleasure in the birds, the + forest, and the wild flowers would communicate itself to her. She learned + all unconsciously (by suggestion, as it were) to take delight in them; a + delight that was to last her lifetime, a never failing resource to which + she was to turn again and again. In winter, they went to the botanical + gardens or the Zoo. Uncle Tom had a passion for animals, and Mr. Isham, + who was a director, gave him a pass through the gates. The keepers knew + him, and spoke to him with kindly respect. Nay, it seemed to Honora that + the very animals knew him, and offered themselves ingratiatingly to be + stroked by one whom they recognized as friend. Jaded horses in the street + lifted their noses; stray, homeless cats rubbed against his legs, and + vagrant dogs looked up at him trustfully with wagging tails. + </p> + <p> + Yet his goodness, as Emerson would have said, had some edge to it. Honora + had seen the light of anger in his blue eye—a divine ray. Once he + had chastised her for telling Aunt Mary a lie (she could not have lied to + him) and Honora had never forgotten it. The anger of such a man had indeed + some element in it of the divine; terrible, not in volume, but in + righteous intensity. And when it had passed there was no occasion for + future warning. The memory of it lingered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. CONCERNING PROVIDENCE + </h2> + <p> + What quality was it in Honora that compelled Bridget to stop her ironing + on Tuesdays in order to make hot waffles for a young woman who was late to + breakfast? Bridget, who would have filled the kitchen with righteous wrath + if Aunt Mary had transgressed the rules of the house, which were like the + laws of the Medes and Persians! And in Honora's early youth Mary Ann, the + housemaid, spent more than one painful evening writing home for cockle + shells and other articles to propitiate our princess, who rewarded her + with a winning smile and a kiss, which invariably melted the honest girl + into tears. The Queen of Scots never had a more devoted chamber woman than + old Catherine,—who would have gone to the stake with a smile to save + her little lady a single childish ill, and who spent her savings, until + severely taken to task by Aunt Mary, upon objects for which a casual wish + had been expressed. The saints themselves must at times have been aweary + from hearing Honora's name. + </p> + <p> + Not to speak of Christmas! Christmas in the little house was one wild + delirium of joy. The night before the festival was, to all outward + appearances, an ordinary evening, when Uncle Tom sat by the fire in his + slippers, as usual, scouting the idea that there would be any Christmas at + all. Aunt Mary sewed, and talked with maddening calmness of the news of + the day; but for Honora the air was charged with coming events of the + first magnitude. The very furniture of the little sitting-room had a + different air, the room itself wore a mysterious aspect, and the + cannel-coal fire seemed to give forth a special quality of unearthly + light. + </p> + <p> + “Is to-morrow Christmas?” Uncle Tom would exclaim. “Bless me! Honora, I am + so glad you reminded me.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Uncle Tom, you knew it was Christmas all the time!” + </p> + <p> + “Kiss your uncle good night, Honora, and go right to sleep, dear,”—from + Aunt Mary. + </p> + <p> + The unconscious irony in that command of Aunt Mary's!—to go right to + sleep! Many times was a head lifted from a small pillow, straining after + the meaning of the squeaky noises that came up from below! Not Santa + Claus. Honora's belief in him had merged into a blind faith in a larger + and even more benevolent, if material providence: the kind of providence + which Mr. Meredith depicts, and which was to say to Beauchamp: “Here's + your marquise;” a particular providence which, at the proper time, gave + Uncle Tom money, and commanded, with a smile, “Buy this for Honora—she + wants it.” All-sufficient reason! Soul-satisfying philosophy, to which + Honora was to cling for many years of life. It is amazing how much can be + wrung from a reluctant world by the mere belief in this kind of + providence. + </p> + <p> + Sleep came at last, in the darkest of the hours. And still in the dark + hours a stirring, a delicious sensation preceding reason, and the + consciousness of a figure stealing about the room. Honora sat up in bed, + shivering with cold and delight. + </p> + <p> + “Is it awake ye are, darlint, and it but four o'clock the morn!” + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing, Cathy?” + </p> + <p> + “Musha, it's to Mass I'm going, to ask the Mother of God to give ye many + happy Christmases the like of this, Miss Honora.” And Catherine's arms + were about her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's Christmas, Cathy, isn't it? How could I have forgotten it!” + </p> + <p> + “Now go to sleep, honey. Your aunt and uncle wouldn't like it at all at + all if ye was to make noise in the middle of the night—and it's + little better it is.” + </p> + <p> + Sleep! A despised waste of time in childhood. Catherine went to Mass, and + after an eternity, the grey December light began to sift through the + shutters, and human endurance had reached its limit. Honora, still + shivering, seized a fleecy wrapper (the handiwork of Aunt Mary) and crept, + a diminutive ghost, down the creaking stairway to the sitting-room. A + sitting-room which now was not a sitting-room, but for to-day a place of + magic. As though by a prearranged salute of the gods,—at Honora's + entrance the fire burst through the thick blanket of fine coal which Uncle + Tom had laid before going to bed, and with a little gasp of joy that was + almost pain, she paused on the threshold. That one flash, like Pizarro's + first sunrise over Peru, gilded the edge of infinite possibilities. + </p> + <p> + Needless to enumerate them. The whole world, as we know, was in a + conspiracy to spoil Honora. The Dwyers, the Cartwrights, the Haydens, the + Brices, the Ishams, and I know not how many others had sent their + tributes, and Honora's second cousins, the Hanburys, from the family + mansion behind the stately elms of Wayland Square—of which something + anon. A miniature mahogany desk, a prayer-book and hymnal which the Dwyers + had brought home from New York, endless volumes of a more secular and (to + Honora) entrancing nature; roller skates; skates for real ice, when it + should appear in the form of sleet on the sidewalks; a sled; humbler gifts + from Bridget, Mary Ann, and Catherine, and a wonderful coat, with hat to + match, of a certain dark green velvet. When Aunt Mary appeared, an hour or + so later, Honora was surveying her magnificence in the glass. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Aunt Mary!” she cried, with her arms tightly locked around her aunt's + neck, “how lovely! Did you send all the way to New York for it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Honora,” said her aunt, “it didn't come from New York.” Aunt Mary did + not explain that this coat had been her one engrossing occupation for six + weeks, at such times when Honora was out or tucked away safely in bed. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps Honora's face fell a little. Aunt Mary scanned it rather + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Does that cause you to like it any less, Honora?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Mary!” exclaimed Honora, in a tone of reproval. And added after a + little, “I suppose Mademoiselle made it.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it make any difference who made it, Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no indeed, Aunt Mary. May I wear it to Cousin Eleanor's to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave it to you to wear, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + Not in Honora's memory was there a Christmas breakfast during which Peter + Erwin did not appear, bringing gifts. Peter Erwin, of whom we caught a + glimpse doing an errand for Uncle Tom in the bank. With the complacency of + the sun Honora was wont to regard this most constant of her satellites. + Her awakening powers of observation had discovered him in bondage, and in + bondage he had been ever since: for their acquaintance had begun on the + first Sunday afternoon after Honora's arrival in St. Louis at the age of + eighteen months. It will be remembered that Honora was even then a + coquette, and as she sat in her new baby-carriage under the pear tree, + flirted outrageously with Peter, who stood on one foot from embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Peter,” Uncle Tom had said slyly, “why don't you kiss her?” + </p> + <p> + That kiss had been Peter's seal of service. And he became, on Sunday + afternoons, a sort of understudy for Catherine. He took an amazing delight + in wheeling Honora up and down the yard, and up and down the sidewalk. + Brunhilde or Queen Elizabeth never wielded a power more absolute, nor had + an adorer more satisfactory; and of all his remarkable talents, none were + more conspicuous than his abilities to tell a story and to choose a + present. Emancipated from the perambulator, Honora would watch for him at + the window, and toddle to the gate to meet him, a gentleman-in-waiting + whose zeal, however arduous, never flagged. + </p> + <p> + On this particular Christmas morning, when she heard the gate slam, Honora + sprang up from the table to don her green velvet coat. Poor Peter! As + though his subjugation could be more complete! + </p> + <p> + “It's the postman,” suggested Uncle Tom, wickedly. + </p> + <p> + “It's Peter!” cried Honora, triumphantly, from the hall as she flunk open + the door, letting in a breath of cold Christmas air out of the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + It was Peter, but a Peter who has changed some since perambulator days,—just + as Honora has changed some. A Peter who, instead of fourteen, is six and + twenty; a full-fledged lawyer, in the office of that most celebrated of + St. Louis practitioners, Judge Stephen Brice. For the Peter Erwins of this + world are queer creatures, and move rapidly without appearing to the + Honoras to move at all. A great many things have happened to Peter since + he had been a messenger boy in the bank. + </p> + <p> + Needless to say, Uncle Tom had taken an interest in him. And, according to + Peter, this fact accounted for all the good fortune which had followed. + Shortly before the news came of his brother's death, Uncle Tom had + discovered that the boy who did his errands so willingly was going to + night school, and was the grandson of a gentleman who had fought with + credit in the Mexican War, and died in misfortune: the grandmother was + Peter's only living relative. Through Uncle Tom, Mr. Isham became + interested, and Judge Brice. There was a certain scholarship in the + Washington University which Peter obtained, and he worked his way through + the law school afterwards. + </p> + <p> + A simple story, of which many a duplicate could be found in this country + of ours. In the course of the dozen years or so of its unravelling the + grandmother had died, and Peter had become, to all intents and purposes, a + member of Uncle Tom's family. A place was set for him at Sunday dinner; + and, if he did not appear, at Sunday tea. Sometimes at both. And here he + was, as usual, on Christmas morning, his arms so full that he had had to + push open the gate with his foot. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, well, well!” he said, stopping short on the doorstep and + surveying our velvet-clad princess, “I've come to the wrong house.” + </p> + <p> + The princess stuck her finger into her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly, Peter!” she said; “and Merry Christmas!” + </p> + <p> + “Merry Christmas!” he replied, edging sidewise in at the door and + depositing his parcels on the mahogany horsehair sofa. He chose one, and + seized the princess—velvet coat and all!—in his arms and + kissed her. When he released her, there remained in her hand a + morocco-bound diary, marked with her monogram, and destined to contain + high matters. + </p> + <p> + “How could you know what I wanted, Peter?” she exclaimed, after she had + divested it of the tissue paper, holly, and red ribbon in which he had so + carefully wrapped it. For it is a royal trait to thank with the same + graciousness and warmth the donors of the humblest and the greatest + offerings. + </p> + <p> + There was a paper-knife for Uncle Tom, and a workbasket for Aunt Mary, and + a dress apiece for Catherine, Bridget, and Mary Ann, none of whom Peter + ever forgot. Although the smoke was even at that period beginning to creep + westward, the sun poured through the lace curtains into the little + dining-room and danced on the silver coffeepot as Aunt Mary poured out + Peter's cup, and the blue china breakfast plates were bluer than ever + because it was Christmas. The humblest of familiar articles took on the + air of a present. And after breakfast, while Aunt Mary occupied herself + with that immemorial institution,—which was to lure hitherwards so + many prominent citizens of St. Louis during the day,—eggnogg, Peter + surveyed the offerings which transformed the sitting-room. The table had + been pushed back against the bookcases, the chairs knew not their + time-honoured places, and white paper and red ribbon littered the floor. + Uncle Tom, relegated to a corner, pretended to read his newspaper, while + Honora flitted from Peter's knees to his, or sat cross-legged on the + hearth-rug investigating a bottomless stocking. + </p> + <p> + “What in the world are we going to do with all these things?” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “We?” cried Honora. + </p> + <p> + “When we get married, I mean,” said Peter, smiling at Uncle Tom. “Let's + see!” and he began counting on his fingers, which were long but very + strong—so strong that Honora could never loosen even one of them + when they gripped her. “One—two—three—eight Christmases + before you are twenty-one. We'll have enough things to set us up in + housekeeping. Or perhaps you'd rather get married when you are eighteen?” + </p> + <p> + “I've always told you I wasn't going to marry you, Peter,” said Honora, + with decision. + </p> + <p> + “Why by not?” He always asked that question. + </p> + <p> + Honora sighed. + </p> + <p> + “I'll make a good husband,” said Peter; “I'll promise. Ugly men are always + good husbands.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say you were ugly,” declared the ever considerate Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Only my nose is too big,” he quoted; “and I am too long one way and not + wide enough.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a certain air of distinction in spite of it,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Tom's newspaper began to shake, and he read more industriously than + ever. + </p> + <p> + “You've been reading—novels!” said Peter, in a terrible judicial + voice. + </p> + <p> + Honora flushed guiltily, and resumed her inspection of the stocking. Miss + Rossiter, a maiden lady of somewhat romantic tendencies, was librarian of + the Book Club that year. And as a result a book called “Harold's Quest,” + by an author who shall be nameless, had come to the house. And it was + Harold who had had “a certain air of distinction.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't very kind of you to make fun of me when I pay you a compliment,” + replied Honora, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “I was naturally put out,” he declared gravely, “because you said you + wouldn't marry me. But I don't intend to give up. No man who is worth his + salt ever gives up.” + </p> + <p> + “You are old enough to get married now,” said Honora, still considerate. + </p> + <p> + “But I am not rich enough,” said Peter; “and besides, I want you.” + </p> + <p> + One of the first entries in the morocco diary—which had a lock and + key to it—was a description of Honora's future husband. We cannot + violate the lock, nor steal the key from under her pillow. But this much, + alas, may be said with discretion, that he bore no resemblance to Peter + Erwin. It may be guessed, however, that he contained something of Harold, + and more of Randolph Leffingwell; and that he did not live in St. Louis. + </p> + <p> + An event of Christmas, after church, was the dinner of which Uncle Tom and + Aunt Mary and Honora partook with Cousin Eleanor Hanbury, who had been a + Leffingwell, and was a first cousin of Honora's father. Honora loved the + atmosphere of the massive, yellow stone house in Wayland Square, with its + tall polished mahogany doors and thick carpets, with its deferential darky + servants, some of whom had been the slaves of her great uncle. To Honora, + gifted with imagination, the house had an odour all its own; a rich, clean + odour significant, in later life, of wealth and luxury and spotless + housekeeping. And she knew it from top to bottom. The spacious upper + floor, which in ordinary dwellings would have been an attic, was the realm + of young George and his sisters, Edith and Mary (Aunt Mary's namesake). + Rainy Saturdays, all too brief, Honora had passed there, when the big + dolls' house in the playroom became the scene of domestic dramas which + Edith rehearsed after she went to bed, although Mary took them more + calmly. In his tenderer years, Honora even fired George, and riots + occurred which took the combined efforts of Cousin Eleanor and Mammy Lucy + to quell. It may be remarked, in passing, that Cousin Eleanor looked with + suspicion upon this imaginative gift of Honora's, and had several serious + conversations with Aunt Mary on the subject. + </p> + <p> + It was true, in a measure, that Honora quickened to life everything she + touched, and her arrival in Wayland Square was invariably greeted with + shouts of joy. There was no doll on which she had not bestowed a history, + and by dint of her insistence their pasts clung to them with all the + reality of a fate not by any means to be lived down. If George rode the + huge rocking-horse, he was Paul Revere, or some equally historic figure, + and sometimes, to Edith's terror, he was compelled to assume the role of + Bluebeard, when Honora submitted to decapitation with a fortitude + amounting to stoicism. Hide and seek was altogether too tame for her, a + stake of life and death, or imprisonment or treasure, being a necessity. + And many times was Edith extracted from the recesses of the cellar in a + condition bordering on hysterics, the day ending tamely with a Bible story + or a selection from “Little Women” read by Cousin Eleanor. + </p> + <p> + In autumn, and again in spring and early summer before the annual + departure of the Hanbury family for the sea, the pleasant yard with its + wide shade trees and its shrubbery was a land of enchantment threatened by + a genie. Black Bias, the family coachman, polishing the fat carriage + horses in the stable yard, was the genie; and George the intrepid knight + who, spurred by Honora, would dash in and pinch Bias in a part of his + anatomy which the honest darky had never seen. An ideal genie, for he + could assume an astonishing fierceness at will. + </p> + <p> + “I'll git you yit, Marse George!” + </p> + <p> + Had it not been for Honora, her cousins would have found the paradise in + which they lived a commonplace spot, and indeed they never could realize + its tremendous possibilities in her absence. What would the Mediterranean + Sea and its adjoining countries be to us unless the wanderings of Ulysses + and AEneas had made them real? And what would Cousin Eleanor's yard have + been without Honora? Whatever there was of romance and folklore in Uncle + Tom's library Honora had extracted at an early age, and with astonishing + ease had avoided that which was dry and uninteresting. The result was a + nomenclature for Aunt Eleanor's yard, in which there was even a terra + incognita wherefrom venturesome travellers never returned, but were + transformed into wild beasts or monkeys. + </p> + <p> + Although they acknowledged her leadership, Edith and Mary were sorry for + Honora, for they knew that if her father had lived she would have had a + house and garden like theirs, only larger, and beside a blue sea where it + was warm always. Honora had told them so, and colour was lent to her + assertions by the fact that their mother, when they repeated this to her, + only smiled sadly, and brushed her eyes with her handkerchief. She was + even more beautiful when she did so, Edith told her,—a remark which + caused Mrs. Hanbury to scan her younger daughter closely; it smacked of + Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Was Cousin Randolph handsome?” Edith demanded. Mrs. Hanbury started, so + vividly there arose before her eyes a brave and dashing figure, clad in + grey English cloth, walking by her side on a sunny autumn morning in the + Rue de la Paix. Well she remembered that trip abroad with her mother, + Randolph's aunt, and how attentive he was, and showed them the best + restaurants in which to dine. He had only been in France a short time, but + his knowledge of restaurants and the world in general had been amazing, + and his acquaintances legion. He had a way, which there was no resisting, + of taking people by storm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” answered Mrs. Hanbury, absently, when the child repeated the + question, “he was very handsome.” + </p> + <p> + “Honora says he would have been President,” put in George. “Of course I + don't believe it. She said they lived in a palace by the sea in the south + of France, with gardens and fountains and a lot of things like that, and + princesses and princes and eunuchs—” + </p> + <p> + “And what!” exclaimed Mrs. Hanbury, aghast. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said George, contemptuously, “she got that out of the Arabian + Nights.” But this suspicion did not prevent him, the next time Honora + regaled them with more adventures of the palace by the summer seas, from + listening with a rapt attention. No two tales were ever alike. His + admiration for Honora did not wane, but increased. It differed from that + of his sisters, however, in being a tribute to her creative faculties, + while Edith's breathless faith pictured her cousin as having passed + through as many adventures as Queen Esther. George paid her a + characteristic compliment, but chivalrously drew her aside to bestow it. + He was not one to mince matters. + </p> + <p> + “You're a wonder, Honora,” he said. “If I could lie like that, I wouldn't + want a pony.” + </p> + <p> + He was forced to draw back a little from the heat of the conflagration he + had kindled. + </p> + <p> + “George Hanbury,” she cried, “don't you ever speak to me again! Never! Do + you understand?” + </p> + <p> + It was thus that George, at some cost, had made a considerable discovery + which, for the moment, shook even his scepticism. Honora believed it all + herself. + </p> + <p> + Cousin Eleanor Hanbury was a person, or personage, who took a deep and + abiding interest in her fellow-beings, and the old clothes of the Hanbury + family went unerringly to the needy whose figures most resembled those of + the original owners. For Mrs. Hanbury had a wide but comparatively unknown + charity list. She was, secretly, one of the many providence which Honora + accepted collectively, although it is by no means certain whether Honora, + at this period, would have thanked her cousin for tuition at Miss Farmer's + school, and for her daily tasks at French and music concerning which Aunt + Mary was so particular. On the memorable Christmas morning when, arrayed + in green velvet, she arrived with her aunt and uncle for dinner in Wayland + Square, Cousin Eleanor drew Aunt Mary into her bedroom and shut the door, + and handed her a sealed envelope. Without opening it, but guessing with + much accuracy its contents, Aunt Mary handed it back. + </p> + <p> + “You are doing too much, Eleanor,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hanbury was likewise a direct person. + </p> + <p> + “I will, take it back on one condition, Mary. If you will tell me that Tom + has finished paying Randolph's debts.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Leffingwell was silent. + </p> + <p> + “I thought not,” said Mrs. Hanbury. “Now Randolph was my own cousin, and I + insist.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Mary turned over the envelope, and there followed a few moments' + silence, broken only by the distant clamour of tin horns and other musical + instruments of the season. + </p> + <p> + “I sometimes think, Mary, that Honora is a little like Randolph, and-Mrs. + Randolph. Of course, I did not know her.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither did I,” said Aunt Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Mary,” said Mrs. Hanbury, again, “I realize how you worked to make the + child that velvet coat. Do you think you ought to dress her that way?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why she shouldn't be as well dressed as the children of my + friends, Eleanor.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hanbury laid her hand impulsively on Aunt Mary's. + </p> + <p> + “No child I know of dresses half as well,” said Mrs. Hanbury. “The trouble + you take—” + </p> + <p> + “Is rewarded,” said Aunt Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Mrs. Hanbury agreed. “If my own daughters were half as good + looking, I should be content. And Honora has an air of race. Oh, Mary, + can't you see? I am only thinking of the child's future.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you expect me to take down all my mirrors, Eleanor? If she has good + looks,” said Aunt Mary, “she has not learned it from my lips.” + </p> + <p> + It was true: Even Aunt Mary's enemies, and she had some, could not accuse + her of the weakness of flattery. So Mrs. Hanbury smiled, and dropped the + subject. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. OF TEMPERAMENT + </h2> + <p> + We have the word of Mr. Cyrus Meeker that Honora did not have to learn to + dance. The art came to her naturally. Of Mr. Cyrus Meeker, whose + mustaches, at the age of five and sixty, are waxed as tight as ever, and + whose little legs to-day are as nimble as of yore. He has a memory like + Mr. Gladstone's, and can give you a social history of the city that is + well worth your time and attention. He will tell you how, for instance, he + was kicked by the august feet of Mr. George Hanbury on the occasion of his + first lesson to that distinguished young gentleman; and how, although Mr. + Meeker's shins were sore, he pleaded nobly for Mr. George, who was sent + home in the carriage by himself,—a punishment, by the way, which Mr. + George desired above all things. + </p> + <p> + This celebrated incident occurred in the new ballroom at the top of the + new house of young Mrs. Hayden, where the meetings of the dancing class + were held weekly. Today the soot, like the ashes of Vesuvius, spouting + from ten thousand soft-coal craters, has buried that house and the whole + district fathoms deep in social obscurity. And beautiful Mrs. Hayden what + has become of her? And Lucy Hayden, that doll-like darling of the gods? + </p> + <p> + All this belongs, however, to another history, which may some day be + written. This one is Honora's, and must be got on with, for it is to be a + chronicle of lightning changes. Happy we if we can follow Honora, and we + must be prepared to make many friends and drop them in the process. + </p> + <p> + Shortly after Mrs. Hayden had built that palatial house (which had a high + fence around its grounds and a driveway leading to a porte-cochere) and + had given her initial ball, the dancing class began. It was on a blue + afternoon in late November that Aunt Mary and Honora, with Cousin Eleanor + and the two girls, and George sulking in a corner of the carriage, were + driven through the gates behind Bias and the fat horses of the Hanburys. + </p> + <p> + Honora has a vivid remembrance of the impression the house made on her, + with its polished floors and spacious rooms filled with a new and + mysterious and altogether inspiring fashion of things. Mrs. Hayden + represented the outposts in the days of Richardson and Davenport—had + Honora but known it. This great house was all so different from anything + she (and many others in the city) had ever seen. And she stood gazing into + the drawing room, with its curtains and decorously drawn shades, in a + rapture which her aunt and cousins were far from guessing. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Honora,” said her aunt. “What's the matter, dear?” + </p> + <p> + How could she explain to Aunt Mary that the sight of beautiful things gave + her a sort of pain—when she did not yet know it herself? There was + the massive stairway, for instance, which they ascended, softly lighted by + a great leaded window of stained glass on the first landing; and the + spacious bedrooms with their shining brass beds and lace spreads (another + innovation which Honora resolved to adopt when she married); and at last, + far above all, its deep-set windows looking out above the trees towards + the park a mile to the westward, the ballroom,—the ballroom, with + its mirrors and high chandeliers, and chairs of gilt and blue set against + the walls, all of which made no impression whatever upon George and Mary + and Edith, but gave Honora a thrill. No wonder that she learned to dance + quickly under such an inspiration! + </p> + <p> + And how pretty Mrs. Hayden looked as she came forward to greet them and + kissed Honora! She had been Virginia Grey, and scarce had had a gown to + her back when she had married the elderly Duncan Hayden, who had built her + this house and presented her with a checkbook,—a check-book which + Virginia believed to be like the widow's cruse of oil-unfailing. Alas, + those days of picnics and balls; of dinners at that recent innovation, the + club; of theatre-parties and excursions to baseball games between the + young men in Mrs. Hayden's train (and all young men were) who played at + Harvard or Yale or Princeton; those days were too care-free to have + endured. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Mary,” asked Honora, when they were home again in the lamplight of + the little sitting-room, “why was it that Mr. Meeker was so polite to + Cousin Eleanor, and asked her about my dancing instead of you?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Mary smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Because, Honora,” she said, “because I am a person of no importance in + Mr. Meeker's eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “If I were a man,” cried Honora, fiercely, “I should never rest until I + had made enough money to make Mr. Meeker wriggle.” + </p> + <p> + “Honora, come here,” said her aunt, gazing in troubled surprise at the + tense little figure by the mantel. “I don't know what could have put such + things into your head, my child. Money isn't everything. In times of real + trouble it cannot save one.” + </p> + <p> + “But it can save one from humiliation!” exclaimed Honora, unexpectedly. + Another sign of a peculiar precociousness, at fourteen, with which Aunt + Mary was finding herself unable to cope. “I would rather be killed than + humiliated by Mr. Meeker.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon she flew out of the room and upstairs, where old Catherine, in + dismay, found her sobbing a little later. + </p> + <p> + Poor Aunt Mary! Few people guessed the spirit which was bound up in her, + aching to extend its sympathy and not knowing how, save by an unswerving + and undemonstrative devotion. Her words of comfort were as few as her + silent deeds were many. + </p> + <p> + But Honora continued to go to the dancing class, where she treated Mr. + Meeker with a hauteur that astonished him, amused Virginia Hayden, and + perplexed Cousin Eleanor. Mr. Meeker's cringing soul responded, and in a + month Honora was the leading spirit of the class, led the marches, and was + pointed out by the little dancing master as all that a lady should be in + deportment and bearing. + </p> + <p> + This treatment, which succeeded so well in Mr. Meeker's case, Honora had + previously applied to others of his sex. Like most people with a future, + she began young. Of late, for instance, Mr. George Hanbury had shown a + tendency to regard her as his personal property; for George had a + high-handed way with him,—boys being an enigma to his mother. Even + in those days he had a bullet head and a red face and square shoulders, + and was rather undersized for his age—which was Honora's. + </p> + <p> + Needless to say, George did not approve of the dancing class; and let it + be known, both by words and deeds, that he was there under protest. Nor + did he regard with favour Honora's triumphal progress, but sat in a corner + with several congenial spirits whose feelings ranged from scorn to + despair, commenting in loud whispers upon those of his sex to whom the + terpsichorean art came more naturally. Upon one Algernon Cartwright, for + example, whose striking likeness to the Van Dyck portrait of a young king + had been more than once commented upon by his elders, and whose velveteen + suits enhanced the resemblance. Algernon, by the way, was the favourite + male pupil of Mr. Meeker; and, on occasions, Algernon and Honora were + called upon to give exhibitions for the others, the sight of which filled + George with contemptuous rage. Algernon danced altogether too much with + Honora,—so George informed his cousin. + </p> + <p> + The simple result of George's protests was to make Honora dance with + Algernon the more, evincing, even at this period of her career, a + commendable determination to resent dictation. George should have lived in + the Middle Ages, when the spirit of modern American womanhood was as yet + unborn. Once he contrived, by main force, to drag her out into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “George,” she said, “perhaps, if you'd let me alone perhaps I'd like you + better.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” he retorted fiercely, “if you wouldn't make a fool of yourself + with those mother's darlings, I'd like you better.” + </p> + <p> + “George,” said Honora, “learn to dance.” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” he cried, but she was gone. While hovering around the door he + heard Mrs. Hayden's voice. + </p> + <p> + “Unless I am tremendously mistaken, my dear,” that lady was remarking to + Mrs. Dwyer, whose daughter Emily's future millions were powerless to + compel youths of fourteen to dance with her, although she is now happily + married, “unless I am mistaken, Honora will have a career. The child will + be a raving beauty. And she has to perfection the art of managing men.” + </p> + <p> + “As her father had the art of managing women,” said Mrs. Dwyer. “Dear me, + how well I remember Randolph! I would have followed him to—to + Cheyenne.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hayden laughed. “He never would have gone to Cheyenne, I imagine,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “He never looked at me, and I have reason to be profoundly thankful for + it,” said Mrs. Dwyer. + </p> + <p> + Virginia Hayden bit her lip. She remembered a saying of Mrs. Brice, + “Blessed are the ugly, for they shall not be tempted.” + </p> + <p> + “They say that poor Tom Leffingwell has not yet finished paying his + debts,” continued Mrs. Dwyer, “although his uncle, Eleanor Hanbury's + father, cancelled what Randolph had had from him in his will. It was + twenty-five thousand dollars. James Hanbury, you remember, had him + appointed consul at Nice. Randolph Leffingwell gave the impression of + conferring a favour when he borrowed money. I cannot understand why he + married that penniless and empty-headed beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Mrs. Hayden, “it was because of his ability to borrow + money that he felt he could afford to.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the two ladies unconsciously followed Honora about the room. + </p> + <p> + “I never knew a better or a more honest woman than Mary Leffingwell, but I + tremble for her. She is utterly incapable of managing that child. If + Honora is a complicated mechanism now, what will she be at twenty? She has + elements in her which poor Mary never dreamed of. I overheard her with + Emily, and she talks like a grown-up person.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hayden's dimples deepened. + </p> + <p> + “Better than some grown-up women,” she said. “She sat in my room while I + dressed the other afternoon. Mrs. Leffingwell had sent her with a note + about that French governess. And, by the way, she speaks French as though + she had lived in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + Little Mrs. Dwyer raised her hands in protest. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't seem natural, somehow. It doesn't seem exactly—moral, my + dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Hayden. “Mrs. Leffingwell is only giving the child + the advantages which her companions have—Emily has French, hasn't + she?” + </p> + <p> + “But Emily can't speak it—that way,” said Mrs. Dwyer. “I don't blame + Mary Leffingwell. She thinks she is doing her duty, but it has always + seemed to me that Honora was one of those children who would better have + been brought up on bread and butter and jam.” + </p> + <p> + “Honora would only have eaten the jam,” said Mrs. Hayden. “But I love + her.” + </p> + <p> + “I, too, am fond of the child, but I tremble for her. I am afraid she has + that terrible thing which is called temperament.” + </p> + <p> + George Hanbury made a second heroic rush, and dragged Honora out once + more. + </p> + <p> + “What is this disease you've got?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Disease?” she cried; “I haven't any disease.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs Dwyer says you have temperament, and that it is a terrible thing.” + </p> + <p> + Honora stopped him in a corner. + </p> + <p> + “Because people like Mrs. Dwyer haven't got it,” she declared, with a + warmth which George found inexplicable. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “You'll never know, either, George,” she answered; “it's soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Soul!” he repeated; “I have one, and its immortal,” he added promptly. + </p> + <p> + In the summer, that season of desolation for Honora, when George Hanbury + and Algernon Cartwright and other young gentlemen were at the seashore + learning to sail boats and to play tennis, Peter Erwin came to his own. + Nearly every evening after dinner, while the light was still lingering + under the shade trees of the street, and Aunt Mary still placidly sewing + in the wicker chair on the lawn, and Uncle Tom making the tour of flowers + with his watering pot, the gate would slam, and Peter's tall form appear. + </p> + <p> + It never occurred to Honora that had it not been for Peter those evenings + would have been even less bearable than they were. To sit indoors with a + light and read in a St. Louis midsummer was not to be thought of. Peter + played backgammon with her on the front steps, and later on—chess. + Sometimes they went for a walk as far as Grand Avenue. And sometimes when + Honora grew older—she was permitted to go with him to Uhrig's Cave. + Those were memorable occasions indeed! + </p> + <p> + What Saint Louisan of the last generation does not remember Uhrig's Cave? + nor look without regret upon the thing which has replaced it, called a + Coliseum? The very name, Uhrig's Cave, sent a shiver of delight down one's + spine, and many were the conjectures one made as to what might be enclosed + in that half a block of impassible brick wall, over which the great trees + stretched their branches. Honora, from comparative infancy, had her own + theory, which so possessed the mind of Edith Hanbury that she would not + look at the wall when they passed in the carriage. It was a still and + sombre place by day; and sometimes, if you listened, you could hear the + whisperings of the forty thieves on the other side of the wall. But no one + had ever dared to cry “Open, Sesame!” at the great wooden gates. + </p> + <p> + At night, in the warm season, when well brought up children were at home + or at the seashore, strange things were said to happen at Uhrig's Cave. + </p> + <p> + Honora was a tall slip of a girl of sixteen before it was given her to + know these mysteries, and the Ali Baba theory a thing of the past. Other + theories had replaced it. Nevertheless she clung tightly to Peter's arm as + they walked down Locust Street and came in sight of the wall. Above it, + and under the big trees, shone a thousand glittering lights: there was a + crowd at the gate, and instead of saying, “Open, Sesame,” Peter slipped + two bright fifty-cent pieces to the red-faced German ticketman, and in + they went. + </p> + <p> + First and most astounding of disillusions of passing childhood, it was not + a cave at all! And yet the word “disillusion” does not apply. It was, + after all, the most enchanting and exciting of spots, to make one's eye + shine and one's heart beat. Under the trees were hundreds of tables + surrounded by hovering ministering angels in white, and if you were + German, they brought you beer; if American, ice-cream. Beyond the tables + was a stage, with footlights already set and orchestra tuning up, and a + curtain on which was represented a gentleman making decorous love to a + lady beside a fountain. As in a dream, Honora followed Peter to a table, + and he handed her a programme. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter,” she cried, “it's going to be 'Pinafore'!” + </p> + <p> + Honora's eyes shone like stars, and elderly people at the neighbouring + tables turned more than once to smile at her that evening. And Peter + turned more than once and smiled too. But Honora did not consider Peter. + He was merely Providence in one of many disguises, and Providence is + accepted by his beneficiaries as a matter of fact. + </p> + <p> + The rapture of a young lady of temperament is a difficult thing to + picture. The bird may feel it as he soars, on a bright August morning, + high above amber cliffs jutting out into indigo seas; the novelist may + feel it when the four walls of his room magically disappear and the + profound secrets of the universe are on the point of revealing themselves. + Honora gazed, and listened, and lost herself. She was no longer in Uhrig's + Cave, but in the great world, her soul a-quiver with harmonies. + </p> + <p> + “Pinafore,” although a comic opera, held something tragic for Honora, and + opened the flood-gates to dizzy sensations which she did not understand. + How little Peter, who drummed on the table to the tune of: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Give three cheers and one cheer more + For the hearty captain of the Pinafore,” + </pre> + <p> + imagined what was going on beside him! There were two factors in his + pleasure; he liked the music, and he enjoyed the delight of Honora. + </p> + <p> + What is Peter? Let us cease looking at him through Honora's eyes and + taking him like daily bread, to be eaten and not thought about. From one + point of view, he is twenty-nine and elderly, with a sense of humour + unsuspected by young persons of temperament. Strive as we will, we have + only been able to see him in his role of Providence, or of the piper. Has + he no existence, no purpose in life outside of that perpetual gentleman in + waiting? If so, Honora has never considered it. + </p> + <p> + After the finale had been sung and the curtain dropped for the last time, + Honora sighed and walked out of the garden as one in a trance. Once in a + while, as he found a way for them through the crowd, Peter glanced down at + her, and something like a smile tugged at the corners of a decidedly + masculine mouth, and lit up his eyes. Suddenly, at Locust Street, under + the lamp, she stopped and surveyed him. She saw a very real, very human + individual, clad in a dark nondescript suit of clothes which had been + bought ready-made, and plainly without the bestowal of much thought, on + Fifth Street. The fact that they were a comparative fit was in itself a + tribute to the enterprise of the Excelsior Clothing Company, for Honora's + observation that he was too long one way had been just. He was too tall, + his shoulders were too high, his nose too prominent, his eyes too + deep-set; and he wore a straw hat with the brim turned up. + </p> + <p> + To Honora his appearance was as familiar as the picture of the Pope which + had always stood on Catherine's bureau. But to-night, by grace of some + added power of vision, she saw him with new and critical eyes. She was + surprised to discover that he was possessed of a quality with which she + had never associated him—youth. Not to put it too strongly—comparative + youth. + </p> + <p> + “Peter,” she demanded, “why do you dress like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Like what?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Honora seized the lapel of his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Like that,” she repeated. “Do you know, if you wore different clothes, + you might almost be distinguished looking. Don't laugh. I think it's + horrid of you always to laugh when I tell you things for your own good.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the idea of being almost distinguished looking that—that + gave me a shock,” he assured her repentantly. + </p> + <p> + “You should dress on a different principle,” she insisted. + </p> + <p> + Peter appeared dazed. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't do that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—because I don't dress on any principle now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do,” said Honora, firmly. “You dress on the principle of the + wild beasts and fishes. It's all in our natural history at Miss Farmer's. + The crab is the colour of the seaweed, and the deer of the thicket. It's a + device of nature for the protection of weak things.” + </p> + <p> + Peter drew himself up proudly. + </p> + <p> + “I have always understood, Miss Leffingwell, that the king of beasts was + somewhere near the shade of the jungle.” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed in spite of this apparent refutation of her theory of his + apparel, and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Do be serious, Peter. You'd make much more of an impression on people if + you wore clothes that had—well, a little more distinction.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the use of making an impression if you can't follow it up?” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “You can,” she declared. “I never thought of it until to-night, but you + must have a great deal in you to have risen all the way from an errand boy + in the bank to a lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + “Look out!” he cautioned her; “I shall become insupportably conceited.” + </p> + <p> + “A little more conceit wouldn't hurt you,” said Honora, critically. + “You'll forgive me, Peter, if I tell you from time to time what I think. + It's for your own good.” + </p> + <p> + “I try to realize that,” replied Peter, humbly. “How do you wish me to + dress—like Mr. Rossiter?” + </p> + <p> + The picture evoked of Peter arrayed like Mr. Harland Rossiter, who had + sent flowers to two generations and was preparing to send more to a third, + was irresistible. Every city, hamlet, and village has its Harland + Rossiter. He need not be explained. But Honora soon became grave again. + </p> + <p> + “No, but you ought to dress as though you were somebody, and different + from the ordinary man on the street.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not,” objected Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Honora, “don't you want to be? I can't understand any man not + wanting to be. If I were a man, I wouldn't stay here a day longer than I + had to.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was silent as they went in at the gate and opened the door, for on + this festive occasion they were provided with a latchkey. He turned up the + light in the hall to behold a transformation quite as wonderful as any + contained in the “Arabian Nights” or Keightley's “Fairy Mythology.” This + was not the Honora with whom he had left the house scarce three hours + before! The cambric dress, to be sure, was still no longer than the tops + of her ankles and the hair still hung in a heavy braid down her back. + These were positively all that remained of the original Honora, and the + change had occurred in the incredibly brief space required for the + production of the opera “Pinafore.” This Honora was a woman in a strange + and disturbing state of exaltation, whose eyes beheld a vision. And Peter, + although he had been the subject of her conversation, well knew that he + was not included in the vision. He smiled a little as he looked at her. It + is becoming apparent that he is one of those unfortunate unimaginative + beings incapable of great illusions. + </p> + <p> + “You're not going!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + He glanced significantly at the hall clock. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's long after bedtime, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to go to bed. I feel like talking,” she declared. “Come, + let's sit on the steps awhile. If you go home, I shan't go to sleep for + hours, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + “And what would Aunt Mary say to me?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she wouldn't care. She wouldn't even know it.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, still smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I'd never be allowed to take you to Uhrig's Cave, or anywhere else, + again,” he replied. “I'll come to-morrow evening, and you can talk to me + then.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan't feel like it then,” she said in a tone that implied his + opportunity was now or never. But seeing him still obdurate, with + startling suddenness she flung her arms mound his neck—a method + which at times had succeeded marvellously—and pleaded coaxingly: + “Only a quarter of an hour, Peter. I've got so many things to say, and I + know I shall forget them by to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + It was a night of wonders. To her astonishment the hitherto pliant Peter, + who only existed in order to do her will, became transformed into a + brusque masculine creature which she did not recognize. With a movement + that was almost rough he released himself and fled, calling back a “good + night” to her out of the darkness. He did not even wait to assist her in + the process of locking up. Honora, profoundly puzzled, stood for a while + in the doorway gazing out into the night. When at length she turned, she + had forgotten him entirely. + </p> + <p> + It was true that she did not sleep for hours, and on awaking the next + morning another phenomenon awaited her. The “little house under the hill” + was immeasurably shrunken. Poor Aunt Mary, who did not understand that a + performance of “Pinafore” could give birth to the unfulfilled longings + which result in the creation of high things, spoke to Uncle Tom a week + later concerning an astonishing and apparently abnormal access of + industry. + </p> + <p> + “She's been reading all day long, Tom, or else shut up in her room, where + Catherine tells me she is writing. I'm afraid Eleanor Hanbury is right + when she says I don't understand the child. And yet she is the same to me + as though she were my own.” + </p> + <p> + It was true that Honora was writing, and that the door was shut, and that + she did not feel the heat. In one of the bookcases she had chanced upon + that immortal biography of Dr. Johnson, and upon the letters of another + prodigy of her own sex, Madame d'Arblay, whose romantic debut as an + authoress was inspiration in itself. Honora actually quivered when she + read of Dr. Johnson's first conversation with Miss Burney. To write a book + of the existence of which even one's own family did not know, to publish + it under a nom de plume, and to awake one day to fetes and fame would be + indeed to live! + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately Honora's novel no longer exists, or the world might have + discovered a second Evelina. A regard for truth compels the statement that + it was never finished. But what rapture while the fever lasted! Merely to + take up the pen was to pass magically through marble portals into the + great world itself. + </p> + <p> + The Sir Charles Grandison of this novel was, needless to say, not Peter + Erwin. He was none other than Mr. Randolph Leffingwell, under a very thin + disguise. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. IN WHICH PROVIDENCE BEEPS FAITH + </h2> + <p> + Two more years have gone by, limping in the summer and flying in the + winter, two more years of conquests. For our heroine appears to be one of + the daughters of Helen, born to make trouble for warriors and others—and + even for innocent bystanders like Peter Erwin. Peter was debarred from + entering those brilliant lists in which apparel played so great a part. + George Hanbury, Guy Rossiter, Algernon Cartwright, Eliphalet Hopper Dwyer—familiarly + known as “Hoppy”—and other young gentlemen whose names are now but + memories, each had his brief day of triumph. Arrayed like Solomon in + wonderful clothes from the mysterious and luxurious East, they returned at + Christmas-tide and Easter from college to break lances over Honora. Let us + say it boldly—she was like that: she had the world-old knack of + sowing discord and despair in the souls of young men. She was—as + those who had known that fascinating gentleman were not slow to remark—Randolph + Leffingwell over again. + </p> + <p> + During the festival seasons, Uncle Tom averred, they wore out the latch on + the front gate. If their families possessed horses to spare, they took + Honora driving in Forest Park; they escorted her to those anomalous dances + peculiar to their innocent age, which are neither children's parties nor + full-fledged balls; their presents, while of no intrinsic value—as + one young gentleman said in a presentation speech—had an enormous, + if shy, significance. + </p> + <p> + “What a beautiful ring you are wearing, Honora,” Uncle Tom remarked slyly + one April morning at breakfast; “let me see it.” + </p> + <p> + Honora blushed, and hid her hand under the table-cloth. + </p> + <p> + And the ring-suffice it to say that her little finger was exactly + insertable in a ten-cent piece from which everything had been removed but + the milling: removed with infinite loving patience by Mr. Rossiter, and at + the expense of much history and philosophy and other less important + things, in his college bedroom at New Haven. Honora wore it for a whole + week; a triumph indeed for Mr. Rossiter; when it was placed in a box in + Honora's bedroom, which contained other gifts—not all from him—and + many letters, in the writing of which learning had likewise suffered. The + immediate cause of the putting away of this ring was said to be the + renowned Clinton Howe, who was on the Harvard football eleven, and who + visited Mr. George Hanbury that Easter. Fortunate indeed the tailor who + was called upon to practise his art on an Adonis like Mr. Howe, and it was + remarked that he scarcely left Honora's side at the garden party and dance + which Mrs. Dwyer gave in honour of the returning heroes, on the Monday of + Easter week. + </p> + <p> + This festival, on which we should like to linger, but cannot, took place + at the new Dwyer residence. For six months the Victorian mansion opposite + Uncle Tom's house had been sightless, with blue blinds drawn down inside + the plate glass windows. And the yellow stone itself was not so yellow as + it once had been, but had now the appearance of soiled manilla wrapping + paper, with black streaks here and there where the soot had run. The new + Dwyer house was of grey stone, Georgian and palatial, with a + picture-gallery twice the size of the old one; a magnificent and fitting + pioneer in a new city of palaces. + </p> + <p> + Westward the star of Empire—away from the smoke. The Dwyer mansion, + with its lawns and gardens and heavily balustraded terrace, faced the park + that stretched away like a private estate to the south and west. That same + park with its huge trees and black forests that was Ultima Thule in + Honora's childhood; in the open places there had been real farms and + hayricks which she used to slide down with Peter while Uncle Tom looked + for wild flowers in the fields. It had been separated from the city in + those days by an endless country road, like a Via Claudia stretching + towards mysterious Germanian forests, and it was deemed a feat for Peter + to ride thither on his big-wheeled bicycle. Forest Park was the country, + and all that the country represented in Honora's childhood. For Uncle Tom + on a summer's day to hire a surrey at Braintree's Livery Stable and drive + thither was like—to what shall that bliss be compared in these days + when we go to Europe with indifference? + </p> + <p> + And now Lindell Road—the Via Claudia of long, ago—had become + Lindell Boulevard, with granitoid sidewalks. And the dreary fields through + which it had formerly run were bristling with new houses in no sense + Victorian, and which were the first stirrings of a national sense of the + artistic. The old horse-cars with the clanging chains had disappeared, and + you could take an electric to within a block of the imposing grille that + surrounded the Dwyer grounds. Westward the star! + </p> + <p> + Fading fast was the glory of that bright new district on top of the second + hill from the river where Uncle Tom was a pioneer. Soot had killed the + pear trees, the apricots behind the lattice fence had withered away; + asphalt and soot were slowly sapping the vitality of the maples on the + sidewalk; and sometimes Uncle Tom's roses looked as though they might + advantageously be given a coat of paint, like those in Alice in + Wonderland. Honora should have lived in the Dwyers' mansion-people who are + capable of judging said so. People who saw her at the garden party said + she had the air of belonging in such surroundings much more than Emily, + whom even budding womanhood had not made beautiful. And Eliphalet Hopper + Dwyer, if his actions meant anything, would have welcomed her to that + house, or built her another twice as fine, had she deigned to give him the + least encouragement. + </p> + <p> + Cinderella! This was what she facetiously called herself one July morning + of that summer she was eighteen. + </p> + <p> + Cinderella in more senses than one, for never had the city seemed more + dirty or more deserted, or indeed, more stifling. Winter and its + festivities were a dream laid away in moth balls. Surely Cinderella's life + had held no greater contrasts! To this day the odour of matting brings + back to Honora the sense of closed shutters; of a stifling south wind + stirring their slats at noonday; the vision of Aunt Mary, cool and placid + in a cambric sacque, sewing by the window in the upper hall, and the sound + of fruit venders crying in the street, or of ragmen in the alley—“Rags, + bottles, old iron!” What memories of endless, burning, lonely days come + rushing back with those words! + </p> + <p> + When the sun had sufficiently heated the bricks of the surrounding houses + in order that he might not be forgotten during the night, he slowly + departed. If Honora took her book under the maple tree in the yard, she + was confronted with that hideous wooden sign “To Let” on the Dwyer's iron + fence opposite, and the grass behind it was unkempt and overgrown with + weeds. Aunt Mary took an unceasing and (to Honora's mind) morbid interest + in the future of that house. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it will be a boarding-house,” she would say, “it's much too + large for poor people to rent, and only poor people are coming into this + district now.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Aunt Mary!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear, why should we complain? We are poor, and it is appropriate + that we should live among the poor. Sometimes I think it is a pity that + you should have been thrown all your life with rich people, my child. I am + afraid it has made you discontented. It is no disgrace to be poor. We + ought to be thankful that we have everything we need.” + </p> + <p> + Honora put down her sewing. For she had learned to sew—Aunt Mary had + insisted upon that, as well as French. She laid her hand upon her aunt's. + </p> + <p> + “I am thankful,” she said, and her aunt little guessed the intensity of + the emotion she was seeking to control, or imagined the hidden fires. “But + sometimes—sometimes I try to forget that we are poor. Perhaps—some + day we shall not be.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Honora that Aunt Mary derived a real pleasure from the + contradiction of this hope. She shook her head vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “We shall always be, my child. Your Uncle Tom is getting old, and he has + always been too honest to make a great deal of money. And besides,” she + added, “he has not that kind of ability.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Tom might be getting old, but he seemed to Honora to be of the same + age as in her childhood. Some people never grow old, and Uncle Tom was one + of these. Fifteen years before he had been promoted to be the cashier of + the Prairie Bank, and he was the cashier to-day. He had the same quiet + smile, the same quiet humour, the same calm acceptance of life. He seemed + to bear no grudge even against that ever advancing enemy, the soot, which + made it increasingly difficult for him to raise his flowers. Those which + would still grow he washed tenderly night and morning with his + watering-pot. The greatest wonders are not at the ends of the earth, but + near us. It was to take many years for our heroine to realize this. + </p> + <p> + Strong faith alone could have withstood the continued contact with such a + determined fatalism as Aunt Mary's, and yet it is interesting to note that + Honora's belief in her providence never wavered. A prince was to come who + was to bear her away from the ragmen and the boarding-houses and the soot: + and incidentally and in spite of herself, Aunt Mary was to come too, and + Uncle Tom. And sometimes when she sat reading of an evening under the + maple, her book would fall to her lap and the advent of this personage + become so real a thing that she bounded when the gate slammed—to + find that it was only Peter. + </p> + <p> + It was preposterous, of course, that Peter should be a prince in disguise. + Peter who, despite her efforts to teach him distinction in dress, insisted + upon wearing the same kind of clothes. A mild kind of providence, Peter, + whose modest functions were not unlike those of the third horse which used + to be hitched on to the street car at the foot of the Seventeenth-Street + hill: it was Peter's task to help pull Honora through the interminable + summers. Uhrig's Cave was an old story now: mysteries were no longer to be + expected in St. Louis. There was a great panorama—or something to + that effect—in the wilderness at the end of one of the new electric + lines, where they sometimes went to behold the White Squadron of the new + United States Navy engaged in battle with mimic forts on a mimic sea, on + the very site where the country place of Madame Clement had been. The + mimic sea, surrounded by wooden stands filled with common people eating + peanuts and popcorn, was none other than Madame Clement's pond, which + Honora remembered as a spot of enchantment. And they went out in the open + cars with these same people, who stared at Honora as though she had got in + by mistake, but always politely gave her a seat. And Peter thanked them. + Sometimes he fell into conversations with them, and it was noticeable that + they nearly always shook hands with him at parting. Honora did not approve + of this familiarity. + </p> + <p> + “But they may be clients some day,” he argued—a frivolous answer to + which she never deigned to reply. + </p> + <p> + Just as one used to take for granted that third horse which pulled the car + uphill, so Peter was taken for granted. He might have been on the highroad + to a renown like that of Chief Justice Marshall, and Honora had been none + the wiser. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Peter,” said Uncle Tom at dinner one evening of that memorable + summer, when Aunt Mary was helping the blackberries, and incidentally + deploring that she did not live in the country, because of the cream one + got there, “I saw Judge Brice in the bank to-day, and he tells me you + covered yourself with glory in that iron foundry suit.” + </p> + <p> + “The Judge must have his little joke, Mr. Leffingwell,” replied Peter, but + he reddened nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + Honora thought winning an iron foundry suit a strange way to cover one's + self with glory. It was not, at any rate, her idea of glory. What were + lawyers for, if not to win suits? And Peter was a lawyer. + </p> + <p> + “In five years,” said Uncle Tom, “the firm will be 'Brice and Erwin'. You + mark my words. And by that time,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, + “you'll be ready to marry Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” reproved Aunt Mary, gently, “you oughtn't to say such things.” + </p> + <p> + This time there was no doubt about Peter's blush. He fairly burned. Honora + looked at him and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Peter is meant for an old bachelor,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “If he remains a bachelor,” said Uncle Tom, “he'll be the greatest waste + of good material I know of. And if you succeed in getting him, Honora, + you'll be the luckiest young woman of my acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said Aunt Mary, “it was all very well to talk that way when Honora + was a child. But now—she may not wish to marry Peter. And Peter may + not wish to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + Even Peter joined in the laughter at this literal and characteristic + statement of the case. + </p> + <p> + “It's more than likely,” said Honora, wickedly. “He hasn't kissed me for + two years.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Peter,” said Uncle Tom, “you act as though it were warm to-night. It + was only seventy when we came in to dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Take me out to the park,” commanded Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said Aunt Mary, as she stood on the step and watched them cross the + street, “I wish the child would marry him. Not now, of course,” she added + hastily,—a little frightened by her own admission, “but later. + Sometimes I worry over her future. She needs a strong and sensible man. I + don't understand Honora. I never did. I always told you so. Sometimes I + think she may be capable of doing something foolish like—like + Randolph.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Tom patted his wife on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Don't borrow trouble, Mary,” he said, smiling a little. “The child is + only full of spirits. But she has a good heart. It is only human that she + should want things that we cannot give her.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” said Aunt Mary, “that she were not quite so good-looking.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Tom laughed. “You needn't tell me you're not proud of it,” he + declared. + </p> + <p> + “And I have given her,” she continued, “a taste for dress.” + </p> + <p> + “I think, my dear,” said her husband, “that there were others who + contributed to that.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my own vanity. I should have combated the tendency in her,” said + Aunt Mary. + </p> + <p> + “If you had dressed Honora in calico, you could not have changed her,” + replied Uncle Tom, with conviction. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Honora and Peter had mounted the electric car, and were + speeding westward. They had a seat to themselves, the very first one on + the “grip”—that survival of the days of cable cars. Honora's eyes + brightened as she held on to her hat, and the stray wisps of hair about + her neck stirred in the breeze. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wish we would never stop, until we came to the Pacific Ocean!” she + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Would you be content to stop then?” he asked. He had a trick of looking + downward with a quizzical expression in his dark grey eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Honora. “I should want to go on and see everything in the world + worth seeing. Sometimes I feel positively as though I should die if I had + to stay here in St. Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “You probably would die—eventually,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + Honora was justifiably irritated. + </p> + <p> + “I could shake you, Peter!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “If I were a man,” she proclaimed, “I shouldn't stay here. I'd go to New + York—I'd be somebody—I'd make a national reputation for + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you would,” said Peter sadly, but with a glance of admiration. + </p> + <p> + “That's the worst of being a woman—we have to sit still until + something happens to us.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you like to happen?” he asked, curiously. And there was a note + in his voice which she, intent upon her thoughts, did not remark. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” she said; “anything—anything to get out of this + rut and be something in the world. It's dreadful to feel that one has + power and not be able to use it.” + </p> + <p> + The car stopped at the terminal. Thanks to the early hour of Aunt Mary's + dinner, the western sky was still aglow with the sunset over the forests + as they walked past the closed grille of the Dwyer mansion into the park. + Children rolled on the grass, while mothers and fathers, tired out from + the heat and labour of a city day, sat on the benches. Peter stooped down + and lifted a small boy, painfully thin, who had fallen, weeping, on the + gravel walk. He took his handkerchief and wiped the scratch on the child's + forehead. + </p> + <p> + “There, there!” he said, smiling, “it's all right now. We must expect a + few tumbles.” + </p> + <p> + The child looked at him, and suddenly smiled through his tears. + </p> + <p> + The father appeared, a red-headed Irishman. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mr. Erwin; I'm sure it's very kind of you, sir, to bother with + him,” he said gratefully. “It's that thin he is with the heat, I take him + out for a bit of country air.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Tim, it's you, is it?” said Peter. “He's the janitor of our building + down town,” he explained to Honora, who had remained a silent witness to + this simple scene. She had been, in spite of herself, impressed by it, and + by the mingled respect and affection in the janitor's manner towards + Peter. It was so with every one to whom he spoke. They walked on in + silence for a few moments, into a path leading to a lake, which had stolen + the flaming green-gold of the sky. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Honora, slowly, “it would be better for me to wish to be + contented where I am, as you are. But it's no use trying, I can't.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was not a preacher. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said, “there are lots of things I want.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” demanded Honora, interested. For she had never conceived of him as + having any desires whatever. + </p> + <p> + “I want a house like Mr. Dwyer's,” he declared, pointing at the distant + imposing roof line against the fading eastern sky. + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed. The idea of Peter wishing such a house was indeed + ridiculous. Then she became grave again. + </p> + <p> + “There are times when you seem to forget that I have at last grown up, + Peter. You never will talk over serious things with me.” + </p> + <p> + “What are serious things?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Honora vaguely, “ambitions, and what one is going to make of + themselves in life. And then you make fun of me by saying you want Mr. + Dwyer's house.” She laughed again. “I can't imagine you in that house!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked, stopping beside the pond and thrusting his hands in + his pockets. He looked very solemn, but she knew he was smiling inwardly. + </p> + <p> + “Why—because I can't,” she said, and hesitated. The question had + forced her to think about Peter. “I can't imagine you living all alone in + all that luxury. It isn't like you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why I all alone?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Don't—Don't be ridiculous,” she said; “you wouldn't build a house + like that, even if you were twice as rich as Mr. Dwyer. You know you + wouldn't. And you're not the marrying kind,” she added, with the superior + knowledge of eighteen. + </p> + <p> + “I'm waiting for you, Honora,” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “You know I love you, Peter,”—so she tempered her reply, for + Honora's feelings were tender. What man, even Peter, would not have + married her if he could? Of course he was in earnest, despite his + bantering tone, “but I never could—marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even if I were to offer you a house like Mr. Dwyer's?” he said. A + remark which betrayed—although not to her—his knowledge of + certain earthly strains in his goddess. + </p> + <p> + The colours faded from the water, and it blackened. + </p> + <p> + As they walked on side by side in the twilight, a consciousness of + repressed masculine force, of reserve power, which she had never before + felt about Peter Erwin, invaded her; and she was seized with a strange + uneasiness. Ridiculous was the thought (which she lost no time in + rejecting) that pointed out the true road to happiness in marrying such a + man as he. In the gathering darkness she slipped her hand through his arm. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could marry you, Peter,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He was fain to take what comfort he could from this expression of + good-will. If he was not the Prince Charming of her dreams, she would have + liked him to be. A little reflection on his part ought to have shown him + the absurdity of the Prince Charming having been there all the time, and + in ready-made clothes. And he, too, may have had dreams. We are not + concerned with them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ............................ +</pre> + <p> + If we listen to the still, small voice of realism, intense longing is + always followed by disappointment. Nothing should have happened that + summer, and Providence should not have come disguised as the postman. It + was a sultry day in early September-which is to say that it was + comparatively cool—a blue day, with occasional great drops of rain + spattering on the brick walk. And Honora was reclining on the hall sofa, + reading about Mr. Ibbetson and his duchess, when she perceived the + postman's grey uniform and smiling face on the far side of the screen + door. He greeted her cordially, and gave her a single letter for Aunt + Mary, and she carried it unsuspectingly upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “It's from Cousin Eleanor,” Honora volunteered. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Mary laid down her sewing, smoothed the ruffles of her sacque, + adjusted her spectacles, opened the envelope, and began to read. Presently + the letter fell to her lap, and she wiped her glasses and glanced at + Honora, who was deep in her book once more. And in Honora's brain, as she + read, was ringing the refrain of the prisoner: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Orleans, Beaugency! + Notre Dame de Clery! + Vendome! Vendome! + Quel chagrin, quel ennui + De compter toute la nuit + Les heures, les heures!”. +</pre> + <p> + The verse appealed to Honora strangely; just as it had appealed to + Ibbetson. Was she not, too, a prisoner. And how often, during the summer + days and nights, had she listened to the chimes of the Pilgrim Church near + by? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “One, two, three, four! + One, two, three, four!” + </pre> + <p> + After Uncle Tom had watered his flowers that evening, Aunt Mary followed + him upstairs and locked the door of their room behind her. Silently she + put the letter in his hand. Here is one paragraph of it: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I have never asked to take the child from you in the summer, + because she has always been in perfect health, and I know how lonely + you would have been without her, my dear Mary. But it seems to me + that a winter at Sutcliffe, with my girls, would do her a world of + good just now. I need not point out to you that Honora is, to say + the least, remarkably good looking, and that she has developed very + rapidly. And she has, in spite of the strict training you have + given her, certain ideas and ambitions which seem to me, I am sorry + to say, more or less prevalent among young American women these + days. You know it is only because I love her that I am so frank. + Miss Turner's influence will, in my opinion, do much to counteract + these tendencies.” + </pre> + <p> + Uncle Tom folded the letter, and handed it back to his wife. + </p> + <p> + “I feel that we ought not to refuse, Tom. And I am afraid Eleanor is + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mary, we've had her for seventeen years. We ought to be willing to + spare her for—how many months?” + </p> + <p> + “Nine,” said Aunt Mary, promptly. She had counted them. “And Eleanor says + she will be home for two weeks at Christmas. Seventeen years! It seems + only yesterday when we brought her home, Tom. It was just about this time + of day, and she was asleep in your arms, and Bridget opened the door for + us.” Aunt Mary looked out of the window. “And do you remember how she used + to play under the maple there, with her dolls?” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Tom produced a very large handkerchief, and blew his nose. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, Mary,” he said, “nine months, and two weeks out at + Christmas. Nine months in eighteen years.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we ought to be very thankful,” said Aunt Mary. “But, Tom, the + time is coming soon—” + </p> + <p> + “Tut tut,” exclaimed Uncle Tom. He turned, and his eyes beheld a work of + art. Nothing less than a porcelain plate, hung in brackets on the wall, + decorated by Honora at the age of ten with wild roses, and presented with + much ceremony on an anniversary morning. He pretended not to notice it, + but Aunt Mary's eyes were too quick. She seized a photograph on her + bureau, a photograph of Honora in a little white frock with a red sash. + </p> + <p> + “It was the year that was taken, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. The scene at the breakfast table came back to him, and the + sight of Catherine standing respectfully in the hall, and of Honora, in + the red sash, making the courtesy the old woman had taught her. + </p> + <p> + Honora recalled afterwards that Uncle Tom joked even more than usual that + evening at dinner. But it was Aunt Mary who asked her, at length, how she + would like to go to boarding-school. Such was the matter-of-fact manner in + which the portentous news was announced. + </p> + <p> + “To boarding-school, Aunt Mary?” + </p> + <p> + Her aunt poured out her uncle's after-dinner coffee. + </p> + <p> + “I've spilled some, my dear. Get another saucer for your uncle.” + </p> + <p> + Honora went mechanically to the china closet, her heart thumping. She did + not stop to reflect that it was the rarest of occurrences for Aunt Mary to + spill the coffee. + </p> + <p> + “Your Cousin Eleanor has invited you to go this winter with Edith and Mary + to Sutcliffe.” + </p> + <p> + Sutcliffe! No need to tell Honora what Sutcliffe was—her cousins had + talked of little else during the past winter; and shown, if the truth be + told, just a little commiseration for Honora. Sutcliffe was not only a + famous girls' school, Sutcliffe was the world—that world which, + since her earliest remembrances, she had been longing to see and know. In + a desperate attempt to realize what had happened to her, she found herself + staring hard at the open china closet, at Aunt Mary's best gold dinner set + resting on the pink lace paper that had been changed only last week. That + dinner set, somehow, was always an augury of festival—when, on the + rare occasions Aunt Mary entertained, the little dining room was + transformed by it and the Leffingwell silver into a glorified and + altogether unrecognizable state, in which any miracle seemed possible. + </p> + <p> + Honora pushed back her chair. + </p> + <p> + Her lips were parted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Aunt Mary, is it really true that I am going?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Uncle Tom, “what zeal for learning!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Aunt Mary, who, you may be sure, knew all about that + school before Cousin Eleanor's letter came, “Miss Turner insists upon hard + work, and the discipline is very strict.” + </p> + <p> + “No young men,” added Uncle Tom. + </p> + <p> + “That,” declared Aunt Mary, “is certainly an advantage.” + </p> + <p> + “And no chocolate cake, and bed at ten o'clock,” said Uncle Tom. + </p> + <p> + Honora, dazed, only half heard them. She laughed at Uncle Tom because she + always had, but tears were shining in her eyes. Young men and chocolate + cake! What were these privations compared to that magic word Change? + Suddenly she rose, and flung her arms about Uncle Tom's neck and kissed + his rough cheek, and then embraced Aunt Mary. They would be lonely. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Mary, I can't bear to leave you—but I do so want to go! And it + won't be for long—will it? Only until next spring.” + </p> + <p> + “Until next summer, I believe,” replied Aunt Mary, gently; “June is a + summer month-isn't it, Tom?” + </p> + <p> + “It will be a summer month without question next year,” answered Uncle + Tom, enigmatically. + </p> + <p> + It has been remarked that that day was sultry, and a fine rain was now + washing Uncle Tom's flowers for him. It was he who had applied that term + “washing” since the era of ultra-soot. Incredible as it may seem, life + proceeded as on any other of a thousand rainy nights. The lamps were + lighted in the sitting-room, Uncle Tom unfolded his gardening periodical, + and Aunt Mary her embroidery. The gate slammed, with its more subdued, + rainy-weather sound. + </p> + <p> + “It's Peter,” said Honora, flying downstairs. And she caught him, + astonished, as he was folding his umbrella on the step. “Oh, Peter, if you + tried until to-morrow morning, you never could guess what has happened.” + </p> + <p> + He stood for a moment, motionless, staring at her, a tall figure, careless + of the rain. + </p> + <p> + “You are going away,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “How did you guess it?” she exclaimed in surprise. “Yes—to + boarding-school. To Sutcliffe, on the Hudson, with Edith and Mary. Aren't + you glad? You look as though you had seen a ghost.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I?” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Don't stand there in the rain,” commanded Honora; “come into the parlour, + and I'll tell you all about it.” + </p> + <p> + He came in. She took the umbrella from him, and put it in the rack. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you congratulate me?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “You'll never come back,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “What a horrid thing to say! Of course I shall come back. I shall come + back next June, and you'll be at the station to meet me.” + </p> + <p> + “And—what will Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary do—without you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Honora, “I shall miss them dreadfully. And I shall miss you, + Peter.” + </p> + <p> + “Very much?” he asked, looking down at her with such a queer expression. + And his voice, too, sounded queer. He was trying to smile. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Honora realized that he was suffering, and she felt the pangs of + contrition. She could not remember the time when she had been away from + Peter, and it was natural that he should be stricken at the news. Peter, + who was the complement of all who loved and served her, of Aunt Mary and + Uncle Tom and Catherine, and who somehow embodied them all. Peter, the + eternally dependable. + </p> + <p> + She found it natural that the light should be temporarily removed from his + firmament while she should be at boarding-school, and yet in the + tenderness of her heart she pitied him. She put her hands impulsively upon + his shoulders as he stood looking at her with that queer expression which + he believed to be a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Peter, you dear old thing, indeed I shall miss you! I don't know what I + shall do without you, and I'll write to you every single week.” + </p> + <p> + Gently he disengaged her arms. They were standing under that which, for + courtesy's sake, had always been called the chandelier. It was in the + centre of the parlour, and Uncle Tom always covered it with holly and + mistletoe at Christmas. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say I'll never come back?” asked Honora. “Of course I shall + come back, and live here all the rest of my life.” + </p> + <p> + Peter shook his head slowly. He had recovered something of his customary + quizzical manner. + </p> + <p> + “The East is a strange country,” he said. “The first thing we know you'll + be marrying one of those people we read about, with more millions than + there are cars on the Olive Street line.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was a little indignant. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't talk so, Peter,” she said. “In the first place, I + shan't see any but girls at Sutcliffe. I could only see you for a few + minutes once a week if you were there. And in the second place, it isn't + exactly—Well—dignified to compare the East and the West the + way you do, and speak about people who are very rich and live there as + though they were different from the people we know here. Comparisons, as + Shakespeare said, are odorous.” + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” he declared, still shaking his head, “you're a fraud, but I + can't help loving you.” + </p> + <p> + For a long time that night Honora lay in bed staring into the darkness, + and trying to realize what had happened. She heard the whistling and the + puffing of the trains in the cinder-covered valley to the southward, but + the quality of these sounds had changed. They were music now. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. HONORA HAS A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD + </h2> + <p> + It is simply impossible to give any adequate notion of the industry of the + days that followed. No sooner was Uncle Tom out of the house in the + morning than Anne Rory marched into the sitting-room and took command, and + turned it, into a dressmaking establishment. Anne Rory, who deserves more + than a passing mention, one of the institutions of Honora's youth, who + sewed for the first families, and knew much more about them than Mr. + Meeker, the dancing-master. If you enjoyed her confidence,—as Aunt + Mary did,—she would tell you of her own accord who gave their + servants enough to eat, and who didn't. Anne Rory was a sort of + inquisition all by herself, and would have made a valuable chief of + police. The reputations of certain elderly gentlemen of wealth might have + remained to this day intact had it not been for her; she had a heaven-sent + knack of discovering peccadilloes. Anne Rory knew the gentlemen by sight, + and the gentlemen did not know Anne Rory. Uncle Tom she held to be + somewhere in the calendar of the saints. + </p> + <p> + There is not time, alas, to linger over Anne Rory or the new histories + which she whispered to Aunt Mary when Honora was out of the room. At last + the eventful day of departure arrived. Honora's new trunk—her first—was + packed by Aunt Mary's own hands, the dainty clothes and the dresses folded + in tissue paper, while old Catherine stood sniffing by. After dinner—sign + of a great occasion—a carriage came from Braintree's Livery Stable, + and Uncle Tom held the horses while the driver carried out the trunk and + strapped it on. Catherine, Mary Ann, and Bridget, all weeping, were kissed + good-by, and off they went through the dusk to the station. Not the old + Union Depot, with its wooden sheds, where Honora had gone so often to see + the Hanburys off, that grimy gateway to the fairer regions of the earth. + This new station, of brick and stone and glass and tiles, would hold an + army corps with ease. And when they alighted at the carriage entrance, a + tall figure came forward out of the shadow. It was Peter, and he had a + package under his arm. Peter checked Honora's trunk, and Peter had got the + permission—through Judge Brice—which enabled them all to pass + through the grille and down the long walk beside which the train was + standing. + </p> + <p> + They entered that hitherto mysterious conveyance, a sleeping-car, and + spoke to old Mrs. Stanley, who was going East to see her married daughter, + and who had gladly agreed to take charge of Honora. Afterwards they stood + on the platform, but in spite of the valiant efforts of Uncle Tom and + Peter, conversation was a mockery. + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” said Aunt Mary, “don't forget that your trunk key is in the + little pocket on the left side of your bag.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Aunt Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “And your little New Testament at the bottom. And your lunch is arranged + in three packages. And don't forget to ask Cousin Eleanor about the + walking shoes, and to give her my note.” + </p> + <p> + Cries reverberated under the great glass dome, and trains pulled out with + deafening roars. Honora had a strange feeling, as of pressure from within, + that caused her to take deep breaths of the smoky air. She but half heard + what was being said to her: she wished that the train would go, and at the + same time she had a sudden, surprising, and fierce longing to stay. She + had been able to eat scarcely a mouthful of that festal dinner which + Bridget had spent the afternoon in preparing, comprised wholly of + forbidden dishes of her childhood, for which Bridget and Aunt Mary were + justly famed. Such is the irony of life. Visions of one of Aunt Mary's + rare lunch-parties and of a small girl peeping covetously through a crack + in the dining-room door, and of the gold china set, rose before her. But + she could not eat. + </p> + <p> + “Bread and jam and tea at Miss Turner's,” Uncle Tom had said, and she had + tried to smile at him. + </p> + <p> + And now they were standing on the platform, and the train might start at + any moment. + </p> + <p> + “I trust you won't get like the New Yorkers, Honora,” said Aunt Mary. “Do + you remember how stiff they were, Tom?” She was still in the habit of + referring to that memorable trip when they had brought Honora home. “And + they say now that they hold their heads higher than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “That,” said Uncle Tom, gravely, “is a local disease, and comes from + staring at the tall buildings.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Tom!” + </p> + <p> + Peter presented the parcel under his arm. It was a box of candy, and very + heavy, on which much thought had been spent. + </p> + <p> + “They are some of the things you like,” he said, when he had returned from + putting it in the berth. + </p> + <p> + “How good of you, Peter! I shall never be able to eat all that.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope there is a doctor on the train,” said Uncle Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Yassah,” answered the black porter, who had been listening with evident + relish, “right good doctah—Doctah Lov'ring.” + </p> + <p> + Even Aunt Mary laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Peter,” asked Honora, “can't you get Judge Brice to send you on to New + York this winter on law business? Then you could come up to Sutcliffe to + see me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid of Miss Turner,” declared Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she wouldn't mind you,” exclaimed Honora. “I could say you were an + uncle. It would be almost true. And perhaps she would let you take me down + to New York for a matinee.” + </p> + <p> + “And how about my ready-made clothes?” he said, looking down at her. He + had never forgotten that. + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem a bit sorry that I'm going,” she replied, a little + breathlessly. “You know I'd be glad to see you, if you were in rags.” + </p> + <p> + “All aboard!” cried the porter, grinning sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + Honora threw her arms around Aunt Mary and clung to her. How small and + frail she was! Somehow Honora had never realized it in all her life + before. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, darling, and remember to put on your thick clothes on the cool + days, and write when you get to New York.” + </p> + <p> + Then it was Uncle Tom's turn. He gave her his usual vigorous hug and kiss. + </p> + <p> + “It won't be long until Christmas,” he whispered, and was gone, helping + Aunt Mary off the train, which had begun to move. + </p> + <p> + Peter remained a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Honora. I'll write to you often and let you know how they are. + And perhaps—you'll send me a letter once in a while.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter, I will,” she cried. “I can't bear to leave you—I didn't + think it would be so hard—” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand, but she ignored it. Before he realized what had + happened to him she had drawn his face to hers, kissed it, and was pushing + him off the train. Then she watched from the platform the three receding + figures in the yellow smoky light until the car slipped out from under the + roof into the blackness of the night. Some faint, premonitory divination + of what they represented of immutable love in a changing, heedless, + selfish world came to her; rocks to which one might cling, successful or + failing, happy or unhappy. For unconsciously she thought of them, all + three, as one, a human trinity in which her faith had never been betrayed. + She felt a warm moisture on her cheeks, and realized that she was crying + with the first real sorrow of her life. + </p> + <p> + She was leaving them—for what? Honora did not know. There had been + nothing imperative in Cousin Eleanor's letter. She need not have gone if + she had not wished. Something within herself, she felt, was impelling her. + And it is curious to relate that, in her mind, going to school had little + or nothing to do with her journey. She had the feeling of faring forth + into the world, and she had known all along that it was destined she + should. What was the cause of this longing to break the fetters and fly + away? fetters of love, they seemed to her now—and were. And the + world which she had seen afar, filled with sunlit palaces, seemed very + dark and dreary to her to-night. + </p> + <p> + “The lady's asking for you, Miss,” said the porter. + </p> + <p> + She made a heroic attempt to talk to Mrs. Stanley. But at the sight of + Peter's candy, when she opened it, she was blinded once more. Dear Peter! + That box was eloquent with the care with which he had studied her + slightest desires and caprices. Marrons glaces, and Langtrys, and certain + chocolates which had received the stamp of her approval—and she + could not so much as eat one! The porter made the berths. And there had + been a time when she had asked nothing more of fate than to travel in a + sleeping-car! Far into the night she lay wide awake, dry-eyed, watching + the lamp-lit streets of the little towns they passed, or staring at the + cornfields and pastures in the darkness; thinking of the home she had + left, perhaps forever, and wondering whether they were sleeping there; + picturing them to-morrow at breakfast without her, and Uncle Tom leaving + for the bank, Aunt Mary going through the silent rooms alone, and dear old + Catherine haunting the little chamber where she had slept for seventeen + years—almost her lifetime. A hundred vivid scenes of her childhood + came back, and familiar objects oddly intruded themselves; the red and + green lambrequin on the parlour mantel—a present many years ago from + Cousin Eleanor; the what-not, with its funny curly legs, and the bare spot + near the lock on the door of the cake closet in the dining room! + </p> + <p> + Youth, however, has its recuperative powers. The next day the excitement + of the journey held her, the sight of new cities and a new countryside. + But when she tried to eat the lunch Aunt Mary had so carefully put up, new + memories assailed her, and she went with Mrs. Stanley into the dining car. + The September dusk was made lurid by belching steel-furnaces that reddened + the heavens; and later, when she went to bed, sharp air and towering + contours told her of the mountains. Mountains which her great-grandfather + had crossed on horse back, with that very family silver in his saddle-bags + which shone on Aunt Mary's table. And then—she awoke with the light + shining in her face, and barely had time to dress before the conductor was + calling out “Jersey City.” + </p> + <p> + Once more the morning, and with it new and wonderful sensations that + dispelled her sorrows; the ferry, the olive-green river rolling in the + morning sun, alive with dodging, hurrying craft, each bent upon its + destination with an energy, relentlessness, and selfishness of purpose + that fascinated Honora. Each, with its shrill, protesting whistle, seemed + to say: “My business is the most important. Make way for me.” And yet, + through them all, towering, stately, imperturbable, a great ocean steamer + glided slowly towards the bay, by very might and majesty holding her way + serene and undisturbed, on a nobler errand. Honora thrilled as she gazed, + as though at last her dream were coming true, and she felt within her the + pulse of the world's artery. That irksome sense of spectatorship seemed to + fly, and she was part and parcel now of the great, moving things, with + sure pinions with which to soar. Standing rapt upon the forward deck of + the ferry, she saw herself, not an atom, but one whose going and coming + was a thing of consequence. It seemed but a simple step to the deck of + that steamer when she, too, would be travelling to the other side of the + world, and the journey one of the small incidents of life. + </p> + <p> + The ferry bumped into its slip, the windlasses sang loudly as they took up + the chains, the gates folded back, and Honora was forced with the crowd + along the bridge-like passage to the right. Suddenly she saw Cousin + Eleanor and the girls awaiting her. + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” said Edith, when the greetings were over and they were all four + in the carriage, which was making its way slowly across the dirty and + irregularly paved open space to a narrow street that opened between two + saloons, “Honora, you don't mean to say that Anne Rory made that street + dress? Mother, I believe it's better-looking than the one I got at + Bremer's.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very simple,”, said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “And she looks fairly radiant,” cried Edith, seizing her cousin's hand. + “It's quite wonderful, Honora; nobody would ever guess that you were from + the West, and that you had spent the whole summer in St. Louis.” + </p> + <p> + Cousin Eleanor smiled a little as she contemplated Honora, who sat, + fascinated, gazing out of the window at novel scenes. There was a colour + in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. They had reached Madison Square. + Madison Square, on a bright morning in late September, seen for the first + time by an ambitious young lady who had never been out of St. Louis! The + trimly appointed vehicles, the high-stepping horses, the glittering shops, + the well-dressed women and well-groomed men—all had an esprit de + corps which she found inspiring. On such a morning, and amidst such a + scene, she felt that there was no limit to the possibilities of life. + </p> + <p> + Until this year, Cousin Eleanor had been a conservative in the matter of + hotels, when she had yielded to Edith's entreaties to go to one of the + “new ones.” Hotels, indeed, that revolutionized transient existence. This + one, on the Avenue, had a giant in a long blue livery coat who opened + their carriage door, and a hall in yellow and black onyx, and maids and + valets. After breakfast, when Honora sat down to write to Aunt Mary, she + described the suite of rooms in which they lived,—the brass beds, + the electric night lamps, the mahogany French furniture, the heavy + carpets, and even the white-tiled bathroom. There was a marvellous + arrangement in the walls with which Edith was never tired of playing, a + circular plate covered with legends of every conceivable want, from a + newspaper to a needle and thread and a Scotch whiskey highball. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast, more stimulants—of a mental nature, of course. Solomon + in all his glory had never broken eggs in such a dining room. It had onyx + pillars, too, and gilt furniture, and table after table of the whitest + napery stretched from one end of it to the other. The glass and silver was + all of a special pattern, and an obsequious waiter handed Honora a menu in + a silver frame, with a handle. One side of the menu was in English, and + the other in French. All around them were well-dressed, well-fed, + prosperous-looking people, talking and laughing in subdued tones as they + ate. And Honora had a strange feeling of being one of them, of being as + rich and prosperous as they, of coming into a long-deferred inheritance. + </p> + <p> + The mad excitement of that day in New York is a faint memory now, so much + has Honora lived since then. We descendants of rigid Puritans, of pioneer + tobacco-planters and frontiersmen, take naturally to a luxury such as the + world has never seen—as our right. We have abolished kings, in order + that as many of us as possible may abide in palaces. In one day Honora + forgot the seventeen years spent in the “little house under the hill,” as + though these had never been. Cousin Eleanor, with a delightful sense of + wrong-doing, yielded to the temptation to adorn her; and the saleswomen, + who knew Mrs. Hanbury, made indiscreet-remarks. Such a figure and such a + face, and just enough of height! Two new gowns were ordered, to be tried + on at Sutcliffe, and as many hats, and an ulster, and heaven knows what + else. Memory fails. + </p> + <p> + In the evening they went to a new comic opera, and it is the music of that + which brings back the day most vividly to Honora's mind. + </p> + <p> + In the morning they took an early train to Sutcliffe Manors, on the + Hudson. It is an historic place. First of all, after leaving the station, + you climb through the little town clinging to the hillside; and Honora was + struck by the quaint houses and shops which had been places of barter + before the Revolution. The age of things appealed to her. It was a + brilliant day at the very end of September, the air sharp, and here and + there a creeper had been struck crimson. Beyond the town, on the slopes, + were other new sights to stimulate the imagination: country houses—not + merely houses in the country, but mansions—enticingly hidden among + great trees in a way to whet Honora's curiosity as she pictured to herself + the blissful quality of the life which their owners must lead. Long, + curving driveways led up to the houses from occasional lodges; and once, + as though to complete the impression, a young man and two women, superbly + mounted, came trotting out of one of these driveways, talking and laughing + gayly. Honora took a good look at the man. He was not handsome, but had, + in fact, a distinguished and haunting ugliness. The girls were + straight-featured and conventional to the last degree. + </p> + <p> + Presently they came to the avenue of elms that led up to the long, low + buildings of the school. + </p> + <p> + Little more will be necessary, in the brief account of Honora's life at + boarding-school, than to add an humble word of praise on the excellence of + Miss Turner's establishment. That lady, needless to say, did not advertise + in the magazines, or issue a prospectus. Parents were more or less in the + situation of the candidates who desired the honour and privilege of + whitewashing Tom Sawyer's fence. If you were a parent, and were allowed to + confide your daughter to Miss Turner, instead of demanding a prospectus, + you gave thanks to heaven, and spoke about it to your friends. + </p> + <p> + The life of the young ladies, of course, was regulated on the strictest + principles. Early rising, prayers, breakfast, studies; the daily walk, + rain or shine, under the watchful convoy of Miss Hood, the girls in + columns of twos; tennis on the school court, or skating on the school + pond. Cotton Mather himself could not have disapproved of the Sundays, nor + of the discourse of the elderly Doctor Moale (which you heard if you were + not a Presbyterian), although the reverend gentleman was distinctly + Anglican in appearance and manners. Sometimes Honora felt devout, and + would follow the service with the utmost attention. Her religion came in + waves. On the Sundays when the heathen prevailed she studied the + congregation, grew to distinguish the local country families; and, if the + truth must be told, watched for several Sundays for that ugly yet handsome + young man whom she had seen on horseback. But he never appeared, and + presently she forgot him. + </p> + <p> + Had there been a prospectus (which is ridiculous!), the great secret of + Miss Turner's school could not very well have been mentioned in it. The + English language, it is to be feared, is not quite flexible enough to + mention this secret with delicacy. Did Honora know it? Who can say? + Self-respecting young ladies do not talk about such things, and Honora was + nothing if not self-respecting. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “SUTCLIFFE MANORS, October 15th. + + “DEAREST AUNT MARY: As I wrote you, I continue to miss you and Uncle + Tom dreadfully,—and dear old Peter, too; and Cathy and Bridget and + Mary Ann. And I hate to get up at seven o'clock. And Miss Hood, + who takes us out walking and teaches us composition, is such a + ridiculously strict old maid—you would laugh at her. And the + Sundays are terrible. Miss Turner makes us read the Bible for a + whole hour in the afternoon, and reads to us in the evening. And + Uncle Tom was right when he said we should have nothing but jam and + bread and butter for supper: oh, yes, and cold meat. I am always + ravenously hungry. I count the days until Christmas, when I shall + have some really good things to eat again. And of course I cannot + wait to see you all. + + “I do not mean to give you the impression that I am not happy here, + and I never can be thankful enough to dear Cousin Eleanor for + sending me. Some of the girls are most attractive. Among others, + I have become great friends with Ethel Wing, who is tall and blond + and good-looking; and her clothes, though simple, are beautiful. + To hear her imitate Miss Turner or Miss Hood or Dr. Moale is almost + as much fun as going to the theatre. You must have heard of her + father—he is the Mr. Wing who owns all the railroads and other + things, and they have a house in Newport and another in New York, + and a country place and a yacht. + + “I like Sarah Wycliffe very much. She was brought up abroad, and we + lead the French class together. Her father has a house in Paris, + which they only use for a month or so in the year: an hotel, as the + French call it. And then there is Maude Capron, from Philadelphia, + whose father is Secretary of War. I have now to go to my class in + English composition, but I will write to you again on Saturday. + + “Your loving niece, + + “HONORA.” + </pre> + <p> + The Christmas holidays came, and went by like mileposts from the window of + an express train. There was a Glee Club: there were dances, and private + theatricals in Mrs. Dwyer's new house, in which it was imperative that + Honora should take part. There was no such thing as getting up for + breakfast, and once she did not see Uncle Tom for two whole days. He asked + her where she was staying. It was the first Christmas she remembered + spending without Peter. His present appeared, but perhaps it was + fortunate, on the whole, that he was in Texas, trying a case. It seemed + almost no time at all before she was at the station again, clinging to + Aunt Mary: but now the separation was not so hard, and she had Edith and + Mary for company, and George, a dignified and responsible sophomore at + Harvard. + </p> + <p> + Owing to the sudden withdrawal from school of little Louise Simpson, the + Cincinnati girl who had shared her room during the first term, Honora had + a new room-mate after the holidays, Susan Holt. Susan was not beautiful, + but she was good. Her nose turned up, her hair Honora described as a + negative colour, and she wore it in defiance of all prevailing modes. If + you looked very hard at Susan (which few people ever did), you saw that + she had remarkable blue eyes: they were the eyes of a saint. She was + neither tall nor short, and her complexion was not all that it might have + been. In brief, Susan was one of those girls who go through a whole term + at boarding—school without any particular notice from the more + brilliant Honoras and Ethel Wings. + </p> + <p> + In some respects, Susan was an ideal room-mate. She read the Bible every + night and morning, and she wrote many letters home. Her ruling passion, + next to religion, was order, and she took it upon herself to arrange + Honora's bureau drawers. It is needless to say that Honora accepted these + ministrations and that she found Susan's admiration an entirely natural + sentiment. Susan was self-effacing, and she enjoyed listening to Honora's + views on all topics. + </p> + <p> + Susan, like Peter, was taken for granted. She came from somewhere, and + after school was over, she would go somewhere. She lived in New York, + Honora knew, and beyond that was not curious. We never know when we are + entertaining an angel unawares. One evening, early in May, when she went + up to prepare for supper she found Susan sitting in the window reading a + letter, and on the floor beside her was a photograph. Honora picked it up. + It was the picture of a large country house with many chimneys, taken + across a wide green lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Susan, what's this?” + </p> + <p> + Susan looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's Silverdale. My brother Joshua took it.” + </p> + <p> + “Silverdale?” repeated Honora. + </p> + <p> + “It's our place in the country,” Susan replied. “The family moved up last + week. You see, the trees are just beginning to bud.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was silent a moment, gazing at the picture. + </p> + <p> + “It's very beautiful, isn't it? You never told me about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I?” said Susan. “I think of it very often. It has always seemed + much more like home to me than our house in New York, and I love it better + than any spot I know.” + </p> + <p> + Honora gazed at Susan, who had resumed her reading. + </p> + <p> + “And you are going there when school is over.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Susan; “I can hardly wait.” Suddenly she put down her + letter, and looked at Honora. + </p> + <p> + “And you,” she asked, “where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Perhaps—perhaps I shall go to the sea for a while + with my cousins.” + </p> + <p> + It was foolish, it was wrong. But for the life of her Honora could not say + she was going to spend the long hot summer in St. Louis. The thought of it + had haunted her for weeks: and sometimes, when the other girls were + discussing their plans, she had left them abruptly. And now she was aware + that Susan's blue eyes were fixed upon her, and that they had a strange + and penetrating quality she had never noticed before: a certain + tenderness, an understanding that made Honora redden and turn. + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” said Susan, slowly, “that you would come and stay awhile with + me. Your home is so far away, and I don't know when I shall see you + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Susan,” she murmured, “it's awfully good of you, but I'm afraid—I + couldn't.” + </p> + <p> + She walked to the window, and stood looking out for a moment at the + budding trees. Her heart was beating faster, and she was strangely + uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “I really don't expect to go to the sea, Susan,” she said. “You see, my + aunt and uncle are all alone in St. Louis, and I ought to go back to them. + If—if my father had lived, it might have been different. He died, + and my mother, when I was little more than a year old.” + </p> + <p> + Susan was all sympathy. She slipped her hand into Honora's. + </p> + <p> + “Where did he live?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Abroad,” answered Honora. “He was consul at Nice, and had a villa there + when he died. And people said he had an unusually brilliant career before + him. My aunt and uncle brought me up, and my cousin, Mrs. Hanbury, Edith's + mother, and Mary's, sent me here to school.” + </p> + <p> + Honora breathed easier after this confession, but it was long before sleep + came to her that night. She wondered what it would be like to visit at a + great country house such as Silverdale, what it would be like to live in + one. It seemed a strange and cruel piece of irony on the part of the fates + that Susan, instead of Honora, should have been chosen for such a life: + Susan, who would have been quite as happy spending her summers in St. + Louis, and taking excursions in the electric cars: Susan, who had never + experienced that dreadful, vacuum-like feeling, who had no ambitious + craving to be satisfied. Mingled with her flushes of affection for Susan + was a certain queer feeling of contempt, of which Honora was ashamed. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, in the days that followed, a certain metamorphosis seemed to + have taken place in Susan. She was still the same modest, self-effacing, + helpful roommate, but in Honora's eyes she had changed—Honora could + no longer separate her image from the vision of Silverdale. And, if the + naked truth must be told, it was due to Silverdale that Susan owes the + honour of her first mention in those descriptive letters from Sutcliffe, + which Aunt Mary has kept to this day. + </p> + <p> + Four days later Susan had a letter from her mother containing an + astonishing discovery. There could be no mistake,—Mrs. Holt had + brought Honora to this country as a baby. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Susan,” cried Honora, “you must have been the other baby.” + </p> + <p> + “But you were the beautiful one,” replied Susan, generously. “I have often + heard mother tell about it, and how every one on the ship noticed you, and + how Hortense cried when your aunt and uncle took you away. And to think we + have been rooming together all these months and did not know that we were + really—old friends. + </p> + <p> + “And Honora, mother says you must come to Silverdale to pay us a visit + when school closes. She wants to see you. I think,” added Susan, smiling, + “I think she feels responsible, for you. She says that you must give me + your aunts address, and that she will write to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'd so like to go, Susan. And I don't think Aunt Mary would object—-for + a little while.” + </p> + <p> + Honora lost no time in writing the letter asking for permission, and it + was not until after she had posted it that she felt a sudden, sharp regret + as she thought of them in their loneliness. But the postponement of her + homecoming would only be for a fortnight at best. And she had seen so + little! + </p> + <p> + In due time Aunt Mary's letter arrived. There was no mention of loneliness + in it, only of joy that Honora was to have the opportunity to visit such a + place as Silverdale. Aunt Mary, it seems, had seen pictures of it long ago + in a magazine of the book club, in an article concerning one of Mrs. + Holt's charities—a model home for indiscreet young women. At the end + of the year, Aunt Mary added, she had bought the number of the magazine, + because of her natural interest in Mrs. Holt on Honora's account. Honora + cried a little over that letter, but her determination to go to Silverdale + was unshaken. + </p> + <p> + June came at last, and the end of school. The subject of Miss Turner's + annual talk was worldliness. Miss Turner saw signs, she regretted to say, + of a lowering in the ideals of American women: of a restlessness, of a + desire for what was a false consideration and recognition; for power. Some + of her own pupils, alas! were not free from this fault. Ethel Wing, who + was next to Honora, nudged her and laughed, and passed her some of + Maillard's chocolates, which she had in her pocket. Woman's place, + continued Miss Turner, was the home, and she hoped they would all make + good wives. She had done her best to prepare them to be such. + Independence, they would find, was only relative: no one had it + completely. And she hoped that none of her scholars would ever descend to + that base competition to outdo one's neighbours, so characteristic of the + country to-day. + </p> + <p> + The friends, and even the enemies, were kissed good-by, with pledges of + eternal friendship. Cousin Eleanor Hanbury came for Edith and Mary, and + hoped Honora would enjoy herself at Silverdale. Dear Cousin Eleanor! Her + heart was large, and her charity unpretentious. She slipped into Honora's + fingers, as she embraced her, a silver-purse with some gold coins in it, + and bade her not to forget to write home very often. + </p> + <p> + “You know what pleasure it will give them, my dear,” she said, as she + stepped on the train for New York. + </p> + <p> + “And I am going home soon, Cousin Eleanor,” replied Honora, with a little + touch of homesickness in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “I know, dear,” said Mrs. Hanbury. But there was a peculiar, almost + wistful expression on her face as she kissed Honora again, as of one who + assents to a fiction in order to humour a child. + </p> + <p> + As the train pulled out, Ethel Wing waved to her from the midst of a group + of girls on the wide rear platform of the last car. It was Mr. Wing's + private car, and was going to Newport. + </p> + <p> + “Be good, Honora!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Volume 2. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE OLYMPIAN ORDER + </h2> + <p> + Lying back in the chair of the Pullman and gazing over the wide Hudson + shining in the afternoon sun, Honora's imagination ran riot until the + seeming possibilities of life became infinite. At every click of the rails + she was drawing nearer to that great world of which she had dreamed, a + world of country houses inhabited by an Olympian order. To be sure, Susan, + who sat reading in the chair behind her, was but a humble representative + of that order—but Providence sometimes makes use of such + instruments. The picture of the tall and brilliant Ethel Wing standing + behind the brass rail of the platform of the car was continually recurring + to Honora as emblematic: of Ethel, in a blue tailor-made gown trimmed with + buff braid, and which fitted her slender figure with military exactness. + Her hair, the colour of the yellowest of gold, in the manner of its finish + seemed somehow to give the impression of that metal; and the militant + effect of the costume had been heightened by a small colonial cocked hat. + If the truth be told, Honora had secretly idealized Miss Wing, and had + found her insouciance, frankness, and tendency to ridicule delightful. + Militant—that was indeed Ethel's note—militant and positive. + </p> + <p> + “You're not going home with Susan!” she had exclaimed, making a little + face when Honora had told her. “They say that Silverdale is as slow as a + nunnery—and you're on your knees all the time. You ought to have + come to Newport with me.” + </p> + <p> + It was characteristic of Miss Wing that she seemed to have taken no + account of the fact that she had neglected to issue this alluring + invitation. Life at Silverdale slow! How could it be slow amidst such + beauty and magnificence? + </p> + <p> + The train was stopping at a new little station on which hung the legend, + in gold letters, “Sutton.” The sun was well on his journey towards the + western hills. Susan had touched her on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are, Honora,” she said, and added, with an unusual tremor in her + voice, “at last!” + </p> + <p> + On the far side of the platform a yellow, two-seated wagon was waiting, + and away they drove through the village, with its old houses and its + sleepy streets and its orchards, and its ancient tavern dating from + stage-coach days. Just outside of it, on the tree-dotted slope of a long + hill, was a modern brick building, exceedingly practical in appearance, + surrounded by spacious grounds enclosed in a paling fence. That, Susan + said, was the Sutton Home. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother's charity?” + </p> + <p> + A light came into the girl's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “So you have heard of it? Yes, it is the thing that interests mother more + than anything else in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Honora, “I hope she will let me go through it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure she will want to take you there to-morrow,” answered Susan, and + she smiled. + </p> + <p> + The road wound upwards, by the valley of a brook, through the hills, now + wooded, now spread with pastures that shone golden green in the evening + light, the herds gathering at the gate-bars. Presently they came to a + gothic-looking stone building, with a mediaeval bridge thrown across the + stream in front of it, and massive gates flung open. As they passed, + Honora had a glimpse of a blue driveway under the arch of the forest. An + elderly woman looked out at them through the open half of a leaded + lattice. + </p> + <p> + “That's the Chamberlin estate,” Susan volunteered. “Mr. Chamberlin has + built a castle on the top of that hill.” + </p> + <p> + Honora caught her breath. + </p> + <p> + “Are many of the places here like that?” she asked. Susan laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Some people don't think the place is very—appropriate,” she + contented herself with replying. + </p> + <p> + A little later, as they climbed higher, other houses could be discerned + dotted about the country-side, nearly all of them varied expressions of + the passion for a new architecture which seemed to possess the rich. Most + of them were in conspicuous positions, and surrounded by wide acres. Each, + to Honora, was an inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea there were so many people here,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid Sutton is becoming fashionable,” answered Susan. + </p> + <p> + “And don't you want it to?” asked Honora. + </p> + <p> + “It was very nice before,” said Susan, quietly. + </p> + <p> + Honora was silent. They turned in between two simple stone pillars that + divided a low wall, overhung from the inside by shrubbery growing under + the forest. Susan seized her friend's hand and pressed it. + </p> + <p> + “I'm always so glad to get back here,” she whispered. “I hope you'll like + it.” + </p> + <p> + Honora returned the pressure. + </p> + <p> + The grey road forked, and forked again. Suddenly the forest came to an end + in a sort of premeditated tangle of wild garden, and across a wide lawn + the great house loomed against the western sky. Its architecture was of + the '60's and '70's, with a wide porte-cochere that sheltered the high + entrance doors. These were both flung open, a butler and two footmen were + standing impassively beside them, and a neat maid within. Honora climbed + the steps as in a dream, followed Susan through a hall with a + black-walnut, fretted staircase, and where she caught a glimpse of two + huge Chinese vases, to a porch on the other side of the house spread with + wicker chairs and tables. Out of a group of people at the farther end of + this porch arose an elderly lady, who came forward and clasped Susan in + her arms. + </p> + <p> + “And is this Honora? How do you do, my dear? I had the pleasure of knowing + you when you were much younger.” + </p> + <p> + Honora, too, was gathered to that ample bosom. Released, she beheld a lady + in a mauve satin gown, at the throat of which a cameo brooch was fastened. + Mrs. Holt's face left no room for conjecture as to the character of its + possessor. Her hair, of a silvering blend, parted in the middle, fitted + tightly to her head. She wore earrings. In short, her appearance was in + every way suggestive of momentum, of a force which the wise would respect. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you, Joshua?” she said. “This is the baby we brought from Nice. + Come and tell me whether you would recognize her.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Holt released his—daughter. He had a mild blue eye, white + mutton-chop whiskers, and very thin hands, and his tweed suit was + decidedly the worse for wear. + </p> + <p> + “I can't say that I should, Elvira,” he replied; “although it is not hard + to believe that such a beautiful baby should, prove to be such a—er—good-looking + young woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I've always felt very grateful to you for bringing me back,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut, child,” said Mrs. Holt; “there was no one else to do it. And be + careful how you pay young women compliments, Joshua. They grow vain + enough. By the way, my dear, what ever became of your maternal + grandfather, old Mr. Allison—wasn't that his name?” + </p> + <p> + “He died when I was very young,” replied Honora. + </p> + <p> + “He was too fond of the good things of this life,” said Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Elvira!” her husband protested. + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it, he was,” retorted that lady. “I am a judge of human + nature, and I was relieved, I can tell you, my dear” (to Honora), “when I + saw your uncle and aunt on the wharf that morning. I knew that I had + confided you to good hands.” + </p> + <p> + “They have done everything for me, Mrs. Holt,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + The good lady patted her approvingly on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure of it, my dear,” she said. “And I am glad to see you appreciate + it. And now you must renew your acquaintance with the family.” + </p> + <p> + A sister and a brother, Honora had already learned from Susan, had died + since she had crossed the ocean with them. Robert and Joshua, Junior, + remained. Both were heavyset, with rather stern faces, both had + close-cropped, tan-coloured mustaches and wide jaws, with blue eyes like + Susan's. Both were, with women at least, what the French would call + difficult—Robert less so than Joshua. They greeted Honora reservedly + and—she could not help feeling—a little suspiciously. And + their appearance was something of a shock to her; they did not, somehow, + “go with the house,” and they dressed even more carelessly than Peter + Erwin. This was particularly true of Joshua, whose low, turned-down collar + revealed a porous, brick-red, and extremely virile neck, and whose clothes + were creased at the knees and across the back. + </p> + <p> + As for their wives, Mrs. Joshua was a merry, brown-eyed little lady + already inclining to stoutness, and Honora felt at home with her at once. + Mrs. Robert was tall and thin, with an olive face and dark eyes which gave + the impression of an uncomfortable penetration. She was dressed simply in + a shirtwaist and a dark skirt, but Honora thought her striking looking. + </p> + <p> + The grandchildren, playing on and off the porch, seemed legion, and they + were besieging Susan. In reality there were seven of them, of all sizes + and sexes, from the third Joshua with a tennis-bat to the youngest who was + weeping at being sent to bed, and holding on to her Aunt Susan with + desperation. When Honora had greeted them all, and kissed some of them, + she was informed that there were two more upstairs, safely tucked away in + cribs. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you love children, don't you?” said Mrs. Joshua. She spoke + impulsively, and yet with a kind of childlike shyness. + </p> + <p> + “I adore them,” exclaimed Honora. + </p> + <p> + A trellised arbour (which some years later would have been called a + pergola) led from the porch up the hill to an old-fashioned summer-house + on the crest. And thither, presently, Susan led Honora for a view of the + distant western hills silhouetted in black against a flaming western sky, + before escorting her to her room. The vastness of the house, the width of + the staircase, and the size of the second-story hall impressed our + heroine. + </p> + <p> + “I'll send a maid to you later, dear,” Susan said. “If you care to lie + down for half an hour, no one will disturb you. And I hope you will be + comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + Comfortable! When the door had closed, Honora glanced around her and + sighed, “comfort” seemed such a strangely inadequate word. She was + reminded of the illustrations she had seen of English country houses. The + bed alone would almost have filled her little room at home. On the farther + side, in an alcove, was a huge dressing-table; a fire was laid in the + grate of the marble mantel, the curtains in the bay window were tightly + drawn, and near by was a lounge with a reading-light. A huge mahogany + wardrobe occupied one corner; in another stood a pier glass, and in + another, near the lounge, was a small bookcase filled with books. Honora + looked over them curiously. “Robert Elsmere” and a life of Christ, “Mr. + Isaacs,” a book of sermons by an eminent clergyman, “Innocents Abroad,” + Hare's “Walks in Rome,” “When a Man's Single,” by Barrie, a book of + meditations, and “Organized Charities for Women.” + </p> + <p> + Adjoining the bedroom was a bathroom in proportion, evidently all her own,—with + a huge porcelain tub and a table set with toilet bottles containing + liquids of various colours. + </p> + <p> + Dreamily, Honora slipped on the new dressing-gown Aunt Mary had made for + her, and took a book out of the bookcase. It was the volume of sermons. + But she could not read: she was forever looking about the room, and + thinking of the family she had met downstairs. Of course, when one lived + in a house like this, one could afford to dress and act as one liked. She + was aroused from her reflections by the soft but penetrating notes of a + Japanese gong, followed by a gentle knock on the door and the entrance of + an elderly maid, who informed her it was time to dress for dinner. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll excuse me, Miss,” said that hitherto silent individual when the + operation was completed, “you do look lovely.” + </p> + <p> + Honora, secretly, was of that opinion too as she surveyed herself in the + long glass. The simple summer silk, of a deep and glowing pink, rivalled + the colour in her cheeks, and contrasted with the dark and shining masses + of her hair; and on her neck glistened a little pendant of her mother's + jewels, which Aunt Mary, with Cousin Eleanor's assistance, had had set in + New York. Honora's figure was that of a woman of five and twenty: her neck + was a slender column, her head well set, and the look of race, which had + been hers since childhood, was at nineteen more accentuated. All this she + saw, and went down the stairs in a kind of exultation. And when on the + threshold of the drawing-room she paused, the conversation suddenly + ceased. Mr. Holt and his sons got up somewhat precipitately, and Mrs. Holt + came forward to meet her. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you weren't waiting for me,” said Honora, timidly. + </p> + <p> + “No indeed, my dear,” said Mrs. Holt. Tucking Honora's hand under her arm, + she led the way majestically to the dining-room, a large apartment with a + dimly lighted conservatory at the farther end, presided over by the + decorous butler and his assistants. A huge chandelier with prisms hung + over the flowers at the centre of the table, which sparkled with glass and + silver, while dishes of vermilion and yellow fruits relieved the whiteness + of the cloth. Honora found herself beside Mr. Holt, who looked more + shrivelled than ever in his evening clothes. And she was about to address + him when, with a movement as though to forestall her, he leaned forward + convulsively and began a mumbling grace. + </p> + <p> + The dinner itself was more like a ceremony than a meal, and as it + proceeded, Honora found it increasingly difficult to rid herself of a + curious feeling of being on probation. + </p> + <p> + Joshua, who sat on her other side and ate prodigiously, scarcely addressed + a word to her; but she gathered from his remarks to his father and brother + that he was interested in cows. And Mr. Holt was almost exclusively + occupied in slowly masticating the special dishes which the butler + impressively laid before him. He asked her a few questions about Miss + Turner's school, but it was not until she had admired the mass of peonies + in the centre of the table that his eyes brightened, and he smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You like flowers?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I love them,” slid Honora. + </p> + <p> + “I am the gardener here,” he said. “You must see my garden, Miss + Leffingwell. I am in it by half-past six every morning, rain or shine.” + </p> + <p> + Honora looked up, and surprised Mrs. Robert's eyes fixed on her with the + same strange expression she had noticed on her arrival. And for some + senseless reason, she flushed. + </p> + <p> + The conversation was chiefly carried on by kindly little Mrs. Joshua and + by Mrs. Holt, who seemed at once to preside and to dominate. She praised + Honora's gown, but left a lingering impression that she thought her + overdressed, without definitely saying so. And she made innumerable—and + often embarrassing—inquiries about Honora's aunt and uncle, and her + life in St. Louis, and her friends there, and how she had happened to go + to Sutcliffe to school. Sometimes Honora blushed, but she answered them + all good-naturedly. And when at length the meal had marched sedately down + to the fruit, Mrs. Holt rose and drew Honora out of the dining room. + </p> + <p> + “It is a little hard on you, my dear,” she said, “to give you so much + family on your arrival. But there are some other people coming to-morrow, + when it will be gayer, I hope, for you and Susan.” + </p> + <p> + “It is so good of you and Susan to want me, Mrs. Holt,” replied Honora, “I + am enjoying it so much. I have never been in a big country house like + this, and I am glad there is no one else here. I have heard my aunt speak + of you so often, and tell how kind you were to take charge of me, that I + have always hoped to know you sometime or other. And it seems the + strangest of coincidences that I should have roomed with Susan at + Sutcliffe.” + </p> + <p> + “Susan has grown very fond of you,” said Mrs. Holt, graciously. “We are + very glad to have you, my dear, and I must own that I had a curiosity to + see you again. Your aunt struck me as a good and sensible woman, and it + was a positive relief to know that you were to be confided to her care.” + Mrs. Holt, however, shook her head and regarded Honora, and her next + remark might have been taken as a clew to her thoughts. “But we are not + very gay at Silverdale, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + Honora's quick intuition detected the implication of a frivolity which + even her sensible aunt had not been able to eradicate. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt,” she cried, “I shall be so happy here, just seeing things + and being among you. And I am so interested in the little bit I have seen + already. I caught a glimpse of your girls' home on my way from the + station. I hope you will take me there.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt gave her a quick look, but beheld in Honora's clear eyes only + eagerness and ingenuousness. + </p> + <p> + The change in the elderly lady's own expression, and incidentally in the + atmosphere which enveloped her, was remarkable. + </p> + <p> + “Would you really like to go, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes indeed,” cried Honora. “You see, I have heard so much of it, and + I should like to write my aunt about it. She is interested in the work you + are doing, and she has kept a magazine with an article in it, and a + picture of the institution.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” exclaimed the lady, now visibly pleased. “It is a very modest + little work, my dear. I had no idea that—out in St. Louis—that + the beams of my little candle had carried so far. Indeed you shall see it, + Honora. We will go down the first thing in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Robert, who had been sitting on the other side of the room, rose + abruptly and came towards them. There was something very like a smile on + her face,—although it wasn't really a smile—as she bent over + and kissed her mother-in-law on the cheek. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear you are interested in—charities, Miss + Leffingwell,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Honora's face grew warm. + </p> + <p> + “I have not so far had very much to do with them, I am afraid,” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + “How should she?” demanded Mrs. Holt. “Gwendolen, you're not going up + already?” + </p> + <p> + “I have some letters to write,” said Mrs. Robert. + </p> + <p> + “Gwen has helped me immeasurably,” said Mrs. Holt, looking after the tall + figure of her daughter-in-law, “but she has a curious, reserved character. + You have to know her, my dear. She is not at all like Susan, for + instance.” + </p> + <p> + Honora awoke the next morning to a melody, and lay for some minutes in a + delicious semi-consciousness, wondering where she was. Presently she + discovered that the notes were those of a bird on a tree immediately + outside of her window—a tree of wonderful perfection, the lower + branches of which swept the ground. Other symmetrical trees, of many + varieties, dotted a velvet lawn, which formed a great natural terrace + above the forested valley of Silver Brook. On the grass, dew-drenched + cobwebs gleamed in the early sun, and the breeze that stirred the curtains + was charged with the damp, fresh odours of the morning. Voices caught her + ear, and two figures appeared in the distance. One she recognized as Mr. + Holt, and the other was evidently a gardener. The gilt clock on the mantel + pointed to a quarter of seven. + </p> + <p> + It is far too late in this history to pretend that Honora was, by + preference, an early riser, and therefore it must have been the excitement + caused by her surroundings that made her bathe and dress with alacrity + that morning. A housemaid was dusting the stairs as she descended into the + empty hall. She crossed the lawn, took a path through the trees that + bordered it, and came suddenly upon an old-fashioned garden in all the + freshness of its early morning colour. In one of the winding paths she + stopped with a little exclamation. Mr. Holt rose from his knees in front + of her, where he had been digging industriously with a trowel. His + greeting, when contrasted with his comparative taciturnity at dinner the + night before, was almost effusive—and a little pathetic. + </p> + <p> + “My dear young lady,” he exclaimed, “up so early?” He held up forbiddingly + a mould-covered palm. “I can't shake hands with you.” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't resist the temptation to see your garden,” she said. + </p> + <p> + A gentle light gleamed in his blue eyes, and he paused before a trellis of + June roses. With his gardening knife he cut three of them, and held them + gallantly against her white gown. Her sensitive colour responded as she + thanked him, and she pinned them deftly at her waist. + </p> + <p> + “You like gardens?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I was brought up with them,” she answered; “I mean,” she corrected + herself swiftly, “in a very modest way. My uncle is passionately fond of + flowers, and he makes our little yard bloom with them all summer. But of + course,” Honora added, “I've never seen anything like this.” + </p> + <p> + “It has been a life work,” answered Mr. Holt, proudly, “and yet I feel as + though I had not yet begun. Come, I will show you the peonies—they + are at their best—before I go in and make myself respectable for + breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later, as they approached the house in amicable and even + lively conversation, they beheld Susan and Mrs. Robert standing on the + steps under the porte-cochere, watching them. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Honora,” cried Susan, “how energetic you are! I actually had a shock + when I went to your room and found you'd gone. I'll have to write Miss + Turner.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” pleaded Honora; “you see, I had every inducement to get up.” + </p> + <p> + “She has been well occupied,” put in Mr. Holt. “She has been admiring my + garden.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I have,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then, you have won father's heart!” cried Susan. Gwendolen Holt + smiled. Her eyes were fixed upon the roses in Honora's belt. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Miss Leffingwell,” she said, simply. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Holt having removed the loam from his hands, the whole family, + excepting Joshua, Junior, and including an indefinite number of children, + and Carroll, the dignified butler, and Martha, the elderly maid, trooped + into the library for prayers. Mr. Holt sat down before a teak-wood table + at the end of the room, on which reposed a great, morocco-covered Bible. + Adjusting his spectacles, he read, in a mild but impressive voice, a + chapter of Matthew, while Mrs. Joshua tried to quiet her youngest. Honora + sat staring at a figure on the carpet, uncomfortably aware that Mrs. + Robert was still studying her. Mr. Holt closed the Bible reverently, and + announced a prayer, whereupon the family knelt upon the floor and leaned + their elbows on the seats of their chairs. Honora did likewise, wondering + at the facility with which Mr. Holt worded his appeal, and at the number + of things he found to pray for. Her knees had begun to ache before he had + finished. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast such a cheerful spirit prevailed that Honora began almost to + feel at home. Even Robert indulged occasionally in raillery. + </p> + <p> + “Where in the world is Josh?” asked Mrs. Holt, after they were seated. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot to tell you, mother,” little Mrs. Joshua chirped up, “that he + got up at an unearthly hour, and went over to Grafton to look at a cow.” + </p> + <p> + “A cow!” sighed Mrs. Holt. “Oh, dear, I might have known it. You must + understand, Honora, that every member of the Holt family has a hobby. + Joshua's is Jerseys.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I should adore them if I lived in the country,” Honora declared. + </p> + <p> + “If you and Joshua would only take that Sylvester farm, and build a house, + Annie,” said Mr. Holt, munching the dried bread which was specially + prepared for him, “I should be completely happy. Then,” he added, turning + to Honora, “I should have both my sons settled on the place. Robert and + Gwen are sensible in building.” + </p> + <p> + “It's cheaper to live with you, granddad,” laughed Mrs. Joshua. “Josh says + if we do that, he has more money to buy cows.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a footman entered, and presented Mrs. Holt with some mail + on a silver tray. + </p> + <p> + “The Vicomte de Toqueville is coming this afternoon, Joshua,” she + announced, reading rapidly from a sheet on which was visible a large + crown. “He landed in New York last week, and writes to know if I could + have him.” + </p> + <p> + “Another of mother's menagerie,” remarked Robert. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think that's nice of you, Robert,” said his mother. “The Vicomte + was very kind to your father and me in Paris, and invited us to his + chateau in Provence.” + </p> + <p> + Robert was sceptical. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure he had one?” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + Even Mr. Holt laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Robert,” said his mother, “I wish Gwen could induce you to travel more. + Perhaps you would learn that all foreigners aren't fortune-hunters.” + </p> + <p> + “I've had an opportunity to observe the ones who come over here, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't have a prospective guest discussed,” Mrs. Holt declared, with + finality. “Joshua, you remember my telling you last spring that Martha + Spence's son called on me?” she asked. “He is in business with a man named + Dallam, I believe, and making a great deal of money for a young man. He is + just a year younger than you, Robert.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that fat, tow-headed boy that used to come up here and eat + melons and ride my pony?” inquired Robert. “Howard Spence?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt smiled. + </p> + <p> + “He isn't fat any longer, Robert. Indeed, he's quite good-looking. Since + his mother died, I had lost trace of him. But I found a photograph of hers + when I was clearing up my desk some months ago, and sent it to him, and he + came to thank me. I forgot to tell you that I invited him for a fortnight + any time he chose, and he has just written to ask if he may come now. I + regret to say that he's on the Stock Exchange—but I was very fond of + his mother. It doesn't seem to me quite a legitimate business.” + </p> + <p> + “Why!” exclaimed little Mrs. Joshua, unexpectedly, “I'm given to + understand that the Stock Exchange is quite aristocratic in these days.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I am old-fashioned, my dear,” said Mrs. Holt, rising. “It has + always seemed to me little better than a gambling place. Honora, if you + still wish to go to the Girls' Home, I have ordered the carriage in a + quarter of an hour.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. A CHAPTER OF CONQUESTS + </h2> + <p> + Honora's interest in the Institution was so lively, and she asked so many + questions and praised so highly the work with which the indiscreet young + women were occupied that Mrs. Holt patted her hand as they drove homeward. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said, “I begin to wish I'd adopted you myself. Perhaps, + later on, we can find a husband for you, and you will marry and settle + down near us here at Silverdale, and then you can help me with the work.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt,” she replied, “I should so like to help you, I mean. And + it would be wonderful to live in such a place. And as for marriage, it + seems such a long way off that somehow I never think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally,” ejaculated Mrs. Holt, with approval, “a young girl of your + age should not. But, my dear, I am afraid you are destined to have many + admirers. If you had not been so well brought up, and were not naturally + so sensible, I should fear for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt!” exclaimed Honora, deprecatingly, and blushing very + prettily. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever else I am,” said Mrs. Holt, vigorously, “I am not a flatterer. I + am telling you something for your own good—which you probably know + already.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was discreetly silent. She thought of the proud and unsusceptible + George Hanbury, whom she had cast down from the tower of his sophomore + dignity with such apparent ease; and of certain gentlemen at home, young + and middle-aged, who had behaved foolishly during the Christmas holidays. + </p> + <p> + At lunch both the Roberts and the Joshuas were away. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards, they romped with the children—she and Susan. They were + shy at first, especially the third Joshua, but Honora captivated him by + playing two sets of tennis in the broiling sun, at the end of which + exercise he regarded her with a new-born admiration in his eyes. He was + thirteen. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think you were that kind at all,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What kind did you think I was?” asked Honora, passing her arm around his + shoulder as they walked towards the house. + </p> + <p> + The boy grew scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't think you—you could play tennis,” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + Honora stopped, and seized his chin and tilted his face upward. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Joshua,” she said, “look at me and say that over again.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he replied desperately, “I thought you wouldn't want to get all + mussed up and hot.” + </p> + <p> + “That's better,” said Honora. “You thought I was vain, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't think so any more,” he avowed passionately. “I think you're a + trump. And we'll play again to-morrow, won't we?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll play any day you like,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + It is unfair to suppose that the arrival of a real vicomte and of a young, + good-looking, and successful member of the New York Stock Exchange were + responsible for Honora's appearance, an hour later, in the embroidered + linen gown which Cousin Eleanor had given her that spring. Tea was already + in progress on the porch, and if a hush in the conversation and the + scraping of chairs is any sign of a sensation, this happened when our + heroine appeared in the doorway. And Mrs. Holt, in the act of lifting the + hot-water kettle; put it down again. Whether or not there was approval in + the lady's delft-blue eye, Honora could not have said. The Vicomte, with + the graceful facility of his race, had differentiated himself from the + group and stood before her. As soon as the words of introduction were + pronounced, he made a bow that was a tribute in itself, exaggerated in its + respect. + </p> + <p> + “It is a pleasure, Mademoiselle,” he murmured, but his eyes were more + eloquent. + </p> + <p> + A description of him in his own language leaped into Honora's mind, so + much did he appear to have walked out of one of the many yellow-backed + novels she had read. He was not tall, but beautifully made, and his coat + was quite absurdly cut in at the waist; his mustache was en-croc, and its + points resembled those of the Spanish bayonets in the conservatory: he + might have been three and thirty, and he was what the novels described as + 'un peu fane' which means that he had seen the world: his eyes were + extraordinarily bright, black, and impenetrable. + </p> + <p> + A greater contrast to the Vicomte than Mr. Howard Spence would have been + difficult to find. He was Honora's first glimpse of Finance, of the powers + that travelled in private cars and despatched ships across the ocean. And + in our modern mythology, he might have stood for the god of Prosperity. + Prosperity is pink, and so was Mr. Spence, in two places,—his + smooth-shaven cheeks and his shirt. His flesh had a certain firmness, but + he was not stout; he was merely well fed, as Prosperity should be. His + features were comparatively regular, his mustache a light brown, his eyes + hazel. The fact that he came from that mysterious metropolis, the heart of + which is Wall Street, not only excused but legitimized the pink shirt and + the neatly knotted green tie, the pepper-and-salt check suit that was + loose and at the same time well-fitting, and the jewelled ring on his + plump little finger. On the whole, Mr. Spence was not only prepossessing, + but he contrived to give Honora, as she shook his hand, the impression of + being brought a step nearer to the national source of power. Unlike the + Vicomte, he did not appear to have been instantly and mortally wounded + upon her arrival on the scene, but his greeting was flattering, and he + remained by her side instead of returning to that of Mrs. Robert. + </p> + <p> + “When did you come up?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Only yesterday,” answered Honora. + </p> + <p> + “New York,” said Mr. Spence, producing a gold cigarette case on which his + monogram was largely and somewhat elaborately engraved, “New York is + played out this time of year—isn't it? I dropped in at Sherry's last + night for dinner, and there weren't thirty people there.” + </p> + <p> + Honora had heard of Sherry's as a restaurant where one dined fabulously, + and she tried to imagine the cosmopolitan and blissful existence which + permitted “dropping in at” such a place. Moreover, Mr. Spence was plainly + under the impression that she too “came up” from New York, and it was + impossible not to be a little pleased. + </p> + <p> + “It must be a relief to get into the country,” she ventured. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Spence glanced around him expressively, and then looked at her with a + slight smile. The action and the smile—to which she could not + refrain from responding—seemed to establish a tacit understanding + between them. It was natural that he should look upon Silverdale as a slow + place, and there was something delicious in his taking, for granted that + she shared this opinion. She wondered a little wickedly what he would say + when he knew the truth about her, and this was the birth of a resolution + that his interest should not flag. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can stand the country when it is properly inhabited,” he said, and + their eyes met in laughter. + </p> + <p> + “How many inhabitants do you require?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said brazenly, “the right kind of inhabitant is worth a + thousand of the wrong kind. It is a good rule in business, when you come + across a gilt-edged security, to make a specialty of it.” + </p> + <p> + Honora found the compliment somewhat singular. But she was prepared to + forgive New York a few sins in the matter of commercial slang: New York, + which evidently dressed as it liked, and talked as it liked. But not + knowing any more of a gilt-edged security than that it was something to + Mr. Spence's taste, a retort was out of the question. Then, as though she + were doomed that day to complicity, her eyes chanced to encounter an + appealing glance from the Vicomte, who was searching with the courage of + despair for an English word, which his hostess awaited in stoical silence. + He was trying to give his impressions of Silverdale, in comparison to + country places abroad, while Mrs. Robert regarded him enigmatically, and + Susan sympathetically. Honora had an almost irresistible desire to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Madame,” he cried, still looking at Honora, “will you have the + kindness to permit me to walk about ever so little?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, Vicomte, and I will go with you. Get my parasol, Susan. + Perhaps you would like to come, too, Howard,” she added to Mr. Spence; “it + has been so long since you were here, and we have made many changes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Mademoiselle,” said the Vicomte to Honora, “you will come—yes? + You are interested in landscape?” + </p> + <p> + “I love the country,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “It is a pleasure to have a guest who is so appreciative,” said Mrs. Holt. + “Miss Leffingwell was up at seven this morning, and in the garden with my + husband.” + </p> + <p> + “At seven!” exclaimed the Vicomte; “you American young ladies are + wonderful. For example—” and he was about to approach her to enlarge + on this congenial theme when Susan arrived with the parasol, which Mrs. + Holt put in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “We'll begin, I think, with the view from the summer house,” she said. + “And I will show you how our famous American landscape architect, Mr. + Olmstead, has treated the slope.” + </p> + <p> + There was something humorous, and a little pathetic in the contrasted + figures of the Vicomte and their hostess crossing the lawn in front of + them. Mr. Spence paused a moment to light his cigarette, and he seemed to + derive infinite pleasure from this juxtaposition. + </p> + <p> + “Got left,—didn't he?” he said. + </p> + <p> + To this observation there was, obviously, no answer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not very strong on foreigners,” he declared. “An American is good + enough for me. And there's something about that fellow which would make me + a little slow in trusting him with a woman I cared for.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are beginning to worry over Mrs. Holt,” said Honora, “we'd better + walk a little faster.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Spence's delight at this sally was so unrestrained as to cause the + couple ahead to turn. The Vicomte's expression was reproachful. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Susan?” asked Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “I think she must have gone in the house,” Honora answered. + </p> + <p> + “You two seem to be having a very good time.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we're hitting it off fairly well,” said Mr. Spence, no doubt for the + benefit of the Vicomte. And he added in a confidential tone, “Aren't we?” + </p> + <p> + “Not on the subject of the Vicomte,” she replied promptly. “I like him. I + like French people.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” he exclaimed, halting in his steps, “you don't take that man + seriously?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't known him long enough to take him seriously,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “There's a blindness about women,” he declared, “that's incomprehensible. + They'll invest in almost any old thing if the certificates are beautifully + engraved. If you were a man, you wouldn't trust that Frenchman to give you + change for five dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “French people,” proclaimed Honora, “have a light touch of which we + Americans are incapable. We do not know how to relax.” + </p> + <p> + “A light touch!” cried Mr. Spence, delightedly, “that about describes the + Vicomte.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you do him an injustice,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “We'll see,” said Mr. Spence. “Mrs. Holt is always picking up queer people + like that. She's noted for it.” He turned to her. “How did you happen to + come here?” + </p> + <p> + “I came with Susan,” she replied, amusedly, “from boarding-school at + Sutcliffe.” + </p> + <p> + “From boarding-school!” + </p> + <p> + She rather enjoyed his surprise. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say you are Susan's age?” + </p> + <p> + “How old did you think I was?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Older than Susan,” he said surveying her. + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm a mere child, I'm nineteen.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought—” he began, and paused and lighted another cigarette. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes lighted mischievously. + </p> + <p> + “You thought that I had been out several years, and that I'd seen a good + deal of the world, and that I lived in New York, and that it was strange + you didn't know me. But New York is such an enormous place I suppose one + can't know everybody there.” + </p> + <p> + “And—where do you come from, if I may ask?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “St. Louis. I was brought to this country before I was two years old, from + France. Mrs. Holt brought me. And I have never been out of St. Louis + since, except to go to Sutcliffe. There you have my history. Mrs. Holt + would probably have told it to you, if I hadn't.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mrs. Holt brought you to this country?” + </p> + <p> + Honora explained, not without a certain enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “And how do you happen to be here?” she demanded. “Are you a member of—of + the menagerie?” + </p> + <p> + He had the habit of throwing back his head when he laughed. This, of + course, was a thing to laugh over, and now he deemed it audacity. Five + minutes before he might have given it another name there is no use in + saying that the recital of Honora's biography had not made a difference + with Mr. Howard Pence, and that he was not a little mortified at his + mistake. What he had supposed her to be must remain a matter of + conjecture. He was, however, by no means aware how thoroughly this unknown + and inexperienced young woman had read his thoughts in her regard. And if + the truth be told, he was on the whole relieved that she was nobody. He + was just an ordinary man, provided with no sixth sense or premonitory + small voice to warn him that masculine creatures are often in real danger + at the moment when they feel most secure. + </p> + <p> + It is certain that his manner changed, and during the rest of the walk she + listened demurely when he talked about Wall Street, with casual references + to the powers that be. It was evident that Mr. Howard Spence was one who + had his fingers on the pulse of affairs. Ambition leaped in him. + </p> + <p> + They reached the house in advance of Mrs. Holt and the Vicomte, and Honora + went to her room. + </p> + <p> + At dinner, save for a little matter of a casual remark when Mr. Holt had + assumed the curved attitude in which he asked grace, Mr. Spence had a + veritable triumph. Self-confidence was a quality which Honora admired. He + was undaunted by Mrs. Holt, and advised Mrs. Robert, if she had any + pin-money, to buy New York Central; and he predicted an era of prosperity + which would be unexampled in the annals of the country. Among other + powers, he quoted the father of Honora's schoolmate, Mr. James Wing, as + authority for this prophecy. He sat next to Susan, who maintained her + usual maidenly silence, but Honora, from time to time, and as though by + accident, caught his eye. Even Mr. Holt, when not munching his dried + bread, was tempted to make some inquiries about the market. + </p> + <p> + “So far as I am concerned,” Mrs. Holt announced suddenly, “nothing can + convince me that it is not gambling.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Elvira!” protested Mr. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it,” said that lady, stoutly; “I'm old-fashioned, I suppose. + But it seems to me like legalized gambling.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Spence took this somewhat severe arraignment of his career in + admirable good nature. And if these be such a thing as an implied wink, + Honora received one as he proceeded to explain what he was pleased to call + the bona-fide nature of the transactions of Dallam and Spence. + </p> + <p> + A discussion ensued in which, to her surprise, even the ordinarily + taciturn Joshua took a part, and maintained that the buying and selling of + blooded stock was equally gambling. To this his father laughingly agreed. + The Vicomte, who sat on Mrs. Holt's right, and who apparently was + determined not to suffer a total eclipse without a struggle, gallantly and + unexpectedly came to his hostess' rescue, though she treated him as a + doubtful ally. This was because he declared with engaging frankness that + in France the young men of his monde had a jeunesse: he, who spoke to + them, had gambled; everybody gambled in France, where it was regarded as + an innocent amusement. He had friends on the Bourse, and he could see no + difference in principle between betting on the red at Monte Carlo and the + rise and fall of the shares of la Compagnie des Metaux, for example. After + completing his argument, he glanced triumphantly about the table, until + his restless black eyes encountered Honora's, seemingly seeking a verdict. + She smiled impartially. + </p> + <p> + The subject of finance lasted through the dinner, and the Vicomte + proclaimed himself amazed with the evidences of wealth which confronted + him on every side in this marvellous country. And once, when he was at a + loss for a word, Honora astonished and enchanted him by supplying it. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mademoiselle,” he exclaimed, “I was sure when I first beheld you that + you spoke my language! And with such an accent!” + </p> + <p> + “I have studied it all my life, Vicomte,” she said, modestly, “and I had + the honour to be born in your country. I have always wished to see it + again.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de Toqueville ventured the fervent hope that her wish might soon + be gratified, but not before he returned to France. He expressed himself + in French, and in a few moments she found herself deep in a discussion + with him in that tongue. While she talked, her veins seemed filled with + fire; and she was dimly and automatically aware of the disturbance about + her, as though she were creating a magnetic storm that interfered with all + other communication. Mr. Holt's nightly bezique, which he played with + Susan, did not seem to be going as well as usual, and elsewhere + conversation was a palpable pretence. Mr. Spence, who was attempting to + entertain the two daughters-in-law, was clearly distrait—if his + glances meant anything. Robert and Joshua had not appeared, and Mrs. Holt, + at the far end of the room under the lamp, regarded Honora from time to + time over the edge of the evening newspaper. + </p> + <p> + In his capacity as a student of American manners, an unsuspected if + scattered knowledge on Honora's part of that portion of French literature + included between Theophile Gautier and Gyp at once dumfounded and + delighted the Vicomte de Toqueville. And he was curious to know whether, + amongst American young ladies, Miss Leffingwell was the exception or the + rule. Those eyes of his, which had paid to his hostess a tender respect, + snapped when they spoke to our heroine, and presently he boldly abandoned + literature to declare that the fates alone had sent her to Silverdale at + the time of his visit. + </p> + <p> + It was at this interesting juncture that Mrs. Holt rattled her newspaper a + little louder than usual, arose majestically, and addressed Mrs. Joshua. + </p> + <p> + “Annie, perhaps you will play for us,” she said, as she crossed the room, + and added to Honora: “I had no idea you spoke French so well, my dear. + What have you and Monsieur de Toqueville been talking about?” + </p> + <p> + It was the Vicomte who, springing to his feet, replied nimbly: + “Mademoiselle has been teaching me much of the customs of your country.” + </p> + <p> + “And what,” inquired Mrs. Holt, “have you been teaching Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte laughed and shrugged his shoulders expressively. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Madame, I wish I were qualified to be her teacher. The education of + American young ladies is truly extraordinary.” + </p> + <p> + “I was about to tell Monsieur de Toqueville,” put in Honora, wickedly, + “that he must see your Institution as soon as possible, and the work your + girls are doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said the Vicomte, after a scarcely perceptible pause, “I await + my opportunity and your kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “I will take you to-morrow,” said Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + At this instant a sound closely resembling a sneeze caused them to turn. + Mr. Spence, with his handkerchief to his mouth, had his back turned to + them, and was studiously regarding the bookcases. + </p> + <p> + After Honora had gone upstairs for the night she opened her door in + response to a knock, to find Mrs. Holt on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said that lady, “I feel that I must say a word to you. I + suppose you realize that you are attractive to men.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt.” + </p> + <p> + “You're no fool, my dear, and it goes without saying that you-do realize + it—in the most innocent way, of course. But you have had no + experience in life. Mind you, I don't say that the Vicomte de Toqueville + isn't very much of a gentleman, but the French ideas about the relations + of young men and young women are quite different and, I regret to say, + less innocent than ours. I have no reason to believe that the Vicomte has + come to this country to—to mend his fortunes. I know nothing about + his property. But my sense of responsibility towards you has led me to + tell him that you have no dot, for you somehow manage to give the + impression of a young woman of fortune. Not purposely, my dear—I did + not mean that.” Mrs. Holt tapped gently Honora's flaming cheek. “I merely + felt it my duty to drop you a word of warning against Monsieur de + Toqueville—because he is a Frenchman.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Mrs. Holt, I had no idea of—of falling in love with him,” + protested Honora, as soon as she could get her breath. He seemed so kind—and + so interested in everything. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say,” said Mrs. Holt, dryly. “And I have always been led to + believe that that is the most dangerous sort. I am sure, Honora, after + what I have said, you will give him no encouragement.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt,” cried Honora again, “I shouldn't think of such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it, Honora, now that you are forewarned. And your suggestion + to take him to the Institution was not a bad one. I meant to do so anyway, + and I think it will be good for him. Good night, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + After the good lady bad gone, Honora stood for some moments motionless. + Then she turned out the light. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. IN WHICH THE VICOMTE CONTINUES HIS STUDIES + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Robert Holt, Honora learned at breakfast, had two bobbies. She had + never heard of what is called Forestry, and had always believed the wood + of her country to be inexhaustible. It had never occurred to her to think + of a wild forest as an example of nature's extravagance, and so flattering + was her attention while Robert explained the primary principles of caring + for trees that he actually offered to show her one of the tracts on the + estate which he was treating. He could not,—he regretted to say, + take her that morning. + </p> + <p> + His other hobby was golf. He was president of the Sutton Golf Club, and + had arranged to play a match with Mr. Spence. This gentleman, it appeared, + was likewise an enthusiast, and had brought to Silverdale a leather bag + filled with sticks. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you come, too, Miss Leffingwell?” he said, as he took a second cup + of coffee. + </p> + <p> + Somewhat to the astonishment of the Holt family, Robert seconded the + invitation. + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet, Robert,” said Mr. Spence, gallantly, “that Miss Leffingwell can + put it over both of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I can't play at all,” exclaimed Honora in confusion. “And I + shouldn't think of spoiling your match. And besides, I am going to drive + with Susan.” + </p> + <p> + “We can go another day, Honora,” said Susan. + </p> + <p> + But Honora would not hear of it. + </p> + <p> + “Come over with me this afternoon, then,” suggested Mr. Spence, “and I'll + give you a lesson.” + </p> + <p> + She thanked him gratefully. + </p> + <p> + “But it won't be much fun for you, I'm afraid,” she added, as they left + the dining room. + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry about me,” he answered cheerfully. He was dressed in a + checked golf costume, and wore a pink shirt of a new pattern. And he stood + in front of her in the hall, glowing from his night's sleep, evidently in + a high state of amusement. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “You did for the Vicomte all right,” he said. “I'd give a good deal to see + him going through the Institution.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't have hurt you, either,” she retorted, and started up the + stairs. Once she glanced back and saw him looking after her. + </p> + <p> + At the far end of the second story hall she perceived the Vicomte, who had + not appeared at breakfast, coming out of his room. She paused with her + hand on the walnut post and laughed a little, so ludicrous was his + expression as he approached her. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mademoiselle, que vous etes mechante!” he exclaimed. “But I forgive + you, if you will not go off with that stock-broker. It must be that I see + the Home sometime, and if I go now it is over. I forgive you. It is in the + Bible that we must forgive our neighbour—how many times?” + </p> + <p> + “Seventy times seven,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “But I make a condition,” said the Vicomte, “that my neighbour shall be a + woman, and young and beautiful. Then I care not how many times. + Mademoiselle, if you would but have your portrait painted as you are, with + your hand on the post, by Sargent or Carolus Duran, there would be some + noise in the Salon.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Vicomte?” came a voice from the foot of the stairs—Mrs. + Holt's voice. + </p> + <p> + “I come this instant, Madame,” he replied, looking over the banisters, and + added: “malheureux que je suis! Perhaps, when I return, you will show me a + little of the garden.” + </p> + <p> + The duty of exhibiting to guests the sights of Silverdale and the + neighbourhood had so often devolved upon Susan, who was methodical, that + she had made out a route, or itinerary, for this purpose. There were some + notes to leave and a sick woman and a child to see, which caused her to + vary it a little that morning; and Honora, who sat in the sunlight and + held the horse, wondered how it would feel to play the lady bountiful. “I + am so glad to have you all to myself for a little while, Honora,” Susan + said to her. “You are so popular that I begin to fear that I shall have to + be unselfish, and share you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Susan,” she said, “every one has been so kind. And I can't tell you + how much I am enjoying this experience, which I feel I owe to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so happy, dear, that it is giving you pleasure,” said Susan. + </p> + <p> + “And don't think,” exclaimed Honora, “that you won't see lots of me, for + you will.” + </p> + <p> + Her heart warmed to Susan, yet she could not but feel a secret pity for + her, as one unable to make the most of her opportunities in the wonderful + neighbourhood in which she lived. As they drove through the roads and in + and out of the well-kept places, everybody they met had a bow and a smile + for her friend—a greeting such as people give to those for whom they + have only good-will. Young men and girls waved their racquets at her from + the tennis-courts; and Honora envied them and wished that she, too, were a + part of the gay life she saw, and were playing instead of being driven + decorously about. She admired the trim, new houses in which they lived, + set upon the slopes of the hills. Pleasure houses, they seemed to her, + built expressly for joys which had been denied her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see much of—of these people, Susan?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not so much as I'd like,” replied Susan, seriously. “I never seem to get + time. We nearly always have guests at Silverdale, and then there are so + many things one has to attend to. Perhaps you have noticed,” she added, + smiling a little, “that we are very serious and old-fashioned.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no indeed,” protested Honora. “It is such a wonderful experience for + me to be here!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Susan, “we're having some young people to dinner to-night, + and others next week—that's why I'm leaving these notes. And then we + shall be a little livelier.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Susan, you mustn't think that I'm not having a good time. It is + exciting to be in the same house with a real French Vicomte, and I like + Mr. Spence tremendously.” + </p> + <p> + Her friend was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you?” demanded Honora. + </p> + <p> + To her surprise, the usually tolerant Susan did not wholly approve of Mr. + Spence. + </p> + <p> + “He is a guest, and I ought not to criticise him,” she answered. “But + since you ask me, Honora, I have to be honest. It seems to me that his + ambitions are a little sordid—that he is too intent upon growing + rich.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought all New Yorkers were that way,” exclaimed Honora, and added + hastily, “except a few, like your family, Susan.” + </p> + <p> + Susan laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You should marry a diplomat, my dear,” she said. “After all, perhaps I am + a little harsh. But there is a spirit of selfishness and—and of + vulgarity in modern, fashionable New York which appears to be catching, + like a disease. The worship of financial success seems to be in every + one's blood.” + </p> + <p> + “It is power,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + Susan glanced at her, but Honora did not remark the expression on her + friend's face, so intent was she on the reflections which Susan's words + had aroused. They had reached the far end of the Silverdale domain, and + were driving along the shore of the lake that lay like a sapphire set + amongst the green hills. It was here that the new house of the Robert + Holts was building. Presently they came to Joshua's dairy farm, and Joshua + himself was standing in the doorway of one of his immaculate barn Honora + put her hand on Susan's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Can't we see the cows?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Susan looked surprised. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you were interested in cows, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “I am interested in everything,” said Honora: “and I think your brother is + so attractive.” + </p> + <p> + It was at this moment that Joshua, with his hands in his pockets, demanded + what his sister was doing there. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Leffingwell wants to look at the cattle, Josh,” called Susan. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you show them to me, Mr. Holt,” begged Honora. “I'd like so much to + see some really good cattle, and to know a little more about them.” + </p> + <p> + Joshua appeared incredulous. But, being of the male sex, he did not hide + the fact that he was pleased, “it seems strange to have somebody really + want to see them,” he said. “I tried to get Spence to come back this way, + but the idea didn't seem to appeal to him. Here are some of the records.” + </p> + <p> + “Records?” repeated Honora, looking at a mass of typewritten figures on + the wall. “Do you mean to say you keep such an exact account of all the + milk you get?” + </p> + <p> + Joshua laughed, and explained. She walked by his side over the concrete + paving to the first of the varnished stalls. + </p> + <p> + “That,” he said, and a certain pride had come into his voice, “is Lady + Guinevere, and those ribbons are the prizes she has taken on both sides of + the water.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't she a dear!” exclaimed Honora; “why, she's actually beautiful. I + didn't know cows could be so beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “She isn't bad,” admitted Joshua. “Of course the good points in a cow + aren't necessarily features of beauty for instance, these bones here,” he + added, pointing to the hips. + </p> + <p> + “But they seem to add, somehow, to the thoroughbred appearance,” Honora + declared. + </p> + <p> + “That's absolutely true,” replied Joshua,—whereupon he began to + talk. And Honora, still asking questions, followed him from stall to + stall. “There are some more in the pasture,” he said, when they had + reached the end of the second building. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, couldn't I see them?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” replied Joshua, with more of alacrity than one would have + believed him capable. “I'll tell Susan to drive on, and you and I will + walk home across the fields, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “I should love to,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + It was not without astonishment that the rest of the Holt family beheld + them returning together as the gongs were sounding for luncheon. Mrs. + Holt, upon perceiving them, began at once to shake her head and laugh. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, it can't be that you have captivated Joshua!” she exclaimed, in + a tone that implied the carrying of a stronghold hitherto thought + impregnable. + </p> + <p> + Honora blushed, whether from victory or embarrassment, or both, it is + impossible to say. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it's just the other way, Mrs. Holt,” she replied; “Mr. Holt + has captivated me.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll call it mutual, Miss Leffingwell,” declared Joshua, which was for + him the height of gallantry. + </p> + <p> + “I only hope he hasn't bored you,” said the good-natured Mrs. Joshua. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, no,” exclaimed Honora. “I don't see how any one could be bored + looking at such magnificent animals as that Hardicanute.” + </p> + <p> + It was at this moment that her eyes were drawn, by a seemingly resistless + attraction, to Mrs. Robert's face. Her comment upon this latest conquest, + though unexpressed, was disquieting. And in spite of herself, Honora + blushed again. + </p> + <p> + At luncheon, in the midst of a general conversation, Mr. Spence made a + remark sotto voce which should, in the ordinary course of events, have + remained a secret. + </p> + <p> + “Susan,” he said, “your friend Miss Leffingwell is a fascinator. She's got + Robert's scalp, too, and he thought it a pretty good joke because I + offered to teach her to play golf this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + It appeared that Susan's eyes could flash indignantly. Perhaps she + resented Mr. Spence's calling her by her first name. + </p> + <p> + “Honora Leffingwell is the most natural and unspoiled person I know,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + There is, undoubtedly, a keen pleasure and an ample reward in teaching a + pupil as apt and as eager to learn as Honora. And Mr. Spence, if he + attempted at all to account for the swiftness with which the hours of that + long afternoon slipped away, may have attributed their flight to the + discovery in himself of hitherto latent talent for instruction. At the + little Casino, he had bought, from the professional in charge of the + course, a lady's driver; and she practised with exemplary patience the art + of carrying one's hands through and of using the wrists in the stroke. + </p> + <p> + “Not quite, Miss Leffingwell,” he would say, “but so.” + </p> + <p> + Honora would try again. + </p> + <p> + “That's unusually good for a beginner, but you are inclined to chop it off + a little still. Let it swing all the way round.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, how you must hate me!” + </p> + <p> + “Hate you?” said Mr. Spence, searching in vain for words with which to + obliterate such a false impression. “Anything but that!” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it a wonderful, spot?” she exclaimed, gazing off down the swale, + emerald green in the afternoon light between its forest walls. In the + distance, Silver Brook was gleaming amidst the meadows. They sat down on + one of the benches and watched the groups of players pass. Mr. Spence + produced his cigarette case, and presented it to her playfully. + </p> + <p> + “A little quiet whiff,” he suggested. “There's not much chance over at the + convent,” and she gathered that it was thus he was pleased to designate + Silverdale. + </p> + <p> + In one instant she was doubtful whether or not to be angry, and in the + next grew ashamed of the provincialism which had caused her to suspect an + insult. She took a cigarette, and he produced a gold match case, lighted a + match, and held it up for her. Honora blew it out. + </p> + <p> + “You didn't think seriously that I smoked?” she asked, glancing at him. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked; “any number of girls do.” + </p> + <p> + She tore away some of the rice paper and lifted the tobacco to her nose, + and made a little grimace. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like to see women smoke?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Spence admitted that there was something cosey about the custom, when + it was well done. + </p> + <p> + “And I imagine,” he added, “that you'd do it well.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I should make a frightful mess of it,” she protested modestly. + </p> + <p> + “You do everything well,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Even golf?” she inquired mischievously. + </p> + <p> + “Even golf, for a beginner and—and a woman; you've got the swing in + an astonishingly short time. In fact, you've been something of an + eye-opener to me,” he declared. “If I had been betting, I should have + placed the odds about twenty to one against your coming from the West.” + </p> + <p> + This Eastern complacency, although it did not lower Mr. Spence in her + estimation, aroused Honora's pride. + </p> + <p> + “That shows how little New Yorkers know of the West,” she replied, + laughing. “Didn't you suppose there were any gentlewomen there?” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlewomen,” repeated Mr. Spence, as though puzzled by the word, + “gentlewomen, yes. But you might have been born anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + Even her sense of loyalty to her native place was not strong enough to + override this compliment. + </p> + <p> + “I like a girl with some dash and go to her,” he proclaimed, and there + could be no doubt about the one to whom he was attributing these + qualities. “Savoir faire, as the French call it, and all that. I don't + know much about that language, but the way you talk it makes Mrs. Holt's + French and Susan's sound silly. I watched you last night when you were + stringing the Vicomte.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, did you?” said Honora, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “You may have thought I was talking to Mrs. Robert,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't thinking anything about you,” replied Honora, indignantly. “And + besides, I wasn't I stringing' the Vicomte. In the West we don't use + anything like so much slang as you seem to use in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come now!” he exclaimed, laughingly, and apparently not the least out + of countenance, “you made him think he was the only pebble on the beach. I + have no idea what you were talking about.” + </p> + <p> + “Literature,” she said. “Perhaps that was the reason why you couldn't + understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “He may be interested in literature,” replied Mr. Spence, “but it wouldn't + be a bad guess to say that he was more interested in stocks and bonds.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't talk about them, at any rate,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “I'd respect him more if he did,” he announced. “I know those fellows-they + make love to every woman they meet. I saw him eying you at lunch.” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I imagine the Vicomte could make love charmingly,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Spence suddenly became very solemn. + </p> + <p> + “Merely as a fellow-countryman, Miss Leffingwell—” he began, when + she sprang to her feet, her eyes dancing, and finished the sentence. + </p> + <p> + “You would advise me to be on my guard against him, because, although I + look twenty-five and experienced, I am only nineteen and inexperienced. + Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + He paused to light another cigarette before he followed her across the + turf. But she had the incomprehensible feminine satisfaction of knowing, + as they walked homeward, that the usual serenity of his disposition was + slightly ruffled. + </p> + <p> + A sudden caprice impelled her, in the privacy of her bedroom that evening, + to draw his portrait for Peter Erwin. The complacency of New York men was + most amusing, she wrote, and the amount of slang they used would have been + deemed vulgar in St. Louis. Nevertheless, she liked people to be sure of + themselves, and there was something “insolent” about New York which + appealed to her. Peter, when he read that letter, seemed to see Mr. Howard + Spence in the flesh; or arrayed, rather, in the kind of cloth alluringly + draped in the show-windows of fashionable tailors. For Honora, all + unconsciously, wrote literature. Literature was invented before + phonographs, and will endure after them. Peter could hear Mr. Spence talk, + for a part of that gentleman's conversation—a characteristic part—was + faithfully transcribed. And Peter detected a strain of admiration running + even through the ridicule. + </p> + <p> + Peter showed that letter to Aunt Mary, whom it troubled, and to Uncle Tom, + who laughed over it. There was also a lifelike portrait of the Vicomte, + followed by the comment that he was charming, but very French; but the + meaning of this last, but quite obvious, attribute remained obscure. He + was possessed of one of the oldest titles and one of the oldest chateaux + in France. (Although she did not say so, Honora had this on no less + authority than that of the Vicomte himself.) Mrs. Holt—with her + Victorian brooch and ear-rings and her watchful delft-blue eyes that + somehow haunted one even when she was out of sight, with her ample bosom + and the really kind heart it contained—was likewise depicted; and + Mr. Holt, with his dried bread, and his garden which Honora wished Uncle + Tom could see, and his prayers that lacked imagination. Joshua and his + cows, Robert and his forest, Susan and her charities, the Institution, + jolly Mrs. Joshua and enigmatical Mrs. Robert—all were there: and + even a picture of the dinner-party that evening, when Honora sat next to a + young Mr. Patterson with glasses and a studious manner, who knew George + Hanbury at Harvard. The other guests were a florid Miss Chamberlin, whose + person loudly proclaimed possessions, and a thin Miss Longman, who rented + one of the Silverdale cottages and sketched. + </p> + <p> + Honora was seeing life. She sent her love to Peter, and begged him to + write to her. + </p> + <p> + The next morning a mysterious change seemed to have passed over the + members of the family during the night. It was Sunday. Honora, when she + left her room, heard a swishing on the stairs—Mrs. Joshua, stiffly + arrayed for the day. Even Mrs. Robert swished, but Mrs. Holt, in a + bronze-coloured silk, swished most of all as she entered the library after + a brief errand to the housekeeper's room. Mr. Holt was already arranging + his book-marks in the Bible, while Joshua and Robert, in black cutaways + that seemed to have the benumbing and paralyzing effect of strait-jackets, + wandered aimlessly about the room, as though its walls were the limit of + their movements. The children had a subdued and touch-me-not air that + reminded Honora of her own youth. + </p> + <p> + It was not until prayers were over and the solemn gathering seated at the + breakfast table that Mr. Spence burst upon it like an aurora. His flannel + suit was of the lightest of grays; he wore white tennis shoes and a red + tie, and it was plain, as he cheerfully bade them good morning, that he + was wholly unaware of the enormity of his costume. There was a choking, + breathless moment before Mrs. Holt broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, Howard,” she said, “you're not going to church in those clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't thought of going to church,” replied Mr. Spence, helping himself + to cherries. + </p> + <p> + “What do you intend to do?” asked his hostess. + </p> + <p> + “Read the stock reports for the week as soon as the newspapers arrive.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no such thing as a Sunday newspaper in my house,” said Mrs. + Holt. + </p> + <p> + “No Sunday newspapers!” he exclaimed. And his eyes, as they encountered + Honora's,—who sought to avoid them,—expressed a genuine + dismay. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” said Mrs. Holt, “that I was right when I spoke of the + pernicious effect of Wall Street upon young men. Your mother did not + approve of Sunday newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + During the rest of the meal, although he made a valiant attempt to hold + his own, Mr. Spence was, so to speak, outlawed. Robert and Joshua must + have had a secret sympathy for him. One of them mentioned the Vicomte. + </p> + <p> + “The Vicomte is a foreigner,” declared Mrs. Holt. “I am in no sense + responsible for him.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte was at that moment propped up in bed, complaining to his valet + about the weakness of the coffee. He made the remark (which he afterwards + repeated to Honora) that weak coffee and the Protestant religion seemed + inseparable; but he did not attempt to discover the whereabouts, in + Sutton, of the Church of his fathers. He was not in the best of humours + that morning, and his toilet had advanced no further when, an hour or so + later, he perceived from behind his lace curtains Mr. Howard Spence, + dressed with comparative soberness, handing Honora into the omnibus. The + incident did not serve to improve the cynical mood in which the Vicomte + found himself. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the Vicomte, who had a theory concerning Mr. Spence's + church-going, was not far from wrong. As may have been suspected, it was + to Honora that credit was due. It was Honora whom Mr. Spence sought after + breakfast, and to whom he declared that her presence alone prevented him + from leaving that afternoon. It was Honora who told him that he ought to + be ashamed of himself. And it was to Honora, after church was over and + they were walking homeward together along the dusty road, that Mr. Spence + remarked by way of a delicate compliment that “the morning had not been a + total loss, after all!” + </p> + <p> + The little Presbyterian church stood on a hillside just outside of the + village and was, as far as possible, the possession of the Holt family. + The morning sunshine illuminated the angels in the Holt memorial window, + and the inmates of the Holt Institution occupied all the back pews. Mrs. + Joshua played the organ, and Susan, with several young women and a young + man with a long coat and plastered hair, sang in the choir. The sermon of + the elderly minister had to do with beliefs rather than deeds, and was the + subject of discussion at luncheon. + </p> + <p> + “It is very like a sermon I found in my room,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “I left that book in your room, my dear, in the hope that you would not + overlook it,” said Mrs. Holt, approvingly. “Joshua, I wish you would read + that sermon aloud to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do, Mr. Holt!” begged Honora. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte, who had been acting very strangely during the meal, showed + unmistakable signs of a futile anger. He had asked Honora to walk with + him. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” added Mrs. Holt, “no one need listen who doesn't wish to. + Since you were good enough to reconsider your decision and attend divine + service, Howard, I suppose I should be satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + The reading took place in the library. Through the open window Honora + perceived the form of Joshua asleep in the hammock, his Sunday coat all + twisted under him. It worried her to picture his attire when he should + wake up. Once Mrs. Robert looked in, smiled, said nothing, and went out + again. At length, in a wicker chair under a distant tree on the lawn, + Honora beheld the dejected outline of the Vicomte. He was trying to read, + but every once in a while would lay down his book and gaze protractedly at + the house, stroking his mustache. The low song of the bees around the + shrubbery vied with Mr. Holt's slow reading. On the whole, the situation + delighted Honora, who bit her lip to refrain from smiling at M. de + Toqueville. When at last she emerged from the library, he rose + precipitately and came towards her across the lawn, lifting his hands + towards the pitiless puritan skies. + </p> + <p> + “Enfin!” he exclaimed tragically. “Ah, Mademoiselle, never in my life have + I passed such a day!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you ill, Vicomte?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Ill! Were it not for you, I would be gone. You alone sustain me—it + is for the pleasure of seeing you that I suffer. What kind of a menage is + this, then, where I am walked around Institutions, where I am forced to + listen to the exposition of doctrines, where the coffee is weak, where + Sunday, which the bon Dieu set aside for a jour de fete resembles to a day + in purgatory?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Vicomte,” Honora laughed, “you must remember that you are in + America, and that you have come here to study our manners and customs.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no,” he cried, “ah, no, it cannot all be like this! I will not + believe it. Mr. Holt, who sought to entertain me before luncheon, offered + to show me his collection of Chinese carvings! I, who might be at + Trouville or Cabourg! If it were not for you, Mademoiselle, I should not + stay here—not one little minute,” he said, with a slow intensity. + “Behold what I suffer for your sake!” + </p> + <p> + “For my sake?” echoed Honora. + </p> + <p> + “For what else?” demanded the Vicomte, gazing upon her with the eyes of + martyrdom. “It is not for my health, alas! Between the coffee and this + dimanche I have the vertigo.” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed again at the memory of the dizzy Sunday afternoons of her + childhood, when she had been taken to see Mr. Isham's curios. + </p> + <p> + “You are cruel,” said the Vicomte; “you laugh at my tortures.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I think I understand them,” she replied. “I have often + felt the same way.” + </p> + <p> + “My instinct was true, then,” he cried triumphantly; “the first time my + eyes fell on you, I said to myself, 'ah! there is one who understands.' + And I am seldom mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Your experience with the opposite sex,” ventured Honora, “must have made + you infallible.” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged and smiled, as one whose modesty forbade the mention of + conquests. + </p> + <p> + “You do not belong here either, Mademoiselle,” he said. “You are not like + these people. You have temperament, and a future—believe me. Why do + you waste your time?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Vicomte?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it is not necessary to explain what I mean. It is that you do not + choose to understand—you are far too clever. Why is it, then, that + you bore yourself by regarding Institutions and listening to sermons in + your jeunesse? It is all very well for Mademoiselle Susan, but you are not + created for a religieuse. And again, it pleases you to spend hours with + the stockbroker, who is as lacking in esprit as the bull of Joshua. He is + no companion for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” she said reprovingly, “that you do not understand Mr. + Spence.” + </p> + <p> + “Par exemple!” cried the Vicomte; “have I not seen hundreds' like him? Do + not they come to Paris and live in the great hotels and demand cocktails + and read the stock reports and send cablegrams all the day long? and go to + the Folies Bergeres, and yawn? Nom de nom, of what does his conversation + consist? Of the price of railroads;—is it not so? I, who speak to + you, have talked to him. Does he know how to make love?” + </p> + <p> + “That accomplishment is not thought of very highly in America,” Honora + replied. + </p> + <p> + “It is because you are a new country,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “And you are mad over money. Money has taken the place of love.” + </p> + <p> + “Is money so despised in France?” she asked. “I have heard—that you + married for it!” + </p> + <p> + “Touch!” cried the Vicomte, laughing. “You see, I am frank with you. We + marry for money, yes, but we do not make a god of it. It is our servant. + You make it, and we enjoy it. Yes, and you, Mademoiselle—you, too, + were made to enjoy. You do not belong here,” he said, with a disdainful + sweep of the arm. “Ah, I have solved you. You have in you the germ of the + Riviera. You were born there.” + </p> + <p> + Honora wondered if what he said were true. Was she different? She was + having a great deal of pleasure at Silverdale; even the sermon reading, + which would have bored her at home, had interested and amused her. But was + it not from the novelty of these episodes, rather than from their special + characters, that she received the stimulus? She glanced curiously towards + the Vicomte, and met his eye. + </p> + <p> + They had been walking the while, and had crossed the lawn and entered one + of the many paths which it had been Robert's pastime to cut through the + woods. And at length they came out at a rustic summer-house set over the + wooded valley. Honora, with one foot on the ground, sat on the railing + gazing over the tree-tops; the Vicomte was on the bench beside her. His + eyes sparkled and snapped, and suddenly she tingled with a sense that the + situation was not without an element of danger. + </p> + <p> + “I had a feeling about you, last night at dinner,” he said; “you reminded + me of a line of Marcel Prevost, 'Cette femme ne sera pas aimee que parmi + des drames.'” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said Honora; “last night at dinner you were too much occupied + with Miss Chamberlin to think of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mademoiselle, you have read me strangely if you think that. I talked + to her with my lips, yes—but it was of you I was thinking. I was + thinking that you were born to play a part in many dramas, that you have + the fatal beauty which is rare in all ages.” The Vicomte bent towards her, + and his voice became caressing. “You cannot realize how beautiful you + are,” he sighed. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he seized her hand, and before she could withdraw it she had the + satisfaction of knowing the sensation of having it kissed. It was a + strange sensation indeed. And the fact that she did not tingle with anger + alone made her all the more angry. Trembling, her face burning, she leaped + down from the railing and fled into the path. And there, seeing that he + did not follow, she turned and faced him. He stood staring at her with + eyes that had not ceased to sparkle. + </p> + <p> + “How cowardly of you!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mademoiselle,” he answered fervently, “I would risk your anger a + thousand times to see you like that once more. I cannot help my feelings—they + were dead indeed if they did not respond to such an inspiration. Let them + plead for my pardon.” + </p> + <p> + Honora felt herself melting a little. After all, there might have been + some excuse for it, and he made love divinely. When he had caught up with + her, his contriteness was such that she was willing to believe he had not + meant to insult her. And then, he was a Frenchman. As a proof of his + versatility, if not of his good faith, he talked of neutral matters on the + way back to the house, with the charming ease and lightness that was the + gift of his race and class. On the borders of the wood they encountered + the Robert Holts, walking with their children. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said the Vicomte to Gwendolen, “your Silverdale is enchanting. + We have been to that little summer-house which commands the valley.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you still learning things about our country, Vicomte?” she asked, + with a glance at Honora. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. IN WHICH HONORA WIDENS HER HORIZON + </h2> + <p> + If it were not a digression, it might be interesting to speculate upon the + reason why, in view of their expressed opinions of Silverdale, both the + Vicomte and Mr. Spence remained during the week that followed. Robert, who + went off in the middle of it with his family to the seashore, described it + to Honora as a normal week. During its progress there came and went a + missionary from China, a pianist, an English lady who had heard of the + Institution, a Southern spinster with literary gifts, a youthful architect + who had not built anything, and a young lawyer interested in settlement + work. + </p> + <p> + The missionary presented our heroine with a book he had written about the + Yang-tse-kiang; the Southern lady suspected her of literary gifts; the + architect walked with her through the woods to the rustic shelter where + the Vicomte had kissed her hand, and told her that he now comprehended the + feelings of Christopher Wren when he conceived St. Paul's Cathedral, of + Michael Angelo when he painted the Sistine Chapel. Even the serious young + lawyer succumbed, though not without a struggle. When he had first seen + Miss Leffingwell, he confessed, he had thought her frivolous. He had done + her an injustice, and wished to acknowledge it before he left. And, since + she was interested in settlement work, he hoped, if she were going through + New York, that she would let him know. It would be a real pleasure to show + her what he was doing. + </p> + <p> + Best of all, Honora, by her unselfishness, endeared herself to her + hostess. + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell you what a real help you are to me, my dear,” said that + lady. “You have a remarkable gift with people for so young a girl, and I + do you the credit of thinking that it all springs from a kind heart.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, unknown to Mrs. Holt, who might in all conscience have + had a knowledge of what may be called social chemistry, a drama was slowly + unfolding itself. By no fault of Honora's, of course. There may have been + some truth in the quotation of the Vicomte as applied to her—that + she was destined to be loved only amidst the play of drama. If experience + is worth anything, Monsieur de Toqueville should have been an expert in + matters of the sex. Could it be possible, Honora asked herself more than + once, that his feelings were deeper than her feminine instinct and, the + knowledge she had gleaned from novels led her to suspect? + </p> + <p> + It is painful to relate that the irregularity and deceit of the life the + Vicomte was leading amused her, for existence at Silverdale was plainly + not of a kind to make a gentleman of the Vicomte's temperament and habits + ecstatically happy. And Honora was filled with a strange and unaccountable + delight when she overheard him assuring Mrs. Wellfleet, the English lady + of eleemosynary tendencies, that he was engaged in a study at first hand + of Americans. + </p> + <p> + The time has come to acknowledge frankly that it was Honora he was + studying—Honora as the type of young American womanhood. What he did + not suspect was that young American womanhood was studying him. Thanks to + a national System, she had had an apprenticeship; the heart-blood of + Algernon Cartwright and many others had not been shed in vain. And the + fact that she was playing with real fire, that this was a duel with the + buttons off, lent a piquancy and zest to the pastime which it had hitherto + lacked. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte's feelings were by no means hidden processes to Honora, and it + was as though she could lift the lid of the furnace at any time and behold + the growth of the flame which she had lighted. Nay, nature had endowed her + with such a gift that she could read the daily temperature as by a + register hung on the outside, without getting scorched. Nor had there been + any design on her part in thus tormenting his soul. He had not meant to + remain more than four days at Silverdale, that she knew; he had not meant + to come to America and fall in love with a penniless beauty—that she + knew also. The climax would be interesting, if perchance uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + It is wonderful what we can find the time to do, if we only try. Monsieur + de Toqueville lent Honora novels, which she read in bed; but being in the + full bloom of health and of a strong constitution, this practice did not + prevent her from rising at seven to take a walk through the garden with + Mr. Holt—a custom which he had come insensibly to depend upon. And + in the brief conversations which she vouchsafed the Vicomte, they + discussed his novels. In vain he pleaded, in caressing undertones, that + she should ride with him. Honora had never been on a horse, but she did + not tell him so. If she would but drive, or walk-only a little way—he + would promise faithfully not to forget himself. Honora intimated that the + period of his probation had not yet expired. If he waylaid her on the + stairs, he got but little satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “You converse by the hour with the missionaries, and take long promenades + with the architects and charity workers, but to me you will give nothing,” + he complained. + </p> + <p> + “The persons of whom you speak are not dangerous,” answered Honora, giving + him a look. + </p> + <p> + The look, and being called dangerous, sent up the temperature several + degrees. Frenchmen are not the only branch of the male sex who are + complimented by being called dangerous. The Vicomte was desolated, so he + said. + </p> + <p> + “I stay here only for you, and the coffee is slowly deranging me,” he + declared in French, for most of their conversations were in that language. + If there were duplicity in this, Honora did not recognize it. “I stay here + only for you, and how you are cruel! I live for you—how, the good + God only knows. I exist—to see you for ten minutes a day.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Vicomte, you exaggerate. If you were to count it up, I am sure you + would find that we talk an hour at least, altogether. And then, although I + am very young and inexperienced, I can imagine how many conquests you have + made by the same arts.” + </p> + <p> + “I suffer,” he cried; “ah, no, you cannot look at me without perceiving it—you + who are so heartless. And when I see you play at golf with that Mr. Spence—!” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said Honora, “you can't object to my acquiring a new + accomplishment when I have the opportunity, and Mr. Spence is so kind and + good-natured about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I have no eyes?” he exclaimed. “Have I not seen him look at + you like the great animal of Joshua when he wants his supper? He is + without esprit, without soul. There is nothing inside of him but + money-making machinery.” + </p> + <p> + “The most valuable of all machinery,” she replied, laughingly. + </p> + <p> + “If I thought you believed that, Mademoiselle, if I thought you were like + so many of your countrywomen in this respect, I should leave to-morrow,” + he declared. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be too sure, Vicomte,” she cautioned him. + </p> + <p> + If one possessed a sense of humour and a certain knowledge of mankind, the + spectacle of a young and successful Wall Street broker at Silverdale that + week was apt to be diverting. Mr. Spence held his own. He advised the + architect to make a specialty of country houses, and promised some day to + order one: he disputed boldly with the other young man as to the practical + uses of settlement work, and even measured swords with the missionary. + Needless to say, he was not popular with these gentlemen. But he was also + good-natured and obliging, and he did not object to repeating for the + English lady certain phrases which she called “picturesque expressions,” + and which she wrote down with a gold pencil. + </p> + <p> + It is evident, from the Vicomte's remarks, that he found time to continue + Honora's lessons in golf—or rather that she found time, in the midst + of her manifold and self-imposed duties, to take them. And in this + diversion she was encouraged by Mrs. Holt herself. On Saturday morning, + the heat being unusual, they ended their game by common consent at the + fourth hole and descended a wood road to Silver Brook, to a spot which + they had visited once before and had found attractive. Honora, after + bathing her face in the pool, perched herself on a boulder. She was very + fresh and radiant. + </p> + <p> + This fact, if she had not known it, she might have gathered from Mr. + Silence's expression. He had laid down his coat; his sleeves were rolled + up and his arms were tanned, and he stood smoking a cigarette and gazing + at her with approbation. She lowered her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we've had a pretty good time, haven't we?” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + Lightning sometimes fails in its effect, but the look she flashed back at + him from under her blue lashes seldom misses. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I haven't been a very apt pupil,” she replied modestly. + </p> + <p> + “You're on the highroad to a cup,” he assured her. “If I could take you on + for another week” He paused, and an expression came into his eyes which + was not new to Honora, nor peculiar to Mr. Silence. “I have to go back to + town on Monday.” + </p> + <p> + If Honora felt any regret at this announcement, she did not express it. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you couldn't stand Silverdale much longer,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “You know why I stayed,” he said, and paused again—rather awkwardly + for Mr. Spence. But Honora was silent. “I had a letter this morning from + my partner, Sidney Dallam, calling me back.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you are very busy,” said Honora, detaching a copper-green scale + of moss from the boulder. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” he explained, “that we have received an order of + considerable importance, for which I am more or less responsible. + Something of a compliment—since we are, after all, comparatively + young men.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” said Honora, “sometimes I wish I were a man. Women are so + hampered and circumscribed, and have to wait for things to happen to them. + A man can do what he wants. He can go into Wall Street and fight until he + controls miles of railroads and thousands and thousands of men. That would + be a career!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he agreed, smilingly, “it's worth fighting for.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were burning with a strange light as she looked down the vista of + the wood road by which they had come. He flung his cigarette into the + water and took a step nearer her. + </p> + <p> + “How long have I known you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She started. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's only a little more than a week,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Does it seem longer than that to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” admitted Honora, colouring; “I suppose it's because we've been + staying in the same house.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” said Mr. Spence, “that I have known you always.” + </p> + <p> + Honora sat very still. It passed through her brain, without comment, that + there was a certain haunting familiarity about this remark; some other + voice, in some other place, had spoken it, and in very much the same tone. + </p> + <p> + “You're the kind of girl I admire,” he declared. “I've been watching you—more + than you have any idea of. You're adaptable. Put you down any place, and + you take hold. For instance, it's a marvellous thing to me how you've + handled all the curiosities up there this week.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I like people,” said Honora, “they interest me.” And she laughed a + little, nervously. She was aware that Mr. Spence was making love, in his + own manner: the New fork manner, undoubtedly; though what he said was + changed by the new vibrations in his voice. He was making love, too, with + a characteristic lack of apology and with assurance. She stole a glance at + him, and beheld the image of a dominating man of affairs. He did not, it + is true, evoke in her that extreme sensation which has been called a + thrill. She had read somewhere that women were always expecting thrills, + and never got them. Nevertheless, she had not realized how close a bond of + sympathy had grown between them until this sudden announcement of his + going back to New York. In a little while she too would be leaving for St. + Louis. The probability that she would never see him again seemed graver + than she would have believed. + </p> + <p> + “Will you miss me a little?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” she said breathlessly, “and I shall be curious to know how your—your + enterprise succeeds.” + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” he said, “it is only a week since I first met you, but I know my + own mind. You are the woman I want, and I think I may say without boasting + that I can give you what you desire in life—after a while. I love + you. You are young, and just now I felt that perhaps I should have waited + a year before speaking, but I was afraid of missing altogether what I know + to be the great happiness of my life. Will you marry me?” + </p> + <p> + She sat silent upon the rock. She heard him speak, it is true; but, try as + she would, the full significance of his words would not come to her. She + had, indeed, no idea that he would propose, no notion that his heart was + involved to such an extent. He was very near her, but he had not attempted + to touch her. His voice, towards the end of his speech, had trembled with + passion—a true note had been struck. And she had struck it, by no + seeming effort! He wished to marry her! + </p> + <p> + He aroused her again. + </p> + <p> + “I have frightened you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She opened her eyes. What he beheld in them was not fright—it was + nothing he had ever seen before. For the first time in his life, perhaps, + he was awed. And, seeing him helpless, she put out her hands to him with a + gesture that seemed to enhance her gift a thousand-fold. He had not + realized what he was getting. + </p> + <p> + “I am not frightened,” she said. “Yes, I will marry you.” + </p> + <p> + He was not sure whether—so brief was the moment!—he had held + and kissed her cheek. His arms were empty now, and he caught a glimpse of + her poised on the road above him amidst the quivering, sunlit leaves, + looking back at him over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + He followed her, but she kept nimbly ahead of him until they came out into + the open golf course. He tried to think, but failed. Never in his orderly + life had anything so precipitate happened to him. He caught up with her, + devoured her with his eyes, and beheld in marriage a delirium. + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” he said thickly, “I can't grasp it.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him a quick look, and a smile quivered at the corners of her + mouth. + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking of?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am thinking of Mrs. Holt's expression when we tell her,” said Honora. + “But we shan't tell her yet, shall we, Howard? We'll have it for our own + secret a little while.” + </p> + <p> + The golf course being deserted, he pressed her arm. + </p> + <p> + “We'll tell her whenever you like, dear,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the fact that they drove Joshua's trotter to lunch—much + too rapidly in the heat of the day, they were late. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never be able to go in there and not give it away,” he whispered + to her on the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “You look like the Cheshire cat in the tree,” whispered Honora, laughing, + “only more purple, and not so ghostlike.” + </p> + <p> + “I know I'm smiling,” replied Howard, “I feel like it, but I can't help + it. It won't come off. I want to blurt out the news to every one in the + dining-room—to that little Frenchman, in particular.” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed again. Her imagination easily summoned up the tableau which + such a proceeding would bring forth. The incredulity, the chagrin, the + indignation, even, in some quarters. He conceived the household, with the + exception of the Vicomte, precipitating themselves into his arms. + </p> + <p> + Honora, who was cool enough herself (no doubt owing to the superior + training which women receive in matters of deportment), observed that his + entrance was not a triumph of dissimulation. His colour was high, and his + expression, indeed, a little idiotic; and he declared afterwards that he + felt like a sandwich-man, with the news printed in red letters before and + behind. Honora knew that the intense improbability of the truth would save + them, and it did. Mrs. Holt remarked, slyly, that the game of golf must + have hidden attractions, and regretted that she was too old to learn it. + </p> + <p> + “We went very slowly on account of the heat,” Howard declared. + </p> + <p> + “I should say that you had gone very rapidly, from your face,” retorted + Mrs. Holt. In relaxing moods she indulged in banter. + </p> + <p> + Honora stepped into the breach. She would not trust her newly acquired + fiance to extricate himself. + </p> + <p> + “We were both very much worried, Mrs. Holt,” she explained, “because we + were late for lunch once before.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I'll have to forgive you, my dear, especially with that colour. + I am modern enough to approve of exercise for young girls, and I am sure + your Aunt Mary will think Silverdale has done you good when I send you + back to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm sure she will,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Mr. Spence was concentrating all of his attention upon a + jellied egg. Honora glanced at the Vicomte. He sat very stiff, and his + manner of twisting his mustache reminded her of an animal sharpening its + claws. It was at this moment that the butler handed her a telegram, which, + with Mrs. Holt's permission, she opened and read twice before the meaning + of it came to her. + </p> + <p> + “I hope it is no bad news, Honora,” said Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “It's from Peter Erwin,” she replied, still a little dazed. “He's in New + York. And he's corning up on the five o'clock train to spend an hour with + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Susan; “I remember his picture on your bureau at Sutcliffe. He + had such a good face. And you told me about him.” + </p> + <p> + “He is like my brother,” Honora explained, aware that Howard was looking + at her. “Only he is much older than I. He used to wheel me up and down + when I was a baby. He was, an errand boy in the bank then, and Uncle Tom + took an interest in him, and now he is a lawyer. A very good one, I + believe.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a great respect for any man who makes his own way in life,” said + Mrs. Holt. “And since he is such an old friend, my dear, you must ask him + to spend the night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Bolt,” Honora answered. + </p> + <p> + It was, however, with mingled feelings that she thought of Peter's arrival + at this time. Life, indeed, was full of strange coincidences! + </p> + <p> + There was a little door that led out of the house by the billiard room, + Honora remembered, and contrived, after luncheon, to slip away and reach + it. She felt that she must be alone, and if she went to her room she was + likely to be disturbed by Susan or Mrs. Joshua—or indeed Mrs. Holt + herself. Honora meant to tell Susan the first of all. She crossed the + great lawn quickly, keeping as much as possible the trees and masses of + shrubbery between herself and the house, and reached the forest. With a + really large fund of energy at her disposal, Honora had never been one to + believe in the useless expenditure of it; nor did she feel the intense + desire which a girl of another temperament might have had, under the same + conditions, to keep in motion. So she sat down on a bench within the + borders of the wood. + </p> + <p> + It was not that she wished to reflect, in the ordinary meaning of the + word, that she had sought seclusion, but rather to give her imagination + free play. The enormity of the change that was to come into her life did + not appall her in the least; but she had, in connection with it, a sense + of unreality which, though not unpleasant, she sought unconsciously to + dissipate. Howard Spence, she reflected with a smile, was surely solid and + substantial enough, and she thought of him the more tenderly for the + possession of these attributes. A castle founded on such a rock was not a + castle in Spain! + </p> + <p> + It did not occur to Honora that her thoughts might be more of the castle + than of the rock: of the heaven he was to hold on his shoulders than of + the Hercules she had chosen to hold it. + </p> + <p> + She would write to her Aunt Mary and her Uncle Tom that very afternoon—one + letter to both. Tears came into her eyes when she thought of them, and of + their lonely life' without her. But they would come on to New York to + visit her often, and they would be proud of her. Of one thing she was sure—she + must go home to them at once—on Tuesday. She would tell Mrs. Holt + to-morrow, and Susan to-night. And, while pondering over the probable + expression of that lady's amazement, it suddenly occurred to her that she + must write the letter immediately, because Peter Erwin was coming. + </p> + <p> + What would he say? Should she tell him? She was surprised to find that the + idea of doing so was painful to her. But she was aroused from these + reflections by a step on the path, and raised her head to perceive the + Vicomte. His face wore an expression of triumph. + </p> + <p> + “At last,” he cried, “at last!” And he sat down on the bench beside her. + Her first impulse was to rise, yet for some inexplicable reason she + remained. + </p> + <p> + “I always suspected in you the qualities of a Monsieur Lecoq,” she + remarked. “You have an instinct for the chase.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon dieu?” he said. “I have risked a stroke of the sun to find you. Why + should you so continually run away from me?” + </p> + <p> + “To test your ingenuity, Vicomte.” + </p> + <p> + “And that other one—the stock-broker—you do not avoid him. + Diable, I am not blind, Mademoiselle. It is plain to me at luncheon that + you have made boil the sluggish blood of that one. As for me—” + </p> + <p> + “Your boiling-point is lower,” she said, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Mademoiselle,” he pursued, bending towards her. “It is not for my + health that I stay here, as I have told you. It is for the sight of you, + for the sound of the music of that low voice. It is in the hope that you + will be a little kinder, that you will understand me a little better. And + to-day, when I learn that still another is on his way to see you, I could + sit still no longer. I do not fear that Spence,—no. But this other—what + is he like?” + </p> + <p> + “He is the best type of American,” replied Honora. “I am sure you will be + interested in him, and like him.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “It is not in America that you will find your destiny, Mademoiselle. You + are made to grace a salon, a court, which you will not find in this + country. Such a woman as you is thrown away here. You possess qualities—you + will pardon me—in which your countrywomen are lacking,—esprit, + imagination, elan, the power to bind people to you. I have read you as you + have not read yourself. I have seen how you have served yourself by this + famille Holt, and how at the same time you have kept their friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “Vicomte!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do not get angry,” he begged; “such gifts are rare—they are + sublime. They lead,” he added, raising his arms, “to the heights.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was silent. She was, indeed, not unmoved by his voice, into which + there was creeping a vibrant note of passion. She was a little frightened, + but likewise puzzled and interested. This was all so different from what + she had expected of him. What did he mean? Was she indeed like that? + </p> + <p> + She was aware that he was speaking again, that he was telling her of a + chateau in France which his ancestors had owned since the days of Louis + XII; a grey pile that stood upon a thickly wooded height,—a chateau + with a banquet hall, where kings had dined, with a chapel where kings had + prayed, with a flowering terrace high above a gleaming river. It was there + that his childhood had been passed. And as he spoke, she listened with + mingled feelings, picturing the pageantry of life in such a place. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you this, Mademoiselle,” he said, “that you may know I am not what + you call an adventurer. Many of these, alas! come to your country. And I + ask you to regard with some leniency customs which must be strange to + Americans. When we marry in France, it is with a dot, and especially is it + necessary amongst the families of our nobility.” + </p> + <p> + Honora rose, the blood mounting to her temples. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he cried, “do not misunderstand me. I would die rather + than hurt your feelings. Listen, I pray. It was to tell you frankly that I + came to this country for that purpose,—in order that I might live as + my ancestors have lived, with a hotel in Paris: But the chateau, grace a + dieu, is not mortgaged, nor am I wholly impoverished. I have soixante + quinze mille livres de rente, which is fifteen thousand dollars a year in + your money, and which goes much farther in France. At the proper time, I + will present these matters to your guardians. I have lived, but I have a + heart, and I love you madly. Rather would I dwell with you in Provence, + where I will cultivate the soil of my forefathers, than a palace on the + Champs Elysees with another. We can come to Paris for two months, at + least. For you I can throw my prospects out of the window with a light + heart. Honore—how sweet is your name in my language—I love you + to despair.” + </p> + <p> + He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips, but she drew it gently + away. It seemed to her that he had made the very air quiver with feeling, + and she let herself wonder, for a moment, what life with him would be. + Incredible as it seemed, he had proposed to her, a penniless girl! Her own + voice was not quite steady as she answered him, and her eyes were filled + with compassion. + </p> + <p> + “Vicomte,” she said, “I did not know that you cared for me—that way. + I thought—I thought you were amusing yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Amusing myself!” he exclaimed bitterly. “And you—were you amusing + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I tried to avoid you,” she replied, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “I am engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Engaged!” He sprang to his feet. “Engaged! Ah, no, I will not believe it. + You were engaged when you came here?” + </p> + <p> + She was no little alarmed by the violence which he threw into his words. + At the same time, she was indignant. And yet a mischievous sprite within + her led her on to tell him the truth. + </p> + <p> + “No, I am going to marry Mr. Howard Spence, although I do not wish it + announced.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment he stood motionless, speechless, staring at her, and then he + seemed to sway a little and to choke. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he cried, “it cannot be! My ears have deceived me. I am not + sane. You are going to marry him—? Ah, you have sold yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur de Toqueville,” she said, “you forget yourself. Mr. Spence is an + honourable man, and I love him.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte appeared to choke again. And then, suddenly, he became + himself, although his voice was by no means natural. His elaborate and + ironic bow she remembered for many years. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, Mademoiselle,” he said, “and adieu. You will be good enough to + convey my congratulations to Mr. Spence.” + </p> + <p> + With a kind of military “about face” he turned and left her abruptly, and + she watched him as he hurried across the lawn until he had disappeared + behind the trees near the house. When she sat down on the bench again, she + found that she was trembling a little. Was the unexpected to occur to her + from now on? Was it true, as the Vicomte had said, that she was destined + to be loved amidst the play of drama? + </p> + <p> + She felt sorry for him because he had loved her enough to fling to the + winds his chances of wealth for her sake—a sufficient measure of the + feelings of one of his nationality and caste. And she permitted, for an + instant, her mind to linger on the supposition that Howard Spence had + never come into her life; might she not, when the Vicomte had made his + unexpected and generous avowal, have accepted him? She thought of the + romances of her childish days, written at fever heat, in which ladies with + titles moved around and gave commands and rebuked lovers who slipped in + through wicket gates. And to think that she might have been a Vicomtesse + and have lived in a castle! + </p> + <p> + A poor Vicomtesse, it is true. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN + </h2> + <p> + Honora sat still upon the bench. After an indefinite period she saw + through the trees a vehicle on the driveway, and in it a single passenger. + And suddenly it occurred to her that the passenger must be Peter, for Mrs. + Holt had announced her intention of sending for him. She arose and + approached the house, not without a sense of agitation. + </p> + <p> + She halted a moment at a little distance from the porch, where he was + talking with Howard Spence and Joshua, and the fact that he was an + unchanged Peter came to her with a shock of surprise. So much, in less + than a year, had happened to Honora! And the sight of him, and the sound + of his voice, brought back with a rush memories of a forgotten past. How + long it seemed since she had lived in St. Louis! + </p> + <p> + Yes, he was the same Peter, but her absence from him had served to sharpen + her sense of certain characteristics. He was lounging in his chair with + his long legs crossed, with one hand in his pocket, and talking to these + men as though he had known them always. There was a quality about him + which had never struck her before, and which eluded exact definition. It + had never occurred to her, until now, when she saw him out of the element + with which she had always associated him, that Peter Erwin had a + personality. That personality was a mixture of simplicity and self-respect + and—common sense. And as Honora listened to his cheerful voice, she + perceived that he had the gift of expressing himself clearly and forcibly + and withal modestly; nor did it escape her that the other two men were + listening with a certain deference. In her sensitive state she tried to + evade the contrast thus suddenly presented to her between Peter and the + man she had promised, that very morning, to marry. + </p> + <p> + Howard Spence was seated on the table, smoking a cigarette. Never, it + seemed, had he more distinctly typified to her Prosperity. An attribute + which she had admired in him, of strife without the appearance of strife, + lost something of its value. To look at Peter was to wonder whether there + could be such a thing as a well-groomed combatant; and until to-day she + had never thought of Peter as a combatant. The sight of his lean face + summoned, all undesired, the vague vision of an ideal, and perhaps it was + this that caused her voice to falter a little as she came forward and + called his name. He rose precipitately. + </p> + <p> + “What a surprise, Peter!” she said, as she took his hand. “How do you + happen to be in the East?” + </p> + <p> + “An errand boy,” he replied. “Somebody had to come, so they chose me. + Incidentally,” he added, smiling down at her, “it is a part of my + education.” + </p> + <p> + “We thought you were lost,” said Howard Spence, significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” she answered lightly, evading his look. “I was on the bench at + the edge of the wood.” She turned again to Peter. “How good of you to come + up and see me!” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't have resisted that,” he declared, “if it were only for an + hour.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been trying to persuade him to stay a while with us,” Joshua put in + with unusual graciousness. “My mother will be disappointed not to see + you.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing I should like better, Mr. Holt,” said Peter, simply, + gazing off across the lawn. “Unfortunately I have to leave for the West + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Before you go,” said Honora, “you must see this wonderful place. Come, + we'll begin with the garden.” + </p> + <p> + She had a desire now to take him away by himself, something she had + wished, an hour ago, to avoid. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't you like a runabout?” suggested Joshua, hospitably. + </p> + <p> + Honora thanked him. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure Mr. Erwin would rather walk,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Peter, you must tell me all the news of home.” + </p> + <p> + Spence accepted his dismissal with a fairly good grace, and gave no + evidence of jealousy. He put his hand on Peter's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “If you're ever in New York, Erwin,” said he, “look me up Dallam and + Spence. We're members of the Exchange, so you won't have any trouble in + finding us. I'd like to talk to you sometime about the West.” + </p> + <p> + Peter thanked him. + </p> + <p> + For a little while, as they went down the driveway side by side, he was + meditatively silent. She wondered what he thought of Howard Spence, until + suddenly she remembered that her secret was still her own, that Peter had + as yet no particular reason to single out Mr. Spence for especial + consideration. She could not, however, resist saying, “New Yorkers are + like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Like what?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She coloured. + </p> + <p> + “Like—Mr. Spence. A little—self-assertive, sure of + themselves.” She strove to keep out of her voice any suspicion of the + agitation which was the result of the events of an extraordinary day, not + yet ended. She knew that it would have been wiser not to have mentioned + Howard; but Peter's silence, somehow, had impelled her to speak. “He has + made quite an unusual success for so young a man.” + </p> + <p> + Peter looked at her and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “New York—success! What is to become of poor old St. Louis?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm going back next week,” Honora cried. “I wish I were going with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “And leave all this,” he said incredulously, “for trolley rides and Forest + Park and—and me?” + </p> + <p> + He stopped in the garden path and looked upon the picture she made + standing in the sunlight against the blazing borders, her wide hat casting + a shadow on her face. And the smile which she had known so well since + childhood, indulgent, quizzical, with a touch of sadness, was in his eyes. + She was conscious of a slight resentment. Was there, in fact, no change in + her as the result of the events of those momentous ten months since she + had seen him? And rather than a tolerance in which there was neither + antagonism nor envy, she would have preferred from Peter an open + disapproval of luxury, of the standards which he implied were hers. She + felt that she had stepped into another world, but he refused to be dazzled + by it. He insisted upon treating her as the same Honora. + </p> + <p> + “How did you leave Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + They were counting the days, he said, until she should return, but they + did not wish to curtail her visit. They did not expect her next week, he + knew. + </p> + <p> + Honora coloured again. + </p> + <p> + “I feel—that I ought to go to them,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He glanced at her as though her determination to leave Silverdale so soon + surprised him. + </p> + <p> + “They will be very happy to see you, Honora,” he said. “They have been + very lonesome.” + </p> + <p> + She softened. Some unaccountable impulse prompted her to ask: “And you? + Have you missed me—a little?” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer, and she saw that he was profoundly affected. She laid a + hand upon his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter, I didn't mean that,” she cried. “I know you have. And I have + missed you—terribly. It seems so strange seeing you here,” she went + on hurriedly. “There are so many' things I want to show you. Tell me how + it happened hat you came on to New York.” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody in the firm had to come,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “In the firm!” she repeated. She did not grasp the full meaning of this + change in his status, but she remembered that Uncle Tom had predicted it + one day, and that it was an honour. “I never knew any one so secretive + about their own affairs! Why didn't you write me you had been admitted to + the firm? So you are a partner of Judge Brice.” + </p> + <p> + “Brice, Graves, and Erwin,” said Peter; “it sounds very grand, doesn't it? + I can't get used to it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And what made you call yourself an errand boy?” she exclaimed + reproachfully. “When I go back to the house I intend to tell Joshua Holt + and—and Mr. Spence that you are a great lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + Peter laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better wait a few years before you say that,” said he. + </p> + <p> + He took an interest in everything he saw, in Mr. Holt's flowers, in + Joshua's cow barn, which they traversed, and declared, if he were ever + rich enough, he would live in the country. They walked around the pond,—fringed + now with yellow water-lilies on their floating green pads,—through + the woods, and when the shadows were lengthening came out at the little + summer-house over the valley of Silver Brook—the scene of that first + memorable encounter with the Vicomte. At the sight of it the episode, and + much else of recent happening, rushed back into Honora's mind, and she + realized with suddenness that she had, in his companionship, unconsciously + been led far afield and in pleasant places. Comparisons seemed inevitable. + </p> + <p> + She watched him with an unwonted tugging at her heart as he stood for a + long time by the edge of the railing, gazing over the tree-tops of the + valley towards the distant hazy hills. Nor did she understand what it was + in him that now, on this day of days when she had definitely cast the die + of life, when she had chosen her path, aroused this strange emotion. Why + had she never felt it before? She had thought his face homely—now it + seemed to shine with a transfiguring light. She recalled, with a pang, + that she had criticised his clothes: to-day they seemed the expression of + the man himself. Incredible is the range of human emotion! She felt a + longing to throw herself into his arms, and to weep there. + </p> + <p> + He turned at length from the view. + </p> + <p> + “How wonderful!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know—you cared for nature so much, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her strangely and put out his hand and drew her, unresisting, + to the bench beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Are you in trouble, Honora?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” she cried, “oh, no, I am—very happy.” + </p> + <p> + “You may have thought it odd that I should have come here without knowing + Mrs. Holt,” he said gravely, “particularly when you were going home so + soon. I do not know myself why I came. I am a matter-of-fact person, but I + acted on an impulse.” + </p> + <p> + “An impulse!” she faltered, avoiding the troubled, searching look in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “an impulse. I can call it by no other name. I should have + taken a train that leaves New York at noon; but I had a feeling this + morning, which seemed almost like a presentiment, that I might be of some + use to you.” + </p> + <p> + “This morning?” She felt herself trembling, and she scarcely recognized + Peter with such words on his lips. “I am happy—indeed I am. Only—I + am overwrought—seeing you again—and you made me think of + home.” + </p> + <p> + “It was no doubt very foolish of me,” he declared. “And if my coming has + upset you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” she cried. “Please don't think so. It has given me a sense of—of + security. That you were ready to help me if—if I needed you.” + </p> + <p> + “You should always have known that,” he replied. He rose and stood gazing + off down the valley once more, and she watched him with her heart beating, + with a sense of an impending crisis which she seemed powerless to stave + off. And presently he turned to her, “Honora, I have loved you for many + years,” he said. “You were too young for me to speak of it. I did not + intend to speak of it when I came here to-day. For many years I have hoped + that some day you might be my wife. My one fear has been that I might lose + you. Perhaps—perhaps it has been a dream. But I am willing to wait, + should you wish to see more of the world. You are young yet, and I am + offering myself for all time. There is no other woman for me, and never + can be.” + </p> + <p> + He paused and smiled down at her. But she did not speak. She could not. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he went on, “that you are ambitious. And with your gifts I do + not blame you. I cannot offer you great wealth, but I say with confidence + that I can offer you something better, something surer. I can take care of + you and protect you, and I will devote my life to your happiness. Will you + marry me?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were sparkling with tears,—tears, he remembered afterwards, + that were like blue diamonds. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter,” she cried, “I wish I could! I have always—wished that I + could. I can't.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I—I have told no one yet—not even Aunt Mary. I am going to + marry Mr. Spence.” + </p> + <p> + For a long time he was silent, and she did not dare to look at the + suffering in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” he said at last, “my most earnest wish in life will be for your + happiness. And whatever may, come to you I hope that you will remember + that I am your friend, to be counted on. And that I shall not change. Will + you remember that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she whispered. She looked at him now, and through the veil of her + tears she seemed to see his soul shining in his eyes. The tones of a + distant church bell were borne to them on the valley breeze. + </p> + <p> + Peter glanced at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” he said, “that I haven't time to go back to the house—my + train goes at seven. Can I get down to the village through the valley?” + </p> + <p> + Honora pointed out the road, faintly perceptible through the trees beneath + them. + </p> + <p> + “And you will apologize for my departure to Mrs. Holt?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. He took her hand, pressed it, and was gone. And presently, in + a little clearing far below, he turned and waved his hat at her bravely. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. WHICH CONTAINS A SURPRISE FOR MRS. HOLT + </h2> + <p> + How long she sat gazing with unseeing eyes down the valley Honora did not + know. Distant mutterings of thunder aroused her; the evening sky had + darkened, and angry-looking clouds of purple were gathering over the + hills. She rose and hurried homeward. She had thought to enter by the + billiard-room door, and so gain her own chamber without encountering the + household; but she had reckoned without her hostess. Beyond the billiard + room, in the little entry filled with potted plants, she came face to face + with that lady, who was inciting a footman to further efforts in his + attempt to close a recalcitrant skylight. Honora proved of more interest, + and Mrs. Holt abandoned the skylight. + </p> + <p> + “Why, my dear,” she said, “where have you been all afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I have been walking with Mr. Erwin, Mrs. Holt. I have been + showing him Silverdale.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is he? It seems to me I invited him to stay all night, and + Joshua tells me he extended the invitation.” + </p> + <p> + “We were in the little summer-house, and suddenly he discovered that it + was late and he had to catch the seven o'clock train,” faltered Honora, + somewhat disconnectedly. “Otherwise he would have come to you himself and + told you—how much he regretted not staying. He has to go to St. + Louis to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mrs. Holt, “this is an afternoon of surprises. The Vicomte + has gone off, too, without even waiting to say good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “The Vicomte!” exclaimed Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you see him, either, before he left?” inquired Mrs. Holt; “I + thought perhaps you might be able to give me some further explanation of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” exclaimed Honora. She felt ready to sink through the floor, and Mrs. + Holt's delft-blue eyes haunted her afterwards like a nightmare. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you see him, my dear? Didn't he tell you anything?” + </p> + <p> + “He—he didn't say he was going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he seem disturbed about anything?” Mrs. Holt insisted. + </p> + <p> + “Now I think of it, he did seem a little disturbed.” + </p> + <p> + “To save my life,” said Mrs. Holt, “I can't understand it. He left a note + for me saying that he had received a telegram, and that he had to go at + once. I was at a meeting of my charity board. It seems a very strange + proceeding for such an agreeable and polite man as the Vicomte, although + he had his drawbacks, as all Continentals have. And at times I thought he + was grave and moody,—didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he was moody,” Honora agreed eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “You noticed it, too,” said Mrs. Holt. “But he was a charming man, and so + interested in America and in the work we are doing. But I can't understand + about the telegram. I had Carroll inquire of every servant in the house, + and there is no knowledge of a telegram having come up from the village + this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the Vicomte might have met the messenger in the grounds,” + hazarded Honora. + </p> + <p> + At this point their attention was distracted by a noise that bore a + striking resemblance to a suppressed laugh. The footman on the step-ladder + began to rattle the skylight vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth is the matter with you, Woods?” said Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “It must have been some dust off the skylight, Madam, that got into my + throat,” he stammered, the colour of a geranium. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Holt, “there is no dust on the skylight.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be I swallowed the wrong way, looking up like, as I was, Madam,” + he ventured, rubbing the frame and looking at his finger to prove his + former theory. + </p> + <p> + “You are very stupid not to be able to close it,” she declared; “in a few + minutes the place will be flooded. Tell Carroll to come and do it.” + </p> + <p> + Honora suffered herself to be led limply through the library and up the + stairs into Mrs. Holt's own boudoir, where a maid was closing the windows + against the first great drops of the storm, which the wind was pelting + against them. She drew the shades deftly, lighted the gas, and retired. + Honora sank down in one of the upholstered light blue satin chairs and + gazed at the shining brass of the coal grate set in the marble mantel, + above which hung an engraving of Sir Joshua Reynolds' cherubs. She had an + instinct that the climax of the drama was at hand. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt sat down in the chair opposite. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she began, “I told you the other day what an unexpected and + welcome comfort and help you have been to me. You evidently inherit” (Mrs. + Holt coughed slightly) “the art of entertaining and pleasing, and I need + not warn you, my dear, against the dangers of such a gift. Your aunt has + evidently brought you up with strictness and religious care. You have been + very fortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I have, Mrs. Holt,” echoed Honora, in bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “And Susan,” continued Mrs. Holt, “useful and willing as she is, does not + possess your gift of taking people off my hands and entertaining them.” + </p> + <p> + Honora could think of no reply to this. Her eyes—to which no one + could be indifferent—were riveted on the face of her hostess, and + how was the good lady to guess that her brain was reeling? + </p> + <p> + “I was about to say, my dear, that I expect to have a great deal of—well, + of rather difficult company this summer. Next week, for instance, some + prominent women in the Working Girls' Relief Society are coming, and on + July the twenty-third I give a garden party for the delegates to the + Charity Conference in New York. The Japanese Minister has promised to pay + me a visit, and Sir Rupert Grant, who built those remarkable tuberculosis + homes in England, you know, is arriving in August with his family. Then + there are some foreign artists.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt,” exclaimed Honora; “how many interesting people you see!” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, my dear. And I thought that, in addition to the fact that I have + grown very fond of you, you would be very useful to me here, and that a + summer with me might not be without its advantages. As your aunt will have + you until you are married, which, I may say, without denying your + attractions, is likely to be for some time, I intend to write to her + to-night—with your consent—and ask her to allow you to remain + with me all summer.” + </p> + <p> + Honora sat transfixed, staring painfully at the big pendant ear-rings. + </p> + <p> + “It is so kind of you, Mrs. Holt—” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “I can realize, my dear, that you would wish to get back to your aunt. The + feeling does you infinite credit. But, on the other hand, besides the + advantages which would accrue to you, it might, to put the matter + delicately, be of a little benefit to your relations, who will have to + think of your future.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, it is good of you, but I must go back, Mrs. Holt.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Mrs. Holt, with a touch of dignity—for ere now + people had left Silverdale before she wished them to—“of course, if + you do not care to stay, that is quite another thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt, don't say that!” cried Honora, her face burning; “I cannot + thank you enough for the pleasure you have given me. If—if things + were different, I would stay with you gladly, although I should miss my + family. But now,—now I feel that I must be with them. I—I am + engaged to be married.” + </p> + <p> + Honora still remembers the blank expression which appeared on the + countenance of her hostess when she spoke these words. Mrs. Holt's cheeks + twitched, her ear-rings quivered, and her bosom heaved-once. + </p> + <p> + “Engaged to be married!” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied our heroine, humbly, “I was going to tell you—to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Mrs. Holt, after a silence, “it is to the young man who + was here this afternoon, and whom I did not see. It accounts for his + precipitate departure. But I must say, Honora, since frankness is one of + my faults, that I feel it my duty to write to your aunt and disclaim all + responsibility.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not to Mr. Erwin,” said Honora, meekly; “it is—it is to Mr. + Spence.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt seemed to find difficulty in speaking, Her former symptoms, + which Honora had come to recognize as indicative of agitation, returned + with alarming intensity. And when at length her voice made itself heard, + it was scarcely recognizable. + </p> + <p> + “You are engaged—to—Howard Spence?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt,” exclaimed Honora, “it was as great a surprise to me—believe + me—as it is to you.” + </p> + <p> + But even the knowledge that they shared a common amazement did not appear, + at once, to assuage Mrs. Holt's emotions. + </p> + <p> + “Do you love him?” she demanded abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Honora burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt,” she sobbed, “how can you ask?” + </p> + <p> + From this time on the course of events was not precisely logical. Mrs. + Holt, setting in abeyance any ideas she may have had about the affair, + took Honora in her arms, and against that ample bosom was sobbed out the + pent-up excitement and emotion of an extraordinary day. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, my dear,” said Mrs. Holt, stroking the dark hair, “I should + not have asked you that-forgive me.” And the worthy lady, quivering with + sympathy now, remembered the time of her own engagement to Joshua. And the + fact that the circumstances of that event differed somewhat from those of + the present—in regularity, at least, increased rather than detracted + from Mrs. Holt's sudden access of tenderness. The perplexing questions as + to the probable result of such a marriage were swept away by a flood of + feeling. “There, there, my dear, I did not mean to be harsh. What you told + me was such a shock—such a surprise, and marriage is such a grave + and sacred thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” sobbed Honora. + </p> + <p> + “And you are very young.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mrs. Holt.” + </p> + <p> + “And it happened in my house.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Honora, “it happened—near the golf course.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt smiled, and wiped her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, my dear, that I shall always feel responsible for bringing you + together—-for your future happiness. That is a great deal. I could + have wished that you both had taken longer to reflect, but I hope with all + my heart that you will be happy.” + </p> + <p> + Honora lifted up a tear-stained face. + </p> + <p> + “He said it was because I was going away that—that he spoke,” she + said. “Oh, Mrs. Holt, I knew that you would be kind about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am kind about it, my dear,” said Mrs. Holt. “As I told you, I + have grown to have an affection for you. I feel a little as though you + belonged to me. And after this—this event, I expect to see a great + deal of you. Howard Spence's mother was a very dear friend of mine. I was + one of the first who knew her when she came to New York, from Troy, a + widow, to educate her son. She was a very fine and a very courageous + woman.” Mrs. Holt paused a moment. “She hoped that Howard would be a + lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + “A lawyer!” Honora repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I lost sight of him for several years,” continued Mrs. Holt, “but before + I invited him here I made some inquiries about him from friends of mine in + the financial world. I find that he is successful for so young a man, and + well thought of. I have no doubt he will make a good husband, my dear, + although I could wish he were not on the Stock Exchange. And I hope you + will make him happy.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon the good lady kissed Honora, and dismissed her to dress for + dinner. + </p> + <p> + “I shall write to your aunt at once,” she said. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ........................ +</pre> + <p> + Requited love, unsettled condition that it is supposed to bring, did not + interfere with Howard Spence's appetite at dinner. His spirits, as usual, + were of the best, and from time to time Honora was aware of his glance. + Then she lowered her eyes. She sat as in a dream; and, try as she might, + her thoughts would not range themselves. She seemed to see him but dimly, + to hear what he said faintly; and it conveyed nothing to her mind. + </p> + <p> + This man was to be her husband! Over and over she repeated it to herself. + His name was Howard Spence, and he was on the highroad to riches and + success, and she was to live in New York. Ten days before he had not + existed for her. She could not bring herself to believe that he existed + now. Did she love him? How could she love him, when she did not realize + him? One thing she knew, that she had loved him that morning. + </p> + <p> + The fetters of her past life were broken, and this she would not realize. + She had opened the door of the cage for what? These were the fragments of + thoughts that drifted through her mind like tattered clouds across an + empty sky after a storm. Peter Erwin appeared to her more than once, and + he was strangely real. But he belonged to the past. Course succeeded + course, and she talked subconsciously to Mr. Holt and Joshua—such is + the result of feminine training. + </p> + <p> + After dinner she stood on the porch. The rain had ceased, a cool damp + breeze shook the drops from the leaves, and the stars were shining. + Presently, at the sound of a step behind her, she started. He was standing + at her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Honora!” he said. + </p> + <p> + She did not move. + </p> + <p> + “Honora, I haven't seen you—alone—since morning. It seems like + a thousand years. Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you mean it? + </p> + <p> + “Did I mean what?” + </p> + <p> + “When you said you'd marry me.” His voice trembled a little. “I've been + thinking of nothing but you all day. You're not—sorry? You haven't + changed your mind?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “At dinner when you wouldn't look at me, and this afternoon—” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not sorry,” she said, cutting him short. “I'm not sorry.” + </p> + <p> + He put his arm about her with an air that was almost apologetic. And, + seeing that she did not resist, he drew her to him and kissed her. + Suddenly, unaccountably to her, she clung to him. + </p> + <p> + “You love me!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she whispered, “but I am tired. I—I am going upstairs, + Howard. I am tired.” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her again. + </p> + <p> + “I can't believe it!” he said. “I'll make you a queen. And we'll be + married in the autumn, Honora.” He nodded boyishly towards the open + windows of the library. “Shall I tell them?” he asked. “I feel like + shouting it. I can't hold on much longer. I wonder what the old lady will + say!” + </p> + <p> + Honora disengaged herself from his arms and fled to the screen door. As + she opened it, she turned and smiled back at him. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Holt knows already,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And catching her skirt, she flew quickly up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK II. Volume 3. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. SO LONG AS YE BOTH SHALL LIVE! + </h2> + <p> + It was late November. And as Honora sat at the window of the drawing-room + of the sleeping car, life seemed as fantastic and unreal as the moss-hung + Southern forest into which she stared. She was happy, as a child is happy + who is taken on an excursion into the unknown. The monotony of existence + was at last broken, and riven the circumscribing walls. Limitless + possibilities lay ahead. + </p> + <p> + The emancipation had not been without its pangs of sorrow, and there were + moments of retrospection—as now. She saw herself on Uncle Tom's arm, + walking up the aisle of the old church. How many Sundays of her life had + she sat watching a shaft of sunlight strike across the stone pillars of + its gothic arches! She saw, in the chancel, tall and grave and pale, Peter + Erwin standing beside the man with the flushed face who was to be her + husband. She heard again the familiar voice of Dr. Ewing reciting the + words of that wonderful introduction. At other weddings she had been + moved. Why was her own so unrealizable? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Honora, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live + together after God's ordinance in the holy state of Matrimony? Wilt + thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness + and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, + so long as ye both shall live?” + </pre> + <p> + She had promised. And they were walking out of the church, facing the + great rose window with its blended colours, and the vaults above were + ringing now with the volume of an immortal march. + </p> + <p> + After that an illogical series of events and pictures passed before her. + She was in a corner of the carriage, her veil raised, gazing at her + husband, who had kissed her passionately. He was there beside her, looking + extremely well in his top hat and frock-coat, with a white flower in his + buttonhole. He was the representative of the future she had deliberately + chosen. And yet, by virtue of the strange ceremony through which they had + passed, he seemed to have changed. In her attempt to seize upon a reality + she looked out of the window. They were just passing the Hanbury mansion + in Wayland Square, and her eyes fell upon the playroom windows under the + wide cornice; and she wondered whether the doll's house were still in its + place, its mute inhabitants waiting to be called by the names she had + given them, and quickened into life once more. + </p> + <p> + Next she recalled the arrival at the little house that had been her home, + summer and winter, for so many years of her life. A red and white awning, + stretching up the length of the walk which once had run beside the tall + pear trees, gave it an unrecognizable, gala air. Long had it stood there, + patient, unpretentious, content that the great things should pass it by! + And now, modest still, it had been singled out from amongst its neighbours + and honoured. Was it honoured? It seemed to Honora, so fanciful this day, + that its unwonted air of festival was unnatural. Why should the hour of + departure from such a harbour of peace be celebrated? + </p> + <p> + She was standing beside her husband in the little parlour, while carriage + doors slammed in the dusk outside; while one by one—a pageant of the + past which she was leaving forever the friends of her childhood came and + went. Laughter and tears and kisses! And then, in no time at all, she + found herself changing for the journey in the “little house under the + hill.” There, locked up in the little desk Cousin Eleanor had given her + long ago, was the unfinished manuscript of that novel written at fever + heat during those summer days in which she had sought to escape from a + humdrum existence. And now—she had escaped. Aunt Mary, helpful under + the most trying circumstances, was putting her articles in a bag, the + initials on which she did not recognize—H. L. S.—Honora + Leffingwell Spence; while old Catherine, tearful and inefficient, knelt + before her, fumbling at her shoes. Honora, bending over, took the face of + the faithful old servant and kissed it. + </p> + <p> + “Don't feel badly, Catherine,” she said; “I'll be coming back often to see + you, and you will be coming to see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Will ye, darlint? The blessing of God be on you for those words—and + you to be such a fine lady! It always was a fine lady ye were, with such a + family and such a bringin' up. And now ye've married a rich man, as is + right and proper. If it's rich as Croesus he was, he'd be none too good + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Catherine,” said Aunt Mary, reprovingly, “what ideas you put into the + child's head!” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, Miss Mary,” cried Catherine, “it's always the great lady she was, + and she a wee bit of a thing. And wasn't it yerself, Miss Mary, that + dressed her like a princess?” + </p> + <p> + Then came the good-bys—the real ones. Uncle Tom, always the friend + of young people, was surrounded by a group of bridesmaids in the hall. She + clung to him. And Peter, who had the carriage ready. What would her + wedding have been without Peter? As they drove towards the station, his + was the image that remained persistently in her mind, bareheaded on the + sidewalk in the light of the carriage lamps. The image of struggle. + </p> + <p> + She had married Prosperity. A whimsical question, that shocked her, + irresistibly presented itself: was it not Prosperity that she had promised + to love, honour, and obey? + </p> + <p> + It must not be thought that Honora was by any means discontented with her + Prosperity. He was new—that was all. Howard looked new. But she + remembered that he had always looked new; such was one of his greatest + charms. In the long summer days since she had bade him good-by on her way + through New York from Silverdale, Honora had constructed him: he was + perpetual yet sophisticated Youth; he was Finance and Fashion; he was + Power in correctly cut clothes. And when he had arrived in St. Louis to + play his part in the wedding festivities, she had found her swan a swan + indeed—he was all that she had dreamed of him. And she had tingled + with pride as she introduced him to her friends, or gazed at him across + the flower-laden table as he sat beside Edith Hanbury at the bridesmaids' + dinner in Wayland Square. + </p> + <p> + The wedding ceremony had somehow upset her opinion of him, but Honora + regarded this change as temporary. Julius Caesar or George Washington + himself must have been somewhat ridiculous as bridegrooms: and she had the + sense to perceive that her own agitations as a bride were partly + responsible. No matter how much a young girl may have trifled with that + electric force in the male sex known as the grand passion, she shrinks + from surrendering herself to its dominion. Honora shrank. He made love to + her on the way to the station, and she was terrified. He actually forgot + to smoke cigarettes. What he said was to the effect that he possessed at + last the most wonderful and beautiful woman in the world, and she resented + the implication of possession. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, in the glaring lights of the station, her courage and her + pride in him revived, and he became again a normal and a marked man. + Although the sex may resent it, few women are really indifferent to + clothes, and Howard's well-fitting check suit had the magic touch of the + metropolis. His manner matched his garments. Obsequious porters grasped + his pig-skin bag, and seized Honora's; the man at the gate inclined his + head as he examined their tickets, and the Pullman conductor himself + showed them their stateroom, and plainly regarded them as important people + far from home. Howard had the cosmopolitan air. He gave the man a dollar, + and remarked that the New Orleans train was not exactly the Chicago and + New York Limited. + </p> + <p> + “Not by a long shot,” agreed the conductor, as he went out, softly closing + the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon the cosmopolitan air dropped from Mr. Howard Spence, not + gracefully, and he became once more that superfluous and awkward and + utterly banal individual, the husband. + </p> + <p> + “Let's go out and walk on the platform until the train starts,” suggested + Honora, desperately. “Oh, Howard, the shades are up! I'm sure I saw some + one looking in!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. But there was a light in his eyes that frightened her, and she + deemed his laughter out of place. Was he, after all, an utterly different + man than what she had thought him? Still laughing, he held to her wrist + with one hand, and with the other pulled down the shades. + </p> + <p> + “This is good enough for me,” he said. “At last—at last,” he + whispered, “all the red tape is over, and I've got you to myself! Do you + love me just a little, Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do,” she faltered, still struggling, her face burning as from + a fire. + </p> + <p> + “Then what's the matter?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—I want air. Howard, please let me go. It's-it's so hot + inhere. You must let me go.” + </p> + <p> + Her release, she felt afterwards, was due less to a physical than a mental + effort. She seemed suddenly to have cowed him, and his resistance became + enfeebled. She broke from him, and opened the door, and reached the cement + platform and the cold air. When he joined her, there was something + jokingly apologetic about his manner, and he was smoking a cigarette; and + she could not help thinking that she would have respected him more if he + had held her. + </p> + <p> + “Women beat me,” he said. “They're the most erratic stock in the market.” + </p> + <p> + It is worthy of remark how soon the human, and especially the feminine + brain adjusts itself to new conditions. In a day or two life became real + again, or rather romantic. + </p> + <p> + For the American husband in his proper place is an auxiliary who makes all + things possible. His ability to “get things done,” before it ceases to be + a novelty, is a quality to be admired. Honora admired. An intimacy—if + the word be not too strong—sprang up between them. They wandered + through the quaint streets of New Orleans, that most foreign of American + cities, searching out the tumbledown French houses; and Honora was never + tired of imagining the romances and tragedies which must have taken place + in them. The new scenes excited her,—the quaint cafes with their + delicious, peppery Creole cooking,—and she would sit talking for a + quarter of an hour at a time with Alphonse, who outdid himself to please + the palate of a lady with such allure. He called her “Madame”; but well he + knew, this student of human kind, that the title had not been of long + duration. + </p> + <p> + Madame came from New York, without doubt? such was one of his questions, + as he stood before them in answer to Howard's summons, rubbing his hands. + And Honora, with a little thrill, acknowledged the accuracy of his guess. + There was no dish of Alphonse's they did not taste. And Howard smilingly + paid the bills. He was ecstatically proud of his wife, and although he did + justice to the cooking, he cared but little for the mysterious courtyards, + the Spanish buildings, and the novels of Mr. George W. Cable, which Honora + devoured when she was too tired to walk about. He followed her obediently + to the battle field of New Orleans, and admired as obediently the sunset, + when the sky was all silver-green through the magnolias, and the spreading + live oaks hung with Spanish moss, and a silver bar lay upon the Father of + Waters. Honora, with beating heart and flushed cheeks, felt these things: + Howard felt them through her and watched—not the sunset—but + the flame it lighted in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + He left her but twice a day, and then only for brief periods. He even felt + a joy when she ventured to complain. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you care more for those horrid stocks than for me,” she said. + “I—I am just a novelty.” + </p> + <p> + His answer, since they were alone in their sitting-room, was obvious. + </p> + <p> + “Howard,” she cried, “how mean of you! Now I'll have to do my hair all + over again. I've got such a lot of it—you've no idea how difficult + it is.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet I have!” he declared meaningly, and Honora blushed. + </p> + <p> + His pleasure of possession was increased when people turned to look at her + on the street or in the dining room—to think that this remarkable + creature was in reality his wife! Nor did the feeling grow less intense + with time, being quite the same when they arrived at a fashionable resort + in the Virginia mountains, on their way to New York. For such were the + exactions of his calling that he could spare but two weeks for his + honeymoon. + </p> + <p> + Honora's interest in her new surroundings was as great, and the sight of + those towering ridges against the soft blue of the autumn skies inspired + her. It was Indian summer here, the tang of wood smoke was in the air; in + the valleys—as they drove—the haze was shot with the dust of + gold, and through the gaps they looked across vast, unexplored valleys to + other distant, blue-stained ridges that rose between them and the sunset. + Honora took an infinite delight in the ramshackle cabins beside the + red-clay roads, in the historic atmosphere of the ancient houses and + porticoes of the Warm Springs, where the fathers of the Republic had come + to take the waters. And one day, when a north wind had scattered the smoke + and swept the sky, Howard followed her up the paths to the ridge's crest, + where she stood like a Victory, her garments blowing, gazing off over the + mighty billows to the westward. Howard had never seen a Victory, but his + vision of domesticity was untroubled. + </p> + <p> + Although it was late in the season, the old-fashioned, rambling hotel was + well filled, and people interested Honora as well as scenery—a proof + of her human qualities. She chided Howard because he, too, was not more + socially inclined. + </p> + <p> + “How can you expect me to be—now?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + She told him he was a goose, although secretly admitting the justice of + his defence. He knew four or five men in the hotel, with whom he talked + stocks while waiting for Honora to complete her toilets; and he gathered + from two of these, who were married, that patience was a necessary + qualification in a husband. One evening they introduced their wives. + Later, Howard revealed their identity—or rather that of the + husbands. + </p> + <p> + “Bowker is one of the big men in the Faith Insurance Company, and Tyler is + president of the Gotham Trust.” He paused to light a cigarette, and smiled + at her significantly. “If you can dolly the ladies along once in a while, + Honora, it won't do any harm,” he added. “You have a way with you, you + know,—when you want to.” + </p> + <p> + Honora grew scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “Howard!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + He looked somewhat shamefaced. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “I was only joking. Don't take it seriously. But it + doesn't do any harm to be polite.” + </p> + <p> + “I am always polite,” she answered a little coldly. + </p> + <p> + Honeymoons, after all, are matters of conjecture, and what proportion of + them contain disenchantments will never be known. Honora lay awake for a + long time that night, and the poignant and ever recurring remembrance of + her husband's remark sent the blood to her face like a flame. Would Peter, + or George Hanbury, or any of the intimate friends of her childhood have + said such a thing? + </p> + <p> + A new and wistful feeling of loneliness was upon her. For some days, with + a certain sense of isolation and a tinge of envy which she would not + acknowledge, she had been watching a group of well-dressed, clean-looking + people galloping off on horseback or filling the six-seated buckboards. + They were from New York—that she had discovered; and they did not + mix with the others in the hotel. She had thought it strange that Howard + did not know them, but for a reason which she did not analyze she + hesitated to ask him who they were. They had rather a rude manner of + staring—especially the men—and the air of deriving infinite + amusement from that which went on about them. One of them, a young man + with a lisp who was addressed by the singular name of “Toots,” she had + overheard demanding as she passed: who the deuce was the tall girl with + the dark hair and the colour? Wherever she went, she was aware of them. It + was foolish, she knew, but their presence seemed—in the magnitude + which trifles are wont to assume in the night-watches—of late to + have poisoned her pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Enlightenment as to the identity of these disturbing persons came, the + next day, from an unexpected source. Indeed, from Mrs. Tyler. She loved + brides, she said, and Honora seemed to her such a sweet bride. It was Mrs. + Tyler's ambition to become thin (which was hitching her wagon to a star + with a vengeance), and she invited our heroine to share her constitutional + on the porch. Honora found the proceeding in the nature of an ordeal, for + Mrs. Tyler's legs were short, her frizzled hair very blond, and the fact + that it was natural made it seem, somehow, all the more damning. + </p> + <p> + They had scarcely begun to walk before Honora, with a sense of dismay of + which she was ashamed, beheld some of the people who had occupied her + thoughts come out of the door and form a laughing group at the end of the + porch. She could not rid herself of the feeling that they were laughing at + her. She tried in vain to drive them from her mind, to listen to Mrs. + Tyler's account of how she, too, came as a bride to New York from some + place with a classical name, and to the advice that accompanied the + narration. The most conspicuous young woman in the group, in riding + clothes, was seated on the railing, with the toe of one boot on the + ground. Her profile was clear-cut and her chestnut hair tightly knotted + behind under her hat. Every time they turned, this young woman stared at + Honora amusedly. + </p> + <p> + “Nasty thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Tyler, suddenly and unexpectedly in the + midst of a description of the delights of life in the metropolis. + </p> + <p> + “Who?” asked Honora. + </p> + <p> + “That young Mrs. Freddy Maitland, sitting on the rail. She's the rudest + woman in New York.” + </p> + <p> + A perversity of spirit which she could not control prompted Honora to + reply: + </p> + <p> + “Why, I think she is so good-looking, Mrs. Tyler. And she seems to have so + much individuality and independence.” + </p> + <p> + “There!” cried Mrs. Tyler, triumphantly. “Once—not so very long ago—I + was just as inexperienced as you, my dear. She belongs to that horribly + fast set with which no self-respecting woman would be seen. It's an + outrage that they should come to a hotel like this and act as though it + belonged to them. She knows me quite as well as I know her, but when I am + face to face she acts as though I was air.” + </p> + <p> + Honora could not help thinking that this, at least, required some + imagination on Mrs. Maitland's part. Mrs. Tyler had stopped for breath. + </p> + <p> + “I have been introduced to her twice,” she continued, “but of course I + wouldn't speak to her. The little man with the lisp, next to her, who is + always acting in that silly way, they call Toots Cuthbert. He gets his + name in the newspapers by leading cotillons in New York and Newport. And + the tall, slim, blond one, with the green hat and the feather in it, is + Jimmy Wing. He's the son of James Wing, the financier.” + </p> + <p> + “I went to school at Sutcliffe with his sister,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Honora that Mrs. Tyler's manner underwent a change. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she exclaimed, “did you go to Sutcliffe? What a wonderful + school it is! I fully intend to send my daughter Louise there.” + </p> + <p> + An almost irresistible desire came over Honora to run away. She excused + herself instead, and hurried back towards her room. On the way she met + Howard in the corridor, and he held a telegram in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I've got some bad news, Honora,” he said. “That is, bad from the point of + view of our honeymoon. Sid Dallam is swamped with business, and wants me + in New York. I'm afraid we've got to cut it short.” + </p> + <p> + To his astonishment she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm so glad, Howard,” she cried. “I—I don't like this place + nearly so well as New Orleans. There are—so many people here.” + </p> + <p> + He looked relieved, and patted her on the arm. + </p> + <p> + “We'll go to-night, old girl,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. “STAFFORD PARK” + </h2> + <p> + There is a terrifying aspect of all great cities. Rome, with its leviathan + aqueducts, its seething tenements clinging to the hills, its cruel, + shining Palatine, must have overborne the provincial traveller coming up + from Ostia. And Honora, as she stood on the deck of the ferry-boat, + approaching New York for the second time in her life, could not overcome a + sense of oppression. It was on a sharp December morning, and the steam of + the hurrying craft was dazzling white in the early sun. Above and beyond + the city rose, overpowering, a very different city, somehow, than that her + imagination had first drawn. Each of that multitude of vast towers seemed + a fortress now, manned by Celt and Hun and, Israelite and Saxon, captained + by Titans. And the strife between them was on a scale never known in the + world before, a strife with modern arms and modern methods and modern + brains, in which there was no mercy. + </p> + <p> + Hidden somewhere amidst those bristling miles of masonry to the northward + of the towers was her future home. Her mind dwelt upon it now, for the + first time, and tried to construct it. Once she had spoken to Howard of + it, but he had smiled and avoided discussion. What would it be like to + have a house of one's own in New York? A house on Fifth Avenue, as her + girl friends had said when they laughingly congratulated her and begged + her to remember that they came occasionally to New York. Those of us who, + like Honora, believe in Providence, do not trouble ourselves with mere + matters of dollars and cents. This morning, however, the huge material + towers which she gazed upon seemed stronger than Providence, and she + thought of her husband. Was his fibre sufficiently tough to become + eventually the captain of one of those fortresses, to compete with the + Maitlands and the Wings, and others she knew by name, calmly and + efficiently intrenched there? + </p> + <p> + The boat was approaching the slip, and he came out to her from the cabin, + where he had been industriously reading the stock reports, his newspapers + thrust into his overcoat pocket. + </p> + <p> + “There's no place like New York, after all,” he declared, and added, “when + the market's up. We'll go to a hotel for breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + For some reason she found it difficult to ask the question on her lips. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said hesitatingly, “I suppose we couldn't go—home, + Howard. You—you have never told me where we are to live.” + </p> + <p> + As before, the reference to their home seemed to cause him amusement. He + became very mysterious. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't you pass away a few hours shopping this morning, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” replied Honora. + </p> + <p> + “While I gather in a few dollars,” he continued. “I'll meet you at lunch, + and then we'll go-home.” + </p> + <p> + As the sun mounted higher, her spirits rose with it. New York, or that + strip of it which is known to the more fortunate of human beings, is a + place to raise one's spirits on a sparkling day in early winter. And + Honora, as she drove in a hansom from shop to shop, felt a new sense of + elation and independence. She was at one, now, with the prosperity that + surrounded her: her purse no longer limited, her whims existing only to be + gratified. Her reflections on this recently attained state alternated with + alluring conjectures on the place of abode of which Howard had made such a + mystery. Where was it? And why had he insisted, before showing it to her, + upon waiting until afternoon? + </p> + <p> + Newly arrayed in the most becoming of grey furs, she met him at that + hitherto fabled restaurant which in future days—she reflected—was + to become so familiar—Delmonico's. Howard was awaiting her in the + vestibule; and it was not without a little quiver of timidity and + excitement and a consequent rise of colour that she followed the waiter to + a table by the window. She felt as though the assembled fashionable world + was staring at her, but presently gathered courage enough to gaze at the + costumes of the women and the faces of the men. Howard, with a sang froid + of which she felt a little proud, ordered a meal for which he eventually + paid a fraction over eight dollars. What would Aunt Mary have said to such + extravagance? He produced a large bunch of violets. + </p> + <p> + “With Sid Dallam's love,” he said, as she pinned them on her gown. “I + tried to get Lily—Mrs. Sid—for lunch, but you never can put + your finger on her. She'll amuse you, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Howard, it's so much pleasanter lunching alone to-day. I'm glad you + didn't. And then afterwards—?” + </p> + <p> + He refused, however, to be drawn. When they emerged she did not hear the + directions he gave the cabman, and it was not until they turned into a + narrow side street, which became dingier and dingier as they bumped their + way eastward, that she experienced a sudden sinking sensation. + </p> + <p> + “Howard!” she cried. “Where are you going? You must tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “One of the prettiest suburbs in New Jersey—Rivington,” he said. + “Wait till you see the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Suburbs! Rivington! New Jersey!” The words swam before Honora's eyes, + like the great signs she had seen printed in black letters on the tall + buildings from the ferry that morning. She had a sickening sensation, and + the odour of his cigarette in the cab became unbearable. By an ironic + trick of her memory, she recalled that she had told the clerks in the + shops where she had made her purchases that she would send them her + address later. How different that address from what she had imagined it! + </p> + <p> + “It's in the country!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + To lunch at Delmonico's for eight dollars and live in Rivington + </p> + <p> + Howard appeared disturbed. More than that, he appeared astonished, + solicitous. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's the matter, Honora?” he asked. “I thought you'd like it. It's + a brand new house, and I got Lily Dallam to furnish it. She's a wonder on + that sort of thing, and I told her to go ahead—within reason. I + talked it over with your aunt and uncle, and they agreed with me you'd + much rather live out there for a few years than in a flat.” + </p> + <p> + “In a flat!” repeated Honora, with a shudder. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” he said, flicking his ashes out of the window. “Who do you + think I am, at my age? Frederick T. Maitland, or the owner of the Brougham + Building?” + </p> + <p> + “But—Howard,” she protested, “why didn't you talk it over with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I wanted to surprise you,” he replied. “I spent a month and a + half looking for that house. And you never seemed to care. It didn't occur + to me that you would care—for the first few years,” he added, and + there was in his voice a note of reproach that did not escape her. “You + never seemed inclined to discuss business with me, Honora. I didn't think + you were interested. Dallam and I are making money. We expect some day to + be on Easy Street—so to speak—or Fifth Avenue. Some day, I + hope, you can show some of these people the road. But just now what + capital we have has to go into the business.” + </p> + <p> + Strangely enough, in spite of the intensity of her disappointment, she + felt nearer to her husband in that instant than at any time since their + marriage. Honora, who could not bear to hurt any one's feelings, seized + his hand repentantly. Tears started in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Howard, I must seem to you very ungrateful,” she cried. “It was such + a—such a surprise. I have never lived in the country, and I'm sure + it will be delightful—and much more healthful than the city. Won't + you forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + If he had known as much about the fluctuations of the feminine temperament + as of those of stocks, the ease with which Honora executed this complete + change of front might have disturbed him. Howard, as will be seen, + possessed that quality which is loosely called good nature. In marriage, + he had been told (and was ready to believe), the wind blew where it + listed; and he was a wise husband who did not spend his time in inquiry as + to its sources. He kissed her before he helped her out of the carriage. + Again they crossed the North River, and he led her through the wooden + ferry house on the New Jersey side to where the Rivington train was + standing beside a platform shed. + </p> + <p> + There was no parlour car. Men and women—mostly women—with + bundles were already appropriating the seats and racks, and Honora found + herself wondering how many of these individuals were her future + neighbours. That there might have been an hysterical element in the lively + anticipation she exhibited during the journey did not occur to Howard + Spence. + </p> + <p> + After many stops,—in forty-two minutes, to be exact, the brakeman + shouted out the name of the place which was to be her home, and of which + she had been ignorant that morning. They alighted at an old red railroad + station, were seized upon by a hackman in a coonskin coat, and thrust into + a carriage that threatened to fall to pieces on the frozen macadam road. + They passed through a village in which Honora had a glimpse of the drug + store and grocery and the Grand Army Hall; then came detached houses of + all ages in one and two-acre plots some above the road, for the country + was rolling; a very attractive church of cream-coloured stone, and finally + the carriage turned sharply to the left under an archway on which were the + words “Stafford Park,” and stopped at a very new curbstone in a very new + gutter on the right. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are!” cried Howard, as he fished in his trousers pockets for + money to pay the hackman. + </p> + <p> + Honora looked around her. Stafford Park consisted of a wide centre-way of + red gravel, not yet packed, with an island in its middle planted with + shrubbery and young trees, the bare branches of which formed a black + tracery against the orange-red of the western sky. On both sides of this + centre-way were concrete walks, with cross-walks from the curbs to the + houses. There were six of these—three on each side—standing on + a raised terrace and about two hundred feet apart. Beyond them, to the + northward, Stafford Park was still a wilderness of second-growth hardwood, + interspersed with a few cedars. + </p> + <p> + Honora's house, the first on the right, was exactly like the other five. + If we look at it through her eyes, we shall find this similarity its main + drawback. If we are a little older, however, and more sophisticated, we + shall suspect the owner of Stafford Park and his architect of a design to + make it appear imposing. It was (indefinite and much-abused term) + Colonial; painted white; and double, with dormer windows of diagonal + wood-surrounded panes in the roof. There was a large pillared porch on its + least private side—namely, the front. A white-capped maid stood in + the open doorway and smiled at Honora as she entered. + </p> + <p> + Honora walked through the rooms. There was nothing intricate about the + house; it was as simple as two times four, and really too large for her + and Howard. Her presents were installed, the pictures and photograph + frames and chairs, even Mr. Isham's dining-room table and Cousin Eleanor's + piano. The sight of these, and of the engraving which Aunt Mary had sent + on, and which all her childhood had hung over her bed in the little room + at home, brought the tears once more to her eyes. But she forced them back + bravely. + </p> + <p> + These reflections were interrupted by the appearance of the little maid + announcing that tea was ready, and bringing her two letters. One was from + Susan Holt, and the other, written in a large, slanting, and angular + handwriting, was signed Lily Dallam. It was dated from New York. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Honora,” it ran, “I feel that I must call you so, for Sid and + Howard, in addition to being partners, are such friends. I hesitated so + long about furnishing your house, my dear, but Howard insisted, and said + he wished to surprise you. I am sending you this line to welcome you, and + to tell you that I have arranged with the furniture people to take any or + all things back that you do not like, and exchange them. After all, they + will be out of date in a few years, and Howard and Sid will have made so + much money by that time, I hope, that I shall be able to leave my + apartment, which is dear, and you will be coming to town.” + </p> + <p> + Honora laid down the sheet, and began to tidy her hair before the glass of + the highly polished bureau in her room. A line in Susan's letter occurred + to her: “Mother hopes to see you soon. She asked me to tell you to buy + good things which will last you all your life, and says that it pays.” + </p> + <p> + The tea-table was steaming in the parlour in front of the wood fire in the + blue tiled fireplace. The oak floor reflected its gleam, and that of the + electric lights; the shades were drawn; a slight odour of steam heat + pervaded the place. Howard, smoking a cigarette, was reclining on a sofa + that evidently was not made for such a purpose, reading the evening + newspapers. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Honora,” he said, as she took her seat behind the tea-table, “you + haven't told me how you like it. Pretty cosey, eh? And enough spare room + to have people out over Sundays.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Howard, I do like it,” she cried, in a desperate attempt—which + momentarily came near succeeding to convince herself that she could have + desired nothing more. “It's so sweet and clean and new—and all our + own.” + </p> + <p> + She succeeded, at any rate, in convincing Howard. In certain matters, he + was easily convinced. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you'd be pleased when you saw it, my dear,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE GREAT UNATTACHED + </h2> + <p> + It was the poet Cowper who sang of domestic happiness as the only bliss + that has survived the Fall. One of the burning and unsolved questions of + to-day is,—will it survive the twentieth century? Will it survive + rapid transit and bridge and Woman's Rights, the modern novel and modern + drama, automobiles, flying machines, and intelligence offices; hotel, + apartment, and suburban life, or four homes, or none at all? Is it a weed + that will grow anywhere, in a crevice between two stones in the city? Or + is it a plant that requires tender care and the water of self-sacrifice? + Above all, is it desirable? + </p> + <p> + Our heroine, as may have been suspected, has an adaptable temperament. Her + natural position is upright, but like the reed, she can bend gracefully, + and yields only to spring back again blithely. Since this chronicle + regards her, we must try to look at existence through her eyes, and those + of some of her generation and her sex: we must give the four years of her + life in Rivington the approximate value which she herself would have put + upon it—which is a chapter. We must regard Rivington as a kind of + purgatory, not solely a place of departed spirits, but of those which have + not yet arrived; as one of the many temporary abodes of the Great + Unattached. + </p> + <p> + No philosophical writer has as yet made the attempt to define the change—as + profound as that of the tadpole to the frog—between the lover and + the husband. An author of ideals would not dare to proclaim that this + change is inevitable: some husbands—and some wives are fortunate + enough to escape it, but it is not unlikely to happen in our modern + civilization. Just when it occurred in Howard Spence it is difficult to + say, but we have got to consider him henceforth as a husband; one who + regards his home as a shipyard rather than the sanctuary of a goddess; as + a launching place, the ways of which are carefully greased, that he may + slide off to business every morning with as little friction as possible, + and return at night to rest undisturbed in a comfortable berth, to ponder + over the combat of the morrow. + </p> + <p> + It would be inspiring to summon the vision of Honora, in rustling + garments, poised as the figurehead of this craft, beckoning him on to + battle and victory. Alas! the launching happened at that grimmest and most + unromantic of hours-ten minutes of eight in the morning. There was a + period, indeterminate, when she poured out his coffee with wifely zeal; a + second period when she appeared at the foot of the stairs to kiss him as + he was going out of the door; a third when, clad in an attractive + dressing-gown, she waved him good-by from the window; and lastly, a + fourth, which was only marked by an occasional protest on his part, when + the coffee was weak. + </p> + <p> + “I'd gladly come down, Howard, if it seemed to make the least difference + to you,” said Honora. “But all you do is to sit with your newspaper + propped up and read the stock reports, and growl when I ask you a polite + question. You've no idea how long it makes the days out here, to get up + early.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me you put in a good many days in town,” he retorted. + </p> + <p> + “Surely you don't expect me to spend all my time in Rivington!” she cried + reproachfully; “I'd die. And then I am always having to get new cooks for + you, because they can't make Hollandaise sauce like hotel chefs. Men have + no idea how hard it is to keep house in the country,—I just wish you + had to go to those horrid intelligence offices. You wouldn't stay in + Rivington ten days. And all the good cooks drink.” + </p> + <p> + Howard, indeed, with the aid of the village policeman, had had to expel + from his kitchen one imperious female who swore like a dock hand, and who + wounded Honora to the quick by remarking, as she departed in durance, that + she had always lived with ladies and gentlemen and people who were + somebody. The incident had tended further to detract from the romance of + the country. + </p> + <p> + It is a mistake to suppose that the honeymoon disappears below the horizon + with the rapidity of a tropical sun. And there is generally an afterglow. + In spite of cooks and other minor clouds, in spite of visions of + metropolitan triumphs (not shattered, but put away in camphor), life was + touched with a certain novelty. There was a new runabout and a horse which + Honora could drive herself, and she went to the station to meet her + husband. On mild Saturday and Sunday afternoons they made long excursions, + into the country—until the golf season began, when the lessons begun + at Silverdale were renewed. But after a while certain male competitors + appeared, and the lessons were discontinued. Sunday, after his pile of + newspapers had religiously been disposed of, became a field day. Indeed, + it is impossible, without a twinge of pity, to behold Howard taking root + in Rivington, for we know that sooner or later he will be dug up and + transplanted. The soil was congenial. He played poker on the train with + the Rivington husbands, and otherwise got along with them famously. And it + was to him an enigma—when occasionally he allowed his thoughts to + dwell upon such trivial matters—why Honora was not equally congenial + with the wives. + </p> + <p> + There were, no doubt, interesting people in Rivington about whom many + stories could be written: people with loves and fears and anxieties and + joys, with illnesses and recoveries, with babies, but few grandchildren. + There were weddings at the little church, and burials; there were dances + at the golf club; there were Christmas trees, where most of the presents—like + Honora's—came from afar, from family centres formed in a social + period gone by; there were promotions for the heads of families, and + consequent rejoicings over increases of income; there were movings; there + were—inevitable in the ever grinding action of that remorseless law, + the survival of the fittest—commercial calamities, and the + heartrending search for new employment. + </p> + <p> + Rivington called upon Honora in vehicles of all descriptions, in + proportion to the improvidence or prosperity of the owners. And Honora + returned the calls, and joined the Sewing Circle, and the Woman's Luncheon + Club, which met for the purpose of literary discussion. In the evenings + there were little dinners of six or eight, where the men talked business + and the women house rent and groceries and gossip and the cheapest places + in New York City to buy articles of the latest fashion. Some of them had + actually built or were building houses that cost as much as thirty + thousand dollars, with the inexplicable intention of remaining in + Rivington the rest of their lives! + </p> + <p> + Honora was kind to these ladies. As we know, she was kind to everybody. + She almost allowed two or three of them to hope that they might become her + intimates, and made excursions to New York with them, and lunched in + fashionable restaurants. Their range of discussion included babies and + Robert Browning, the modern novel and the best matinee. It would be + interesting to know why she treated them, on the whole, like travellers + met by chance in a railroad station, from whom she was presently forever + to depart. The time and manner of this departure were matters to be + determined in the future. + </p> + <p> + It would be interesting to know, likewise, just at what period the + intention of moving away from Rivington became fixed in Honora's mind. + Honora circumscribed, Honora limited, Honora admitting defeat, and this + chronicle would be finished. The gods exist somewhere, though many + incarnations may, be necessary to achieve their companionship. And no + prison walls loom so high as to appall our heroine's soul. To exchange one + prison for another is in itself something of a feat, and an argument that + the thing may be done again. Neither do the wise ones beat themselves + uselessly against brick or stone. Howard—poor man!—is fatuous + enough to regard a great problem as being settled once and for all by a + marriage certificate and a benediction; and labours under the delusion + that henceforth he may come and go as he pleases, eat his breakfast in + silence, sleep after dinner, and spend his Sundays at the Rivington Golf + Club. It is as well to leave him, at present, in blissful ignorance of his + future. + </p> + <p> + Our sympathies, however, must be with Honora, who has paid the price for + heaven, and who discovers that by marriage she has merely joined the ranks + of the Great Unattached. Hitherto it had been inconceivable to her that + any one sufficiently prosperous could live in a city, or near it and + dependent on it, without being socially a part of it. Most momentous of + disillusions! With the exception of the Sidney Dallams and one or two + young brokers who occasionally came out over Sunday, her husband had no + friends in New York. Rivington and the Holt family (incongruous mixture) + formed the sum total of her acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + On Monday mornings in particular, if perchance she went to town, the huge + signs which she read across the swamps, of breakfast foods and other + necessaries, seemed, for some reason, best to express her isolation. + Well-dressed, laughing people descended from omnibuses at the prettier + stations, people who seemed all-sufficient to themselves; people she was + sure she should like if only she knew them. Once the sight of her school + friend, Ethel Wing, chatting with a tall young man, brought up a flood of + recollections; again, in a millinery establishment, she came face to face + with the attractive Mrs. Maitland whom she had seen at Hot Springs. + Sometimes she would walk on Fifth Avenue, watching, with mingled + sensations, the procession there. The colour, the movement, the sensation + of living in a world where every one was fabulously wealthy, was at once a + stimulation and a despair. Brougham after brougham passed, victoria after + victoria, in which beautifully gowned women chatted gayly or sat back, + impassive, amidst the cushions. Some of them, indeed, looked bored, but + this did not mar the general effect of pleasure and prosperity. Even the + people—well-dressed, too—in the hansom cabs were usually + animated and smiling. On the sidewalk athletic, clear-skinned girls passed + her, sometimes with a man, sometimes in groups of two and three, going in + and out of the expensive-looking shops with the large, plate-glass + windows. + </p> + <p> + All of these women, apparently, had something definite to do, somewhere to + go, some one to meet the very next, minute. They protested to milliners + and dressmakers if they were kept waiting, and even seemed impatient of + time lost if one by chance bumped into them. But Honora had no imperative + appointments. Lily Dallam was almost sure to be out, or going out + immediately, and seemed to have more engagements than any one in New York. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry, my dear,” she would say, and add reproachfully: “why didn't + you telephone me you were coming? If you had only let me know we might + have lunched together or gone to the matinee. Now I have promised Clara + Trowbridge to go to a lunch party at her house.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dallam had a most convincing way of saying such things, and in spite + of one's self put one in the wrong for not having telephoned. But if + indeed Honora telephoned—as she did once or twice in her innocence—Lily + was quite as distressed. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, why didn't you let me know last night? Trixy Brent has given + Lula Chandos his box at the Horse Show, and Lula would never, never + forgive me if I backed out.” + </p> + <p> + Although she lived in an apartment—in a most attractive one, to be + sure—there could be no doubt about it that Lily Dallam was + fashionable. She had a way with her, and her costumes were marvellous. She + could have made her fortune either as a dressmaker or a house decorator, + and she bought everything from “little” men and women whom she discovered + herself. It was a curious fact that all of these small tradespeople + eventually became fashionable, too. Lily was kind to Honora, and gave her + their addresses before they grew to be great and insolent and careless + whether one patronized them or not. + </p> + <p> + While we are confessing the trials and weaknesses of our heroine, we shall + have to admit that she read, occasionally, the society columns of the + newspapers. And in this manner she grew to have a certain familiarity with + the doings of those favourites of fortune who had more delightful + engagements than hours in which to fulfil them. So intimate was Lily + Dallam with many of these Olympians that she spoke of them by their first + names, or generally by their nicknames. Some two years after Honora's + marriage the Dallams had taken a house in that much discussed colony of + Quicksands, where sport and pleasure reigned supreme: and more than once + the gown which Mrs. Sidney Dallam had worn to a polo match had been + faithfully described in the public prints, or the dinners which she had + given at the Quicksands Club. One of these dinners, Honora learned, had + been given in honour of Mr. Trixton Brent. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know Trixy, Honora,” Mrs. Dallam declared; “he'd be crazy + about you.” + </p> + <p> + Time passed, however, and Mrs. Dallam made no attempt to bring about this + most desirable meeting. When Honora and Howard went to town to dine with + the Dallams, it was always at a restaurant, a 'partie carree'. Lily Dallam + thought it dull to dine at home, and they went to the theatre afterwards—invariably + a musical comedy. Although Honora did not care particularly for musical + comedies, she always experienced a certain feverish stimulation which kept + her wide awake on the midnight train to Rivington. Howard had a most + exasperating habit of dozing in the corner of the seat. + </p> + <p> + “You are always sleepy when I have anything interesting to talk to you + about,” said Honora, “or reading stock reports. I scarcely see anything at + all of you.” + </p> + <p> + Howard roused himself. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Honora, “we haven't passed Hydeville. Howard, who is Trixton + Brent?” + </p> + <p> + “What about him?” demanded her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—except that he is one of Lily's friends, and she said she + knew—I should like him. I wish you would be more interested in + people. Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “One of the best-known operators in the market,” Howard answered, and his + air implied that a lack of knowledge of Mr. Brent was ignorance indeed; “a + daring gambler. He cornered cotton once, and raked in over a million. He's + a sport, too.” + </p> + <p> + “How old is he?” + </p> + <p> + “About forty-three.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he married?” inquired Honora. + </p> + <p> + “He's divorced,” said Howard. And she had to be content with so much of + the gentleman's biography, for her husband relapsed into somnolence again. + A few days later she saw a picture of Mr. Brent, in polo costume, in one + of the magazines. She thought him good-looking, and wondered what kind of + a wife he had had. + </p> + <p> + Honora, when she went to town for the day, generally could be sure of + finding some one, at least, of the Holt family at home at luncheon time. + They lived still in the same house on Madison Avenue to which Aunt Mary + and Uncle Tom had been invited to breakfast on the day of Honora's arrival + in her own country. It had a wide, brownstone front, with a basement, and + a high flight of steps leading up to the door. Within, solemnity reigned, + and this effect was largely produced by the prodigiously high ceilings and + the black walnut doors and woodwork. On the second floor, the library + where the family assembled was more cheerful. The books themselves, + although in black-walnut cases, and the sun pouring in, assisted in making + this effect. + </p> + <p> + Here, indeed, were stability and peace. Here Honora remade the + acquaintance of the young settlement worker, and of the missionary, now on + the Presbyterian Board of Missions. Here she charmed other friends and + allies of the Holt family; and once met, somewhat to her surprise, two + young married women who differed radically from the other guests of the + house. Honora admired their gowns if not their manners; for they ignored + her, and talked to Mrs. Holt about plans for raising money for the Working + Girl's Relief Society. + </p> + <p> + “You should join us, my dear,” said Mrs. Holt; “I am sure you would be + interested in our work.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd be so glad to, Mrs. Holt,” replied Honora, “if only I didn't live in + the country.” + </p> + <p> + She came away as usual, feeling of having run into a cul de sac. Mrs. + Holt's house was a refuge, not an outlet; and thither Honora directed her + steps when a distaste for lunching alone or with some of her Rivington + friends in the hateful, selfish gayety of a fashionable restaurant + overcame her; or when her moods had run through a cycle, and an atmosphere + of religion and domesticity became congenial. + </p> + <p> + “Howard,” she asked unexpectedly one evening, as he sat smoking beside the + blue tiled mantel, “have you got on your winter flannels?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet a hundred dollars to ten cents,” he cried, “that you've been + lunching with Mrs. Holt.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you're horrid,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + Something must be said for her. Domestic virtue, in the face of such + mocking heresy, is exceptionally difficult of attainment. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt had not been satisfied with Honora's and Susan's accounts of the + house in Stafford Park. She felt called upon to inspect it. And for this + purpose, in the spring following Honora's marriage, she made a pilgrimage + to Rivington and spent the day. Honora met her at the station, and the + drive homeward was occupied in answering innumerable questions on the + characters, conditions, and modes of life of Honora's neighbours. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my dear,” said Mrs. Holt, when they were seated before the fire + after lunch, “I want you to feel that you can come to me for everything. I + must congratulate you and Howard on being sensible enough to start your + married life simply, in the country. I shall never forget the little house + in which Mr. Holt and I began, and how blissfully happy I was.” The good + lady reached out and took Honora's hand in her own. “Not that your deep + feeling for your husband will ever change. But men are more difficult to + manage as they grow older, my dear, and the best of them require a little + managing for their own good. And increased establishments bring added + cares and responsibilities. Now that I am here, I have formed a very fair + notion of what it ought to cost you to live in such a place. And I shall + be glad to go over your housekeeping books with you, and tell you if you + are being cheated as I dare say you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt,” Honora faltered, “I—I haven't kept any books. + Howard just pays the bills.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to say he hasn't given you any allowance!” cried Mrs. Holt, + aghast. “You don't know what it costs to run this house?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Honora, humbly. “I never thought of it. I have no idea what + Howard's income may be.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll write to Howard myself—to-night,” declared Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “Please don't, Mrs. Holt. I'll—I'll speak to him,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” the good lady agreed, “and I will send you one of my + own books, with my own system, as soon as I get home. It is not your + fault, my dear, it is Howard's. It is little short of criminal of him. I + suppose this is one of the pernicious results of being on the Stock + Exchange. New York is nothing like what it was when I was a girl—the + extravagance by everybody is actually appalling. The whole city is bent + upon lavishness and pleasure. And I am afraid it is very often the wives, + Honora, who take the lead in prodigality. It all tends, my dear, to loosen + the marriage tie—especially this frightful habit of dining in hotels + and restaurants.” + </p> + <p> + Before she left Mrs. Holt insisted on going over the house from top to + bottom, from laundry to linen closet. Suffice it to say that the + inspection was not without a certain criticism, which must be passed over. + </p> + <p> + “It is a little large, just for you and Howard, my dear,” was her final + comment. “But you are wise in providing for the future.” + </p> + <p> + “For the future?” Honora repeated. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt playfully pinched her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “When the children arrive, my dear, as I hope they will—soon,” she + said, smiling at Honora's colour. “Sometimes it all comes back to me—my + own joy when Joshua was a baby. I was very foolish about him, no doubt. + Annie and Gwendolen tell me so. I wouldn't even let the nurse sit up with + him when he was getting his teeth. Mercy!” she exclaimed, glancing at the + enamelled watch on her gown,—for long practice had enabled her to + tell the time upside down,—“we'll be late for the train, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + After returning from the station, Honora sat for a long time at her + window, looking out on the park. The afternoon sunlight had the silvery + tinge that comes to it in March; the red gravel of the centre driveway was + very wet, and the grass of the lawns of the houses opposite already a + vivid green; in the back-yards the white clothes snapped from the lines; + and a group of children, followed by nurses with perambulators, tripped + along the strip of sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + Why could not she feel the joys and desires of which Mrs. Holt had spoken? + It never had occurred to her until to-day that they were lacking in her. + Children! A home! Why was it that she did not want children? Why should + such a natural longing be absent in her? Her mind went back to the days of + her childhood dolls, and she smiled to think of their large families. She + had always associated marriage with children—until she got married. + And now she remembered that her childhood ideals of the matrimonial state + had been very much, like Mrs. Holt's own experience of it: Why then had + that ideal gradually faded until, when marriage came to her, it was faint + and shadowy indeed? Why were not her spirit and her hopes enclosed by the + walls in which she sat? + </p> + <p> + The housekeeping book came from Mrs. Holt the next morning, but Honora did + not mention it to her husband. Circumstances were her excuse: he had had a + hard day on the Exchange, and at such times he showed a marked + disinclination for the discussion of household matters. It was not until + the autumn, in fact, that the subject of finance was mentioned between + them, and after a period during which Howard had been unusually + uncommunicative and morose. Just as electrical disturbances are said to be + in some way connected with sun spots, so Honora learned that a certain + glumness and tendency to discuss expenses on the part of her husband were + synchronous with a depression in the market. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd learn to go a little slow, Honora,” he said one evening. + “The bills are pretty stiff this month. You don't seem to have any idea of + the value of money.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Howard,” she exclaimed, after a moment's pause for breath, “how can + you say such a thing, when I save you so much?” + </p> + <p> + “Save me so much!” he echoed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. If I had gone to Ridley for this suit, he would have charged me two + hundred dollars. I took such pains—all on your account—to find + a little man Lily Dallam told me about, who actually made it for one + hundred and twenty-five.” + </p> + <p> + It was typical of the unreason of his sex that he failed to be impressed + by this argument. + </p> + <p> + “If you go on saving that way,” said he, “we'll be in the hands of a + receiver by Christmas. I can't see any difference between buying one suit + from Ridley—whoever he may be—and three from Lily Dallam's + 'little man,' except that you spend more than three times as much money.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't get three!—I never thought you could be so unjust, + Howard. Surely you don't want me to dress like these Rivington women, do + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't see anything wrong with their clothes,” he maintained. + </p> + <p> + “And to think that I was doing it all to please you!” she cried + reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “To please me!” + </p> + <p> + “Who else? We-we don't know anybody in New York. And I wanted you to be + proud of me. I've tried so hard and—and sometimes you don't even + look at my gowns, and say whether you like them and they are all for you.” + </p> + <p> + This argument, at least, did not fail of results, combined as it was with + a hint of tears in Honora's voice. Its effect upon Howard was peculiar—he + was at once irritated, disarmed, and softened. He put down his cigarette—and + Honora was on his knee! He could not deny her attractions. + </p> + <p> + “How could you be so cruel, Howard?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “You know you wouldn't like me to be a slattern. It was my own idea to + save money—I had a long talk about economy one day with Mrs. Holt. + And you act as though you had such a lot of it when we're in town for + dinner with these Rivington people. You always have champagne. If—if + you're poor, you ought to have told me so, and I shouldn't have ordered + another dinner gown.” + </p> + <p> + “You've ordered another dinner gown!” + </p> + <p> + “Only a little one,” said Honora, “the simplest kind. But if you're poor—” + </p> + <p> + She had made a discovery—to reflect upon his business success was to + touch a sensitive nerve. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not poor,” he declared. “But the bottom's dropped out of the market, + and even old Wing is economizing. We'll have to put on the brakes for + awhile, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + It was shortly after this that Honora departed on the first of her three + visits to St. Louis. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE NEW DOCTRINE + </h2> + <p> + This history concerns a free and untrammelled—and, let us add, + feminine—spirit. No lady is in the least interesting if restricted + and contented with her restrictions,—a fact which the ladies of our + nation are fast finding out. What would become of the Goddess of Liberty? + And let us mark well, while we are making these observations, that Liberty + is a goddess, not a god, although it has taken us in America over a + century to realize a significance in the choice of her sex. And—another + discovery!—she is not a haus frau. She is never domiciled, never + fettered. Even the French, clever as they are, have not conceived her: + equality and fraternity are neither kith nor kin of hers, and she laughs + at them as myths—for she is a laughing lady. She alone of the three + is real, and she alone is worshipped for attributes which she does not + possess. She is a coquette, and she is never satisfied. If she were, she + would not be Liberty: if she were, she would not be worshipped of men, but + despised. If they understood her, they would not care for her. And + finally, she comes not to bring peace, but a sword. + </p> + <p> + At quarter to seven one blustery evening of the April following their + fourth anniversary Honora returned from New York to find her husband + seated under the tall lamp in the room he somewhat facetiously called his + “den,” scanning the financial page of his newspaper. He was in his + dressing gown, his slippered feet extended towards the hearth, smoking a + cigarette. And on the stand beside him was a cocktail glass—empty. + </p> + <p> + “Howard,” she cried, brushing his ashes from the table, “how can you be so + untidy when you are so good-looking dressed up? I really believe you're + getting fat. And there,” she added, critically touching a place on the top + of his head, “is a bald spot!” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else?” he murmured, with his eyes still on the sheet. + </p> + <p> + “Lots,” answered Honora, pulling down the newspaper from before his face. + “For one thing, I'm not going to allow you to be a bear any more. I don't + mean a Stock Exchange bear, but a domestic bear—which is much worse. + You've got to notice me once in a while. If you don't, I'll get another + husband. That's what women do in these days, you know, when the one they + have doesn't take the trouble to make himself sufficiently agreeable. I'm + sure I could get another one quite easily,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + He looked up at her as she stood facing him in the lamplight before the + fire, and was forced to admit to himself that the boast was not wholly + idle. A smile was on her lips, her eyes gleamed with health; her furs—of + silver fox—were thrown back, the crimson roses pinned on her mauve + afternoon gown matched the glow in her cheeks, while her hair mingled with + the dusky shadows. Howard Spence experienced one of those startling, + illuminating moments which come on occasions to the busy and self-absorbed + husbands of his nation. Psychologists have a name for such a phenomenon. + Ten minutes before, so far as his thoughts were concerned, she had not + existed, and suddenly she had become a possession which he had not, in + truth, sufficiently prized. Absurd though it was, the possibility which + she had suggested aroused in him a slight uneasiness. + </p> + <p> + “You are a deuced good-looking woman, I'll say that for you, Honora,” he + admitted. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” she answered, mockingly, and put her hands behind her back. “If + I had only known you were going to settle down in Rivington and get fat + and bald and wear dressing gowns and be a bear, I never should have + married you—never, never, never! Oh, how young and simple and + foolish I was! And the magnificent way you talked about New York, and + intimated that you were going to conquer the world. I believed you. Wasn't + I a little idiot not—to know that you'd make for a place like this + and dig a hole and stay in it, and let the world go hang?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed, though it was a poor attempt. And she read in his eyes, which + had not left her face, that he was more or less disturbed. + </p> + <p> + “I treat you pretty well, don't I, Honora?” he asked. There was an + amorous, apologetic note in his voice that amused her, and reminded her of + the honeymoon. “I give you all the money you want or rather—you take + it,—and I don't kick up a row, except when the market goes to pieces—” + </p> + <p> + “When you act as though we'd have to live in Harlem—which couldn't + be much worse,” she interrupted. “And you stay in town all day and have no + end of fun making money,—for you like to make money, and expect me + to amuse myself the best part of my life with a lot of women who don't + know enough to keep thin.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed again, but still uneasily. Honora was still smiling. + </p> + <p> + “What's got into you?” he demanded. “I know you don't like Rivington, but + you never broke loose this way before.” + </p> + <p> + “If you stay here,” said Honora, with a new firmness, “it will be alone. I + can't see what you want with a wife, anyway. I've been thinking you over + lately. I don't do anything for you, except to keep getting you cooks—and + anybody could do that. You don't seem to need me in any possible way. All + I do is to loiter around the house and read and play the piano, or go to + New York and buy clothes for nobody to look at except strangers in + restaurants. I'm worth more than that. I think I'll get married again.” + </p> + <p> + “Great Lord, what are you talking about?” he exclaimed when he got his + breath. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll take a man next time,” she continued calmly, “who has + something to him, some ambition. The kind of man I thought I was getting + when I took you only I shouldn't be fooled again. Women remarry a good + deal in these days, and I'm beginning to see the reason why. And the women + who have done it appear to be perfectly happy—much happier than they + were at first. I saw one of them at Lily Dallam's this afternoon. She was + radiant. I can't see any particular reason why a woman should be tied all + her life to her husband's apron strings—or whatever he wears—and + waste the talents she has. It's wicked, when she might be the making of + some man who is worth something, and who lives somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + Her husband got up. + </p> + <p> + “Jehosaphat!” he cried, “I never heard such talk in my life.” + </p> + <p> + The idea that her love for him might have ebbed a little, or that she + would for a moment consider leaving him, he rejected as preposterous, of + course: the reputation which the majority of her sex had made throughout + the ages for constancy to the marriage tie was not to be so lightly + dissipated. Nevertheless, there was in her words a new undertone of + determination he had never before heard—or, at least, noticed. + </p> + <p> + There was one argument, or panacea, which had generally worked like a + charm, although some time had elapsed since last he had resorted to it. He + tried to seize and kiss her, but she eluded him. At last he caught her, + out of breath, in the corner of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Howard—you'll knock over the lamp—you'll ruin my gown—and + then you'll have to buy me another. I DID mean it,” she insisted, holding + back her head; “you'll have to choose between Rivington and me. It's—it's + an ultimatum. There were at least three awfully attractive men at Lily + Dallam's tea—I won't tell you who they were—who would be glad + to marry me in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + He drew her down on the arm of his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Now that Lily has a house in town,” he said weakly, “I suppose you think + you've got to have one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Howard, it is such a dear house. I had no idea that so much could be + done with so narrow a front. It's all French, with mirrors and big white + panels and satin chairs and sofas, and a carved gilt piano that she got + for nothing from a dealer she knows; and church candlesticks. The mirrors + give it the effect of being larger than it really is. I've only two + criticisms to make: it's too far from Fifth Avenue, and one can scarcely + turn around in it without knocking something down—a photograph frame + or a flower vase or one of her spindle-legged chairs. It was only a + hideous, old-fashioned stone front when she bought it. I suppose nobody + but Reggie Farwell could have made anything out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's Reggie Farwell?” inquired her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Howard, do you really mean to say you've never heard of Reggie Farwell? + Lily was so lucky to get him—she says he wouldn't have done the + house if he hadn't been such a friend of hers. And he was coming to the + tea this afternoon—only something happened at the last minute, and + he couldn't. She was so disappointed. He built the Maitlands' house, and + did over the Cecil Graingers'. And he's going to do our house—some + day.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not right away?” asked Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Because I've made up my mind to be very, very reasonable,” she replied. + “We're going to Quicksands for a while, first.” + </p> + <p> + “To Quicksands!” he repeated. But in spite of himself he experienced a + feeling of relief that she had not demanded a town mansion on the spot. + </p> + <p> + Honora sprang to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Get up, Howard,” she cried, “remember that we're going out for dinner-and + you'll never be ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” he protested, “I don't know about this Quicksands proposition. + Let's talk it over a little more—” + </p> + <p> + “We'll talk it over another time,” she replied. “But—remember my + ultimatum. And I am only taking you there for your own good.” + </p> + <p> + “For my own good!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. To get you out of a rut. To keep you from becoming commonplace and + obscure and—and everything you promised not to be when you married + me,” she retorted from the doorway, her eyes still alight with that + disturbing and tantalizing fire. “It is my last desperate effort as a wife + to save you from baldness, obesity, and nonentity.” Wherewith she + disappeared into her room and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + We read of earthquakes in the tropics and at the ends of the earth with + commiseration, it is true, yet with the fond belief that the ground on + which we have built is so firm that our own 'lares' and 'penates' are in + no danger of being shaken down. And in the same spirit we learn of other + people's domestic cataclysms. Howard Spence had had only a slight shock, + but it frightened him and destroyed his sense of immunity. And during the + week that followed he lacked the moral courage either to discuss the + subject of Quicksands thoroughly or to let it alone: to put down his foot + like a Turk or accede like a Crichton. + </p> + <p> + Either course might have saved him. One trouble with the unfortunate man + was that he realized but dimly the gravity of the crisis. He had laboured + under the delusion that matrimonial conditions were still what they had + been in the Eighteenth Century—although it is doubtful whether he + had ever thought of that century. Characteristically, he considered the + troublesome affair chiefly from its business side. His ambition, if we may + use so large a word for the sentiment that had filled his breast, had been + coincident with his prenuptial passion for Honora. And she had contrived, + after four years, in some mysterious way to stir up that ambition once + more; to make him uncomfortable; to compel him to ask himself whether he + were not sliding downhill; to wonder whether living at Quicksands might + not bring him in touch with important interests which had as yet eluded + him. And, above all,—if the idea be put a little more crudely and + definitely than it occurred in his thoughts, he awoke to the realization + that his wife was an asset he had hitherto utterly neglected. + Inconceivable though it were (a middle-of-the-night reflection), if he + insisted on trying to keep such a woman bottled up in Rivington she might + some day pack up and leave him. One never could tell what a woman would do + in these days. Les sacrees femmes. + </p> + <p> + We are indebted to Honora for this view of her husband's mental processes. + She watched them, as it were, through a glass in the side of his head, and + incidentally derived infinite amusement therefrom. With instinctive wisdom + she refrained from tinkering. + </p> + <p> + An invitation to dine with the Dallams', in their own house, arrived a day + or two after the tea which Honora had attended there. Although Lily had + always been cordial, Honora thought this note couched in terms of unusual + warmth. She was implored to come early, because Lily had so much to talk + to her about which couldn't be written on account of a splitting headache. + In moderate obedience to this summons Honora arrived, on the evening in + question, before the ornamental ironwork of Mrs. Dallam's front door at a + few minutes after seven o'clock. Honora paused in the spring twilight to + contemplate the house, which stood out incongruously from its sombre, + brownstone brothers and sisters with noisy basement kitchens. The Third + Avenue Elevated, “so handy for Sid,” roared across the gap scarcely a + block away; and just as the door was opened the tightest of little blue + broughams, pulled by a huge chestnut horse and driven by the tiniest of + grooms in top boots, drew up at the curb. And out of it burst a + resplendent lady—Mrs. Dallam. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's you, Honora,” she cried. “Am I late? I'm so sorry. But I just + couldn't help it. It's all Clara Trowbridge's fault. She insisted on my + staying to meet that Renee Labride who dances so divinely in Lady + Emmeline. She's sweet. I've seen her eight times.” Here she took Honora's + arm, and faced her towards the street. “What do you think of my turnout? + Isn't he a darling?” + </p> + <p> + “Is he—full grown?” asked Honora. + </p> + <p> + Lilly Dallam burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Bless you, I don't mean Patrick,—although I had a terrible time + finding him. I mean the horse. Trixy Brent gave him to me before he went + abroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Gave him to you!” Honora exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's always doing kind things like that, and he hadn't any use for + him. My dear, I hope you don't think for an instant Trixy's in love with + me! He's crazy about Lula Chandos. I tried so hard to get her to come to + dinner to-night, and the Trowbridges' and the Barclays'. You've no idea + how difficult it is in New York to get any one under two weeks. And so + we've got just ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was on the point of declaring, politely, that she was very glad, + when Lily Dallam asked her how she liked the brougham. + </p> + <p> + “It's the image of Mrs. Cecil Grainger's, my dear, and I got it for a + song. As long as Trixy gave me the horse, I told Sid the least he could do + was to give me the brougham and the harness. Is Master Sid asleep?” she + inquired of the maid who had been patiently waiting at the door. “I meant + to have got home in time to kiss him.” + </p> + <p> + She led Honora up the narrow but thickly carpeted stairs to a miniature + boudoir, where Madame Adelaide, in a gilt rococo frame, looked + superciliously down from the walls. + </p> + <p> + “Why haven't you been in to see me since my tea, Honora? You were such a + success, and after you left they were all crazy to know something about + you, and why they hadn't heard of you. My dear, how much did little Harris + charge you for that dress? If I had your face and neck and figure I'd die + before I'd live in Rivington. You're positively wasted, Honora. And if you + stay there, no one will look at you, though you were as beautiful as Mrs. + Langtry.” + </p> + <p> + “You're rather good-looking yourself, Lily,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “I'm ten years older than you, my dear, and I have to be so careful. Sid + says I'm killing myself, but I've found a little massage woman who is + wonderful. How do you like this dress?” + </p> + <p> + “All your things are exquisite.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” cried Mrs. Dallam, delightedly. + </p> + <p> + Honora, indeed, had not perjured herself. Only the hypercritical, when + Mrs. Dallam was dressed, had the impression of a performed miracle. She + was the most finished of finished products. Her complexion was high and + (be it added) natural, her hair wonderfully 'onduled', and she had withal + the sweetest and kindest of smiles and the most engaging laughter in the + world. It was impossible not to love her. + </p> + <p> + “Howard,” she cried, when a little later they were seated at the table, + “how mean of you to have kept Honora in a dead and alive place like + Rivington all these years! I think she's an angel to have stood it. Men + are beyond me. Do you know what an attractive wife you've got? I've just + been telling her that there wasn't a woman at my tea who compared with + her, and the men were crazy about her.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the reason I live down there,” proclaimed Howard, as he finished + his first glass of champagne. + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” demanded Mrs. Dallam, ignoring his bravado, “why don't you take + a house at Quicksands? You'd love it, and you'd look simply divine in a + bathing suit. Why don't you come down?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask Howard,” replied Honora, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Lily, I'll own up I have been considering it a little,” that + gentleman admitted with gravity. “But I haven't decided anything. There + are certain drawbacks—” + </p> + <p> + “Drawbacks!” exclaimed Mrs. Dallam. “Drawbacks at Quicksands! I'd like to + know what they are. Don't be silly, Howard. You get more for your money + there than any place I know.” Suddenly the light of an inspiration came + into her eyes, and she turned to her husband. “Sid, the Alfred Fern house + is for rent, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it must be, Lily,” replied Mr. Dallam. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I believe I'm losing my mind,” declared Mrs. Dallam. “What an + imbecile I was not to think of it! It's a dear, Honora, not five minutes + from the Club, with the sweetest furniture, and they just finished it last + fall. It would be positively wicked not to take it, Howard. They couldn't + have failed more opportunely. I'm sorry for Alfred, but I always thought + Louise Fern a little snob. Sid, you must see Alfred down town the first + thing in the morning and ask him what's the least he'll rent it for. Tell + him I wish to know.” + </p> + <p> + “But—my dear Lily—began Mr. Dallam apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “There!” complained his wife, “you're always raising objections to my most + charming and sensible plans. You act as though you wanted Honora and + Howard to stay in Rivington.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lily!” he protested again. And words failing him, he sought by a + gesture to disclaim such a sinister motive for inaction. + </p> + <p> + “What harm can it do?” she asked plaintively. “Howard doesn't have to rent + the house, although it would be a sin if he didn't. Find out the rent in + the morning, Sid, and we'll all four go down on Sunday and look at it, and + lunch at the Quicksands Club. I'm sure I can get out of my engagement at + Laura Dean's—this is so important. What do you say, Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be delightful,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. QUICKSANDS + </h2> + <p> + To convey any adequate idea of the community familiarly known as + Quicksands a cinematograph were necessary. With a pen we can only + approximate the appearance of the shifting grains at any one time. Some + households there were, indeed, which maintained a precarious though + seemingly miraculous footing on the surface, or near it, going under for + mere brief periods, only to rise again and flaunt men-servants in the face + of Providence. + </p> + <p> + There were real tragedies, too, although a casual visitor would never have + guessed it. For tragedies sink, and that is the end of them. The + cinematograph, to be sure, would reveal one from time to time, coming like + a shadow across an endless feast, and gone again in a flash. Such was what + might appropriately be called the episode of the Alfred Ferns. After three + years of married life they had come, they had rented; the market had gone + up, they had bought and built—upon the sands. The ancient farmhouse + which had stood on the site had been torn down as unsuited to a higher + civilization, although the great elms which had sheltered it had been left + standing, in grave contrast to the twisted cedars and stunted oaks so much + in evidence round about. + </p> + <p> + The Ferns—or rather little Mrs. Fern—had had taste, and the + new house reflected it. As an indication of the quality of imagination + possessed by the owners, the place was called “The Brackens.” There was a + long porch on the side of the ocean, but a view of the water was shut off + from it by a hedge which, during the successive ownerships of the + adjoining property, had attained a height of twelve feet. There was a + little toy greenhouse connecting with the porch (an “economy” indulged in + when the market had begun to go the wrong way for Mr. Fern). Exile, + although unpleasant, was sometimes found necessary at Quicksands, and even + effective. + </p> + <p> + Above all things, however, if one is describing Quicksands, one must not + be depressing. That is the unforgiveable sin there. Hence we must touch + upon these tragedies lightly. + </p> + <p> + If, after walking through the entrance in the hedge that separated the + Brackens from the main road, you turned to the left and followed a + driveway newly laid out between young poplars, you came to a mass of + cedars. Behind these was hidden the stable. There were four stalls, all + replete with brass trimmings, and a box, and the carriage-house was made + large enough for the break which Mr. Fern had been getting ready to buy + when he had been forced, so unexpectedly, to change his mind. + </p> + <p> + If the world had been searched, perhaps, no greater contrast to Rivington + could have been found than this delightful colony of quicksands, full of + life and motion and colour, where everybody was beautifully dressed and + enjoying themselves. For a whole week after her instalment Honora was in a + continual state of excitement and anticipation, and the sound of wheels + and voices on the highroad beyond the hedge sent her peeping to her + curtains a dozen times a day. The waking hours, instead of burdens, were + so many fleeting joys. In the morning she awoke to breathe a new, + perplexing, and delicious perfume—the salt sea breeze stirring her + curtains: later, she was on the gay, yellow-ochre beach with Lily Dallam, + making new acquaintances; and presently stepping, with a quiver of fear + akin to delight, into the restless, limitless blue water that stretched + southward under a milky haze: luncheon somewhere, more new acquaintances, + and then, perhaps, in Lily's light wood victoria to meet the train of + trains. For at half-past five the little station, forlorn all day long in + the midst of the twisted cedars that grew out of the heated sand, assumed + an air of gayety and animation. Vehicles of all sorts drew up in the open + space before it, wagonettes, phaetons, victorias, high wheeled hackney + carts, and low Hempstead carts: women in white summer gowns and veils + compared notes, or shouted invitations to dinner from carriage to + carriage. The engine rolled in with a great cloud of dust, the horses + danced, the husbands and the overnight guests, grimy and brandishing + evening newspapers, poured out of the special car where they had sat in + arm-chairs and talked stocks all the way from Long Island City. Some were + driven home, it is true; some to the beach, and others to the Quicksands + Club, where they continued their discussions over whiskey-and-sodas until + it was time to have a cocktail and dress for dinner. + </p> + <p> + Then came the memorable evening when Lily Dallam gave a dinner in honour + of Honora, her real introduction to Quicksands. It was characteristic of + Lily that her touch made the desert bloom. Three years before Quicksands + had gasped to hear that the Sidney Dallams had bought the Faraday house—or + rather what remained of it. + </p> + <p> + “We got it for nothing,” Lily explained triumphantly on the occasion of + Honora's first admiring view. “Nobody would look at it, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + It must have been this first price, undoubtedly, that appealed to Sidney + Dallam, model for all husbands: to Sidney, who had had as much of an idea + of buying in Quicksands as of acquiring a Scotch shooting box. The + “Faraday place” had belonged to the middle ages, as time is reckoned in + Quicksands, and had lain deserted for years, chiefly on account of its + lugubrious and funereal aspect. It was on a corner. Two “for rent” signs + had fallen successively from the overgrown hedge: some fifty feet back + from the road, hidden by undergrowth and in the tenebrous shades of huge + larches and cedars, stood a hideous, two-storied house with a mansard + roof, once painted dark red. + </p> + <p> + The magical transformation of all this into a sunny, smiling, white villa + with red-striped awnings and well-kept lawns and just enough shade had + done no little towards giving to Lily Dallam that ascendency which she had + acquired with such startling rapidity in the community. When Honora and + Howard drove up to the door in the deepening twilight, every window was a + yellow, blazing square, and above the sound of voices rose a waltz from + “Lady Emmeline” played with vigour on the piano. Lily Dallam greeted + Honora in the little room which (for some unexplained reason) was known as + the library, pressed into service at dinner parties as the ladies' + dressing room. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, how sweet you look in that coral! I've been so lucky to-night,” + she added in Honora's ear; “I've actually got Trixy Brent for you.” + </p> + <p> + Our heroine was conscious of a pleasurable palpitation as she walked with + her hostess across the little entry to the door of the drawing-room, where + her eyes encountered an inviting and vivacious scene. Some ten or a dozen + guests, laughing and talking gayly, filled the spaces between the + furniture; an upright piano was embedded in a corner, and the lady who had + just executed the waltz had swung around on the stool, and was smiling up + at a man who stood beside her with his hand in his pocket. She was a + decided brunette, neither tall nor short, with a suggestion of plumpness. + </p> + <p> + “That's Lula Chandos,” explained Lily Dallam in her usual staccato, + following Honora's gaze, “at the piano, in ashes of roses. She's stopped + mourning for her husband. Trixy told her to-night she'd discarded the + sackcloth and kept the ashes. He's awfully clever. I don't wonder that + she's crazy about him, do you? He's standing beside her.” + </p> + <p> + Honora took a good look at the famous Trixy, who resembled a certain type + of military Englishman. He had close-cropped hair and a close-cropped + mustache; and his grey eyes, as they rested amusedly on Mrs. Chandos, + seemed to have in them the light of mockery. + </p> + <p> + “Trixy!” cried his hostess, threading her way with considerable skill + across the room and dragging Honora after her, “Trixy, I want to introduce + you to Mrs. Spence. Now aren't you glad you came!” + </p> + <p> + It was partly, no doubt, by such informal introductions that Lily Dallam + had made her reputation as the mistress of a house where one and all had + such a good time. Honora, of course, blushed to her temples, and everybody + laughed—even Mrs. Chandos. + </p> + <p> + “Glad,” said Mr. Brent, with his eyes on Honora, “does not quite express + it. You usually have a supply of superlatives, Lily, which you might have + drawn on.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he irrepressible?” demanded Lily Dallam, delightedly, “he's always + teasing.” + </p> + <p> + It was running through Honora's mind, while Lily Dallam's characteristic + introductions of the other guests were in progress, that “irrepressible” + was an inaccurate word to apply to Mr. Brent's manner. Honora could not + define his attitude, but she vaguely resented it. All of Lily's guests had + the air of being at home, and at that moment a young gentleman named + Charley Goodwin, who was six feet tall and weighed two hundred pounds, was + loudly demanding cocktails. They were presently brought by a rather + harassed-looking man-servant. + </p> + <p> + “I can't get over how well you look in that gown, Lula,” declared Mrs. + Dallam, as they went out to dinner. “Trixy, what does she remind you of?” + </p> + <p> + “Cleopatra,” cried Warry Trowbridge, with an attempt to be gallant. + </p> + <p> + “Eternal vigilance,” said Mr. Brent, and they sat down amidst the + laughter, Lily Dallam declaring that he was horrid, and Mrs. Chandos + giving him a look of tender reproach. But he turned abruptly to Honora, + who was on his other side. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you drop down from, Mrs. Spence?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you take it for granted that I have dropped?” she asked sweetly. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her queerly for a moment, and then burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Because you are sitting next to Lucifer,” he said. “It's kind of me to + warn you, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't necessary,” replied Honora. “And besides, as a dinner + companion, I imagine Lucifer couldn't be improved on.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “As a dinner companion!” he repeated. “So you would limit Lucifer to + dinners? That's rather a severe punishment, since we're neighbours.” + </p> + <p> + “How delightful to have Lucifer as one's neighbour,” said Honora, avoiding + his eyes. “Of course I've been brought up to believe that he was always + next door, so to speak, but I've never—had any proof of it until + now.” + </p> + <p> + “Proof!” echoed Mr. Brent. “Has my reputation gone before me?” + </p> + <p> + “I smell the brimstone,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + He derived, apparently, infinite amusement from this remark likewise. + </p> + <p> + “If I had known I was to have the honour of sitting here, I should have + used another perfume,” he replied. “I have several.” + </p> + <p> + It was Honora's turn to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “They are probably for—commercial transactions, not for ladies,” she + retorted. “We are notoriously fond of brimstone, if it is not too strong. + A suspicion of it.” + </p> + <p> + Her colour was high, and she was surprised at her own vivacity. It seemed + strange that she should be holding her own in this manner with the + renowned Trixton Brent. No wonder, after four years of Rivington, that she + tingled with an unwonted excitement. + </p> + <p> + At this point Mr. Brent's eye fell upon Howard, who was explaining + something to Mrs. Trowbridge at the far end of the table. + </p> + <p> + “What's your husband like?” he demanded abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Honora was a little taken aback, but recovered sufficiently to retort: + “You'd hardly expect me to give you an unprejudiced judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true,” he agreed significantly. + </p> + <p> + “He's everything,” added Honora, “that is to be expected in a husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Which isn't much, in these days,” declared Mr. Brent. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “What I should like to know is why you came to Quicksands,” said Mr. + Brent. + </p> + <p> + “For a little excitement,” she replied. “So far, I have not been + disappointed. But why do you ask that question?” she demanded, with a + slight uneasiness. “Why did you come here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said, “you must remember that I'm—Lucifer, a citizen of the + world, at home anywhere, a sort of 'freebooter. I'm not here all the time—but + that's no reflection on Quicksands. May I make a bet with you, Mrs. + Spence?” + </p> + <p> + “What about?” + </p> + <p> + “That you won't stay in Quicksands more than six months,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say that?” she asked curiously. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “My experience with your sex,” he declared enigmatically, “has not been a + slight one.” + </p> + <p> + “Trixy!” interrupted Mrs. Chandos at this juncture, from his other side, + “Warry Trowbridge won't tell me whether to sell my Consolidated Potteries + stock.” + </p> + <p> + “Because he doesn't know,” said Mr. Brent, laconically, and readdressed + himself to Honora, who had, however, caught a glimpse of Mrs. Chandos' + face. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think it's time for you to talk to Mrs. Chandos?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for one reason, it is customary, out of consideration for the + hostess, to assist in turning the table.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily doesn't care,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “How about Mrs. Chandos? I have an idea that she does care.” + </p> + <p> + He made a gesture of indifference. + </p> + <p> + “And how about me?” Honora continued. “Perhaps—I'd like to talk to + Mr. Dallam.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever tried it?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Over her shoulder she flashed back at him a glance which he did not + return. She had never, to tell the truth, given her husband's partner much + consideration. He had existed in her mind solely as an obliging shopkeeper + with whom Lily had unlimited credit, and who handed her over the counter + such things as she desired. And to-night, in contrast to Trixton Brent, + Sidney Dallam suggested the counter more than ever before. He was about + five and forty, small, neatly made, with little hands and feet; fast + growing bald, and what hair remained to him was a jet black. His suavity + of manner and anxious desire to give one just the topic that pleased had + always irritated Honora. + </p> + <p> + Good shopkeepers are not supposed to have any tastes, predilections, or + desires of their own, and it was therefore with no little surprise that, + after many haphazard attempts, Honora discovered Mr. Dallam to be + possessed by one all-absorbing weakness. She had fallen in love, she + remarked, with little Sid on the beach, and Sidney Dallam suddenly became + transfigured. Was she fond of children? Honora coloured a little, and said + “yes.” He confided to her, with an astonishing degree of feeling, that it + had been the regret of his life he had not had more children. Nobody, he + implied, who came to his house had ever exhibited the proper interest in + Sid. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” he said, leaning towards her confidentially, “I slip upstairs + for a little peep at him after dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Honora, “if you're going to-night mayn't I go with you? I'd + love to see him in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'll take you,” said Sidney Dallam, and he looked at her so + gratefully that she coloured again. + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” said Lily Dallam, when the women were back in the drawing-room, + “what did you do to Sid? You had him beaming—and he hates dinner + parties.” + </p> + <p> + “We were talking about children,” replied Honora, innocently. + </p> + <p> + “Children!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Honora, “and your husband has promised to take me up to the + nursery.” + </p> + <p> + “And did you talk to Trixy about children, too?” cried Lily, laughing, + with a mischievous glance at Mrs. Chandos. + </p> + <p> + “Is he interested in them?” asked Honora. + </p> + <p> + “You dear!” cried Lily, “you'll be the death of me. Lula, Honora wants to + know whether Trixy is interested in children.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Chandos, in the act of lighting a cigarette, smiled sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “Apparently he is,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It's time he were, if he's ever going to be,” said Honora, just as + sweetly. + </p> + <p> + Everybody laughed but Mrs. Chandos, who began to betray an intense + interest in some old lace in the corner of the room. + </p> + <p> + “I bought it for nothing, my dear,” said Mrs. Dallam, but she pinched + Honora's arm delightedly. “How wicked of you!” she whispered, “but it + serves her right.” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the discussion of clothes and house rents and other + people's possessions, interspersed with anecdotes of a kind that was new + to Honora, Sidney Dallam appeared at the door and beckoned to her. + </p> + <p> + “How silly of you, Sid!” exclaimed his wife; “of course she doesn't want + to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do,” protested Honora, rising with alacrity and following her + host up the stairs. At the end of a hallway a nurse, who had been reading + beside a lamp, got up smilingly and led the way on tiptoe into the + nursery, turning on a shaded electric light. Honora bent over the crib. + The child lay, as children will, with his little yellow head resting on + his arm. But in a moment, as she stood gazing at him, he turned and opened + his eyes and smiled at her, and she stooped and kissed him. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Daddy?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “We've waked him!” said Honora, remorsefully. + </p> + <p> + “Daddy,” said the child, “tell me a story.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse looked at Dallam reproachfully, as her duty demanded, and yet + she smiled. The noise of laughter reached them from below. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't have any to-night,” the child pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “I got home late,” Dallam explained to Honora, and, looking at the nurse, + pleaded in his turn; “just one.” + </p> + <p> + “Just a tiny one,” said the child. + </p> + <p> + “It's against all rules, Mr. Dallam,” said the nurse, “but—he's been + very lonesome to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Dallam sat down on one side of him, Honora on the other. + </p> + <p> + “Will you go to sleep right away if I do, Sid?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The child shut his eyes very tight. + </p> + <p> + “Like that,” he promised. + </p> + <p> + It was not the Sidney Dallam of the counting-room who told that story, and + Honora listened with strange sensations which she did not attempt to + define. + </p> + <p> + “I used to be fond of that one when I was a youngster,” he explained + apologetically to her as they went out, and little Sid had settled himself + obediently on the pillow once more. “It was when I dreamed,” he added, “of + less prosaic occupations than the stock market.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney Dallam had dreamed! + </p> + <p> + Although Lily Dallam had declared that to leave her house before midnight + was to insult her, it was half-past eleven when Honora and her husband + reached home. He halted smilingly in her doorway as she took off her wrap + and laid it over a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Honora,” he asked, “how do you like—the whirl of fashion?” + </p> + <p> + She turned to him with one of those rapid and bewildering movements that + sometimes characterized her, and put her arms on his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “What a dear old stay-at-home you were, Howard,” she said. “I wonder what + would have happened to you if I hadn't rescued you in the nick of time! + Own up that you like—a little variety in life.” + </p> + <p> + Being a man, he qualified his approval. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't have a bad time,” he admitted. “I had a talk with Brent after + dinner, and I think I've got him interested in a little scheme. It's a + strange thing that Sid Dallam was never able to do any business with him. + If I can put this through, coming to Quicksands will have been worth + while.” He paused a moment, and added: “Brent seems to have taken quite a + shine to you, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped her arms, and going over to her dressing table, unclasped a + pin on the front of her gown. + </p> + <p> + “I imagine,” she answered, in an indifferent tone, “that he acts so with + every new woman he meets.” + </p> + <p> + Howard remained for a while in the doorway, seemingly about to speak. Then + he turned on his heel, and she heard him go into his own room. + </p> + <p> + Far into the night she lay awake, the various incidents of the evening, + like magic lantern views, thrown with bewildering rapidity on the screen + of her mind. At last she was launched into life, and the days of her + isolation gone by forever. She was in the centre of things. And yet—well, + nothing could be perfect. Perhaps she demanded too much. Once or twice, in + the intimate and somewhat uproarious badinage that had been tossed back + and forth in the drawing-room after dinner, her delicacy had been + offended: an air of revelry had prevailed, enhanced by the arrival of + whiskey-and-soda on a tray. And at the time she had been caught up by an + excitement in the grip of which she still found herself. She had been + aware, as she tried to talk to Warren Trowbridge, of Trixton Brent's + glance, and of a certain hostility from Mrs. Chandos that caused her now + to grow warm with a kind of shame when she thought of it. But she could + not deny that this man had for her a fascination. There was in him an + insolent sense of power, of scarcely veiled contempt for the company in + which he found himself. And she asked herself, in this mood of + introspection, whether a little of his contempt for Lily Dallam's guests + had not been communicated from him to her. + </p> + <p> + When she had risen to leave, he had followed her into the entry. She + recalled him vividly as he had stood before her then, a cigar in one hand + and a lighted match in the other, his eyes fixed upon her with a + singularly disquieting look that was tinged, however, with amusement. “I'm + coming to see you,” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “Do be careful,” she had cried, “you'll burn yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “That,” he answered, tossing away the match, “is to be expected.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” he added, “and remember my bet.” + </p> + <p> + What could he have meant when he had declared that she would not remain in + Quicksands? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. GAD AND MENI. + </h2> + <p> + There was an orthodox place of worship at Quicksands, a temple not merely + opened up for an hour or so on Sunday mornings to be shut tight during the + remainder of the week although it was thronged with devotees on the + Sabbath. This temple, of course, was the Quicksands Club. Howard Spence + was quite orthodox; and, like some of our Puritan forefathers, did not + even come home to the midday meal on the first day of the week. But a + certain instinct of protest and of nonconformity which may have been + remarked in our heroine sent her to St. Andrews-by-the-Sea—by no + means so well attended as the house of Gad and Meni. She walked home in a + pleasantly contemplative state of mind through a field of daisies, and had + just arrived at the hedge in front of the Brackens when the sound of hoofs + behind her caused her to turn. Mr. Trixton Brent, very firmly astride of a + restive, flea-bitten polo pony, surveyed her amusedly. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “To church,” replied Honora, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “Such virtue is unheard of in Quicksands.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't virtue,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “I had my doubts about that, too,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, then?” she asked laughingly, wondering why he had such a + faculty of stirring her excitement and interest. + </p> + <p> + “Dissatisfaction,” was his prompt reply. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why you say that,” she protested. + </p> + <p> + “I'm prepared to make my wager definite,” said he. “The odds are a + thoroughbred horse against a personally knitted worsted waistcoat that you + won't stay in Quicksands six months.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't talk nonsense,” said Honora, “and besides, I can't + knit.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence during which he didn't relax his disconcerting + stare. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you come in?” she asked. “I'm sorry Howard isn't home.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not,” he said promptly. “Can't you come over to my box for lunch? + I've asked Lula Chandos and Warry Trowbridge.” + </p> + <p> + It was not without appropriateness that Trixton Brent called his house the + “Box.” It was square, with no pretensions to architecture whatever, with a + porch running all the way around it. And it was literally filled with the + relics of the man's physical prowess cups for games of all descriptions, + heads and skins from the Bitter Roots to Bengal, and masks and brushes + from England. To Honora there was an irresistible and mysterious + fascination in all these trophies, each suggesting a finished—and + some perhaps a cruel—performance of the man himself. The cups were + polished until they beat back the light like mirrors, and the glossy bear + and tiger skins gave no hint of dying agonies. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brent's method with women, Honora observed, more resembled the noble + sport of Isaac Walton than that of Nimrod, but she could not deny that + this element of cruelty was one of his fascinations. It was very evident + to a feminine observer, for instance, that Mrs. Chandos was engaged in a + breathless and altogether desperate struggle with the slow but inevitable + and appalling Nemesis of a body and character that would not harmonize. If + her figure grew stout, what was to become of her charm as an 'enfant + gate'? Her host not only perceived, but apparently derived great enjoyment + out of the drama of this contest. From self-indulgence to self-denial—even + though inspired by terror—is a far cry. And Trixton Brent had + evidently prepared his menu with a satanic purpose. + </p> + <p> + “What! No entree, Lula? I had that sauce especially for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Trixy, did you really? How sweet of you!” And her liquid eyes + regarded, with an almost equal affection, first the master and then the + dish. “I'll take a little,” she said weakly; “it's so bad for my gout.” + </p> + <p> + “What,” asked Trixton Brent, flashing an amused glance at Honora, “are the + symptoms of gout, Lula? I hear a great deal about that trouble these days, + but it seems to affect every one differently.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Chandos grew very red, but Warry Trowbridge saved her. + </p> + <p> + “It's a swelling,” he said innocently. + </p> + <p> + Brent threw back his head and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't got it anyway, Warry,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Trowbridge, who resembled a lean and greying Irish terrier, maintained + that he had. + </p> + <p> + “It's a pity you don't ride, Lula. I understand that that's one of the + best preventives—for gout. I bought a horse last week that would + just suit you—an ideal woman's horse. He's taken a couple of blue + ribbons this summer.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will show him to us, Mr. Brent,” exclaimed Honora, in a spirit + of kindness. + </p> + <p> + “Do you ride?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I'm devoted to it,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + It was true. For many weeks that spring, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday + mornings, she had gone up from Rivington to Harvey's Riding Academy, near + Central Park. Thus she had acquired the elements of the equestrian art, + and incidentally aroused the enthusiasm of a riding-master. + </p> + <p> + After Mrs. Chandos had smoked three of the cigarettes which her host + specially imported from Egypt, she declared, with no superabundance of + enthusiasm, that she was ready to go and see what Trixy had in the + “stables.” In spite of that lady's somewhat obvious impatience, Honora + insisted upon admiring everything from the monogram of coloured sands so + deftly woven on the white in the coach house, to the hunters and polo + ponies in their rows of boxes. At last Vercingetorix, the latest + acquisition of which Brent had spoken, was uncovered and trotted around + the ring. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Trixy, but I've really got to leave,” said Mrs. Chandos. “And + I'm in such a predicament! I promised Fanny Darlington I'd go over there, + and it's eight miles, and both my horses are lame.” + </p> + <p> + Brent turned to his coachman. + </p> + <p> + “Put a pair in the victoria right away and drive Mrs. Chandos to Mrs. + Darlington's,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, and her lip quivered. + </p> + <p> + “You always were the soul of generosity, Trixy, but why the victoria?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lula,” he replied, “if there's any other carriage you prefer—?” + </p> + <p> + Honora did not hear the answer, which at any rate was scarcely audible. + She moved away, and her eyes continued to follow Vercingetorix as he + trotted about the tan-bark after a groom. And presently she was aware that + Trixton Brent was standing beside her. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of him?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “He's adorable,” declared Honora. “Would you like to try him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—might I? Sometime?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not to-day—now?” he said. “I'll send him over to your house and + have your saddle put on him.” + </p> + <p> + Before Honora could protest Mrs. Chandos came forward. + </p> + <p> + “It's awfully sweet of you, Trixy, to offer to send me to Fanny's, but + Warry says he will drive me over. Good-by, my dear,” she added, holding + out her hand to Honora. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you enjoy your ride.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Trowbridge's phaeton was brought up, Brent helped Mrs. Chandos in, and + stood for a moment gazing after her. Amusement was still in his eyes as he + turned to Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Lula!” he said. “Most women could have done it better than that—couldn't + they?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you were horrid to her,” exclaimed Honora, indignantly. “It + wouldn't have hurt you to drive her to Mrs. Darlington's.” + </p> + <p> + It did not occur to her that her rebuke implied a familiarity at which + they had swiftly but imperceptibly arrived. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, it would hurt me,” said he. “I'd rather spend a day in jail than + drive with Lula in that frame of mind. Tender reproaches, and all that + sort of thing, you know although I can't believe you ever indulge in them. + Don't,” he added. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the fact that she was up in arms for her sex, Honora smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” she said slowly, “I'm beginning to think you are a brute.” + </p> + <p> + “That's encouraging,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “And fickle.” + </p> + <p> + “Still more encouraging. Most men are fickle. We're predatory animals.” + </p> + <p> + “It's just as well that I am warned,” said Honora. She raised her parasol + and picked up her skirts and shot him a look. Although he did not resemble + in feature the great if unscrupulous Emperor of the French, he reminded + her now of a picture she had once seen of Napoleon and a lady; the lady + obviously in a little flutter under the Emperor's scrutiny. The picture + had suggested a probable future for the lady. + </p> + <p> + “How long will it take you to dress?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “To dress for what?” + </p> + <p> + “To ride with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to ride with you,” she said, and experienced a tingle of + satisfaction from his surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place, because I don't want to; and in the second, because + I'm expecting Lily Dallam.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily never keeps an engagement,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “That's no reason why I shouldn't,” Honora answered. + </p> + <p> + “I'm beginning to think you're deuced clever,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “How unfortunate for me!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + He laughed, although it was plain that he was obviously put out. Honora + was still smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Deuced clever,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “An experienced moth,” suggested Honora; “perhaps one that has been singed + a little, once or twice. Good-by—I've enjoyed myself immensely.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced back at him as she walked down the path to the roadway. He was + still standing where she had left him, his feet slightly apart, his hands + in the pockets of his riding breeches, looking after her. + </p> + <p> + Her announcement of an engagement with Mrs. Dallam had been, to put it + politely, fiction. She spent the rest of the afternoon writing letters + home, pausing at periods to look out of the window. Occasionally it + appeared that her reflections were amusing. At seven o'clock Howard + arrived, flushed and tired after his day of rest. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Honora, I saw Trixy Brent at the Club, and he said you + wouldn't go riding with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you call him Trixy to his face?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “What? No—but everyone calls him Trixy. What's the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she replied. “Only—the habit every one has in Quicksands + of speaking of people they don't know well by their nicknames seems rather + bad taste.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you liked Quicksands,” he retorted. “You weren't happy until + you got down here.” + </p> + <p> + “It's infinitely better than Rivington,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” he remarked, with a little irritation unusual in him, “that + you'll be wanting to go to Newport next.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Honora, and resumed her letter. He fidgeted about the room + for a while, ordered a cocktail, and lighted a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he began presently, “I wish you'd be decent to Brent. He's a + pretty good fellow, and he's in with James Wing and that crowd of big + financiers, and he seems to have taken a shine to me probably because he's + heard of that copper deal I put through this spring.” + </p> + <p> + Honora thrust back her writing pad, turned in her chair, and faced him. + </p> + <p> + “How 'decent' do you wish me to be?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “How decent?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + He regarded her uneasily, took the cocktail which the maid offered him, + drank it, and laid down the glass. + </p> + <p> + He had had before, in the presence of his wife, this vague feeling of + having passed boundaries invisible to him. In her eyes was a curious smile + that lacked mirth, in her voice a dispassionate note that added to his + bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it's too much to expect of a man to be as solicitous about his + wife as he is about his business,” she replied. “Otherwise he would + hesitate before he threw her into the arms of Mr. Trixton Brent. I warn + you that he is very attractive to women.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang it,” said Howard, “I can't see what you're driving at. I'm not + throwing you into his arms. I'm merely asking you to be friendly with him. + It means a good deal to me—to both of us. And besides, you can take + care of yourself. You're not the sort of woman to play the fool.” + </p> + <p> + “One never can tell,” said Honora, “what may happen. Suppose I fell in + love with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk nonsense,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so sure,” she answered, meditatively, “that it is nonsense. It + would be quite easy to fall in love with him. Easier than you imagine. + curiously. Would you care?” she added. + </p> + <p> + “Care!” he cried; “of course I'd care. What kind of rot are you talking?” + </p> + <p> + “Why would you care?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? What a darned idiotic question—” + </p> + <p> + “It's not really so idiotic as you think it is,” she said. “Suppose I + allowed Mr. Brent to make love to me, as he's very willing to do, would + you be sufficiently interested to compete.” + </p> + <p> + “To what?” + </p> + <p> + “To compete.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but we're married.” + </p> + <p> + She laid her hand upon her knee and glanced down at it. + </p> + <p> + “It never occurred to me until lately,” she said, “how absurd is the + belief men still hold in these days that a wedding-ring absolves them + forever from any effort on their part to retain their wives' affections. + They regard the ring very much as a ball and chain, or a hobble to prevent + the women from running away, that they may catch them whenever they may + desire—which isn't often. Am I not right?” + </p> + <p> + He snapped his cigarette case. + </p> + <p> + “Darn it, Honora, you're getting too deep for me!” he exclaimed. “You + never liked those, Browning women down at Rivington, but if this isn't + browning I'm hanged if I know what it is. An attack of nerves, perhaps. + They tell me that women go all to pieces nowadays over nothing at all.” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it,” she agreed, “nothing at all!” + </p> + <p> + “I thought as much,” he replied, eager to seize this opportunity of ending + a conversation that had neither head nor tail, and yet was marvellously + uncomfortable. “There! be a good girl, and forget it.” + </p> + <p> + He stooped down suddenly to her face to kiss her, but she turned her face + in time to receive the caress on the cheek. + </p> + <p> + “The panacea!” she said. + </p> + <p> + He laughed a little, boyishly, as he stood looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I can't make you out,” he said. “You've changed a good deal + since I married you.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent. But the thought occurred to her that a complete absorption + in commercialism was not developing. + </p> + <p> + “If you can manage it, Honora,” he added with an attempt at lightness, “I + wish you'd have a little dinner soon, and ask Brent. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she replied, “would give me greater pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + He patted her on the shoulder and left the room whistling. But she sat + where she was until the maid came in to pull the curtains and turn on the + lights, reminding her that guests were expected. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ..................... +</pre> + <p> + Although the circle of Mr. Brent's friends could not be said to include + any university or college presidents, it was, however, both catholic and + wide. He was hail fellow, indeed, with jockeys and financiers, great + ladies and municipal statesmen of good Irish stock. He was a lion who + roamed at large over a great variety of hunting grounds, some of which it + would be snobbish to mention; for many reasons he preferred Quicksands: a + man-eater, a woman-eater, and extraordinarily popular, nevertheless. Many + ladies, so it was reported, had tried to tame him: some of them he had + cheerfully gobbled up, and others after the briefest of inspections, + disdainfully thrust aside with his paw. + </p> + <p> + This instinct for lion taming, which the most spirited of women possess, + is, by the way, almost inexplicable to the great majority of the male sex. + Honora had it, as must have been guessed. But however our faith in her may + be justified by the ridiculous ease of her previous conquests, we cannot + regard without trepidation her entrance into the arena with this + particular and widely renowned king of beasts. Innocence pitted against + sophistry and wile and might. + </p> + <p> + Two of the preliminary contests we have already witnessed. Others, more or + less similar, followed during a period of two months or more. Nothing + inducing the excessive wagging of tongues,—Honora saw to that, + although Mrs. Chandos kindly took the trouble to warn our heroine,—a + scene for which there is unfortunately no space in this chronicle; an + entirely amicable, almost honeyed scene, in Honora's boudoir. Nor can a + complete picture of life at Quicksands be undertaken. Multiply Mrs. + Dallam's dinner-party by one hundred, Howard Silence's Sundays at the Club + by twenty, and one has a very fair idea of it. It was not precisely + intellectual. “Happy,” says Montesquieu, “the people whose annals are + blank in history's book.” Let us leave it at that. + </p> + <p> + Late one afternoon in August Honora was riding homeward along the ocean + road. The fragrant marshes that bordered it were a vivid green under the + slanting rays of the sun, and she was gazing across them at the breakers + crashing on the beach beyond. Trixton Brent was beside her. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't stare at me so,” she said, turning to him suddenly; + “it is embarrassing.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know I was looking at you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I felt it.” + </p> + <p> + He drew his horse a little nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes you're positively uncanny,” she added. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I rather like that castles-in-Spain expression you wore,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “Castles in Spain?” + </p> + <p> + “Or in some other place where the real estate is more valuable. Certainly + not in Quicksands.” + </p> + <p> + “You are uncanny,” proclaimed Honora, with conviction. + </p> + <p> + “I told you you wouldn't like Quicksands,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I've never said I didn't like it,” she replied. “I can't see why you + assume that I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “You're ambitious,” he said. “Not that I think it a fault, when it's more + or less warranted. Your thrown away here, and you know it.” + </p> + <p> + She made him a bow from the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “I have not been without a reward, at least,” she answered, and looked at + him. + </p> + <p> + “I have,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Honora smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to be your good angel, and help you get out of it,” he + continued. + </p> + <p> + “Get out of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Quicksands.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I'm in danger of sinking?” she asked. “And is it impossible + for me to get out alone, if I wished to?” + </p> + <p> + “It will be easier with my help,” he answered. “You're clever enough to + realize that—Honora.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent awhile. + </p> + <p> + “You say the most extraordinary things,” she remarked presently. + “Sometimes I think they are almost—” + </p> + <p> + “Indelicate,” he supplied. + </p> + <p> + She coloured. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indelicate.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't forgive me for sweeping away your rose-coloured cloud of + romance,” he declared, laughing. “There are spades in the pack, however + much you may wish to ignore 'em. You know very well you don't like these + Quicksands people. They grate on your finer sensibilities, and all that + sort of thing. Come, now, isn't it so?” + </p> + <p> + She coloured again, and put her horse to the trot. + </p> + <p> + “Onwards and upwards,” he cried. “Veni, vidi, vici, ascendi.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” she laughed, “that so much education is thrown away on + the stock market.” + </p> + <p> + “Whether you will be any happier higher up,” he went on, “God knows. + Sometimes I think you ought to go back to the Arcadia you came from. Did + you pick out Spence for an embryo lord of high finance?” + </p> + <p> + “My excuse is,” replied Honora, “that I was very young, and I hadn't met + you.” + </p> + <p> + Whether the lion has judged our heroine with astuteness, or done her a + little less than justice, must be left to the reader. Apparently he is + accepting her gentle lashings with a meek enjoyment. He assisted her to + alight at her own door, sent the horses home, and offered to come in and + give her a lesson in a delightful game that was to do its share in the + disintegration of the old and tiresome order of things—bridge. The + lion, it will be seen, was self-sacrificing even to the extent of double + dummy. He had picked up the game with characteristic aptitude abroad—Quicksands + had yet to learn it. + </p> + <p> + Howard Spence entered in the midst of the lesson. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Brent,” said he, genially, “you may be interested to know I got + that little matter through without a hitch to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I continue to marvel at you,” said the lion, and made it no trumps. + </p> + <p> + Since this is a veracious history, and since we have wandered so far from + home and amidst such strange, if brilliant scenes, it must be confessed + that Honora, three days earlier, had entered a certain shop in New York + and inquired for a book on bridge. Yes, said the clerk, he had such a + treatise, it had arrived from England a week before. She kept it looked up + in her drawer, and studied it in the mornings with a pack of cards before + her. + </p> + <p> + Given the proper amount of spur, anything in reason can be mastered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Volume 4. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. OF CERTAIN DELICATE MATTERS + </h2> + <p> + In the religious cult of Gad and Meni, practised with such enthusiasm at + Quicksands, the Saints' days were polo days, and the chief of all + festivals the occasion of the match with the Banbury Hunt Club—Quicksands's + greatest rival. Rival for more reasons than one, reasons too delicate to + tell. Long, long ago there appeared in Punch a cartoon of Lord + Beaconsfield executing that most difficult of performances, an egg dance. + We shall be fortunate indeed if we get to the end of this chapter without + breaking an egg! + </p> + <p> + Our pen fails us in a description of that festival of festivals, the + Banbury one, which took place early in September. We should have to go + back to Babylon and the days of King Nebuchadnezzar. (Who turns out to + have been only a regent, by the way, and his name is now said to be + spelled rezzar). How give an idea of the libations poured out to Gad and + the shekels laid aside for Meni in the Quicksands Temple? + </p> + <p> + Honora privately thought that building ugly, and it reminded her of a + collection of huge yellow fungi sprawling over the ground. A few of the + inevitable tortured cedars were around it. Between two of the larger + buildings was wedged a room dedicated to the worship of Bacchus, to-day + like a narrow river-gorge at flood time jammed with tree-trunks—some + of them, let us say, water-logged—and all grinding together with an + intolerable noise like a battle. If you happened to be passing the + windows, certain more or less intelligible sounds might separate + themselves from the bedlam. + </p> + <p> + “Four to five on Quicksands!” + </p> + <p> + “That stock isn't worth a d—n!” + </p> + <p> + “She's gone to South Dakota.” + </p> + <p> + Honora, however, is an heretic, as we know. Without going definitely into + her reasons, these festivals had gradually become distasteful to her. + Perhaps it would be fairer to look at them through the eyes of Lily + Dallam, who was in her element on such days, and regarded them as the most + innocent and enjoyable of occasions, and perhaps they were. + </p> + <p> + The view from the veranda, at least, appealed to our heroine's artistic + sense. The marshes in the middle distance, the shimmering sea beyond, and + the polo field laid down like a vast green carpet in the foreground; while + the players, in white breeches and bright shirts, on the agile little + horses that darted hither and thither across the turf lent an added touch + of colour and movement to the scene. Amongst them, Trixton Brent most + frequently caught the eye and held it. Once Honora perceived him flying + the length of the field, madly pursued, his mallet poised lightly, his + shirt bulging in the wind, his close-cropped head bereft of a cap, + regardless of the havoc and confusion behind him. He played, indeed, with + the cocksureness and individuality one might have expected; and Honora, + forgetting at moments the disturbing elements by which she was surrounded, + followed him with fascination. Occasionally his name rippled from one end + of the crowded veranda to the other, and she experienced a curious and + uncomfortable sensation when she heard it in the mouths of these + strangers. + </p> + <p> + From time to time she found herself watching them furtively, comparing + them unconsciously with her Quicksands friends. Some of them she had + remarked before, at contests of a minor importance, and they seemed to her + to possess a certain distinction that was indefinable. They had come + to-day from many mysterious (and therefore delightful) places which Honora + knew only by name, and some had driven the twenty-five odd miles from the + bunting community of Banbury in coaches and even those new and marvellous + importations—French automobiles. When the game had ended, and Lily + Dallam was cajoling the club steward to set her tea-table at once, a group + of these visitors halted on the lawn, talking and laughing gayly. Two of + the younger men Honora recognized with a start, but for a moment she could + not place them—until suddenly she remembered that she had seen them + on her wedding trip at Hot Springs. The one who lisped was Mr. Cuthbert, + familiarly known as “Toots”: the other, taller and slimmer and paler, was + Jimmy Wing. A third, the regularity of whose features made one wonder at + the perfection which nature could attain when she chose, who had a certain + Gallic appearance (and who, if the truth be told, might have reminded an + impartial eye of a slightly animated wax clothing model), turned, stared, + hesitated, and bowed to Lily Dallam. + </p> + <p> + “That's Reggie Farwel, who did my house in town,” she whispered to Honora. + “He's never been near me since it was finished. He's utterly ruined.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was silent. She tried not to look at the group, in which there were + two women of very attractive appearance, and another man. + </p> + <p> + “Those people are so superior,” Mrs. Dallam continued. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not surprised at Elsie Shorter. Ever since she married Jerry she's + stuck to the Graingers closer than a sister. That's Cecil Grainger, my + dear, the man who looks as though he were going to fall asleep any moment. + But to think of Abby Kame acting that way! Isn't it ridiculous, Clara?” + she cried, appealing to Mrs. Trowbridge. “They say that Cecil Grainger + never leaves her side. I knew her when she first married John Kame, the + dearest, simplest man that ever was. He was twenty years older than Abby, + and made his money in leather. She took the first steamer after his + funeral and an apartment in a Roman palace for the winter. As soon as she + decently could she made for England. The English will put up with anybody + who has a few million dollars, and I don't deny that Abby's good-looking, + and clever in her way. But it's absurd for her to come over here and act + as though we didn't exist. She needn't be afraid that I'll speak to her. + They say she became intimate with Bessie Grainger through charities. One + of your friend Mrs. Holt's charities, by the way, Honora. Where are you + going?” + </p> + <p> + For Honora had risen. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll go home, Lily,” she said; “I'm rather tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Home!” exclaimed Mrs. Dallam. “What can you be thinking of, my dear? + Nobody ever goes home after the Banbury match. The fun has just begun, and + we're all to stay here for dinner and dance afterwards. And Trixy Brent + promised me faithfully he'd' come here for tea, as soon as he dressed.” + </p> + <p> + “I really can't stay, Lily. I—I don't feel up to it,” said Honora, + desperately. + </p> + <p> + “And you can't know how I counted on you! You look perfectly fresh, my + dear.” + </p> + <p> + Honora felt an overwhelming desire to hide herself, to be alone. In spite + of the cries of protest that followed her and drew—she thought—an + unnecessary and disagreeable attention to her departure, she threaded her + way among groups of people who stared after her. Her colour was high, her + heart beating painfully; a vague sense of rebellion and shame within her + for which she did not try to account. Rather than run the gantlet of the + crowded veranda she stepped out on the lawn, and there encountered Trixton + Brent. He had, in an incredibly brief time, changed from his polo clothes + to flannels and a straw hat. He looked at her and whistled, and barred her + passage. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he cried. “Hoity-toity! Where are we going in such a hurry?” + </p> + <p> + “Home,” answered Honora, a little breathlessly, and added for his + deception, “the game's over, isn't it? I'm glad you won.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brent, however, continued to gaze at her penetratingly, and she + avoided his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But why are you rushing off like a flushed partridge?—no reference + to your complexion. Has there been a row?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no—I was just—tired. Please let me go.” + </p> + <p> + “Being your good angel—or physician, as you choose—I have a + prescription for that kind of weariness,” he said smilingly. “I—anticipated + such an attack. That's why I got into my clothes in such record time.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean,” faltered Honora. “You are always imagining + all sorts of things about me that aren't true.” + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of fact,” said Brent, “I have promised faithfully to do a + favor for certain friends of mine who have been clamouring to be presented + to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't—to-day—Mr. Brent,” she cried. “I really don't feel + like-meeting people. I told Lily Dallam I was going home.” + </p> + <p> + The group, however, which had been the object of that lady's remarks was + already moving towards them—with the exception of Mrs. Shorter and + Mr. Farwell, who had left it. They greeted Mr. Brent with great + cordiality. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Kame,” he said, “let me introduce Mrs. Spence. And Mrs. Spence, Mr. + Grainger, Mr. Wing, and Mr. Cuthbert. Mrs. Spence was just going home.” + </p> + <p> + “Home!” echoed Mrs. Kame, “I thought Quicksands people never went home + after a victory.” + </p> + <p> + “I've scarcely been here long enough,” replied Honora, “to have acquired + all of the Quicksands habits.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mrs. Kame, and looked at Honora again. “Wasn't that Mrs. Dallam + you were with? I used to know her, years ago, but she doesn't speak to me + any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she thinks you've forgotten her,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “It would be impossible to forget Mrs. Dallam,” declared Mrs. Kame. + </p> + <p> + “So I should have thought,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + Trixton Brent laughed, and Mrs. Kame, too, after a moment's hesitation. + She laid her hand familiarly on Mr. Brent's arm. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't seen you all summer, Trixy,” she said. “I hear you've been here + at Quicksands, stewing in that little packing-case of yours. Aren't you + coming into our steeplechase at Banbury. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you went to school with my sister,” said young Mr. Wing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” answered Honora, somewhat surprised. “I caught a glimpse of her + once, in New York. I hope you will remember me to her.” + </p> + <p> + “And I've seen you before,” proclaimed Mr. Cuthbert, “but I can't for the + life of me think where.” + </p> + <p> + Honora did not enlighten him. + </p> + <p> + “I shan't forget, at any rate, Mrs. Spence,” said Cecil Grainger, who had + not taken his eyes from her, except to blink. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Kame saved her the embarrassment of replying. + </p> + <p> + “Can't we go somewhere and play bridge,” Trixy demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I'd be delighted to offer you the hospitality of my packing-case, as you + call it,” said Brent, “but the dining-room ceiling fell down Wednesday, + and I'm having the others bolstered up as a mere matter of precaution.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we couldn't get a fourth, anyway. Neither Jimmy nor Toots + plays. It's so stupid of them not to learn.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Spence might, help us out,” suggested Brent. + </p> + <p> + “Do you play?” exclaimed Mrs. Kame, in a voice of mixed incredulity and + hope. + </p> + <p> + “Play!” cried Mr. Brent, “she can teach Jerry Shorter or the Duchess of + Taunton.” + </p> + <p> + “The Duchess cheats,” announced Cecil Grainger. “I caught her at it at + Cannes—” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I don't play very well,” Honora interrupted him, “and besides—” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we go over to Mrs. Spence's house,” Trixton Brent suggested. “I'm + sure she'd like to have us wouldn't you, Mrs. Spence?” + </p> + <p> + “What a brilliant idea, Trixy!” exclaimed Mrs. Kame. + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted,” said Honora, somewhat weakly. An impulse made her + glance toward the veranda, and for a fraction of a second she caught the + eye of Lily Dallam, who turned again to Mrs. Chandos. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said Mr. Cuthbert, “I don't play—but I hope I may come + along.” + </p> + <p> + “And me too,” chimed in Mr. Wing. + </p> + <p> + Honora, not free from a certain uneasiness of conscience, led the way to + the Brackens, flanked by Mr. Grainger and Mr. Cuthbert. Her frame of mind + was not an ideal one for a hostess; she was put out with Trixton Brent, + and she could not help wondering whether these people would have made + themselves so free with another house. When tea was over, however, and the + bridge had begun, her spirits rose; or rather, a new and strange + excitement took possession of her that was not wholly due to the novel and + revolutionary experience of playing, for money—and winning. Her star + being in the ascendant, as we may perceive. She had drawn Mrs. Kame for a + partner, and the satisfaction and graciousness of that lady visibly grew + as the score mounted: even the skill of Trixton Brent could not triumph + over the hands which the two ladies held. + </p> + <p> + In the intervals the talk wandered into regions unfamiliar to Honora, and + she had a sense that her own horizon was being enlarged. A new vista, at + least, had been cut: possibilities became probabilities. Even when Mrs. + Kame chose to ridicule Quicksands Honora was silent, so keenly did she + feel the justice of her guest's remarks; and the implication was that + Honora did not belong there. When train time arrived and they were about + to climb into Trixton Brent's omnibus—for which he had obligingly + telephoned—Mrs. Kame took Honora's band in both her own. Some good + thing, after all, could come out of this community—such was the + triumphant discovery the lady's manner implied. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, don't you ever come to Banbury?” she asked. “I'd be so glad to + see you. I must get Trixy to drive you over some day for lunch. We've had + such a good time, and Cecil didn't fall asleep once. Quite a record. You + saved our lives, really.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to be in town this winter?” Mr. Grainger inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I,—I suppose so—replied Honora, for the moment taken aback, + although I haven't decided just where.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall look forward to seeing you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + This hope was expressed even more fervently by Mr. Cuthbert and Mr. Wing, + and the whole party waved her a cordial good-by as the carriage turned the + circle. Trixton Brent, with his hands in his pockets, stood facing her + under the electric light on the porch. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” repeated Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Nice people,” said Mr. Brent. + </p> + <p> + Honora bridled. + </p> + <p> + “You invited them here,” she said. “I must say I think it, was rather—presumptuous. + And you've got me into no end of trouble with Lily Dallam.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed as he held open the screen door for her. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder whether a good angel was ever so abused,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “A good angel,” she repeated, smiling at him in spite of herself. + </p> + <p> + “Or knight-errant,” he continued, “whichever you choose. You want to get + out of Quicksands—I'm trying to make it easy for you. Before you + leave you have to arrange some place to go. Before we are off with the old + we'd better be on with the new.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please don't say such things,” she cried, “they're so—so + sordid.” She looked searchingly into his face. “Do I really seem to you + like that?” + </p> + <p> + Her lip was quivering, and she was still under the influence of the + excitement which the visit of these people had brought about. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Brent—coming very close to her, “no, you don't. That's + the extraordinary part of it. The trouble with you, Honora, is that you + want something badly very badly—and you haven't yet found out what + it is. + </p> + <p> + “And you won't find out,” he added, “until you have tried everything. + Therefore am I a good Samaritan, or something like it.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with startled eyes, breathing deeply. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if that is so!” she said, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Not until you have had and broken every toy in the shop,” he declared. + “Out of the mouths of men of the world occasionally issues wisdom. I'm + going to help you get the toys. Don't you think I'm kind?” + </p> + <p> + “And isn't this philanthropic mood a little new to you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I had exhausted all novelties,” he answered. “Perhaps that's + the reason why I enjoy it.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and walked slowly into the drawing-room, halted, and stood + staring at the heap of gold and yellow bills that Mr. Grainger had + deposited in front of the place where she had sat. Her sensation was akin + to sickness. She reached out with a kind of shuddering fascination and + touched the gold. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” she said, speaking rather to herself than to Brent, “I'll give + it to charity.” + </p> + <p> + “If it is possible to combine a meritorious act with good policy, I should + suggest giving it to Mrs. Grainger for the relief of oppressed working + girls,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Honora started. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why Howard doesn't come she exclaimed, looking at the clock. + </p> + <p> + “Probably because he is holding nothing but full hands and flushes,” + hazarded Mr. Brent. “Might I propose myself for dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “When so many people are clamouring for you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Even so,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll telephone to the Club,” said Honora, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + It was some time before her husband responded to the call; and then he + explained that if Honora didn't object, he was going to a man's dinner in + a private room. The statement was not unusual. + </p> + <p> + “But, Howard,” she said, “I—I wanted you particularly to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were going to dine with Lily Dallam. She told me you were. + Are you alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Brent is here. He brought over some Banbury people to play bridge. + They've gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Brent will amuse you,” he replied. “I didn't know you were going to + be home, and I've promised these men. I'll come back early.” + </p> + <p> + She hung up the receiver thoughtfully, paused a moment, and went back to + the drawing-room. Brent looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “was I right?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem always to be right,” Honora, sighed. + </p> + <p> + After dinner they sat in the screened part of the porch which Mrs. Fern + had arranged very cleverly as an outside room. Brent had put a rug over + Honora's knees, for the ocean breath that stirred the leaves was cold. + Across the darkness fragments of dance music drifted fitfully from the + Club, and died away; and at intervals, when the embers of his cigar flared + up, she caught sight of her companion's face. + </p> + <p> + She found him difficult to understand. There are certain rules of thumb in + every art, no doubt,—even in that most perilous one of lion-taming. + But here was a baffling, individual lion. She liked him best, she told + herself, when he purred platonically, but she could by no means be sure + that his subjection was complete. Sometimes he had scratched her in his + play. And however natural it is to desire a lion for one's friend, to be + eaten is both uncomfortable and inglorious. + </p> + <p> + “That's a remarkable husband of yours,” he said at length. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't have said that you were a particularly good judge of + husbands,” she retorted, after a moment of surprise. + </p> + <p> + He acknowledged with a laugh the justice of this observation. + </p> + <p> + “I stand corrected. He is by no means a remarkable husband. Permit me to + say he is a remarkable man.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think so?” asked Honora, considerably disturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Because he induced you to marry him, for one thing,” said Brent. “Of + course he got you before you knew what you were worth, but we must give + him credit for discovery and foresight.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” Honora could not resist replying, “perhaps he didn't know what + he was getting.” + </p> + <p> + “That's probably true,” Brent assented, “or he'd be sitting here now, + where I am, instead of playing poker. Although there is something in + matrimony that takes the bloom off the peach.” + </p> + <p> + “I think that's a horrid, cynical remark,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “we speak according to our experiences—that is, if + we're not inclined to be hypocritical. Most women are.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was silent. He had thrown away his cigar, and she could no longer + see his face. She wondered whither he was leading. + </p> + <p> + “How would you like to see your husband president of a trust company?” he + said suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Howard—president of a trust company!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he demanded. And added enigmatically, “Smaller men have been.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't joke about Howard,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “How does the idea strike you?” he persisted. “Ambition satisfied—temporarily; + Quicksands a mile-stone on a back road; another toy to break; husband a + big man in the community, so far as the eye can see; visiting list on + Fifth Avenue, and all that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I once told you you could be brutal,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't told me what you thought of the idea.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd be sensible once in a while,” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Howard Spence, President of the Orange Trust Company!” he recited. “I + suppose no man is a hero to his wife. Does it sound so incredible?” + </p> + <p> + It did. But Honora did not say so. + </p> + <p> + “What have I to do with it?” she asked, in pardonable doubt as to his + seriousness. + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” answered Brent. “Women of your type usually have. They make + and mar without rhyme or reason—set business by the ears, alter the + gold reserve, disturb the balance of trade, and nobody ever suspects it. + Old James Wing and I have got a trust company organized, and the building + up, and the man Wing wanted for president backed out.” + </p> + <p> + Honora sat up. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why did he 'back out'?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “He preferred to stay where he was, I suppose,” replied Brent, in another + tone. “The point is that the place is empty. I'll give it to YOU.” + </p> + <p> + “To me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Brent, “I don't pretend to care anything about your + husband. He'll do as well as the next man. His duties are pretty well—defined.” + </p> + <p> + Again she was silent. But after a moment dropped back in her chair and + laughed uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “You're preposterous,” she said; “I can't think why I let you talk to me + in this way.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. OF MENTAL PROCESSES—FEMININE AND INSOLUBLE + </h2> + <p> + Honora may be pardoned for finally ascribing to Mr. Brent's somewhat + sardonic sense of humour his remarks concerning her husband's elevation to + a conspicuous position in the world of finance. Taken in any other sense + than a joke, they were both insulting and degrading, and made her face + burn when she thought of them. After he had gone—or rather after she + had dismissed him—she took a book upstairs to wait for Howard, but + she could not read. At times she wished she had rebuked Trixton Brent more + forcibly, although he was not an easy person to rebuke; and again she + reflected that, had she taken the matter too seriously, she would have + laid herself open to his ridicule. The lion was often unwittingly rough, + and perhaps that was part of his fascination. + </p> + <p> + If Howard had come home before midnight it is possible that she might have + tried to sound him as to his relations with Trixton Brent. That gentleman, + she remembered, had the reputation of being a peculiarly hardheaded + business man, and it was of course absurd that he should offer her husband + a position merely to please her. And her imagination failed her when she + tried to think of Howard as the president of a trust company. She was + unable to picture him in a great executive office: + </p> + <p> + This train of thought led her to the unaccustomed task of analyzing his + character. For the first time since her marriage comparisons crept into + her mind, and she awoke to the fact that he was not a masterful man—even + among men. For all his self-confidence-self-assurance, perhaps, would be + the better word—he was in reality a follower, not a leader; a + gleaner. He did not lack ideas. She tried to arrest the process in her + brain when she got as far as asking herself whether it might not be that + he lacked ideals. Since in business matters he never had taken her into + his confidence, and since she would not at any rate have understood such + things, she had no proof of such a failing. But one or two vague remarks + of Trixton Brent's which she recalled, and Howard's own request that she + should be friendly with Brent, reenforced her instinct on this point. + </p> + <p> + When she heard her husband's footstep on the porch, she put out her light, + but still lay thinking in the darkness. Her revelations had arrived at the + uncomfortable stage where they began to frighten her, and with an effort + she forced herself to turn to the other side of the account. The hour was + conducive to exaggerations. Perfection in husbands was evidently a state + not to be considered by any woman in her right senses. He was more or less + amenable, and he was prosperous, although definite news of that prosperity + never came from him—Quicksands always knew of it first. An instance + of this second-hand acquisition of knowledge occurred the very next + morning, when Lily Dallam, with much dignity, walked into Honora's little + sitting-room. There was no apparent reason why dignity should not have + been becoming to Lily Dallam, for she was by no means an + unimpressive-looking woman; but the assumption by her of that quality + always made her a little tragic or (if one chanced to be in the humour—Honora + was not) a little ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I have no pride,” she said, as she halted within a few feet of + the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Lily!” exclaimed Honora, pushing back the chair from her desk, and + rising. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Dallam did not move. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I have no pride,” she repeated in a dead voice, “but I just + couldn't help coming over and giving you a chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Giving me a chance?” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “To explain—after the way you treated me at the polo game. If I + hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I shouldn't have believed it. I don't + think I should have trusted my own eyes,” Mrs. Dallam went so far as to + affirm, “if Lula Chandos and Clara Trowbridge and others hadn't been there + and seen it too; I shouldn't have believed it.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was finding penitence a little difficult. But her heart was kind. + </p> + <p> + “Do sit down, Lily,” she begged. “If I've offended you in any way, I'm + exceedingly sorry—I am, really. You ought to know me well enough to + understand that I wouldn't do anything to hurt your feelings.” + </p> + <p> + “And when I counted on you so, for my tea and dinner at the club!” + continued Mrs. Dallam. “There were other women dying to come. And you said + you had a headache, and were tired.” + </p> + <p> + “I was,” began Honora, fruitlessly. + </p> + <p> + “And you were so popular in Quicksands—everybody was crazy about + you. You were so sweet and so unspoiled. I might have known that it + couldn't last. And now, because Abby Kame and Cecil Grainger and—” + </p> + <p> + “Lily, please don't say such things!” Honora implored, revolted. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you won't be satisfied now with anything less than Banbury or + Newport. But you can't say I didn't warn you, Honora, that they are a + horrid, selfish, fast lot,” Lily Dallam declared, and brushed her eyes + with her handkerchief. “I did love you.” + </p> + <p> + “If you'll only be reasonable a moment, Lily,—” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Reasonable! I saw you with my own eyes. Five minutes after you left me + they all started for your house, and Lula Chandos said it was the quickest + cure of a headache she had ever seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily,” Honora began again, with exemplary patience, “when people invite + themselves to one's house, it's a little difficult to refuse them + hospitality, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Invite themselves?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Honora. “If I weren't—fond of you, too, I shouldn't + make this explanation. I was tired. I never felt less like entertaining + strangers. They wanted to play bridge, there wasn't a quiet spot in the + Club where they could go. They knew I was on my way home, and they + suggested my house. That is how it happened.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dallam was silent a moment. + </p> + <p> + “May I have one of Howard's cigarettes?” she asked, and added, after this + modest wish had been supplied, “that's just like them. They're willing to + make use of anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “I meant,” said Honora, “to have gone to your house this morning and to + have explained how it happened.” + </p> + <p> + Another brief silence, broken by Lily Dallam. + </p> + <p> + “Did you notice the skirt of that suit Abby Kame had on?”, she asked. “I'm + sure she paid a fabulous price for it in Paris, and it's exactly like one + I ordered on Tuesday.” + </p> + <p> + The details of the rest of this conversation may be omitted. That Honora + was forgiven, and Mrs. Dallam's spirits restored may be inferred from her + final remark. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, what do you think of Sid and Howard making twenty thousand + dollars apiece in Sassafras Copper? Isn't it too lovely! I'm having a + little architect make me plans for a conservatory. You know I've always + been dying for one—I don't see how I've lived all these years + without it.” + </p> + <p> + Honora, after her friend had gone, sat down in one of the wicker chairs on + the porch. She had a very vague idea as to how much twenty thousand + dollars was, but she reflected that while they had lived in Rivington + Howard must have made many similar sums, of which she was unaware. + Gradually she began to realize, however, that her resentment of the lack + of confidence of her husband was by no means the only cause of the feeling + that took possession of and overwhelmed her. Something like it she had + experienced before: to-day her thoughts seemed to run through her in + pulsations, like waves of heat, and she wondered that she could have + controlled herself while listening to Lily Dallam. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dallam's reproaches presented themselves to Honora in new aspects. + She began to feel now, with an intensity that frightened her, distaste and + rebellion. It was intolerable that she should be called to account for the + people she chose to have in her house, that any sort of pressure should be + brought to bear on her to confine her friends to Quicksands. Treason, + heresy, disloyalty to the cult of that community—in reality these, + and not a breach of engagement, were the things of which she had been + accused. She saw now. She would not be tied to Quicksands—she would + not, she would not, she would not! She owed it no allegiance. Her very + soul rebelled at the thought, and cried out that she was made for + something better, something higher than the life she had been leading. She + would permit no one forcibly to restrict her horizon. + </p> + <p> + Just where and how this higher and better life was to be found Honora did + not know; but the belief of her childhood—that it existed somewhere—was + still intact. Her powers of analysis, we see, are only just budding, and + she did not and could not define the ideal existence which she so + unflaggingly sought. Of two of its attributes only she was sure—that + it was to be free from restraint and from odious comparisons. Honora's + development, it may be remarked, proceeds by the action of irritants, and + of late her protest against Quicksands and what it represented had driven + her to other books besides the treatise on bridge. The library she had + collected at Rivington she had brought with her, and was adding to it from + time to time. Its volumes are neither sufficiently extensive or profound + to enumerate. + </p> + <p> + Those who are more or less skilled in psychology may attempt to establish + a sequence between the events and reflections just related and the fact + that, one morning a fortnight later, Honora found herself driving + northward on Fifth Avenue in a hansom cab. She was in a pleasurable state + of adventurous excitement, comparable to that Columbus must have felt when + the shores of the Old World had disappeared below the horizon. During the + fortnight we have skipped Honora had been to town several times, and had + driven and walked through certain streets: inspiration, courage, and + decision had all arrived at once this morning, when at the ferry she had + given the cabman this particular address on Fifth Avenue. + </p> + <p> + The cab, with the jerking and thumping peculiar to hansoms, made a circle + and drew up at the curb. But even then a moment of irresolution + intervened, and she sat staring through the little side window at the + sign, T. Gerald Shorter, Real Estate, in neat gold letters over the + basement floor of the building. + </p> + <p> + “Here y'are, Miss,” said the cabman through the hole in the roof. + </p> + <p> + Honora descended, and was almost at the flight of steps leading down to + the office door when a familiar figure appeared coming out of it. It was + that of Mr. Toots Cuthbert, arrayed in a faultless morning suit, his tie + delicately suggestive of falling leaves; and there dangled over his arm + the slenderest of walking sticks. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Spence!” he lisped, with every appearance of joy. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cuthbert!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Going in to see Jerry?” he inquired after he had put on his hat, nodding + up at the sign. + </p> + <p> + “I—that is, yes, I had thought of it,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Town house?” said Mr. Cuthbert, with a knowing smile. + </p> + <p> + “I did have an idea of looking at houses,” she confessed, somewhat taken + aback. + </p> + <p> + “I'm your man,” announced Mr. Cuthbert. + </p> + <p> + “You!” exclaimed Honora, with an air of considering the lilies of the + field. But he did not seem to take offence. + </p> + <p> + “That's my business,” he proclaimed,—“when in town. Jerry gives me a + commission. Come in and see him, while I get a list and some keys. By the + way, you wouldn't object to telling him you were a friend of mine, would + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said Honora, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Shorter was a jovial gentleman in loose-fitting clothes, and he was + exceedingly glad to meet Mr. Cuthbert's friend. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a house do you want, Mrs. Spence?” he asked. “Cuthbert tells + me this morning that the Whitworth house has come into the market. You + couldn't have a better location than that, on the Avenue between the + Cathedral and the Park.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Honora with a gasp, “that's much too expensive, I'm sure. And + there are only two of us.” She hesitated, a little alarmed at the rapidity + with which affairs were proceeding, and added: “I ought to tell you that + I've not really decided to take a house. I wished to—to see what + there was to be had, and then I should have to consult my husband.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed very seriously into Mr. Shorter's brown eyes, which became very + wide and serious, too. But all the time it seemed to her that other parts + of him were laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Husbands,” he declared, “are kill-joys. What have they got to do with a + house—except to sleep in it? Now I haven't the pleasure of knowing + you as well as I hope to one of these days, Mrs. Spence—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say!” interrupted Mr. Cuthbert. + </p> + <p> + “But I venture to predict, on a slight acquaintance,” continued Mr. + Shorter, undisturbed, “that you will pick out the house you want, and that + your husband will move into it.” + </p> + <p> + Honora could not help laughing. And Mr. Shorter leaned back in his + revolving chair and laughed, too, in so alarming a manner as to lead her + to fear he would fall over backwards. But Mr. Cuthbert, who did not appear + to perceive the humour in this conversation, extracted some keys and + several pasteboard slips from a rack in the corner. Suddenly Mr. Shorter + jerked himself upright again, and became very solemn. + </p> + <p> + “Where's my hat?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want with your hat?” Mr. Cuthbert inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'm going with you, of course,” Mr. Shorter replied. “I've decided + to take a personal interest in this matter. You may regard my presence, + Cuthbert, as justified by an artistic passion for my profession. I should + never forgive myself if Mrs. Spence didn't get just the right house.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mr. Cuthbert, “I'll manage that all right. I thought you were + going to see the representative of a syndicate at eleven.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Shorter, with a sigh, acknowledged this necessity, and escorted Honora + gallantly through the office and across the sidewalk to the waiting + hansom. Cuthbert got in beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Jerry's a joker,” he observed as they drove off, “you mustn't mind him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he's delightful,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “One wouldn't believe that a man of his size and appearance could be so + fond of women,” said Mr. Cuthbert. “He's the greatest old lady-killer that + ever breathed. For two cents he would have come with us this morning, and + let a five thousand dollar commission go. Do you know Mrs. Shorter?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Honora. “She looks most attractive. I caught a glimpse of + her at the polo that day with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been at her house in Newport ever since. Came down yesterday to try + to earn some money,” he continued, cheerfully making himself agreeable. + “Deuced clever woman, much too clever for me and Jerry too. Always in a + tete-a-tete with an antiquarian or a pathologist, or a psychologist, and + tells novelists what to put into their next books and jurists how to + decide cases. Full of modern and liberal ideas—believes in free love + and all that sort of thing, and gives Jerry the dickens for practising + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” exclaimed Honora. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cuthbert, however, did not appear to realize that he had shocked her. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” he asked, “have you seen Cecil Grainger since the Quicksands + game?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied. “Has Mr. Grainger been at Quicksands since?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody knows where he's been,” answered Mr. Cuthbert. “It's a mystery. He + hasn't been home—at Newport, I mean-for a fortnight. He's never + stayed away so long without letting any one know where he is. Naturally + they thought he was at Mrs. Kame's in Banbury, but she hasn't laid eyes on + him. It's a mystery. My own theory is that he went to sleep in a parlour + car and was sent to the yards, and hasn't waked up.” + </p> + <p> + “And isn't Mrs. Grainger worried?” asked Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you never can tell anything about her,” he said. “Do you know her? + She's a sphinx. All the Pendletons are Stoics. And besides, she's been so + busy with this Charities Conference that she hasn't had time to think of + Cecil. Who's that?” + </p> + <p> + “That” was a lady from Rivington, one of Honora's former neighbours, to + whom she had bowed. Life, indeed, is full of contrasts. Mr. Cuthbert, too, + was continually bowing and waving to acquaintances on the Avenue. + </p> + <p> + Thus pleasantly conversing, they arrived at the first house on the list, + and afterwards went through a succession of them. Once inside, Honora + would look helplessly about her in the darkness while her escort would + raise the shades, admitting a gloomy light on bare interiors or shrouded + furniture. + </p> + <p> + And the rents: Four, five, six, and seven and eight thousand dollars a + year. Pride prevented her from discussing these prices with Mr. Cuthbert; + and in truth, when lunch time came, she had seen nothing which realized + her somewhat vague but persistent ideals. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so much obliged to you,” she said, “and I hope you'll forgive me for + wasting your time.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cuthbert smiled broadly, and Honora smiled too. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, there was something ludicrous in the remark. He assumed an + attitude of reflection. + </p> + <p> + “I imagine you wouldn't care to go over beyond Lexington Avenue, would + you? I didn't think to ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied, blushing a little, “I shouldn't care to go over as far + as that.” + </p> + <p> + He pondered a while longer, when suddenly his face lighted up. + </p> + <p> + “I've got it!” he cried, “the very thing—why didn't. I think of it? + Dicky Farnham's house, or rather his wife's house. I'll get it straight + after a while,—she isn't his wife any more, you know; she married + Eustace Rindge last month. That's the reason it's for rent. Dicky says + he'll never get married again—you bet! They planned it together, + laid the corner-stone and all that sort of thing, and before it was + finished she had a divorce and had gone abroad with Rindge. I saw her + before she sailed, and she begged me to rent it. But it isn't furnished.” + </p> + <p> + “I might look at it,” said Honora, dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure it will just suit you,” he declared with enthusiasm. “It's a + real find. We'll drive around by the office and get the keys.” + </p> + <p> + The house was between Fifth Avenue and Madison, on a cross street not far + below Fifty-Ninth, and Honora had scarcely entered the little oak-panelled + hall before she had forgotten that Mr. Cuthbert was a real estate agent—a + most difficult thing to remember. + </p> + <p> + Upstairs, the drawing-room was flooded with sunlight that poured in + through a window with stone mullions and leaded panes extending the entire + width of the house. Against the wall stood a huge stone mantel of the + Tudor period, and the ceiling was of wood. Behind the little hall a cosey + library lighted by a well, and behind that an ample dining-room. And + Honora remembered to have seen, in a shop on Fourth Avenue, just the + sideboard for such a setting. + </p> + <p> + On the third floor, as Mr. Cuthbert pointed out, there was a bedroom and + boudoir for Mrs. Spence, and a bedroom and dressing-room for Mr. Spence. + Into the domestic arrangement of the house, however important, we need not + penetrate. The rent was eight thousand dollars, which Mr. Cuthbert thought + extremely reasonable. + </p> + <p> + “Eight thousand dollars!” As she stood with her back turned, looking out + on the street, some trick of memory brought into her mind the fact that + she had once heard her uncle declare that he had bought his house and lot + for that exact sum. And as cashier of Mr. Isham's bank, he did not earn so + much in a year. + </p> + <p> + She had found the house, indeed, but the other and mightier half of the + task remained, of getting Howard into it. In the consideration of this + most difficult of problems Honora, who in her exaltation had beheld + herself installed in every room, grew suddenly serious. She was startled + out of her reflections by a remark of almost uncanny penetration on the + part of Mr. Cuthbert. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he'll come round all right, when he sees the house,” that young + gentleman declared. + </p> + <p> + Honora turned quickly, and, after a moment of astonishment, laughed in + spite of herself. It was impossible not to laugh with Mr. Cuthbert, so + irresistible and debonair was he, so confiding and sympathetic, that he + became; before one knew it, an accomplice. Had he not poured out to + Honora, with a charming gayety and frankness, many of his financial + troubles? + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid he'll think it frightfully expensive,” she answered, becoming + thoughtful once more. And it did not occur to her that neither of them had + mentioned the individual to whom they referred. + </p> + <p> + “Wait until he's feeling tiptop,” Mr. Cuthbert advised, “and then bring + him up here in a hurry. I say, I hope you do take the house,” he added, + with a boyish seriousness after she had refused his appeal to lunch with + him, “and that you will let me come and see you once in a while.” + </p> + <p> + She lunched alone, in a quiet corner of the dining-room of one of the + large hotels, gazing at intervals absently out of the window. And by the + middle of the afternoon she found herself, quite unexpectedly, in the + antique furniture shop, gazing at the sideboard and a set of + leather-seated Jacobean chairs, and bribing the dealer with a smile to + hold them for a few days until she could decide whether she wished them. + In a similar mood of abstraction she boarded the ferry, but it was not + until the boat had started on its journey that she became aware of a trim, + familiar figure in front of her, silhouetted against the ruffed blue + waters of the river—Trixton Brent's. And presently, as though the + concentration of her thoughts upon his back had summoned him, he turned. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been all this time?” she asked. “I haven't seen you for an + age.” + </p> + <p> + “To Seattle.” + </p> + <p> + “To Seattle!” she exclaimed. “What were you doing there?” + </p> + <p> + “Trying to forget you,” he replied promptly, “and incidentally attempting + to obtain control of some properties. Both efforts, I may add, were + unsuccessful.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “And what mischief,” he demanded, “have you been up to?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll never guess!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Preparing for the exodus,” he hazarded. + </p> + <p> + “You surely don't expect me to stay in Quicksands all winter?” she + replied, a little guiltily. + </p> + <p> + “Quicksands,” he declared, “has passed into history.” + </p> + <p> + “You always insist upon putting a wrong interpretation upon what I do,” + she complained. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What interpretation do you put on it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “A most natural and praiseworthy one,” she answered. “Education, + improvement, growth—these things are as necessary for a woman as for + a man. Of course I don't expect you to believe that—your idea of + women not being a very exalted one.” + </p> + <p> + He did not reply, for at that instant the bell rang, the passengers + pressed forward about them, and they were soon in the midst of the + confusion of a landing. It was not until they were seated in adjoining + chairs of the parlour-car that the conversation was renewed. + </p> + <p> + “When do you move to town?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + However simple Mr. Brent's methods of reasoning may appear to others, his + apparent clairvoyance never failed to startle Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody has told you that I've been looking at houses!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Have you found one?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I have found one. It belongs to some people named Farnham—they're + divorced.” + </p> + <p> + “Dicky Farnham's ex-wife,” he supplied. “I know where it is—unexceptionable + neighbourhood and all that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “And it's just finished,” continued Honora, her enthusiasm gaining on her + as she spoke of the object which had possessed her mind for four hours. + “It's the most enchanting house, and so sunny for New York. If I had built + it myself it could not have suited me better. Only—” + </p> + <p> + “Only—” repeated Trixton Brent, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said slowly, “I really oughtn't to talk about it. I—I + haven't said anything to Howard yet, and he may not like it. I ran across + it by the merest accident.” + </p> + <p> + “What will you give me,” he said, “if I can induce Howard to like it?” + </p> + <p> + “My eternal friendship,” she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “That's not enough,” said Trixton Brent. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. INTRODUCING A REVOLUTIONIZING VEHICLE + </h2> + <p> + “Howard,” said Honora that evening, “I've been going through houses + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Houses!” he exclaimed, looking up from his newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “And I've been most fortunate,” she continued. “I found one that Mrs. + Farnham built—she is now Mrs. Rindge. It is just finished, and so + attractive. If I'd looked until doomsday I couldn't have done any better.” + </p> + <p> + “But great Scott!” he ejaculated, “what put the notion of a town house + into your head?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it high time to be thinking of the winter?” she asked. “It's nearly + the end of September.” + </p> + <p> + He was inarticulate for a few moments, in an evident desperate attempt to + rally his forces to meet such an unforeseen attack. + </p> + <p> + “Who said anything about going to town?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Howard, don't be foolish,” she replied. “Surely you didn't expect to + stay in Quicksands all winter?” + </p> + <p> + “Foolish!” he repeated, and added inconsequently, “why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Honora, calmly, “I have a life to lead as well as you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you weren't satisfied until you got to Quicksands, and now you want + to leave it.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't bargain to stay here in the winter,” she declared. “You know + very well that if you were unfortunate it would be different. But you're + quite prosperous.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” he demanded unguardedly. + </p> + <p> + “Quicksands tells me,” she said. “It is—a little humiliating not to + have more of your confidence, and to hear such things from outsiders.” + </p> + <p> + “You never seemed interested in business matters,” he answered uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “I should be,” said Honora, “if you would only take the trouble to tell me + about them.” She stood up. “Howard, can't you see that it is making us—grow + apart? If you won't tell me about yourself and what you're doing, you + drive me to other interests. I am your wife, and I ought to know—I + want to know. The reason I don't understand is because you've never taken + the trouble to teach me. I wish to lead my own life, it is true—to + develop. I don't want to be like these other women down here. I—I + was made for something better. I'm sure of it. But I wish my life to be + joined to yours, too—and it doesn't seem to be. And sometimes—I'm + afraid I can't explain it to you—sometimes I feel lonely and + frightened, as though I might do something desperate. And I don't know + what's going to become of me.” + </p> + <p> + He laid down his newspaper and stared at her helplessly, with the air of a + man who suddenly finds himself at sea in a small boat without oars. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you can't understand!” she cried. “I might have known you never + could.” + </p> + <p> + He was, indeed, thoroughly perplexed and uncomfortable: unhappy might not + be too strong a word. He got up awkwardly and put his hand on her arm. She + did not respond. He drew her, limp and unresisting, down on the lounge + beside him. + </p> + <p> + “For heaven's sake, what is the matter, Honora?” he faltered. “I—I + thought we were happy. You were getting on all right, and seemed to be + having a good time down here. You never said anything about—this.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her head and looked at him—a long, searching look with + widened eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said slowly, “you don't understand. I suppose it isn't your + fault.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll try,” he said, “I don't like to see you—upset like this. I'll + do anything I can to make you happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Not things, not—not toys,” Trixton Brent's expression involuntarily + coming to her lips. “Oh, can't you see I'm not that kind of a woman? I + don't want to be bought. I want you, whatever you are, if you are. I want + to be saved. Take care of me—see a little more of me—be a + little interested in what I think. God gave me a mind, and—other men + have discovered it. You don't know, you can't know, what temptations you + subject me to. It isn't right, Howard. And oh, it is humiliating not to be + able to interest one's husband.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do interest me,” he protested. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Not so much as your business,” she said; “not nearly so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I have been too absorbed,” he confessed. “One thing has followed + another. I didn't suspect that you felt this way. Come, I'll try to brace + up.” He pressed her to him. “Don't feel badly. You're overwrought. You've + exaggerated the situation, Honora. We'll go in on the eight o'clock train + together and look at the house—although I'm afraid it's a little + steep,” he added cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care anything about the house,” said Honora. “I don't want it.” + </p> + <p> + “There!” he said soothingly, “you'll feel differently in the morning. + We'll go and look at it, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Her quick ear, however, detected an undertone which, if not precisely + resentment, was akin to the vexation that an elderly gentleman might be + justified in feeling who has taken the same walk for twenty years, and is + one day struck by a falling brick. Howard had not thought of consulting + her in regard to remaining all winter in Quicksands. And, although he + might not realize it himself, if he should consent to go to New York one + reason for his acquiescence would be that the country in winter offered a + more or less favourable atmosphere for the recurrence of similar + unpleasant and unaccountable domestic convulsions. Business demands peace + at any price. And the ultimatum at Rivington, though delivered in so + different a manner, recurred to him. + </p> + <p> + The morning sunlight, as is well known, is a dispeller of moods, a + disintegrator of the night's fantasies. It awoke Honora at what for her + was a comparatively early hour, and as she dressed rapidly she heard her + husband whistling in his room. It is idle to speculate on the phenomenon + taking place within her, and it may merely be remarked in passing that she + possessed a quality which, in a man, leads to a career and fame. + Unimagined numbers of America's women possess that quality—a fact + that is becoming more and more apparent every day. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Honora!” Howard exclaimed, as she appeared at the breakfast table. + “What's happened to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you forgotten already,” she asked, smilingly, as she poured out her + coffee, “that we are going to town together?” + </p> + <p> + He readjusted his newspaper against the carafe. + </p> + <p> + “How much do you think Mrs. Farnham—or Mrs. Rindge—is worth?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I don't know,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Old Marshall left her five million dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “What has that to do with it?” inquired Honora. + </p> + <p> + “She isn't going to rent, especially in that part of town, for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it be wiser, Howard, to wait and see the house. You know you + proposed it yourself, and it won't take very much of your time.” + </p> + <p> + He returned to a perusal of the financial column, but his eye from time to + time wandered from the sheet to his wife, who was reading her letters. + </p> + <p> + “Howard,” she said, “I feel dreadfully about Mrs. Holt. We haven't been at + Silverdale all summer. Here's a note from her saying she'll be in town + to-morrow for the Charities Conference, asking me to come to see her at + her hotel. I think I'll go to Silverdale a little later.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you?” he said. “It would do you good.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “My only day of the week is Sunday, Honora. You know that. And I wouldn't + spend another day at Silverdale if they gave me a deed to the property,” + he declared. + </p> + <p> + On the train, when Howard had returned from the smoking car and they were + about to disembark at Long Island City, they encountered Mr. Trixton + Brent. + </p> + <p> + “Whither away?” he cried in apparent astonishment. “Up at dawn, and the + eight o'clock train!” + </p> + <p> + “We were going to look at a house,” explained Honora, “and Howard has no + other time.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go, too,” declared Mr. Brent, promptly. “You mightn't think me a + judge of houses, but I am. I've lived in so many bad ones that I know a + good one when I see it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Honora has got a wild notion into her head that I'm going to take the + Farnham house,” said Howard, smiling. There, on the deck of the ferryboat, + in the flooding sunlight, the idea seemed to give him amusement. With the + morning light Pharaoh must have hardened his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you are,” said Mr. Brent, conveying to Honora his delight + in the situation by a scarcely perceptible wink. “I shouldn't like to take + the other end of the bet. Why shouldn't you? You're fat and healthy and + making money faster than you can gather it in.” + </p> + <p> + Howard coughed, and laughed a little, uncomfortably. Trixton Brent was not + a man to offend. + </p> + <p> + “Honora has got that delusion, too,” he replied. He steeled himself in his + usual manner for the ordeal to come by smoking a cigarette, for the + arrival of such a powerful ally on his wife's side lent a different aspect + to the situation. + </p> + <p> + Honora, during this colloquy, was silent. She was a little uncomfortable, + and pretended not to see Mr. Brent's wink. + </p> + <p> + “Incredible as it may seem, I expected to have my automobile ready this + morning,” he observed; “we might have gone in that. It landed three days + ago, but so far it has failed to do anything but fire off revolver shots.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I do wish you had it,” said Honora, relieved by the change of + subject. “To drive in one must be such a wonderful sensation.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll let you know when it stops shooting up the garage and consents to + move out,” he said. “I'll take you down to Quicksands in it.” + </p> + <p> + The prospective arrival of Mr. Brent's French motor car, which was looked + for daily, had indeed been one of the chief topics of conversation at + Quicksands that summer. He could appear at no lunch or dinner party + without being subjected to a shower of questions as to where it was, and + as many as half a dozen different women among whom was Mrs. Chandos—declared + that he had promised to bring them out from New York on the occasion of + its triumphal entry into the colony. Honora, needless to say, had betrayed + no curiosity. + </p> + <p> + Neither Mr. Shorter nor Mr. Cuthbert had appeared at the real estate + office when, at a little after nine o'clock; Honora asked for the keys. + And an office boy, perched on the box seat of the carriage, drove with + them to the house and opened the wrought-iron gate that guarded the + entrance, and the massive front door. Honora had a sense of unreality as + they entered, and told herself it was obviously ridiculous that she should + aspire to such a dwelling. Yesterday, under the spell of that somewhat + adventurous excursion with Mr. Cuthbert, she had pictured herself as + installed. He had contrived somehow to give her a sense of intimacy with + the people who lived thereabout—his own friends. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was her husband who was the disillusionizing note as he stood + on the polished floor of the sunflooded drawing-room. Although bare of + furniture, it was eloquent to Honora of a kind of taste not to be found at + Quicksands: it carried her back, by undiscernible channels of thought, to + the impression which, in her childhood, the Hanbury mansion had always + made. Howard, in her present whimsical fancy, even seemed a little + grotesque in such a setting. His inevitable pink shirt and obviously + prosperous clothes made discord there, and she knew in this moment that he + was appraising the house from a commercial standpoint. His comment + confirmed her guess. + </p> + <p> + “If I were starting out to blow myself, or you, Honora,” he said, poking + with his stick a marmouset of the carved stone mantel, “I'd get a little + more for my money while I was about it.” + </p> + <p> + Honora did not reply. She looked out of the window instead. + </p> + <p> + “See here, old man,” said Trixton Brent, “I'm not a real estate dealer or + an architect, but if I were in your place I'd take that carriage and + hustle over to Jerry Shorter's as fast as I could and sign the lease.” + </p> + <p> + Howard looked at him in some surprise, as one who had learned that Trixton + Brent's opinions were usually worth listening to. Characteristically, he + did not like to display his ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean, Brent,” he replied, “and there may be something to + the argument. It gives an idea of conservativeness and prosperity.” + </p> + <p> + “You've made a bull's-eye,” said Trixton Brent, succinctly. + </p> + <p> + “But—but I'm not ready to begin on this scale,” objected Howard. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” cried Brent, with evident zest—for he was a man who enjoyed + sport in all its forms, even to baiting the husbands of his friends,—“when + I first set eyes on you, old fellow, I thought you knew a thing or two, + and you've made a few turns since that confirmed the opinion. But I'm + beginning to perceive that you have limitations. I could sit down here + now, if there were any place to sit, and calculate how much living in this + house would be worth to me in Wall Street.” + </p> + <p> + Honora, who had been listening uneasily, knew that a shrewder or more + disturbing argument could not have been used on her husband; and it came + from Trixton Brent—to Howard at least—ex cathedra. She was + filled with a sense of shame, which was due not solely to the fact that + she was a little conscience-stricken because of her innocent complicity, + nor that her husband did not resent an obvious attempt of a high-handed + man to browbeat him; but also to the feeling that the character of the + discussion had in some strange way degraded the house itself. Why was it + that everything she touched seemed to become contaminated? + </p> + <p> + “There's no use staying any longer,” she said. “Howard doesn't like it.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say so,” he interrupted. “There's something about the place that + grows on you. If I felt I could afford it—” + </p> + <p> + “At any rate,” declared Honora, trying to control her voice, “I've + decided, now I've seen it a second time, that I don't want it. I only + wished him to look at it,” she added, scornfully aware that she was taking + up the cudgels in his behalf. But she could not bring herself, in Brent's + presence, to declare that the argument of the rent seemed decisive. + </p> + <p> + Her exasperation was somewhat increased by the expression on Trixton + Brent's face, which plainly declared that he deemed her last remarks to be + the quintessence of tactics; and he obstinately refused, as they went down + the stairs to the street, to regard the matter as closed. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take him down town in the Elevated,” he said, as he put her into the + carriage. “The first round's a draw.” + </p> + <p> + She directed the driver to the ferry again, and went back to Quicksands. + Several times during the day she was on the point of telephoning Brent not + to try to persuade Howard to rent the house, and once she even got so far + as to take down the receiver. But when she reflected, it seemed an + impossible thing to do. At four o'clock she herself was called to the + telephone by Mr. Cray, a confidential clerk in Howard's office, who + informed her that her husband had been obliged to leave town suddenly on + business, and would not be home that night. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't he say where he was going?” asked Honora. + </p> + <p> + “He didn't even tell me, Mrs. Spence,” Cray replied, “and Mr. Dallam + doesn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear,” said Honora, “I hope he realizes that people are coming for + dinner to-morrow evening.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm positive, from what he said, that he'll be back some time to-morrow,” + Cray reassured her. + </p> + <p> + She refused an invitation to dine out, and retired shortly after her own + dinner with a novel so distracting that she gradually regained an equable + frame of mind. The uneasiness, the vague fear of the future, wore away, + and she slept peacefully. In the morning, however; she found on her + breakfast tray a note from Trixton Brent. + </p> + <p> + Her first feeling after reading it was one of relief that he had not + mentioned the house. He had written from a New York club, asking her to + lunch with him at Delmonico's that day and drive home in the motor. No + answer was required: if she did not appear at one o'clock, he would know + she couldn't come. + </p> + <p> + Honora took the eleven o'clock train, which gave her an hour after she + arrived in New York to do as she pleased. Her first idea, as she stood for + a moment amidst the clamour of the traffic in front of the ferry house, + was to call on Mrs. Holt at that lady's hotel; and then she remembered + that the Charities Conference began at eleven, and decided to pay a visit + to Madame Dumond, who made a specialty of importing novelties in dress. + Her costume for the prospective excursion in the automobile had cost + Honora some thought that morning. As the day was cool, she had brought + along an ulster that was irreproachable. But how about the hat and veil? + </p> + <p> + Madame Dumond was enchanted. She had them both,—she had landed with + them only last week. She tried them on Honora, and stood back with her + hands clasped in an ecstasy she did not attempt to hide. What a + satisfaction to sell things to Mrs. Spence! Some ladies she could mention + would look like frights in them, but Madame Spence had 'de la race'. She + could wear anything that was chic. The hat and veil, said Madame, with a + simper, were sixty dollars. + </p> + <p> + “Sixty dollars!” exclaimed Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madame, what would you?” Novelties were novelties, the United States + Custom authorities robbers. + </p> + <p> + Having attended to these important details, Honora drove to the restaurant + in her hansom cab, the blood coursing pleasantly in her veins. The autumn + air sparkled, and New York was showing signs of animation. She glanced + furtively into the little mirror at the side. Her veil was grey, and with + the hat gave her somewhat the air of a religieuse, an aspect heightened by + the perfect oval of her face; and something akin to a religious thrill ran + through her. + </p> + <p> + The automobile, with its brass and varnish shining in the sunlight, was + waiting a little way up the street, and the first person Honora met in the + vestibule of Delmonico's was Lula Chandos. She was, as usual, elaborately + dressed, and gave one the impression of being lost, so anxiously was she + scanning the face of every new arrival. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear,” she cried, staring hard at the hat and the veil, “have you + seen Clara Trowbridge anywhere?” + </p> + <p> + A certain pity possessed Honora as she shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “She was in town this morning,” continued Mrs. Chandos, “and I was sure + she was coming here to lunch. Trixy just drove up a moment ago in his new + car. Did you see it?” + </p> + <p> + Honora's pity turned into a definite contempt. + </p> + <p> + “I saw an automobile as I came in,” she said, but the brevity of her reply + seemed to have no effect upon Mrs. Chandos. + </p> + <p> + “There he is now, at the entrance to the cafe,” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + There, indeed, was Trixton Brent, staring at them from the end of the + hall, and making no attempt to approach them. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll go into the dressing-room and leave my coat,” said Honora, + outwardly calm but inwardly desperate. Fortunately, Lula made no attempt + to follow her. + </p> + <p> + “You're a dream in that veil, my dear,” Mrs. Chandos called after her. + “Don't forget that we're all dining with you to-night in Quicksands.” + </p> + <p> + Once in the dressing-room, Honora felt like locking the doors and jumping + out of the window. She gave her coat to the maid, rearranged her hair + without any apparent reason, and was leisurely putting on her hat again, + and wondering what she would do next, when Mrs. Kame appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Trixy asked me to get you,” she explained. “Mr. Grainger and I are going + to lunch with you.” + </p> + <p> + “How nice!” said Honora, with such a distinct emphasis of relief that Mrs. + Kame looked at her queerly. + </p> + <p> + “What a fool Trixy was, with all his experience, to get mixed up with that + Chandos woman,” that lady remarked as they passed through the hallway. + “She's like molasses—one can never get her off. Lucky thing he found + Cecil and me here. There's your persistent friend, Trixy,” she added, when + they were seated. “Really, this is pathetic, when an invitation to lunch + and a drive in your car would have made her so happy.” + </p> + <p> + Honora looked around and beheld, indeed, Mrs. Chandos and two other + Quicksands women, Mrs. Randall and Mrs. Barclay, at a table in the corner + of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Bessie to-day, Cecil—or do you know?” demanded Mrs. Kame, + after an amused glance at Brent, who had not deigned to answer her. “I + promised to go to Newport with her at the end of the week, but I haven't + been able to find her.” + </p> + <p> + “Cecil doesn't know,” said Trixton Brent. “The police have been looking + for him for a fortnight. Where the deuce have you been, Cecil?” + </p> + <p> + “To the Adirondacks,” replied Mr Grainger, gravely. + </p> + <p> + This explanation, which seemed entirely plausible to Honora, appeared to + afford great amusement to Brent, and even to Mrs. Kame. + </p> + <p> + “When did you come to life?” demanded Brent. + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday,” said Mr. Grainger, quite as solemnly as before. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Kame glanced curiously at Honora, and laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Trixy,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked innocently. “There's nothing wrong in going to the + Adirondacks—is there, Cecil?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Grainger, blinking rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “The Adirondacks,” declared Mrs. Kame, “have now become classic.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” observed Mr. Grainger, “I believe Bessie's in town to-day at + a charity pow-wow, reading a paper. I've half a mind to go over and listen + to it. The white dove of peace—and all that kind of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd go to sleep and spoil it all,” said Brent. + </p> + <p> + “But you can't, Cecil!” cried Mrs. Kame. “Don't you remember we're going + to Westchester to the Faunces' to spend the night and play bridge? And we + promised to arrive early.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so, by George,” said Mr. Grainger, and he drank the rest of his + whiskey-and-soda. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what I'll do, if Mrs. Spence is willing,” suggested Brent. + “If you start right after lunch, I'll take you out. We'll have plenty of + time,” he added to Honora, “to get back to Quicksands for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure?” she asked anxiously. “I have people for dinner tonight.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, lots of time,” declared Mrs. Kame. “Trixy's car is some unheard-of + horse-power. It's only twenty-five miles to the Faunces', and you'll be + back at the ferry by half-past four.” + </p> + <p> + “Easily,” said Trixton Brent. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. ON THE ART OF LION TAMING + </h2> + <p> + After lunch, while Mrs. Kame was telephoning to her maid and Mr. Grainger + to Mrs. Faunce, Honora found herself alone with Trixton Brent in the + automobile at a moment when the Quicksands party were taking a cab. Mrs. + Chandos parsed long enough to wave her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Bon voyage!” she cried. “What an ideal party! and the chauffeur doesn't + understand English. If you don't turn up this evening, Honora, I'll + entertain your guests.” + </p> + <p> + “We must get back,” said Honora, involuntarily to Brent. “It would be too + dreadful if we didn't!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid I'll run off with you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you're perfectly capable of it,” she replied. “If I were wise, + I'd take the train.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + She smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. It's because of your deteriorating influence, I suppose. + And yet I trust you, in spite of my instincts and—my eyes. I'm + seriously put out with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you later, if you're at a loss,” she said, as Mrs. Kame and Mr. + Grainger appeared. + </p> + <p> + Eight years have elapsed since that day and this writing—an aeon in + this rapidly moving Republic of ours. The roads, although far from perfect + yet, were not then what they have since become. But the weather was dry + and the voyage to Westchester accomplished successfully. It was half-past + three when they drove up the avenue and deposited Mrs. Kame and Cecil + Grainger at the long front of the Faunce house: and Brent, who had been + driving, relinquished the wheel to the chauffeur and joined Honora in the + tonneau. The day was perfect, the woods still heavy with summer foliage, + and the only signs of autumn were the hay mounds and the yellowing + cornstalks stacked amidst the stubble of the fields. + </p> + <p> + Brent sat silently watching her, for she had raised her veil in saying + good-by to Mrs. Kame, and—as the chauffeur was proceeding slowly—had + not lowered it. Suddenly she turned and looked him full in the face. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of woman do you think I am?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “That's rather a big order, isn't it?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm perfectly serious,” continued Honora, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I'd really like to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Before I begin on the somewhat lengthy list of your qualities,” he + replied, smiling, “may I ask why you'd like to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said quickly. “I'd like to know because I think you've + misjudged me. I was really more angry than you have any idea of at the + manner in which you talked to Howard. And did you seriously suppose that I + was in earnest when we spoke about your assistance in persuading him to + take the house?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You are either the cleverest woman in the world,” he declared, “or else + you oughtn't to be out without a guardian. And no judge in possession of + his five senses would appoint your husband.” + </p> + <p> + Indignant as she was, she could not resist smiling. There was something in + the way Brent made such remarks that fascinated her. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't call you precisely eligible, either,” she retorted. + </p> + <p> + He laughed again. But his eyes made her vaguely uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “Are these harsh words the reward for my charity? he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm by no means sure it's charity,” she said. “That's what is troubling + me. And you have no right to say such things about my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “How was I to know you were sensitive on the subject? he replied. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what it would be like to be so utterly cynical as you,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say you don't want the house?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want it under those conditions,” she answered with spirit. “I + didn't expect to be taken literally. And you've always insisted,” she + added, “in ascribing to me motives that—that never occurred to me. + You make the mistake of thinking that because you have no ideals, other + people haven't. I hope Howard hasn't said he'd take the house. He's gone + off somewhere, and I haven't been able to see him.” + </p> + <p> + Trixton Brent looked at her queerly. + </p> + <p> + “After that last manoeuvre of yours,” he said, “it was all I could do to + prevent him from rushing over to Jerry Shorter's—and signing the + lease.” + </p> + <p> + She did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “What do these sudden, virtuous resolutions mean?” he asked. “Resignation? + Quicksands for life? Abandonment of the whole campaign?” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any I campaign,” she said—and her voice caught in + something like a sob. “I'm not that sordid kind of a person. And if I + don't like Quicksands, it's because the whole atmosphere seems to be + charged with—with just such a spirit.” + </p> + <p> + Her hand was lying on the seat. He covered it with his own so quickly that + she left it there for a moment, as though paralyzed, while she listened to + the first serious words he had ever addressed to her. + </p> + <p> + “Honora, I admire you more than any woman I have ever known,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Her breath came quickly, and she drew her hand away. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I ought to feel complimented,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + At this crucial instant what had been a gliding flight of the automobile + became, suddenly, a more or less uneven and jerky progress, accompanied by + violent explosions. At the first of these Honora, in alarm, leaped to her + feet. And the machine, after what seemed an heroic attempt to continue, + came to a dead stop. They were on the outskirts of a village; children + coming home from school surrounded them in a ring. Brent jumped out, the + chauffeur opened the hood, and they peered together into what was, to + Honora, an inexplicable tangle of machinery. There followed a colloquy, in + technical French, between the master and the man. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” asked Honora, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much,” said Brent, “spark-plugs. We'll fix it up in a few + minutes.” He looked with some annoyance at the gathering crowd. “Stand + back a little, can't you?” he cried, “and give us room.” + </p> + <p> + After some minutes spent in wiping greasy pieces of steel which the + chauffeur extracted, and subsequent ceaseless grinding on the crank, the + engine started again, not without a series of protesting cracks like + pistol shots. The chauffeur and Brent leaped in, the bystanders parted + with derisive cheers, and away they went through the village, only to + announce by another series of explosions a second disaster at the other + end of the street. A crowd collected there, too. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” said Honora, “don't you think we ought to take the train, Mr. + Brent? If I were to miss a dinner at my own house, it would be too + terrible!” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “Nothing broken. It's + only the igniting system that needs adjustment.” + </p> + <p> + Although this was so much Greek to Honora, she was reassured. Trixton + Brent inspired confidence. There was another argument with the chauffeur, + a little more animated than the first; more greasy plugs taken out and + wiped, and a sharper exchange of compliments with the crowd; more + grinding, until the chauffeur's face was steeped in perspiration, and more + pistol shots. They were off again, but lamely, spurting a little at times, + and again slowing down to the pace of an ox-cart. Their progress became a + series of illustrations of the fable of the hare and the tortoise. They + passed horses, and the horses shied into the ditch: then the same horses + passed them, usually at the periods chosen by the demon under the hood to + fire its pistol shots, and into the ditch went the horses once more, their + owners expressing their thoughts in language at once vivid and + unrestrained. + </p> + <p> + It is one of the blessed compensations of life that in times of prosperity + we do not remember our miseries. In these enlightened days, when everybody + owns an automobile and calmly travels from Chicago to Boston if he + chooses, we have forgotten the dark ages when these machines were + possessed by devils: when it took sometimes as much as three hours to go + twenty miles, and often longer than that. How many of us have had the same + experience as Honora! + </p> + <p> + She was always going to take the train, and didn't. Whenever her mind was + irrevocably made up, the automobile whirled away on all four cylinders for + a half a mile or so, until they were out of reach of the railroad. There + were trolley cars, to be sure, but those took forever to get anywhere. + Four o'clock struck, five and six, when at last the fiend who had + conspired with fate, having accomplished his evident purpose of compelling + Honora to miss her dinner, finally abandoned them as suddenly and + mysteriously as he had come, and the automobile was a lamb once more. It + was half-past six, and the sun had set, before they saw the lights + twinkling all yellow on the heights of Fort George. At that hour the last + train they could have taken to reach the dinner-party in time was leaving + the New York side of the ferry. + </p> + <p> + “What will they think?” cried Honora. “They saw us leave Delmonico's at + two o'clock, and they didn't know we were going to Westchester.” + </p> + <p> + It needed no very vivid imagination to summon up the probable remarks of + Mrs. Chandos on the affair. It was all very well to say the motor broke + down; but unfortunately Trixton Brent's reputation was not much better + than that of his car. + </p> + <p> + Trixton Brent, as might have been expected, was inclined to treat the + matter as a joke. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing very formal about a Quicksands dinner-party,” he said. + “We'll have a cosey little dinner in town, and call 'em up on the + telephone.” + </p> + <p> + She herself was surprised at the spirit of recklessness stealing over her, + for there was, after all, a certain appealing glamour in the adventure. + She was thrilled by the swift, gliding motion of the automobile, the weird + and unfamiliar character of these upper reaches of a great city in the + twilight, where new houses stood alone or in rows on wide levelled tracts; + and old houses, once in the country, were seen high above the roadway + behind crumbling fences, surrounded by gloomy old trees with rotting + branches. She stole a glance at the man close beside her; a delightful + fear of him made her shiver, and she shrank closer into the corner of the + seat. + </p> + <p> + “Honora!” + </p> + <p> + All at once he had seized her hand again, and held it in spite of her + efforts to release it. + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” he said, “I love you as I have never loved in my life. As I + never shall love again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—you mustn't say that!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he demanded. “Why not, if I feel it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” faltered Honora, “because I can't listen to you.” + </p> + <p> + Brent made a motion of disdain with his free hand. + </p> + <p> + “I don't pretend that it's right,” he said. “I'm not a hypocrite, anyway, + thank God! It's undoubtedly wrong, according to all moral codes. I've + never paid any attention to them. You're married. I'm happy to say I'm + divorced. You've got a husband. I won't be guilty of the bad taste of + discussing him. He's a good fellow enough, but he never thinks about you + from the time the Exchange opens in the morning until he gets home at + night and wants his dinner. You don't love him—it would be a miracle + if a woman with any spirit did. He hasn't any more of an idea of what he + possesses by legal right than the man I discovered driving in a cart one + of the best hunters I ever had in my stables. To say that he doesn't + appreciate you is a ludicrous understatement. Any woman would have done + for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Please don't!” she implored him. “Please don't!” + </p> + <p> + But for the moment she knew that she was powerless, carried along like a + chip on the crest of his passion. + </p> + <p> + “I don't pretend to say how it is, or why it is,” he went on, paying no + heed to her protests. “I suppose there's one woman for every man in the + world—though I didn't use to think so. I always had another idea of + woman before I met you. I've thought I was in love with 'em, but now I + understand it was only—something else. I say, I don't know what it + is in you that makes me feel differently. I can't analyze it, and I don't + want to. You're not perfect, by a good deal, and God knows I'm not. You're + ambitious, but if you weren't, you'd be humdrum—yet there's no + pitiful artifice in you as in other women that any idiot can see through. + And it would have paralyzed forever any ordinary woman to have married + Howard Spence.” + </p> + <p> + A new method of wooing, surely, and evidently peculiar to Trixton Brent. + Honora, in the prey of emotions which he had aroused in spite of her, + needless to say did not, at that moment, perceive the humour in it. His + words gave her food for thought for many months afterwards. + </p> + <p> + The lion was indeed aroused at last, and whip or goad or wile of no avail. + There came a time when she no longer knew what he was saying: when speech, + though eloquent and forceful, seemed a useless medium. Her appeals were + lost, and she found herself fighting in his arms, when suddenly they + turned into one of the crowded arteries of Harlem. She made a supreme + effort of will, and he released her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she cried, trembling. + </p> + <p> + But he looked at her, unrepentant, with the light of triumph in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'll never forgive you!” she exclaimed, breathless. + </p> + <p> + “I gloried in it,” he replied. “I shall remember it as long as I live, and + I'll do it again.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer him. She dropped her veil, and for a long space was + silent while they rapidly threaded the traffic, and at length turned into + upper Fifth Avenue, skirting the Park. She did not so much as glance at + him. But he seemed content to watch her veiled profile in the dusk. + </p> + <p> + Her breath, in the first tumult of her thought, came and went deeply. But + gradually as the street lights burned brighter and familiar sights began + to appear, she grew more controlled and became capable of reflection. She + remembered that there was a train for Quicksands at seven-fifteen, which + Howard had taken once or twice. But she felt that the interval was too + short. In that brief period she could not calm herself sufficiently to + face her guests. Indeed, the notion of appearing alone, or with Brent, at + that dinner-party, appalled her. And suddenly an idea presented itself. + </p> + <p> + Brent leaned over, and began to direct the chauffeur to a well-known + hotel. She interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “I'd rather go to the Holland House.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he said amicably, not a little surprised at this unlooked-for + acquiescence, and then told his man to keep straight on down the Avenue. + </p> + <p> + She began mechanically to rearrange her hat and veil; and after that, + sitting upright, to watch the cross streets with feverish anticipation, + her hands in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Honora?” he said. + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Raise the veil, just for a moment, and look at me.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. But for some reason, best known to herself, she smiled + a little. Perhaps it was because her indignation, which would have + frightened many men into repentance, left this one undismayed. At any + rate, he caught the gleam of the smile through the film of her veil, and + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “We'll have a little table in the corner of the room,” he declared, “and + you shall order the dinner. Here we are,” he cried to the chauffeur. “Pull + up to the right.” + </p> + <p> + They alighted, crossed the sidewalk, the doors were flung open to receive + them, and they entered the hotel. + </p> + <p> + Through the entrance to the restaurant Honora caught sight of the red glow + of candles upon the white tables, and heard the hum of voices. In the + hall, people were talking and laughing in groups, and it came as a + distinct surprise to her that their arrival seemed to occasion no remark. + At the moment of getting out of the automobile, her courage had almost + failed her. + </p> + <p> + Trixton Brent hailed one of the hotel servants. + </p> + <p> + “Show Mrs. Spence to the ladies' parlour,” said he. And added to Honora, + “I'll get a table, and have the dinner card brought up in a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + Honora stopped the boy at the elevator door. + </p> + <p> + “Go to the office,” she said, “and find out if Mrs. Joshua Holt is in, and + the number of her room. And take me to the telephone booths. I'll wait + there.” + </p> + <p> + She asked the telephone operator to call up Mr. Spence's house at + Quicksands—and waited. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, madam,” he said, after a little while, which seemed like half + an hour to Honora, “but they've had a fire in the Kingston exchange, and + the Quicksands line is out of order.” + </p> + <p> + Honora's heart sank; but the bell-boy had reappeared. Yes, Mrs. Holt was + in. + </p> + <p> + “Take me to her room,” she said, and followed him into the elevator. + </p> + <p> + In response to his knock the door was opened by Mrs. Holt herself. She + wore a dove-coloured gown, and in her hand was a copy of the report of the + Board of Missions. For a moment she peered at Honora over the glasses + lightly poised on the uncertain rim of her nose. + </p> + <p> + “Why—my dear!” she exclaimed, in astonishment. “Honora!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Honora, “I'm so glad you're here. I was so afraid you'd be + out.” + </p> + <p> + In the embrace that followed both the glasses and the mission report fell + to the floor. Honora picked them up. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, my dear, and tell me how you happen to be here,” said Mrs. + Holt. “I suppose Howard is downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he isn't,” said Honora, rather breathlessly; “that's the reason I + came here. That's one reason, I mean. I was coming to see you this + morning, but I simply didn't have time for a call after I got to town.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt settled herself in the middle of the sofa, the only piece of + furniture in the room in harmony with her ample proportions. Her attitude + and posture were both judicial, and justice itself spoke in her delft-blue + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me all about it,” she said, thus revealing her suspicions that there + was something to tell. + </p> + <p> + “I was just going to,” said Honora, hastily, thinking of Trixton Brent + waiting in the ladies' parlour. “I took lunch at Delmomico's with Mr. + Grainger, and Mr. Brent, and Mrs. Kame—” + </p> + <p> + “Cecil Grainger?” demanded Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + Honora trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I knew his father and mother intimately,” said Mrs. Holt, unexpectedly. + “And his wife is a friend of mine. She's one of the most executive women + we have in the 'Working Girls' Association,' and she read a paper today + that was masterful. You know her, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Honora, “I haven't met her yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how did you happen to be lunching with her husband? + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't lunching with him, Mrs. Holt,” said Honora; “Mr. Brent was + giving the lunch.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's Mr. Brent?” demanded Mrs. Holt. “One of those Quicksands people?” + </p> + <p> + “He's not exactly a Quicksands person. I scarcely know how to describe + him. He's very rich, and goes abroad a great deal, and plays polo. That's + the reason he has a little place at Quicksands. He's been awfully kind + both to Howard and me,” she added with inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “And Mrs. Kame?” said Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “She's a widow, and has a place at Banbury. + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of her,” said Mrs. Holt, and Honora thanked her stars. + </p> + <p> + “And Howard approves of these mixed lunches, my dear? When I was young, + husbands and wives usually went to parties together.” + </p> + <p> + A panicky thought came to Honora, that Mrs. Holt might suddenly inquire as + to the whereabouts of Mr. Brent's wife. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Howard doesn't mind,” she said hastily. “I suppose times have + changed, Mrs. Holt. And after lunch we all went out in Mr. Brent's + automobile to the Faunces' in Westchester—” + </p> + <p> + “The Paul Jones Faunces?” Mrs. Holt interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “What a nice woman that young Mrs. Faunce is! She was Kitty Esterbrook, + you know. Both of them very old families.” + </p> + <p> + “It was only,” continued Honora, in desperation, “it was only to leave Mr. + Grainger and Mrs. Kame there to spend the night. They all said we had + plenty of time to go and get back to Quicksands by six o'clock. But coming + back the automobile broke down—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Mrs. Holt, “it serves any one right for trusting to + them. I think they are an invention of the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “And we've only just got back to New York this minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” inquired Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Brent and I,” said Honora, with downcast eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” exclaimed the elder lady. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't think of anything else to do but come straight here to you,” + said Honora, gazing at her friend. “And oh, I'm so glad to find you. + There's not another train to Quicksands till after nine.” + </p> + <p> + “You did quite right, my dear, under the circumstances. I don't say you + haven't been foolish, but it's Howard's fault quite as much as yours. He + has no business to let you do such things.” + </p> + <p> + “And what makes it worse,” said Honora, “is that the wires are down to + Quicksands, and I can't telephone Howard, and we have people to dinner, + and they don't know I went to Westchester, and there's no use + telegraphing: it wouldn't be delivered till midnight or morning.” + </p> + <p> + “There, there, my dear, don't worry. I know how anxious you feel on your + husband's account—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—Mrs. Holt, I was going to ask you a great, great favour. + Wouldn't you go down to Quicksands with me and spend the night—and + pay us a little visit? You know we would so love to have you!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'll go down with you, my dear,” said Mrs. Holt. “I'm surprised + that you should think for an instant that I wouldn't. It's my obvious + duty. Martha!” she called, “Martha!” + </p> + <p> + The door of the bedroom opened, and Mrs. Holt's elderly maid appeared. The + same maid, by the way, who had closed the shutters that memorable stormy + night at Silverdale. She had, it seemed, a trick of appearing at crises. + </p> + <p> + “Martha, telephone to Mrs. Edgerly—you know her number-and say that + I am very sorry, but an unexpected duty calls me out of town to-night, and + ask her to communicate with the Reverend Mr. Field. As for staying with + you, Honora,” she continued, “I have to be back at Silverdale to-morrow + night. Perhaps you and Howard will come back with me. My frank opinion is, + that a rest from the gayety of Quicksands will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + “I will come, with pleasure,” said Honora. “But as for Howard—I'm + afraid he's too busy.” + </p> + <p> + “And how about dinner?” asked Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot to say,” said Honora, “that Mr. Brent's downstairs. He brought + me here, of course. Have you any objection to his dining with us?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Mrs. Holt, “I think I should like to see him.” + </p> + <p> + After Mrs. Holt had given instructions to her maid to pack, and Honora had + brushed some of the dust of the roads from her costume, they descended to + the ladies' parlour. At the far end of it a waiter holding a card was + standing respectfully, and Trixton Brent was pacing up and down between + the windows. When he caught sight of them he stopped in his tracks, and + stared, and stood as if rooted to the carpet. Honora came forward. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Brent!” she cried, “my old friend, Mrs. Holt, is here, and she's + going to take dinner with us and come down to Quicksands for the night. + May I introduce Mr. Brent.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't it fortunate, Mr. Brent, that Mrs. Spence happened to find me?” + said Mrs. Holt, as she took his hand. “I know it is a relief to you.” + </p> + <p> + It was not often, indeed, that Trixton Brent was taken off his guard; but + some allowance must be made for him, since he was facing a situation + unparalleled in his previous experience. Virtue had not often been so + triumphant, and never so dramatic as to produce at the critical instant so + emblematic a defender as this matronly lady in dove colour. For a moment, + he stared at her, speechless, and then he gathered himself together. + </p> + <p> + “A relief?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It would seem so to me,” said Mrs. Holt. “Not that I do not think you are + perfectly capable of taking care of her, as an intimate friend of her + husband. I was merely thinking of the proprieties. And as I am a guest in + this hotel, I expect you both to do me the honour to dine with me before + we start for Quicksands.” + </p> + <p> + After all, Trixton Brent had a sense of humour, although it must not be + expected that he should grasp at once all the elements of a joke on + himself so colossal. + </p> + <p> + “I, for one,” he said, with a slight bow which gave to his words a touch + somewhat elaborate, “will be delighted.” And he shot at Honora a glance + compounded of many feelings, which she returned smilingly. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the waiter?” asked Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “That is a waiter,” said Trixton Brent, glancing at the motionless figure. + “Shall I call him?” + </p> + <p> + “If you please,” said Mrs. Holt. “Honora, you must tell me what you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything, Mrs. Holt,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “If we are to leave a little after nine,” said that lady, balancing her + glasses on her nose and glancing at the card, “we have not, I'm afraid, + time for many courses.” + </p> + <p> + The head waiter greeted them at the door of the dining-room. He, too, was + a man of wisdom and experience. He knew Mrs. Holt, and he knew Trixton + Brent. If gravity had not been a life-long habit with him, one might have + suspected him of a desire to laugh. As it was, he seemed palpably + embarrassed,—for Mr. Brent had evidently been conversing with him. + </p> + <p> + “Two, sir?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Three,” said Mrs. Holt, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + The head waiter planted them conspicuously in the centre of the room; one + of the strangest parties, from the point of view of a connoisseur of New + York, that ever sat down together. Mrs. Holt with her curls, and her + glasses laid flat on the bosom of her dove-coloured dress; Honora in a + costume dedicated to the very latest of the sports, and Trixton Brent in + English tweeds. The dining-room was full. But here and there amongst the + diners, Honora observed, were elderly people who smiled discreetly as they + glanced in their direction—friends, perhaps, of Mrs. Holt. And + suddenly, in one corner, she perceived a table of six where the mirth was + less restrained. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately for Mr. Brent, he had had a cocktail, or perhaps two, in + Honora's absence. Sufficient time had elapsed since their administration + for their proper soothing and exhilarating effects. At the sound of the + laughter in the corner he turned his head, a signal for renewed merriment + from that quarter. Whereupon he turned back again and faced his hostess + once more with a heroism that compelled Honora's admiration. As a + sportsman, he had no intention of shirking the bitterness of defeat. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Grainger and Mrs. Shorter,” he remarked, “appear to be enjoying + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Honora felt her face grow hot as the merriment at the corner table rose to + a height it had not heretofore attained. And she did not dare to look + again. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt was blissfully oblivious to her surroundings. She was, as usual, + extremely composed, and improved the interval, while drinking her soup, + with a more or less undisguised observation of Mr. Brent; evidently + regarding him somewhat in the manner that a suspicious householder would + look upon a strange gentleman whom he accidentally found in his front + hall. Explanations were necessary. That Mr. Brent's appearance, on the + whole, was in his favour did not serve to mitigate her suspicions. + Good-looking men were apt to be unscrupulous. + </p> + <p> + “Are you interested in working girls, Mr. Brent?” she inquired presently. + </p> + <p> + Honora, in spite of her discomfort, had an insane desire to giggle. She + did not dare to raise her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I can't say that I've had much experience with them, Mrs. Holt,” he + replied, with a gravity little short of sublime. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally you wouldn't have had,” said Mrs. Holt. “What I meant was, are + you interested in the problems they have to face?” + </p> + <p> + “Extremely,” said he, so unexpectedly that Honora choked. “I can't say + that I've given as many hours as I should have liked to a study of the + subject, but I don't know of any class that has a harder time. As a rule, + they're underpaid and overworked, and when night comes they are either + tired to death or bored to death, and the good-looking ones are subject to + temptations which some of them find impossible to resist, in a natural + desire for some excitement to vary the routine of their lives.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” said Mrs. Holt, “that you are fairly conversant with the + subject. I don't think I ever heard the problem stated so succinctly and + so well. Perhaps,” she added, “it might interest you to attend one of our + meetings next month. Indeed, you might be willing to say a few words.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Holt. I'm a rather busy man, + and nothing of a public speaker, and it is rarely I get off in the + daytime.” + </p> + <p> + “How about automobiling?” asked Mrs. Holt, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Trixton Brent, laughing in spite of himself, “I like the + working girls, I have to have a little excitement occasionally. And I find + it easier to get off in the summer than in the winter.” + </p> + <p> + “Men cover a multitude of sins under the plea of business,” said Mrs. + Holt, shaking her head. “I can't say I think much of your method of + distraction. Why any one desires to get into an automobile, I don't see.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever been in one?” he asked. “Mine is here, and I was about to + invite you to go down to the ferry in it. I'll promise to go slow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mrs. Holt, “I don't object to going that distance, if you + keep your promise. I'll admit that I've always had a curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + “And in return,” said Brent, gallantly, “allow me to send you a cheque for + your working girls.” + </p> + <p> + “You're very good,” said Mrs. Holt. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he protested, “I'm not in the habit of giving much to charities, I'm + sorry to say. I'd like to know how it feels.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I hope the sensation will induce you to try it again,” said Mrs. + Holt. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody, Mrs. Holt,” cried Honora, “could be kinder to his friends than + Mr. Brent!” + </p> + <p> + “We were speaking of disinterested kindness, my dear,” was Mrs. Holt's + reply. + </p> + <p> + “You're quite right, Mrs. Holt,” said Trixton Brent, beginning, as the + dinner progressed, to take in the lady opposite a delight that surprised + him. “I'm willing to confess that I've led an extremely selfish + existence.” + </p> + <p> + “The confession isn't necessary,” she replied. “It's written all over you. + You're the type of successful man who gets what he wants. I don't mean to + say that you are incapable of kindly instincts.” And her eye twinkled a + little. + </p> + <p> + “I'm very grateful for that concession, at any rate,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “There might be some hope for you if you fell into the hands of a good + woman,” said Mrs. Holt. “I take it you are a bachelor. Mark my words, the + longer you remain one, the more steeped in selfishness you are likely to + become in this modern and complex and sense-satisfying life which so many + people lead.” + </p> + <p> + Honora trembled for what he might say to this, remembering his bitter + references of that afternoon to his own matrimonial experience. Visions of + a scene arose before her in the event that Mrs. Holt should discover his + status. But evidently Trixton Brent had no intention of discussing his + marriage. + </p> + <p> + “Judging by some of my married friends and acquaintances,” he said, “I + have no desire to try matrimony as a remedy for unselfishness.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” replied Mrs. Holt, “all I can say is, I should make new friends + amongst another kind of people, if I were you. You are quite right, and if + I were seeking examples of happy marriages, I should not begin my search + among the so-called fashionable set of the present day. They are so + supremely selfish that if the least difference in taste develops, or if + another man or woman chances along whom they momentarily fancy more than + their own husbands or wives, they get a divorce. Their idea of marriage is + not a mutual sacrifice which brings happiness through trials borne + together and through the making of character. No, they have a notion that + man and wife may continue to lead their individual lives. That isn't + marriage. I've lived with Joshua Holt thirty-five years last April, and I + haven't pleased myself in all that time.” + </p> + <p> + “All men,” said Trixton Brent, “are not so fortunate as Mr. Holt.” + </p> + <p> + Honora began to have the sensations of a witness to a debate between + Mephistopheles and the powers of heaven. Her head swam. But Mrs. Holt, who + had unlooked-for flashes of humour, laughed, and shook her curls at Brent. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to lecture you some time,” she said; “I think it would do + you good.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I'm beyond redemption. Don't you think so, Honora?” he asked, with an + unexpected return of his audacity. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I'm not worthy to judge you,” she replied, and coloured. + </p> + <p> + “Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Holt; “women are superior to men, and it's + our duty to keep them in order. And if we're really going to risk our + lives in your automobile, Mr. Brent, you'd better make sure it's there,” + she added, glancing at her watch. + </p> + <p> + Having dined together in an apparent and inexplicable amity, their exit + was of even more interest to the table in the corner than their entrance + had been. Mrs. Holt's elderly maid was waiting in the hall, Mrs. Holt's + little trunk was strapped on the rear of the car; and the lady herself, + with something of the feelings of a missionary embarking for the wilds of + Africa, was assisted up the little step and through the narrow entrance of + the tonneau by the combined efforts of Honora and Brent. An expression of + resolution, emblematic of a determination to die, if necessary, in the + performance of duty, was on her face as the machinery started; and her + breath was not quite normal when, in an incredibly brief period, they + descended at the ferry. + </p> + <p> + The journey to Quicksands was accomplished in a good fellowship which + Honora, an hour before, would not have dreamed of. Even Mrs. Holt was not + wholly proof against the charms of Trixton Brent when he chose to exert + himself; and for some reason he did so choose. As they stood in the + starlight on the platform of the deserted little station while he went + across to Whelen's livery stable to get a carriage, Mrs. Holt remarked to + Honora: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Brent is a fascinating man, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad that you appreciate him,” exclaimed Honora. + </p> + <p> + “And a most dangerous one,” continued Mrs. Holt. “He has probably, in his + day, disturbed the peace of mind of a great many young women. Not that I + haven't the highest confidence in you, Honora, but honesty forces me to + confess that you are young and pleasure-loving, and a little heedless. And + the atmosphere in which you live is not likely to correct those + tendencies. If you will take my advice, you will not see too much of Mr. + Trixton Brent when your husband is not present.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, as to the probable effect of this incident on the relations + between Mr. Brent and herself Honora was wholly in the dark. Although, + from her point of view, what she had done had been amply justified by the + plea of self-defence, it could not be expected that he would accept it in + the same spirit. The apparent pleasure he had taken in the present + situation, once his amazement had been overcome, profoundly puzzled her. + </p> + <p> + He returned in a few minutes with the carriage and driver, and they + started off. Brent sat in front, and Honora explained to Mrs. Holt the + appearance of the various places by daylight, and the names of their + owners. The elderly lady looked with considerable interest at the blazing + lights of the Club, with the same sensations she would no doubt have had + if she had been suddenly set down within the Moulin Rouge. Shortly + afterwards they turned in at the gate of “The Brackens.” The light + streamed across the porch and driveway, and the sound of music floated out + of the open windows. Within, the figure of Mrs. Barclay could be seen; she + was singing vaudeville songs at the piano. Mrs. Holt's lips were tightly + shut as she descended and made her way up the steps. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you'll come in,”, said Honora to Trixton Brent, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Come in!” he replied, “I wouldn't miss it for ten thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt was the first of the three to appear at the door of the + drawing-room, and Mrs. Barclay caught sight of her, and stopped in the + middle of a bar, with her mouth open. Some of the guests had left. A table + in the corner, where Lula Chandos had insisted on playing bridge, was + covered with scattered cards and some bills, a decanter of whiskey, two + soda bottles, and two glasses. The blue curling smoke from Mrs. Chandos' + cigarette mingled with the haze that hung between the ceiling and the + floor, and that lady was in the act of saying cheerfully to Howard, who + sat opposite,—“Trixy's run off with her.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the chill of silence pervaded the room. Lula Chandos, whose back + was turned to the door, looked from Mrs. Barclay to Howard, who, with the + other men had risen to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” she said in a frightened tone. And, following the + eyes of the others, turned her head slowly towards the doorway. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt, who filled it, had been literally incapable of speech. Close + behind her stood Honora and Trixton whose face was inscrutable. + </p> + <p> + “Howard,” said Honora, summoning all the courage that remained in her, + “here's Mrs. Holt. We dined with her, and she was good enough to come down + for the night. I'm so sorry not to have been here,” she added to her + guests, “but we went to Westchester with Mrs. Kame and Mr. Grainger, and + the automobile broke down on the way back.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holt made no attempt to enter, but stared fixedly at the cigarette + that Mrs. Chandos still held in her trembling fingers. Howard crossed the + room in the midst of an intense silence. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see you, Mrs. Holt,” he said. “Er—won't you come in and—and + sit down?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Howard” she replied, “I do not wish to interrupt your party. + It is my usual hour for retiring. + </p> + <p> + “And I think, my dear,” she added, turning to Honora, “that I'll ask you + to excuse me, and show me to my room.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, Mrs. Holt,” said Honora, breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Howard, ring the bell.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way up the stairs to the guest-chamber with the rose paper and + the little balcony. As she closed the door gusts of laughter reached them + from the floor below, and she could plainly distinguish the voices of May + Barclay and Trixton Brent. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you'll be comfortable, Mrs. Holt,” she said. “Your maid will be in + the little room across the hall and I believe you like breakfast at + eight.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't let me keep you from your guests, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Holt,” she said, on the verge of tears, “I don't want to go to + them. Really, I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be confessed,” said Mrs. Holt, opening her handbag and taking out + the copy of the mission report, which had been carefully folded, “that + they seem to be able to get along very well without you. I suppose I am + too old to understand this modern way of living. How well I remember one + night—it was in 1886—I missed the train to Silverdale, and my + telegram miscarried. Poor Mr. Holt was nearly out of his head.” + </p> + <p> + She fumbled for her glasses and dropped them. Honora picked them up, and + it was then she perceived that the tears were raining down the good lady's + cheeks. At the same moment they sprang into Honora's eyes, and blinded + her. Mrs. Holt looked at her long and earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Go down, my dear,” she said gently, “you must not neglect your friends. + They will wonder where you are. And at what time do you breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “At—at any time you like.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be down at eight,” said Mrs. Holt, and she kissed her. + </p> + <p> + Honora, closing the door, stood motionless in the hall, and presently the + footsteps and the laughter and the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel + died away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. CONTAINING SOME REVELATIONS + </h2> + <p> + Honora, as she descended, caught a glimpse of the parlour maid picking up + the scattered cards on the drawing-room floor. There were voices on the + porch, where Howard was saying good-by to Mrs. Chandos and Trixton Brent. + She joined them. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear!” cried Mrs. Chandos, interrupting Honora's apologies, “I'm + sure I shan't sleep a wink—she gave me such a fright. You might have + sent Trixy ahead to prepare us. When I first caught sight of her, I + thought it was my own dear mother who had come all the way from Cleveland, + and the cigarette burned my fingers. But I must say I think it was awfully + clever of you to get hold of her and save Trixy's reputation. Good night, + dear.” + </p> + <p> + And she got into her carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Give my love to Mrs. Holt,” said Brent, as he took Honora's hand, “and + tell her I feel hurt that she neglected to say good night to me. I thought + I had made an impression. Tell her I'll send her a cheque for her rescue + work. She inspires me with confidence.” + </p> + <p> + Howard laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see you to-morrow, Brent,” he called out as they drove away. Though + always assertive, it seemed to Honora that her husband had an increased + air of importance as he turned to her now with his hands in his pockets. + He looked at her for a moment, and laughed again. He, too, had apparently + seen the incident only in a humorous light. “Well, Honora,” he remarked, + “you have a sort of a P. T. Barnum way of doing things once in a while—haven't + you? Is the old lady really tucked away for the night, or is she coming + down to read us a sermon? And how the deuce did you happen to pick her + up?” + </p> + <p> + She had come downstairs with confession on her lips, and in the agitation + of her mind had scarcely heeded Brent's words or Mrs. Chandos'. She had + come down prepared for any attitude but the one in which she found him; + for anger, reproaches, arraignments. Nay, she was surprised to find now + that she had actually hoped for these. She deserved to be scolded: it was + her right. If he had been all of a man, he would have called her to + account. There must be—there was something lacking in his character. + And it came to her suddenly, with all the shock of a great contrast, with + what different eyes she had looked upon him five years before at + Silverdale. + </p> + <p> + He went into the house and started to enter the drawing-room, still in + disorder and reeking with smoke. + </p> + <p> + “No, not in there!” she cried sharply. + </p> + <p> + He turned to her puzzled. Her breath was coming and going quickly. She + crossed the hall and turned on the light in the little parlour there, and + he followed her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you feel well?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Howard,” she said, “weren't you worried?” + </p> + <p> + “Worried? No, why should I have been? Lula Chandos and May Barclay had + seen you in the automobile in town, and I knew you were high and dry + somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “High and dry,” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. They said I had run off with Mr. Brent, didn't they?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there was some joking to that effect.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't take it seriously?” + </p> + <p> + “No—why should I?” + </p> + <p> + She was appalled by his lack of knowledge of her. All these years she had + lived with him, and he had not grasped even the elements of her nature. + And this was marriage! Trixton Brent—short as their acquaintance had + been—had some conception of her character and possibilities her + husband none. Where was she to begin? How was she to tell him the episode + in the automobile in order that he might perceive something of its + sinister significance? + </p> + <p> + Where was she to go to be saved from herself, if not to him? + </p> + <p> + “I might have run away with him, if I had loved him,” she said after a + pause. “Would you have cared?” + </p> + <p> + “You bet your life,” said Howard, and put his arm around her. + </p> + <p> + She looked up into his face. So intent had she been on what she had meant + to tell him that she did not until now perceive he was preoccupied, and + only half listening to what she was saying. + </p> + <p> + “You bet your life,” he said, patting her shoulder. “What would I have + done, all alone, in the new house?” + </p> + <p> + “In the new house?” she cried. “Oh, Howard—you haven't taken it!” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't signed the lease,” he replied importantly, smiling down at her, + and thrusting his hands in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want it,” said Honora; “I don't want it. I told you that I'd + decided I didn't want it when we were there. Oh, Howard, why did you take + it?” + </p> + <p> + He whistled. He had the maddening air of one who derives amusement from + the tantrums of a spoiled child. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he remarked, “women are too many for me. If there's any way of + pleasing 'em I haven't yet discovered it. The night before last you had to + have the house. Nothing else would do. It was the greatest find in New + York. For the first time in months you get up for breakfast—a pretty + sure sign you hadn't changed your mind. You drag me to see it, and when + you land me there, because I don't lose my head immediately, you say you + don't want it. Of course I didn't take you seriously—I thought you'd + set your heart on it, so I wired an offer to Shorter to-day, and he + accepted it. And when I hand you this pleasant little surprise, you go + right up in the air.” + </p> + <p> + He had no air of vexation, however, as he delivered this somewhat + reproachful harangue in the picturesque language to which he commonly + resorted. Quite the contrary. He was still smiling, as Santa Claus must + smile when he knows he has another pack up the chimney. + </p> + <p> + “Why this sudden change of mind?” he demanded. “It can't be because you + want to spend the winter in Quicksands.” + </p> + <p> + She was indeed at a loss what to say. She could not bring herself to ask + him whether he had been influenced by Trixton Brent. If he had, she told + herself, she did not wish to know. He was her husband, after all, and it + would be too humiliating. And then he had taken the house. + </p> + <p> + “Have you hit on a palace you like better?” he inquired, with a clumsy + attempt at banter. “They tell me the elder Maitlands are going abroad—perhaps + we could get their house on the Park.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you couldn't afford Mrs. Rindge's house,” she answered uneasily, + “and I—I believed you.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't,” he said mysteriously, and paused. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to her, as she recalled the scene afterwards, that in this pause + he gave the impression of physically swelling. She remembered staring at + him with wide, frightened eyes and parted lips. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't,” he repeated, with the same strange emphasis and a palpable + attempt at complacency. “But—er—circumstances have changed + since then.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Howard?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + The corners of his mouth twitched in the attempt to repress a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” he said, “that the president of a trust company can afford to + live in a better house than the junior partner of Dallam and Spence.” + </p> + <p> + “The president of a trust company!” Honora scarcely recognized her own + voice—so distant it sounded. The room rocked, and she clutched the + arm of a chair and sat down. He came and stood over her. + </p> + <p> + “I thought that would surprise you some,” he said, obviously pleased by + these symptoms. “The fact is, I hadn't meant to break it to you until + morning. But I think I'll go in on the seven thirty-five.” (He glanced + significantly up at the ceiling, as though Mrs. Holt had something to do + with this decision.) “President of the Orange Trust Company at forty isn't + so bad, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “The Orange Trust Company? Did you say the Orange Trust Company?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” He produced a cigarette. “Old James Wing and Brent practically + control it. You see, if I do say it myself, I handled some things pretty + well for Brent this summer, and he's seemed to appreciate it. He and Wing + were buying in traction stocks out West. But you could have knocked me + down with a paper-knife when he came to me—” + </p> + <p> + “When did he come to you?” she asked breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday. We went down town together, you remember, and he asked me to + step into his office. Well, we talked it over, and I left on the one + o'clock for Newport to see Mr. Wing. Wonderful old man! I sat up with him + till midnight—it wasn't any picnic”... + </p> + <p> + More than once during the night Honora awoke with a sense of oppression, + and each time went painfully through the whole episode from the evening—some + weeks past when Trixton Brent had first mentioned the subject of the trust + company, to the occurrence in the automobile and Howard's triumphant + announcement. She had but a vague notion of how that scene had finished; + or of how, limply, she had got to bed. Round and round the circle she went + in each waking period. To have implored him to relinquish the place had + been waste of breath; and then—her reasons? These were the moments + when the current was strongest, when she grew incandescent with + humiliation and pain; when stray phrases in red letters of Brent's were + illuminated. Merit! He had a contempt for her husband which he had not + taken the trouble to hide. But not a business contempt. “As good as the + next man,” Brent had said—or words to that effect. “As good as the + next man!” Then she had tacitly agreed to the bargain, and refused to + honour the bill! No, she had not, she had not. Before God, she was + innocent of that! When she reached this point it was always to James Wing + that she clung—the financier, at least, had been impartial. And it + was he who saved her. + </p> + <p> + At length she opened her eyes to discover with bewilderment that the room + was flooded with light, and then she sprang out of bed and went to the + open window. To seaward hung an opal mist, struck here and there with + crimson. She listened; some one was whistling an air she had heard before—Mrs. + Barclay had been singing it last night! Wheels crunched the gravel—Howard + was going off. She stood motionless until the horse's hoofs rang on the + highroad, and then hurried into her dressing-gown and slippers and went + downstairs to the telephone and called a number. + </p> + <p> + “Is this Mr. Brent's? Will you say to Mr. Brent that Mrs. Spence would be + greatly, obliged if he stopped a moment at her house before going to town? + Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + She returned to her room and dressed with feverish haste, trying to gather + her wits for an ordeal which she felt it would have killed her to delay. + At ten minutes to eight she emerged again and glanced anxiously at Mrs. + Holt's door; and scarcely had she reached the lower hall before he drove + into the circle. She was struck more forcibly than ever by the physical + freshness of the man, and he bestowed on her, as he took her hand, the + peculiar smile she knew so well, that always seemed to have an enigma + behind it. At sight and touch of him the memory of what she had prepared + to say vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Behold me, as ever, your obedient servant,” he said, as he followed her + into the screened-off portion of the porch. + </p> + <p> + “You must think it strange that I sent for you, I know,” she cried, as she + turned to him. “But I couldn't wait. I—I did not know until last + night. Howard only told me then. Oh, you didn't do it for me! Please say + you didn't do it for me!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Honora,” replied Trixton Brent, gravely, “we wanted your husband + for his abilities and the valuable services he can render us.” + </p> + <p> + She stood looking into his eyes, striving to penetrate to the soul behind, + ignorant or heedless that others before her had tried and failed. He met + her gaze unflinchingly, and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I want the truth,” she craved. + </p> + <p> + “I never lie—to a woman,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “My life—my future depends upon it,” she went on. “I'd rather scrub + floors, I'd rather beg—than to have it so. You must believe me!” + </p> + <p> + “I do believe you,” he affirmed. And he said it with a gentleness and a + sincerity that startled her. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she answered simply. And speech became very difficult. “If—if + I haven't been quite fair with you—Mr. Brent, I am sorry. I—I + liked you, and I like you to-day better than ever before. And I can quite + see now how I must have misled you into thinking—queer things about + me. I didn't mean to. I have learned a lesson.” + </p> + <p> + She took a deep, involuntary breath. The touch of lightness in his reply + served to emphasize the hitherto unsuspected fact that sportsmanship in + Trixton Brent was not merely a code, but assumed something of the grandeur + of a principle. + </p> + <p> + “I, too, have learned a lesson,” he replied. “I have learned the + difference between nature and art. I am something of a connoisseur in art. + I bow to nature, and pay my bets.” + </p> + <p> + “Your bets?” she asked, with a look. + </p> + <p> + “My renunciations, forfeits, whatever you choose to call them. I have been + fairly and squarely beaten—but by nature, not by art. That is my + consolation.” + </p> + <p> + Laughter struck into her eyes like a shaft of sunlight into a well; her + emotions were no longer to be distinguished. And in that moment she + wondered what would have happened if she had loved this man, and why she + had not. And when next he spoke, she started. + </p> + <p> + “How is my elderly dove-coloured friend this morning?” he asked. “That + dinner with her was one of the great events of my life. I didn't suppose + such people existed any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'll stay to breakfast with her,” suggested Honora, smiling. “I + know she'd like to see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks,” he said, taking her hand, “I'm on my way to the train—I'd + quite forgotten it. Au revoir!” He reached the end of the porch, turned, + and called back, “As a 'dea ex machina', she has never been equalled.” + </p> + <p> + Honora stood for a while looking after him, until she heard a footstep + behind her,—Mrs. Holt's. + </p> + <p> + “Who was that, my dear?” she asked, “Howard?” + </p> + <p> + “Howard has gone, Mrs. Holt,” Honora replied, rousing herself. “I must + make his apologies. It was Mr. Brent.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Brent!” the good lady repeated, with a slight upward lift of the + faint eyebrows. “Does he often call this early?” + </p> + <p> + Honora coloured a little, and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I asked him to breakfast with you, but he had to catch a train. He—wished + to be remembered. He took such a fancy to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” said Mrs. Holt, “that his fancy is a thing to be avoided. + Are you coming to Silverdale with me, Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mrs. Holt,” she replied, slipping her arm through that of her + friend, “for as long as you will let me stay.” + </p> + <p> + And she left a note for Howard to that effect. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III. + </h2> + <p> + Volume 5. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. ASCENDI. + </h2> + <p> + Honora did not go back to Quicksands. Neither, in this modern chronicle, + shall we. + </p> + <p> + The sphere we have left, which we know is sordid, sometimes shines in the + retrospect. And there came a time, after the excitement of furnishing the + new house was over, when our heroine, as it were, swung for a time in + space: not for a very long time; that month, perhaps, between autumn and + winter. + </p> + <p> + We need not be worried about her, though we may pause for a moment or two + to sympathize with her in her loneliness—or rather in the moods it + produced. She even felt, in those days, slightly akin to the Lady of the + Victoria (perfectly respectable), whom all of us fortunate enough + occasionally to go to New York have seen driving on Fifth Avenue with an + expression of wistful haughtiness, and who changes her costumes four times + a day. + </p> + <p> + Sympathy! We have seen Honora surrounded by friends—what has become + of them? Her husband is president of a trust company, and she has one of + the most desirable houses in New York. What more could be wished for? To + jump at conclusions in this way is by no means to understand a heroine + with an Ideal. She had these things, and—strange as it may seem—suffered. + </p> + <p> + Her sunny drawing-room, with its gathered silk curtains, was especially + beautiful; whatever the Leffingwells or Allisons may have lacked, it was + not taste. Honora sat in it and wondered: wondered, as she looked back + over the road she had threaded somewhat blindly towards the Ideal, whether + she might not somewhere have taken the wrong turn. The farther she + travelled, the more she seemed to penetrate into a land of unrealities. + The exquisite objects by which she was surrounded, and which she had + collected with such care, had no substance: she would not have been + greatly surprised, at any moment, to see them vanish like a scene in a + theatre, leaning an empty, windy stage behind them. They did not belong to + her, nor she to them. + </p> + <p> + Past generations of another blood, no doubt, had been justified in looking + upon the hazy landscapes in the great tapestries as their own: and + children's children had knelt, in times gone by, beside the carved stone + mantel. The big, gilded chairs with the silken seats might appropriately + have graced the table of the Hotel de Rambouillet. Would not the warriors + and the wits, the patient ladies of high degree and of many children, and + even the 'precieuses ridicules' themselves, turn over in their graves if + they could so much as imagine the contents of the single street in modern + New York where Honora lived? + </p> + <p> + One morning, as she sat in that room, possessed by these whimsical though + painful fancies, she picked up a newspaper and glanced through it, + absently, until her eye fell by chance upon a name on the editorial page. + Something like an electric shock ran through her, and the letters of the + name seemed to quiver and become red. Slowly they spelled—Peter + Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “The argument of Mr. Peter Erwin, of St. Louis, before the Supreme Court + of the United States in the now celebrated Snowden case is universally + acknowledged by lawyers to have been masterly, and reminiscent of the + great names of the profession in the past. Mr. Erwin is not dramatic. He + appears to carry all before him by the sheer force of intellect, and by a + kind of Lincolnian ability to expose a fallacy: He is still a young man, + self-made, and studied law under Judge Brice of St. Louis, once President + of the National Bar Association, whose partner he is”.... + </p> + <p> + Honora cut out the editorial and thrust it in her gown, and threw the + newspaper is the fire. She stood for a time after it had burned, watching + the twisted remnants fade from flame colour to rose, and finally blacken. + Then she went slowly up the stairs and put on her hat and coat and veil. + Although a cloudless day, it was windy in the park, and cold, the ruffled + waters an intense blue. She walked fast. + </p> + <p> + She lunched with Mrs. Holt, who had but just come to town; and the light, + like a speeding guest, was departing from the city when she reached her + own door. + </p> + <p> + “There is a gentleman in the drawing-room, madam,” said the butler. “He + said he was an old friend, and a stranger in New York, and asked if he + might wait.” + </p> + <p> + She stood still with presentiment. + </p> + <p> + “What is his name?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Erwin,” said the man. + </p> + <p> + Still she hesitated. In the strange state in which she found herself that + day, the supernatural itself had seemed credible. And yet—she was + not prepared. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon, madam,” the butler was saying, “perhaps I shouldn't—?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, you should,” she interrupted him, and pushed past him up the + stairs. At the drawing-room door she paused—he was unaware of her + presence. And he had not changed! She wondered why she had expected him to + change. Even the glow of his newly acquired fame was not discernible + behind his well-remembered head. He seemed no older—and no younger. + And he was standing with his hands behind his back gazing in simple, + silent appreciation at the big tapestry nearest the windows. + </p> + <p> + “Peter,” she said, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + He turned quickly, and then she saw the glow. But it was the old glow, not + the new—the light in which her early years had been spent. + </p> + <p> + “What a coincidence!” she exclaimed, as he took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Coincidence?” + </p> + <p> + “It was only this morning that I was reading in the newspaper all sorts of + nice things about you. It made me feel like going out and telling + everybody you were an old friend of mine.” Still holding his fingers, she + pushed him away from her at arm's length, and looked at him. “What does it + feel like to be famous, and have editorials about one's self in the New + York newspapers?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed, and released his hands somewhat abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “It seems as strange to me, Honora, as it does to you.” + </p> + <p> + “How unkind of you, Peter!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + She felt his eyes upon her, and their searching, yet kindly and humorous + rays seemed to illuminate chambers within her which she would have kept in + darkness: which she herself did not wish to examine. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad to see you,” she said a little breathlessly, flinging her + muff and boa on a chair. “Sit there, where I can look at you, and tell me + why you didn't let me know you were coming to New York.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced a little comically at the gilt and silk arm-chair which she + designated, and then at her; and she smiled and coloured, divining the + humour in his unspoken phrase. + </p> + <p> + “For a great man,” she declared, “you are absurd.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down. In spite of his black clothes and the lounging attitude he + habitually assumed, with his knees crossed—he did not appear + incongruous in a seat that would have harmonized with the flowing robes of + the renowned French Cardinal himself. Honora wondered why. He impressed + her to-day as force—tremendous force in repose, and yet he was the + same Peter. Why was it? Had the clipping that even then lay in her bosom + effected this magic change? He had intimated as much, but she denied it + fiercely. + </p> + <p> + She rang for tea. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't told me why you came to New York,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I was telegraphed for, from Washington, by a Mr. Wing,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + “A Mr. Wing,” she repeated. “You don't mean by any chance James Wing?” + </p> + <p> + “The Mr. Wing,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “The reason I asked,” explained Honora, flushing, “was because Howard is—associated + with him. Mr. Wing is largely interested in the Orange Trust Company.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Peter. His elbows were resting on the arms of his + chair, and he looked at the tips of his fingers, which met. Honora thought + it strange that he did not congratulate her, but he appeared to be + reflecting. + </p> + <p> + “What did Mr. Wing want?” she inquired in her momentary confusion, and + added hastily, “I beg your pardon, Peter. I suppose I ought not to ask + that.” + </p> + <p> + “He was kind enough to wish me to live in New York he answered, still + staring at the tips of his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how nice!” she cried—and wondered at the same time whether, on + second thoughts, she would think it so. “I suppose he wants you to be the + counsel for one of his trusts. When—when do you come?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Not coming! Why? Isn't it a great compliment?” + </p> + <p> + He ignored the latter part of her remark; and it seemed to her, when she + recalled the conversation afterwards, that she had heard a certain note of + sadness under the lightness of his reply. + </p> + <p> + “To attempt to explain to a New Yorker why any one might prefer to live in + any other place would be a difficult task.” + </p> + <p> + “You are incomprehensible, Peter,” she declared. And yet she felt a relief + that surprised her, and a desire to get away from the subject. “Dear old + St. Louis! Somehow, in spite of your greatness, it seems to fit you.” + </p> + <p> + “It's growing,” said Peter—and they laughed together. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you come to lunch?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Lunch! I didn't know that any one ever went to lunch in New York—in + this part of it, at least—with less than three weeks' notice. And by + the way, if I am interfering with any engagement—” + </p> + <p> + “My book is not so full as all that. Of course you'll come and stay with + us, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “My train leaves at six, from Forty-Second Street,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are niggardly,” she cried. “To think how little I see of you, + Peter. And sometimes I long for you. It's strange, but I still miss you + terribly—after five years. It seems longer than that,” she added, as + she poured the boiling water into the tea-pot. But she did not look at + him. + </p> + <p> + He got up and walked as far as a water-colour on the wall. + </p> + <p> + “You have some beautiful things here, Honora,” he said. “I am glad I have + had a glimpse of you surrounded by them to carry back to your aunt and + uncle.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced about the room as he spoke, and then at him. He seemed the + only reality in it, but she did not say so. + </p> + <p> + “You'll see them soon,” was what she said. And considered the miracle of + him staying there where Providence had placed him, and bringing the world + to him. Whereas she, who had gone forth to seek it—“The day after + to-morrow will be Sunday,” he reminded her. + </p> + <p> + Nothing had changed there. She closed her eyes and saw the little dining + room in all the dignity of Sunday dinner, the big silver soup tureen + catching the sun, the flowered china with the gilt edges, and even a + glimpse of lace paper when the closet door opened; Aunt Mary and Uncle + Tom, with Peter between them. And these, strangely, were the only tangible + things and immutable. + </p> + <p> + “You'll give them—a good account of me?” she said. “I know that you + do not care for New York,” she added with a smile. “But it is possible to + be happy here.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you are happy, Honora, and that you have got what you wanted in + life. Although I may be unreasonable and provincial and—and + Western,” he confessed with a twinkle—for he had the characteristic + national trait of shading off his most serious remarks—“I have never + gone so far as to declare that happiness was a question of locality.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Nor fame.” Her mind returned to the loadstar. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, fame!” he exclaimed, with a touch of impatience, and he used the word + that had possessed her all day. “There is no reality in that. Men are not + loved for it.” + </p> + <p> + She set down her cup quickly. He was looking at the water-colour. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been to the Metropolitan Museum lately?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The Metropolitan Museum?” she repeated in bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “That would be one of the temptations of New York for me,” he said. “I was + there for half an hour this afternoon before I presented myself at your + door as a suspicious character. There is a picture there, by Coffin, + called 'The Rain,' I believe. I am very fond of it. And looking at it on + such a winter's day as this brings back the summer. The squall coming, and + the sound of it in the trees, and the very smell of the wet meadow-grass + in the wind. Do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Honora, and she was suddenly filled with shame at the + thought that she had never been in the Museum. “I didn't know you were so + fond of pictures.” + </p> + <p> + “I am beginning to be a rival of Mr. Dwyer,” he declared. “I've bought + four—although I haven't built my gallery. When you come to St. Louis + I'll show them to you—and let us hope it will be soon.” + </p> + <p> + For some time after she had heard the street door close behind him Honora + remained where she was, staring into the fire, and then she crossed the + room to a reading lamp, and turned it up. + </p> + <p> + Some one spoke in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Grainger, madam.” + </p> + <p> + Before she could rouse herself and recover from her astonishment, the + gentleman himself appeared, blinking as though the vision of her were too + bright to be steadily gazed at. If the city had been searched, it is + doubtful whether a more striking contrast to the man who had just left + could have been found than Cecil Grainger in the braided, grey cutaway + that clung to the semblance of a waist he still possessed. In him Hyde + Park and Fifth Avenue, so to speak, shook hands across the sea: put him in + either, and he would have appeared indigenous. + </p> + <p> + “Hope you'll forgive my comin' 'round on such slight acquaintance, Mrs. + Spence,” said he. “Couldn't resist the opportunity to pay my respects. + Shorter told me where you were.” + </p> + <p> + “That was very good of Mr. Shorter,” said Honora, whose surprise had given + place to a very natural resentment, since she had not the honour of + knowing Mrs. Grainger. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mr. Grainger, “Shorter's a good sort. Said he'd been here + himself to see how you were fixed, and hadn't found you in. Uncommonly + well fixed, I should say,” he added, glancing around the room with + undisguised approval. “Why the deuce did she furnish it, since she's gone + to Paris to live with Rindge?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you mean Mrs. Rindge,” said Honora. “She didn't furnish it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Grainger winked at her rapidly, like a man suddenly brought face to + face with a mystery. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he replied, as though he had solved it. The solution came a few + moments later. “It's ripping!” he said. “Farwell couldn't have done it any + better.” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed, and momentarily forgot her resentment. + </p> + <p> + “Will you have tea?” she asked. “Oh, don't sit down there!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked, jumping. It was the chair that had held Peter, and + Mr. Grainger examined the seat as though he suspected a bent pin. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Honora, “because it isn't comfortable. Pull up that other + one.” + </p> + <p> + Again mystified, he did as he was told. She remembered his reputation for + going to sleep, and wondered whether she had been wise in her second + choice. But it soon became apparent that Mr. Grainger, as he gazed at her + from among the cushions, had no intention of dozing, His eyelids reminded + her of the shutters of a camera, and she had the feeling of sitting for + thousands of instantaneous photographs for his benefit. She was by turns + annoyed, amused, and distrait: Peter was leaving his hotel; now he was + taking the train. Was he thinking of her? He had said he was glad she was + happy! She caught herself up with a start after one of these silences to + realize that Mr. Grainger was making unwonted and indeed pathetic + exertions to entertain her, and it needed no feminine eye to perceive that + he was thoroughly uncomfortable. She had, unconsciously and in thinking of + Peter, rather overdone the note of rebuke of his visit. And Honora was, + above all else, an artist. His air was distinctly apologetic as he rose, + perhaps a little mortified, like that of a man who has got into the wrong + house. + </p> + <p> + “I very much fear I've intruded, Mrs. Spence,” he stammered, and he was + winking now with bewildering rapidity. “We—we had such a pleasant + drive together that day to Westchester—I was tempted—” + </p> + <p> + “We did have a good time,” she agreed. “And it has been a pleasure to see + you again.” + </p> + <p> + Thus, in the kindness of her heart, she assisted him to cover his retreat, + for it was a strange and somewhat awful experience to see Mr. Cecil + Grainger discountenanced. He glanced again, as he went out, at the chair + in which he had been forbidden to sit. + </p> + <p> + She went to the piano, played over a few bars of Thais, and dropped her + hands listlessly. Cross currents of the strange events of the day flowed + through her mind: Peter's arrival and its odd heralding, and the + discomfort of Mr. Grainger. + </p> + <p> + Howard came in. He did not see her under the shaded lamp, and she sat + watching him with a curious feeling of detachment as he unfolded his + newspaper and sank, with a sigh of content, into the cushioned chair which + Mr. Grainger had vacated. Was it fancy that her husband's physical + attributes had changed since he had attained his new position of dignity? + She could have sworn that he had visibly swollen on the evening when he + had announced to her his promotion, and he seemed to have remained + swollen. Not bloated, of course: he was fatter, and—if possible + pinker. But there was a growing suggestion in him of humming-and-hawing + greatness. If there—were leisure in this too-leisurely chronicle for + what might be called aftermath, the dinner that Honora had given to some + of her Quicksands friends might be described. Suffice it to recall, with + Honora, that Lily Dallam, with a sure instinct, had put the finger of her + wit on this new attribute of Howard's. + </p> + <p> + “You'll kill me, Howard!” she had cried. “He even looks at the soup as + though he were examining a security!” + </p> + <p> + Needless to say, it did not cure him, although it sealed Lily Dallam's + fate—and incidentally that of Quicksands. Honora's thoughts as she + sat now at the piano watching him, flew back unexpectedly to the summer at + Silverdale when she had met him, and she tried to imagine, the genial and + boyish representative of finance that he was then. In the midst of this + effort he looked up and discovered her. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing over there, Honora?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Thinking,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “That's a great way to treat a man when he comes home after a day's work.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Howard,” she said with unusual meekness. “Who do you + think was here this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Erwin? I've just come from Mr. Wing's house—he has gout to-day and + didn't go down town. He offered Erwin a hundred thousand a year to come to + New York as corporation counsel. And if you'll believe me—he refused + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll believe you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Did he say anything about it to you?” + </p> + <p> + “He simply mentioned that Mr. Wing asked him to come to New York. He + didn't say why.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Howard remarked, “he's one too many for me. He can't be making + over thirty thousand where he is.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE PATH OF PHILANTHROPY + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Cecil Grainger may safely have been called a Personality, and one of + the proofs of this was that she haunted people who had never seen her. + Honora might have looked at her, it is true, on the memorable night of the + dinner with Mrs. Holt and Trixton Brent; but—for sufficiently + obvious reasons—refrained. It would be an exaggeration to say that + Mrs. Grainger became an obsession with our heroine; yet it cannot be + denied that, since Honora's arrival at Quicksands, this lady had, in + increasing degrees, been the subject of her speculations. The threads of + Mrs. Grainger's influence were so ramified, indeed, as to be found in Mrs. + Dallam, who declared she was the rudest woman in New York and yet had + copied her brougham; in Mr. Cuthbert and Trixton Brent; in Mrs. Kame; in + Mrs. Holt, who proclaimed her a tower of strength in charities; and lastly + in Mr. Grainger himself, who, although he did not spend much time in his + wife's company, had for her an admiration that amounted to awe. + </p> + <p> + Elizabeth Grainger, who was at once modern and tenaciously conservative, + might have been likened to some of the Roman matrons of the aristocracy in + the last years of the Republic. Her family, the Pendletons, had + traditions: so, for that matter, had the Graingers. But Senator Pendleton, + antique homo virtute et fide, had been a Roman of the old school who would + have preferred exile after the battle of Philippi; and who, could he have + foreseen modern New York and modern finance, would have been more content + to die when he did. He had lived in Washington Square. His daughter + inherited his executive ability, many of his prejudices (as they would now + be called), and his habit of regarding favourable impressions with + profound suspicion. She had never known the necessity of making friends: + hers she had inherited, and for some reason specially decreed, they were + better than those of less fortunate people. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grainger was very tall. And Sargent, in his portrait of her, had + caught with admirable art the indefinable, yet partly supercilious and + scornful smile with which she looked down upon the world about her. She + possessed the rare gift of combining conventionality with personal + distinction in her dress. Her hair was almost Titian red in colour, and + her face (on the authority of Mr. Reginald Farwell) was at once modern and + Italian Renaissance. Not the languid, amorous Renaissance, but the lady of + decision who chose, and did not wait to be chosen. Her eyes had all the + colours of the tapaz, and her regard was so baffling as to arouse intense + antagonism in those who were not her friends. + </p> + <p> + To Honora, groping about for a better and a higher life, the path of + philanthropy had more than once suggested itself. And on the day of + Peter's visit to New York, when she had lunched with Mrs. Holt, she had + signified her willingness (now that she had come to live in town) to join + the Working Girls' Relief Society. Mrs. Holt, needless to say, was + overjoyed: they were to have a meeting at her house in the near future + which Honora must not fail to attend. It was not, however, without a + feeling of trepidation natural to a stranger that she made her way to that + meeting when the afternoon arrived. + </p> + <p> + No sooner was she seated in Mrs. Holt's drawing-room—filled with + camp-chairs for the occasion—than she found herself listening + breathlessly to a recital of personal experiences by a young woman who + worked in a bindery on the East side. Honora's heart was soft: her + sympathies, as we know, easily aroused. And after the young woman had told + with great simplicity and earnestness of the struggle to support herself + and lead an honest and self-respecting existence, it seemed to Honora that + at last she had opened the book of life at the proper page. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards there were questions, and a report by Miss Harber, a + middle-aged lady with glasses who was the secretary. Honora looked around + her. The membership of the Society, judging by those present, was surely + of a sufficiently heterogeneous character to satisfy even the catholic + tastes of her hostess. There were elderly ladies, some benevolent and some + formidable, some bedecked and others unadorned; there were earnest-looking + younger women, to whom dress was evidently a secondary consideration; and + there was a sprinkling of others, perfectly gowned, several of whom were + gathered in an opposite corner. Honora's eyes, as the reading of the + report progressed, were drawn by a continual and resistless attraction to + this group; or rather to the face of one of the women in it, which seemed + to stare out at her like the eat in the tree of an old-fashioned picture + puzzle, or the lineaments of George Washington among a mass of boulders on + a cliff. Once one has discovered it, one can see nothing else. In vain + Honora dropped her eyes; some strange fascination compelled her to raise + them again until they met those of the other woman: Did their glances + meet? She could never quite be sure, so disconcerting were the lights in + that regard—lights, seemingly, of laughter and mockery. + </p> + <p> + Some instinct informed Honora that the woman was Mrs. Grainger, and + immediately the scene in the Holland House dining-room came back to her. + Never until now had she felt the full horror of its comedy. And then, as + though to fill the cup of humiliation, came the thought of Cecil + Grainger's call. She longed, in an agony with which sensitive natures will + sympathize, for the reading to be over. + </p> + <p> + The last paragraph of the report contained tributes to Mrs. Joshua Holt + and Mrs. Cecil Grainger for the work each had done during the year, and + amidst enthusiastic hand-clapping the formal part of the meeting came to + an end. The servants were entering with tea as Honora made her way towards + the door, where she was stopped by Susan Holt. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Honora,” cried Mrs. Holt, who had hurried after her daughter, + “you're not going?” + </p> + <p> + Honora suddenly found herself without an excuse. + </p> + <p> + “I really ought to, Mrs. Holt. I've had such a good time-and I've been so + interested. I never realized that such things occurred. And I've got one + of the reports, which I intend to read over again.” + </p> + <p> + “But my dear,” protested Mrs. Holt, “you must meet some of the members of + the Society. Bessie!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grainger, indeed—for Honora had been right in her surmise—was + standing within ear-shot of this conversation. And Honora, who knew she + was there, could not help feeling that she took a rather redoubtable + interest in it. At Mrs. Holt's words she turned. + </p> + <p> + “Bessie, I've found a new recruit—one that I can answer for, Mrs. + Spence, whom I spoke to you about.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grainger bestowed upon Honora her enigmatic smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she declared, “I've heard of Mrs. Spence from other sources, and + I've seen her, too.” + </p> + <p> + Honora grew a fiery red. There was obviously no answer to such a remark, + which seemed the quintessence of rudeness. But Mrs. Grainger continued to + smile, and to stare at her with the air of trying to solve a riddle. + </p> + <p> + “I'm coming to see you, if I may,” she said. “I've been intending to since + I've been in town, but I'm always so busy that I don't get time to do the + things I want to do.” + </p> + <p> + An announcement that fairly took away Honora's breath. She managed to + express her appreciation of Mrs. Grainger's intention, and presently found + herself walking rapidly up-town through swirling snow, somewhat dazed by + the events of the afternoon. And these, by the way, were not yet finished. + As she reached her own door, a voice vaguely familiar called her name. + </p> + <p> + “Honora!” + </p> + <p> + She turned. The slim, tall figure of a young woman descended from a + carriage and crossed the pavement, and in the soft light of the vestibule + she recognized Ethel Wing. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad I caught you,” said that young lady when they entered the + drawing-room. And she gazed at her school friend. The colour glowed in + Honora's cheeks, but health alone could not account for the sparkle in her + eyes. “Why, you look radiant. You are more beautiful than you were at + Sutcliffe. Is it marriage?” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed happily, and they sat down side by side on the lounge + behind the tea table. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you'd married,” said Ethel, “but I didn't know what had become of + you until the other day. Jim never tells me anything. It appears that he's + seen something of you. But it wasn't from Jim that I heard about you + first. You'd never guess who told me you were here.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” asked Honora, curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Erwin.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter Erwin!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm perfectly shameless,” proclaimed Ethel Wing. “I've lost my heart to + him, and I don't care who knows it. Why in the world didn't you marry + him?” + </p> + <p> + “But—where did you see him?” Honora demanded as soon as she could + command herself sufficiently to speak. Her voice must have sounded odd. + Ethel did not appear to notice that. + </p> + <p> + “He lunched with us one day when father had gout. Didn't he tell you about + it? He said he was coming to see you that afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—he came. But he didn't mention being at lunch at your house.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure that was like him,” declared her friend. And for the first time + in her life Honora experienced a twinge of that world-old ailment—jealousy. + How did Ethel know what was like him? “I made father give him up for a + little while after lunch, and he talked about you the whole time. But he + was most interesting at the table,” continued Ethel, sublimely unconscious + of the lack of compliment in the comparison; “as Jim would say, he fairly + wiped up the ground with father, and it isn't an easy thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Wiped up the ground with Mr. Wing!” Honora repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in a delightfully quiet, humorous way. That's what made it so + effective. I couldn't understand all of it; but I grasped enough to enjoy + it hugely. Father's so used to bullying people that it's become second + nature with him. I've seen him lay down the law to some of the biggest + lawyers in New York, and they took it like little lambs. He caught a + Tartar in Mr. Erwin. I didn't dare to laugh, but I wanted to.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the discussion about?” asked Honora. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure that I can give you a very clear idea of it,” said Ethel. + “Generally speaking, it was about modern trust methods, and what a + self-respecting lawyer would do and what he wouldn't. Father took the + ground that the laws weren't logical, and that they were different and + conflicting, anyway, in different States. He said they impeded the natural + development of business, and that it was justifiable for the great legal + brains of the country to devise means by which these laws could be eluded. + He didn't quite say that, but he meant it, and he honestly believes it. + The manner in which Mr. Erwin refuted it was a revelation to me. I've been + thinking about it since. You see, I'd never heard that side of the + argument. Mr. Erwin said, in the nicest way possible, but very firmly, + that a lawyer who hired himself out to enable one man to take advantage of + another prostituted his talents: that the brains of the legal profession + were out of politics in these days, and that it was almost impossible for + the men in the legislatures to frame laws that couldn't be evaded by + clever and unscrupulous devices. He cited ever so many cases....” + </p> + <p> + Ethel's voice became indistinct, as though some one had shut a door in + front of it. Honora was trembling on the brink of a discovery: holding + herself back from it, as one who has climbed a fair mountain recoils from + the lip of an unsuspected crater at sight of the lazy, sulphurous fumes. + All the years of her marriage, ever since she had first heard his name, + the stature of James Wing had been insensibly growing, and the vastness of + his empire gradually disclosed. She had lived in that empire: in it his + word had stood for authority, his genius had been worshipped, his decrees + had been absolute. + </p> + <p> + She had met him once, in Howard's office, when he had greeted her gruffly, + and the memory of his rugged features and small red eyes, like live coals, + had remained. And she saw now the drama that had taken place before + Ethel's eyes. The capitalist, overbearing, tyrannical, hearing a few, + simple truths in his own house from Peter—her Peter. And she + recalled her husband's account of his talk with James Wing. Peter had + refused to sell himself. Had Howard? Many times during the days that + followed she summoned her courage to ask her husband that question, and + kept silence. She did not wish to know. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to seem disloyal to papa,” Ethel was saying. “He is under + great responsibilities to other people, to stockholders; and he must get + things done. But oh, Honora, I'm so tired of money, money, money and its + standards, and the things people are willing to do for it. I've seen too + much.” + </p> + <p> + Honora looked at her friend, and believed her. One glance at the girl's + tired eyes—a weariness somehow enhanced—in effect by the gold + sheen of her hair—confirmed the truth of her words. + </p> + <p> + “You've changed, Ethel, since Sutcliffe,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've changed,” said Ethel Wing, and the weariness was in her voice, + too. “I've had too much, Honora. Life was all glitter, like a Christmas + tree, when I left Sutcliffe. I had no heart. I'm not at all sure that I + have one now. I've known all kinds of people—except the right kind. + And if I were to tell you some of the things that have happened to me in + five years you wouldn't believe them. Money has been at the bottom of it + all,—it ruined my brother, and it has ruined me. And then, the other + day, I beheld a man whose standards simply take no account of money, a man + who holds something else higher. I—I had been groping lately, and + then I seemed to see clear for the first time in my life. But I'm afraid + it comes too late.” + </p> + <p> + Honora took her friend's hand in her own and pressed it. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why I'm telling you all this,” said Ethel: “It seems to-day + as though I had always known you, and yet we weren't particularly intimate + at school. I suppose I'm inclined to be oversuspicious. Heaven knows I've + had enough to make me so. But I always thought that you were a little—ambitious. + You'll forgive my frankness, Honora. I don't think you're at all so, now.” + She glanced at Honora suddenly. “Perhaps you've changed, too,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Honora nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'm changing all the time,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + After a moment's silence, Ethel Wing pursued her own train of thought. + </p> + <p> + “Curiously enough when he—when Mr. Erwin spoke of you I seemed to + get a very different idea of you than the one I had always had. I had to + go out of town, but I made up my mind I'd come to see you as soon as I got + back, and ask you to tell me something about him.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I tell you?” asked Honora. “He is what you think he is, and + more.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me something of his early life,” said Ethel Wing. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ..................... +</pre> + <p> + There is a famous river in the western part of our country that disappears + into a canon, the walls of which are some thousands of feet high, and the + bottom so narrow that the confined waters roar through it at breakneck + speed. Sometimes they disappear entirely under the rock, to emerge again + below more furiously than ever. From the river-bed can be seen, far, far + above, a blue ribbon of sky. Once upon a time, not long ago, two heroes in + the service of the government of the United States, whose names should be + graven in the immortal rock and whose story read wherever the language is + spoken, made the journey through this canon and came out alive. That + journey once started, there could be no turning back. Down and down they + were buffeted by the rushing waters, over the falls and through the + tunnels, with time to think only of that which would save them from + immediate death, until they emerged into the sunlight of the plain below. + </p> + <p> + All of which by way of parallel. For our own chronicle, hitherto leisurely + enough, is coming to its canon—perhaps even now begins to feel the + pressure of the shelving sides. And if our heroine be somewhat rudely + tossed from one boulder to another, if we fail wholly to understand her + emotions and her acts, we must blame the canon. She had, indeed, little + time to think. + </p> + <p> + One evening, three weeks or so after the conversation with Ethel Wing just + related, Honora's husband entered her room as her maid was giving the + finishing touches to her toilet. + </p> + <p> + “You're not going to wear that dress!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” she asked, without turning from the mirror. + </p> + <p> + He lighted a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you'd put on something handsome—to go to the Graingers'. + And where are your jewels? You'll find the women there loaded with 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “One string of pearls is all I care to wear,” said Honora—a reply + with which he was fain to be content until they were in the carriage, when + she added: “Howard, I must ask you as a favour not to talk that way before + the servants.” + </p> + <p> + “What way?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she exclaimed, “if you don't know I suppose it is impossible to + explain. You wouldn't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand one thing, Honora, that you're too confoundedly clever for + me,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + Honora did not reply. For at that moment they drew up at a carpet + stretched across the pavement. + </p> + <p> + Unlike the mansions of vast and imposing facades that were beginning + everywhere to catch the eye on Fifth Avenue, and that followed mostly the + continental styles of architecture, the house of the Cecil Graingers had a + substantial, “middle of-the-eighties” appearance. It stood on a corner, + with a high iron fence protecting the area around it. Within, it gave one + an idea of space that the exterior strangely belied; and it was furnished, + not in a French, but in what might be called a comfortably English, + manner. It was filled, Honora saw, with handsome and priceless things + which did not immediately and aggressively strike the eye, but which + somehow gave the impression of having always been there. What struck her, + as she sat in the little withdrawing room while the maid removed her + overshoes, was the note of permanence. + </p> + <p> + Some of those who were present at Mrs. Grainger's that evening remember + her entrance into the drawing-room. Her gown, the colour of a rose-tinted + cloud, set off the exceeding whiteness of her neck and arms and vied with + the crimson in her cheeks, and the single glistening string of pearls + about the slender column of her neck served as a contrast to the shadowy + masses of her hair. Mr. Reginald Farwell, who was there, afterwards + declared that she seemed to have stepped out of the gentle landscape of an + old painting. She stood, indeed, hesitating for a moment in the doorway, + her eyes softly alight, in the very pose of expectancy that such a picture + suggested. + </p> + <p> + Honora herself was almost frightened by a sense of augury, of triumph, as + she went forward to greet her hostess. Conversation, for the moment, had + stopped. Cecil Grainger, with the air of one who had pulled aside the + curtain and revealed this vision of beauty and innocence, crossed the room + to welcome her. And Mrs. Grainger herself was not a little surprised; she + was not a dramatic person, and it was not often that her drawing-room was + the scene of even a mild sensation. No entrance could have been at once so + startling and so unexceptionable as Honora's. + </p> + <p> + “I was sorry not to find you when I called,” she said. “I was sorry, too,” + replied Mrs. Grainger, regarding her with an interest that was + undisguised, and a little embarrassing. “I'm scarcely ever at home, except + when I'm with the children. Do you know these people?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure,” said Honora, “but—I must introduce my husband to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “How d'ye do!” said Mr. Grainger, blinking at her when this ceremony was + accomplished. “I'm awfully glad to see you, Mrs. Spence, upon my word.” + </p> + <p> + Honora could not doubt it. But he had little time to express his joy, + because of the appearance of his wife at Honora's elbow with a tall man + she had summoned from a corner. + </p> + <p> + “Before we go to dinner I must introduce my cousin, Mr. Chiltern—he + is to have the pleasure of taking you out,” she said. + </p> + <p> + His name was in the class of those vaguely familiar: vaguely familiar, + too, was his face. An extraordinary face, Honora thought, glancing at it + as she took his arm, although she was struck by something less tangible + than the unusual features. He might have belonged to any nationality + within the limits of the Caucasian race. His short, kinky, black hair + suggested great virility, an effect intensified by a strongly bridged + nose, sinewy hands, and bushy eyebrows. But the intangible distinction was + in the eyes that looked out from under these brows the glimpse she had of + them as he bowed to her gravely, might be likened to the hasty reading of + a chance page in a forbidden book. Her attention was arrested, her + curiosity aroused. She was on that evening, so to speak, exposed for and + sensitive to impressions. She was on the threshold of the Alhambra. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh has such a faculty,” complained Mr. Grainger, “of turning up at the + wrong moment!” + </p> + <p> + Dinner was announced. She took Chiltern's arm, and they fell into file + behind a lady in yellow, with a long train, who looked at her rather hard. + It was Mrs. Freddy Maitland. Her glance shifted to Chiltern, and it seemed + to Honora that she started a little. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Hugh,” she said indifferently, looking back over her shoulder; + “have you turned up again?” + </p> + <p> + “Still sticking to the same side of your horse, I see.” he replied, + ignoring the question. “I told you you'd get lop-sided.” + </p> + <p> + The deformity, if there were any, did not seem to trouble her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to Florida Wednesday. We want another man. Think it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, but I've got something else to do,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “The devil and idle hands,” retorted Mrs. Maitland. + </p> + <p> + Honora was sure as she could be that Chiltern was angry, although he gave + no visible sign of this. It was as though the current ran from his arm + into hers. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been away?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me as though I had never been anywhere else,” he answered, + and he glanced curiously at the guests ranging about the great, + flower-laden table. They sat down. + </p> + <p> + She was a little repelled, a little piqued; and a little relieved when the + man on her other side spoke to her, and she recognized Mr. Reginald + Farwell, the architect. The table capriciously swung that way. She did not + feel prepared to talk to Mr. Chiltern. And before entering upon her + explorations she was in need of a guide. She could have found none more + charming, none more impersonal, none more subtly aware of her wants (which + had once been his) than Mr. Farwell. With his hair parted with geometrical + precision from the back of his collar to his forehead, with his silky + mustache and eyes of soft hazel lights, he was all things to all men and + women—within reason. He was an achievement that civilization had not + hitherto produced, a combination of the Beaux Arts and the Jockey Club and + American adaptability. He was of those upon whom labour leaves no trace. + </p> + <p> + There were preliminaries, mutually satisfactory. To see Mrs. Spence was + never to forget her, but more delicately intimated. He remembered to have + caught a glimpse of her at the Quicksands Club, and Mrs. Dallam nor her + house were not mentioned by either. Honora could not have been in New York + Long. No, it was her first winter, and she felt like a stranger. Would Mr. + Farwell tell her who some of these people were? Nothing charmed Mr. + Farwell so much as simplicity—when it was combined with personal + attractions. He did not say so, but contrived to intimate the former. + </p> + <p> + “It's always difficult when one first comes to New York,” he declared, + “but it soon straightens itself out, and one is surprised at how few + people there are, after all. We'll begin on Cecil's right. That's Mrs. + George Grenfell.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Honora, looking at a tall, thin woman of middle age who + wore a tiara, and whose throat was covered with jewels. Honora did not + imply that Mrs. Grenfell's name, and most of those that followed, were + extremely familiar to her. + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion she's got the best garden in Newport, and she did most of + it herself. Next to her, with the bald head, is Freddy Maitland. Next to + him is Miss Godfrey. She's a little eccentric, but she can afford to be—the + Godfreys for generations have done so much for the city. The man with the + beard, next her, is John Laurens, the philanthropist. That pretty woman, + who's just as nice as she looks, is Mrs. Victor Strange. She was Agatha + Pendleton—Mrs. Grainger's cousin. And the gentleman with the pink + face, whom she is entertaining—” + </p> + <p> + “Is my husband,” said Honora, smiling. “I know something about him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Farwell laughed. He admired her aplomb, and he did not himself change + countenance. Indeed, the incident seemed rather to heighten the confidence + between them. Honora was looking rather critically at Howard. It was a + fact that his face did grow red at this stage of a dinner, and she + wondered what Mrs. Strange found to talk to him about. + </p> + <p> + “And the woman on the other side of him?” she asked. “By the way, she has + a red face, too.” + </p> + <p> + “So she has,” he replied amusedly. “That is Mrs. Littleton Pryor, the + greatest living rebuke to the modern woman. Most of those jewels are + inherited, but she has accustomed herself by long practice to carry them, + as well as other burdens. She has eight children, and she's on every + charity list. Her ancestors were the very roots of Manhattan. She looks + like a Holbein—doesn't she?” + </p> + <p> + “And the extraordinary looking man on my right?” Honora asked. “I've got + to talk to him presently.” + </p> + <p> + “Chiltern!” he said. “Is it possible you haven't heard something about + Hugh Chiltern?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it such lamentable ignorance?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “That depends upon one's point of view,” he replied. “He's always been a + sort of a—well, Viking,” said Farwell. + </p> + <p> + Honora was struck by the appropriateness of the word. + </p> + <p> + “Viking—yes, he looks it exactly. I couldn't think. Tell me + something about him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he laughed, lowering his voice a little, “here goes for a little + rough and ready editing. One thing about Chiltern that's to be admired is + that he's never cared a rap what people think. Of course, in a way, he + never had to. His family own a section of the state, where they've had + woollen mills for a hundred years, more or less. I believe Hugh Chiltern + has sold 'em, or they've gone into a trust, or something, but the estate + is still there, at Grenoble—one of the most beautiful places I've + ever seen. The General—this man's father—was a violent, + dictatorial man. There is a story about his taking a battery at Gettysburg + which is almost incredible. But he went back to Grenoble after the war, + and became the typical public-spirited citizen; built up the mills which + his own pioneer grandfather had founded, and all that. He married an aunt + of Mrs. Grainger's,—one of those delicate, gentle women who never + dare to call their soul their own.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” prompted Honora, with interest. + </p> + <p> + “It's only fair to Hugh,” Farwell continued, “to take his early years into + account. The General never understood him, and his mother died before he + went off to school. Men who were at Harvard with him say he has a + brilliant mind, but he spent most of his time across the Charles River + breaking things. It was, probably, the energy the General got rid of at + Gettysburg. What Hugh really needed was a war, and he had too much money. + He has a curious literary streak, I'm told, and wrote a rather remarkable + article—I've forgotten just where it appeared. He raced a yacht for + a while in a dare-devil, fiendish way, as one might expect; and used to go + off on cruises and not be heard of for months. At last he got engaged to + Sally Harrington—Mrs. Freddy Maitland.” + </p> + <p> + Honora glanced across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Mr. Farwell. “That was seven or eight years ago. Nobody + ever knew the reason why she broke it—though it may have been pretty + closely guessed. He went away, and nobody's laid eyes on him until he + turned up to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Honora's innocence was not too great to enable her to read between the + lines of this biography which Reginald Farwell had related with such + praiseworthy delicacy. It was a biography, she well knew, that, like a + score of others, had been guarded as jealously as possible within the + circle on the borders of which she now found herself. Mrs. Grainger with + her charities, Mrs. Littleton Pryor with her good works, Miss Godfrey with + her virtue—all swallowed it as gracefully as possible. Noblesse + oblige. Honora had read French and English memoirs, and knew that history + repeats itself. And a biography that is printed in black letter and + illuminated in gold is attractive in spite of its contents. The contents, + indeed, our heroine had not found uninteresting, and she turned now to the + subject with a flutter of anticipation. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her intently, almost boldly, she thought, and before she + dropped her eyes she had made a discovery. The thing stamped upon his face + and burning in his eyes was not world-weariness, disappointment, despair. + She could not tell what it was, yet; that it was none of these, she knew. + It was not unrelated to experience, but transcended it. There was an + element of purpose in it, of determination, almost—she would have + believed—of hope. That Mrs. Maitland nor any other woman was a part + of it she became equally sure. Nothing could have been more commonplace + than the conversation which began, and yet it held for her, between the + lines as in the biography, the thrill of interest. She was a woman, and + embarked on a voyage of discovery. + </p> + <p> + “Do you live in New York?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Honora, “since this autumn.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been away a good many years,” he said, in explanation of his + question. “I haven't quite got my bearings. I can't tell you how queerly + this sort of thing affects me.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean civilization?” she hazarded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And yet I've come back to it.” + </p> + <p> + Of course she did not ask him why. Their talk was like the starting of a + heavy train—a series of jerks; and yet both were aware of an + irresistible forward traction. She had not recovered from her surprise in + finding herself already so far in his confidence. + </p> + <p> + “And the time will come, I suppose, when you'll long to get away again.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “I've come back to stay. It's taken me a long while to + learn it, but there's only one place for a man, and that's his own + country.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes lighted. + </p> + <p> + “There's always so much for a man to do.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you do?” he asked curiously. + </p> + <p> + She considered this. + </p> + <p> + “If you had asked me that question two years ago—even a year ago—I + should have given you a different answer. It's taken me some time to learn + it, too, you see, and I'm not a man. I once thought I should have liked to + have been a king amongst money changers, and own railroad and steamship + lines, and dominate men by sheer power.” + </p> + <p> + He was clearly interested. + </p> + <p> + “And now?” he prompted her. + </p> + <p> + She laughed a little, to relieve the tension. + </p> + <p> + “Well—I've found out that there are some men that kind of power + can't control—the best kind. And I've found out that that isn't the + best kind of power. It seems to be a brutal, barbarous cunning power now + that I've seen it at close range. There's another kind that springs from a + man himself, that speaks through his works and acts, that influences first + those around him, and then his community, convincing people of their own + folly, and that finally spreads in ever widening circles to those whom he + cannot see, and never will see.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, breathing deeply, a little frightened at her own eloquence. + Something told her that she was not only addressing her own soul—she + was speaking to his. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you'll think I'm preaching,” she apologized. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said impatiently, “no.” + </p> + <p> + “To answer your question, then, if I were a man of independent means, I + think I should go into politics. And I should put on my first campaign + banner the words, 'No Compromise.'” + </p> + <p> + It was a little strange that, until now—to-night-she had not + definitely formulated these ambitions. The idea of the banner with its + inscription had come as an inspiration. He did not answer, but sat + regarding her, drumming on the cloth with his strong, brown fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I have learned this much in New York,” she said, carried on by her + impetus, “that men and women are like plants. To be useful, and to grow + properly, they must be firmly rooted in their own soil. This city seems to + me like a luxurious, overgrown hothouse. Of course,” she added hastily, + “there are many people who belong here, and whose best work is done here. + I was thinking about those whom it attracts. And I have seen so many who + are only watered and fed and warmed, and who become—distorted.” + </p> + <p> + “It's extraordinary,” replied Chiltern, slowly, “that you should say this + to me. It is what I have come to believe, but I couldn't have said it half + so well.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grainger gave the signal to rise. Honora took Chiltern's arm, and he + led her back to the drawing-room. She was standing alone by the fire when + Mrs. Maitland approached her. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I seen you before?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. VINELAND + </h2> + <p> + It was a pleasant Newport to which Honora went early in June, a fair city + shining in the midst of summer seas, a place to light the fires of + imagination. It wore at once an air of age, and of a new and sparkling + unreality. Honora found in the very atmosphere a certain magic which she + did not try to define, but to the enjoyment of which she abandoned + herself; and in those first days after her arrival she took a sheer + delight in driving about the island. Narrow Thames Street, crowded with + gay carriages, with its aspect of the eighteenth and it shops of the + twentieth century; the whiffs of the sea; Bellevue Avenue, with its + glorious serried ranks of trees, its erring perfumes from bright gardens, + its massed flowering shrubs beckoning the eye, its lawns of a truly + enchanted green. Through tree and hedge, as she drove, came ever changing + glimpses of gleaming palace fronts; glimpses that made her turn and look + again; that stimulated but did not satisfy, and left a pleasant longing + for something on the seeming verge of fulfilment. + </p> + <p> + The very stillness and solitude that seemed to envelop these palaces + suggested the enchanter's wand. To-morrow, perhaps, the perfect lawns + where the robins hopped amidst the shrubbery would become again the + rock-bound, windswept New England pasture above the sea, and screaming + gulls circle where now the swallows hovered about the steep blue roof of a + French chateau. Hundreds of years hence, would these great pleasure houses + still be standing behind their screens and walls and hedges? or would, + indeed, the shattered, vine-covered marble of a balustrade alone mark the + crumbling terraces whence once the fabled owners scanned the sparkling + waters of the ocean? Who could say? + </p> + <p> + The onward rush of our story between its canon walls compels us + reluctantly to skip the narrative of the winter conquests of the lady who + is our heroine. Popularity had not spoiled her, and the best proof of this + lay in the comments of a world that is nothing if not critical. No beauty + could have received with more modesty the triumph which had greeted her at + Mrs. Grenfell's tableaux, in April, when she had appeared as Circe, in an + architectural frame especially designed by Mr. Farwell himself. There had + been a moment of hushed astonishment, followed by an acclaim that sent the + curtain up twice again. + </p> + <p> + We must try to imagine, too, the logical continuation of that triumph in + the Baiae of our modern republic and empire, Newport. Open, Sesame! seems, + as ever, to be the countersign of her life. Even the palace gates swung + wide to her: most of them with the more readiness because she had already + passed through other gates—Mrs. Grainger's, for instance. Baiae, + apparently, is a topsy-turvy world in which, if one alights upside down, + it is difficult to become righted. To alight upside down, is to alight in + a palace. The Graingers did not live in one, but in a garden that existed + before the palaces were, and one that the palace owners could not copy: a + garden that three generations of Graingers, somewhat assisted by a + remarkable climate, had made with loving care. The box was priceless, the + spreading trees in the miniature park no less so, and time, the + unbribeable, alone could now have produced the wide, carefully cherished + Victorian mansion. Likewise not purchasable by California gold was a + grandfather whose name had been written large in the pages of American + history. His library was now lined with English sporting prints; but + these, too, were old and mellow and rare. + </p> + <p> + To reach Honora's cottage, you turned away from the pomp and glitter and + noise of Bellevue Avenue into the inviting tunnel of a leafy lane that + presently stopped of itself. As though to provide against the contingency + of a stray excursionist, a purple-plumed guard of old lilac trees massed + themselves before the house, and seemed to look down with contempt on the + new brick wall across the lane. 'Odi profanum vulgus'. It was on account + of the new brick wall, in fact, that Honora, through the intervention of + Mrs. Grainger and Mrs. Shorter, had been able to obtain this most + desirable of retreats, which belonged to a great-aunt of Miss Godfrey, + Mrs. Forsythe. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Chamberlin, none other than he of whom we caught a glimpse some years + ago in a castle near Silverdale, owned the wall and the grounds and the + palace it enclosed. This gentleman was of those who arrive in Newport + upside down; and was even now, with the somewhat doubtful assistance of + his wife, making lavish and pathetic attempts to right himself. Newport + had never forgiven him for the razing of a mansion and the felling of + trees which had been landmarks, and for the driving out of Mrs. Forsythe. + The mere sight of the modern wall had been too much for this lady—the + lilacs and the leaves in the lane mercifully hid the palace—and + after five and thirty peaceful summers she had moved out, and let the + cottage. It was furnished with delightful old-fashioned things that seemed + to express, at every turn, the aristocratic and uncompromising personality + of the owner who had lived so long in their midst. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Chamberlin, who has nothing whatever to do with this chronicle except + to have been the indirect means of Honora's installation, used to come + through the wall once a week or so to sit for half an hour on her porch as + long as he ever sat anywhere. He had reddish side-whiskers, and he + reminded her of a buzzing toy locomotive wound up tight and suddenly taken + from the floor. She caught glimpses of him sometimes in the mornings + buzzing around his gardeners, his painters, his carpenters, and his + grooms. He would buzz the rest of his life, but nothing short of a + revolution could take his possessions away. + </p> + <p> + The Graingers and the Grenfells and the Stranges might move mountains, but + not Mr. Chamberlin's house. Whatever heart-burnings he may have had + because certain people refused to come to his balls, he was in Newport to + remain. He would sit under the battlements until the crack of doom; or + rather—and more appropriate in Mr. Chamberlin's case—walk + around them and around, blowing trumpets until they capitulated. + </p> + <p> + Honora magically found herself within them, and without a siege. Behold + her at last in the setting for which we always felt she was destined. Why + is it, in this world, that realization is so difficult a thing? Now that + she is there, how shall we proceed to give the joys of her Elysium their + full value? Not, certainly, by repeating the word pleasure over and over + again: not by describing the palaces at which she lunched and danced and + dined, or the bright waters in which she bathed, or the yachts in which + she sailed. During the week, indeed, she moved untrammelled in a world + with which she found herself in perfect harmony: it was new, it was + dazzling, it was unexplored. During the week it possessed still another + and more valuable attribute—it was real. And she, Honora Leffingwell + Spence, was part and parcel of its permanence. The life relationships of + the people by whom she was surrounded became her own. She had little time + for thought—during the week. + </p> + <p> + We are dealing, now, in emotions as delicate as cloud shadows, and these + drew on as Saturday approached. On Saturdays and Sundays the quality and + texture of life seemed to undergo a change. Who does not recall the Monday + mornings of the school days of youth, and the indefinite feeling betwixt + sleep and waking that to-day would not be as yesterday or the day before? + On Saturday mornings, when she went downstairs, she was wont to find the + porch littered with newspapers and her husband lounging in a wicker chair + behind the disapproving lilacs. Although they had long ceased to bloom, + their colour was purple—his was pink. + </p> + <p> + Honora did not at first analyze or define these emotions, and was + conscious only of a stirring within her, and a change. Reality became + unreality. The house in which she lived, and for which she felt a passion + of ownership, was for two days a rented house. Other women in Newport had + week-end guests in the guise of husbands, and some of them went so far as + to bewail the fact. Some had got rid of them. Honora kissed hers + dutifully, and picked up the newspapers, drove him to the beach, and took + him out to dinner, where he talked oracularly of finance. On Sunday night + he departed, without visible regrets, for New York. + </p> + <p> + One Monday morning a storm was raging over Newport. Seized by a sudden + whim, she rang her bell, breakfasted at an unusual hour, and nine o'clock + found her, with her skirts flying, on the road above the cliffs that leads + to the Fort. The wind had increased to a gale, and as she stood on the + rocks the harbour below her was full of tossing white yachts straining at + their anchors. Serene in the midst of all this hubbub lay a great grey + battleship. + </p> + <p> + Presently, however, her thoughts were distracted by the sight of something + moving rapidly across her line of vision. A sloop yacht, with a + ridiculously shortened sail, was coming in from the Narrows, scudding + before the wind like a frightened bird. She watched its approach in a sort + of fascination, for of late she had been upon the water enough to realize + that the feat of which she was witness was not without its difficulties. + As the sloop drew nearer she made out a bare-headed figure bent tensely at + the wheel, and four others clinging to the yellow deck. In a flash the + boat had rounded to, the mainsail fell, and a veil of spray hid the actors + of her drama. When it cleared the yacht was tugging like a wild thing at + its anchor. + </p> + <p> + That night was Mrs. Grenfell's ball, and many times in later years has the + scene come back to Honora. It was not a large ball, by no means on the + scale of Mr. Chamberlin's, for instance. The great room reminded one of + the gallery of a royal French chateau, with its dished ceiling, in the + oval of which the colours of a pastoral fresco glowed in the ruby lights + of the heavy chandeliers; its grey panelling, hidden here and there by + tapestries, and its series of deep, arched windows that gave glimpses of a + lantern-hung terrace. Out there, beyond a marble balustrade, the lights of + fishing schooners tossed on a blue-black ocean. The same ocean on which + she had looked that morning, and which she heard now, in the intervals of + talk and laughter, crashing against the cliffs,—although the wind + had gone down. Like a woman stirred to the depths of her being, its bosom + was heaving still at the memory of the passion of the morning. + </p> + <p> + This night after the storm was capriciously mild, the velvet gown of + heaven sewn with stars. The music had ceased, and supper was being served + at little tables on the terrace. The conversation was desultory. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that with Reggie Farwell?” Ethel Wing asked. + </p> + <p> + “It's the Farrenden girl,” replied Mr. Cuthbert, whose business it was to + know everybody. “Chicago wheat. She looks like Ceres, doesn't she? Quite + becoming to Reggie's dark beauty. She was sixteen, they tell me, when the + old gentleman emerged from the pit, and they packed her off to a convent + by the next steamer. Reggie may have the blissful experience of living in + one of his own houses if he marries her.” + </p> + <p> + The fourth at the table was Ned Carrington, who had been first secretary + at an Embassy, and he had many stories to tell of ambassadors who spoke + commercial American and asked royalties after their wives. Some one had + said about him that he was the only edition of the Almanach de Gotha that + included the United States. He somewhat resembled a golden seal emerging + from a cold bath, and from time to time screwed an eyeglass into his eye + and made a careful survey of Mrs. Grenfell's guests. + </p> + <p> + “By George!” he exclaimed. “Isn't that Hugh Chiltern?” + </p> + <p> + Honora started, and followed the direction of Mr. Carrington's glance. At + sight of him, a vivid memory of the man's personality possessed her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Cuthbert was saying, “that's Chiltern sure enough. He came in on + Dicky Farnham's yacht this morning from New York.” + </p> + <p> + “This morning!” said Ethel Wing. “Surely not! No yacht could have come in + this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody but Chiltern would have brought one in, you mean,” he corrected + her. “He sailed her. They say Dicky was half dead with fright, and wanted + to put in anywhere. Chiltern sent him below and kept right on. He has a + devil in him, I believe. By the way, that's Dicky Farnham's ex-wife he's + talking to—Adele. She keeps her good looks, doesn't she? What's + happened to Rindge?” + </p> + <p> + “Left him on the other side, I hear,” said Carrington. “Perhaps she'll + take Chiltern next. She looked as though she were ready to. And they say + it's easier every time.” + </p> + <p> + “C'est le second mari qui coute,” paraphrased Cuthbert, tossing his cigar + over the balustrade. The strains of a waltz floated out of the windows, + the groups at the tables broke up, and the cotillon began. + </p> + <p> + As Honora danced, Chiltern remained in the back of her mind, or rather an + indefinite impression was there which in flashes she connected with him. + She wondered, at times, what had become of him, and once or twice she + caught herself scanning the bewildering, shifting sheen of gowns and + jewels for his face. At last she saw him by the windows, holding a favour + in his hand, coming in her direction. She looked away, towards the red + uniforms of the Hungarian band on the raised platform at the end of the + room. He was standing beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember me, Mrs. Spence?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She glanced up at him and smiled. He was not a person one would be likely + to forget, but she did not say so. + </p> + <p> + “I met you at Mrs. Granger's,” was what she said. + </p> + <p> + He handed her the favour. She placed it amongst the collection at the back + of her chair and rose, and they danced. Was it dancing? The music + throbbed; nay, the musicians seemed suddenly to have been carried out of + themselves, and played as they had not played before. Her veins were + filled with pulsing fire as she was swung, guided, carried out of herself + by the extraordinary virility of the man who held her. She had tasted + mastery. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she faltered, as they came around the second time to her + seat. + </p> + <p> + He released her. + </p> + <p> + “I stayed to dance with you,” he said. “I had to await my opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “It was kind of you to remember me,” she replied, as she went off with Mr. + Carrington. + </p> + <p> + A moment later she saw him bidding good night to his hostess. His face, + she thought, had not lost that strange look of determination that she + recalled. And yet—how account for his recklessness? + </p> + <p> + “Rum chap, Chiltern,” remarked Carrington. “He might be almost anything, + if he only knew it.” + </p> + <p> + In the morning, when she awoke, her eye fell on the cotillon favours + scattered over the lounge. One amongst them stood out—a + silver-mounted pin-cushion. Honora arose, picked it up contemplatively, + stared at it awhile, and smiled. Then she turned to her window, breathing + in the perfumes, gazing out through the horse-chestnut leaves at the + green, shadow-dappled lawn below. + </p> + <p> + On her breakfast tray, amidst some invitations, was a letter from her. + uncle. This she opened first. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dear Honora,” he wrote, “amongst your father's papers, which have + been in my possession since his death, was a certificate for three + hundred shares in a land company. He bought them for very little, + and I had always thought them worthless. It turns out that these + holdings are in a part of the state of Texas that is now being + developed; on the advice of Mr. Isham and others I have accepted an + offer of thirty dollars a share, and I enclose a draft on New York + for nine thousand dollars. I need not dwell upon the pleasure it is + for me to send you this legacy from your father. And I shall only + add the counsel of an old uncle, to invest this money by your + husband's advice in some safe securities.”... +</pre> + <p> + Honora put down the letter, and sat staring at the cheque in her hand. + Nine thousand dollars—and her own! Her first impulse was to send it + back to her uncle. But that would be, she knew, to hurt his feelings—he + had taken such a pride in handing her this inheritance. She read the + letter again, and resolved that she would not ask Howard to invest the + money. This, at least, should be her very own, and she made up her mind to + take it to a bank in Thames Street that morning. + </p> + <p> + While she was still under the influence of the excitement aroused by the + unexpected legacy, Mrs. Shorter came in, a lady with whom Honora's + intimacy had been of steady growth. The tie between them might perhaps + have been described as intellectual, for Elsie Shorter professed only to + like people who were “worth while.” She lent Honora French plays, + discussed them with her, and likewise a wider range of literature, + including certain brightly bound books on evolution and sociology. + </p> + <p> + In the eighteenth century, Mrs. Shorter would have had a title and a salon + in the Faubourg: in the twentieth, she was the wife of a most fashionable + and successful real estate agent in New York, and was aware of no + incongruity. Bourgeoise was the last thing that could be said of her; she + was as ready as a George Sand to discuss the whole range of human + emotions; which she did many times a week with certain gentlemen of + intellectual bent who had the habit of calling on her. She had never, to + the knowledge of her acquaintances, been shocked. But while she believed + that a great love carried, mysteriously concealed in its flame, its own + pardon, she had through some fifteen years of married life remained + faithful to Jerry Shorter: who was not, to say the least, a Lochinvar or a + Roland. Although she had had nervous prostration and was thirty-four, she + was undeniably pretty. She was of the suggestive, and not the + strong-minded type, and the secret of her strength with the other sex was + that she was in the habit of submitting her opinions for their approval. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said to Honora, “you may thank heaven that you are still + young enough to look beautiful in negligee. How far have you got? Have you + guessed of which woman Vivarce was the lover? And isn't it the most + exciting play you've ever read? Ned Carrington saw it in Paris, and + declares it frightened him into being good for a whole week!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Elsie,” exclaimed Honora, apologetically, “I haven't read a word of + it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Shorter glanced at the pile of favours. + </p> + <p> + “How was the dance?” she asked. “I was too tired to go. Hugh Chiltern + offered to take me.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw Mr. Chiltern there. I met him last winter at the Graingers'.” + </p> + <p> + “He's staying with us,” said Mrs. Shorter; “you know he's a sort of cousin + of Jerry's, and devoted to him. He turned up yesterday morning on Dicky + Farnham's yacht, in the midst of all that storm. It appears that Dicky met + him in New York, and Hugh said he was coming up here, and Dicky offered to + sail him up. When the storm broke they were just outside, and all on board + lost their heads, and Hugh took charge and sailed in. Dicky told me that + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it wasn't—recklessness,” said Honora, involuntarily. But Mrs. + Shorter did not appear to be surprised by the remark. + </p> + <p> + “That's what everybody thinks, of course,” she answered. “They say that he + had a chance to run in somewhere, and browbeat Dicky into keeping on for + Newport at the risk of their lives. They do Hugh an injustice. He might + have done that some years ago, but he's changed.” + </p> + <p> + Curiosity got the better of Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Changed?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you didn't know him in the old days, Honora,” said Mrs. + Shorter. “You wouldn't recognize him now. I've seen a good deal of men, + but he is the most interesting and astounding transformation I've ever + known.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked Honora. She was sitting before the glass, with her hand + raised to her hair. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Shorter appeared puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “That's what interests me,” she said. “My dear, don't you think life + tremendously interesting? I do. I wish I could write a novel. Between + ourselves, I've tried. I had Mr. Dewing send it to a publisher, who said + it was clever, but had no plot. If I only could get a plot!” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed. + </p> + <p> + “How would I The Transformation of Mr. Chiltern' do, Elsie?” + </p> + <p> + “If I only knew what's happened to him, and how he's going to end!” sighed + Mrs. Shorter. + </p> + <p> + “You were saying,” said Honora, for her friend seemed to have relapsed + into a contemplation of this problem, “you were saying that he had + changed.” + </p> + <p> + “He goes away for seven years, and he suddenly turns up filled with + ambition and a purpose in life, something he had never dreamed of. He's + been at Grenoble, where the Chiltern estate is, making improvements and + preparing to settle down there. And he's actually getting ready to write a + life of his father, the General—that's the most surprising thing! + They never met but to strike fire while the General was alive. It appears + that Jerry and Cecil Grainger and one or two other people have some of the + old gentleman's letters, and that's the reason why Hugh's come to Newport. + And the strangest thing about it, my dear,” added Mrs. Shorter, + inconsequently, “is that I don't think it's a love affair.” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed again. It was the first time she had ever heard Mrs. + Shorter attribute unusual human phenomena to any other source. “He wrote + Jerry that he was coming back to live on the estate,—from England. + And he wasn't there a week. I can't think where he's seen any women—that + is,” Mrs. Shorter corrected herself hastily, “of his own class. He's been + in the jungle—India, Africa, Cores. That was after Sally Harrington + broke the engagement. And I'm positive he's not still in love with Sally. + She lunched with me yesterday, and I watched him. Oh, I should have known + it. But Sally hasn't got over it. It wasn't a grand passion with Hugh. I + don't believe he's ever had such a thing. Not that he isn't capable of it—on + the contrary, he's one of the few men I can think of who is.” + </p> + <p> + At this point in the conversation Honora thought that her curiosity had + gone far enough. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE VIKING + </h2> + <p> + She was returning on foot from the bank in Thames Street, where she had + deposited her legacy, when she met him who had been the subject of her + conversation with Mrs. Shorter. And the encounter seemed—and was—the + most natural thing in the world. She did not stop to ask herself why it + was so fitting that the Viking should be a part of Vineland: why his + coming should have given it the one and final needful touch. For that + designation of Reginald Farwell's had come back to her. Despite the fact + that Hugh Chiltern had with such apparent resolution set his face towards + literature and the tillage of the land, it was as the Viking still that + her imagination pictured him. By these tokens we may perceive that this + faculty of our heroine's has been at work, and her canvas already sketched + in. + </p> + <p> + Whether by design or accident he was at the leafy entrance of her lane she + was not to know. She spied him standing there; and in her leisurely + approach a strange conceit of reincarnation possessed her, and she smiled + at the contrast thus summoned up. Despite the jingling harnesses of + Bellevue Avenue and the background of Mr. Chamberlin's palace wall; + despite the straw hat and white trousers and blue double-breasted serge + coat in which he was conventionally arrayed, he was the sea fighter still—of + all the ages. M. Vipsanius Agrippa, who had won an empire for Augustus, + had just such a head. + </p> + <p> + Their greeting, too, was conventional enough, and he turned and walked + with her up the lane, and halted before the lilacs. “You have Mrs. + Forsythe's house,” he said. “How well I remember it! My mother used to + bring me here years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't you come in?” asked Honora, gently. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to have forgotten her as they mounted in silence to the porch, + and she watched him with curious feelings as he gazed about him, and + peered through the windows into the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “It's just as it was,” he said. “Even the furniture. I'm glad you haven't + moved it. They used to sit over there in the corner, and have tea on the + ebony table. And it was always dark-just as it is now. I can see them. + They wore dresses with wide skirts and flounces, and queer low collars and + bonnets. And they talked in subdued voices—unlike so many women in + these days.” + </p> + <p> + She was a little surprised, and moved, by the genuine feeling with which + he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I was most fortunate to get the house,” she answered. “And I have grown + to love it. Sometimes it seems as though I had always lived here.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't envy that,” he said, flinging his hand towards an opening + in the shrubbery which revealed a glimpse of one of the pilasters of the + palace across the way. The instinct of tradition which had been the cause + of Mrs. Forsythe's departure was in him, too. He, likewise, seemed to + belong to the little house as he took one of the wicker chairs. + </p> + <p> + “Not,” said Honora, “when I can have this.” + </p> + <p> + She was dressed in white, her background of lilac leaves. Seated on the + railing, with the tip of one toe resting on the porch, she smiled down at + him from under the shadows of her wide hat. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think you would,” he declared. “This place seems to suit you, as + I imagined you. I have thought of you often since we first met last + winter.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied hastily, “I am very happy here. Mrs. Shorter tells me + you are staying with then.” + </p> + <p> + “When I saw you again last night,” he continued, ignoring her attempt to + divert the stream from his channel, “I had a vivid impression as of having + just left you. Have you ever felt that way about people?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she admitted, and poked the toe of her boot with her parasol. + </p> + <p> + “And then I find you in this house, which has so many associations for me. + Harmoniously here,” he added, “if you know what I mean. Not a newcomer, + but some one who must always have been logically expected.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him quickly, with parted lips. It was she who had done most + of the talking at Mrs. Grainger's dinner; and the imaginative quality of + mind he was now revealing was unlooked for. She was surprised not to find + it out of character. It is a little difficult to know what she expected of + him, since she did not know herself the methods, perhaps; of the Viking in + Longfellow's poem. She was aware, at least, that she had attracted him, + and she was beginning to realize it was not a thing that could be done + lightly. This gave her a little flutter of fear. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to be long in Newport?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am leaving on Friday,” he replied. “It seems strange to be here again + after so many years. I find I've got out of touch with it. And I haven't a + boat, although Farnham's been kind enough to offer me his.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't imagine you, somehow, without a boat,” she said, and added + hastily: “Mrs. Shorter was speaking of you this morning, and said that you + were always on the water when you were here. Newport must have been quite + different then.” + </p> + <p> + He accepted the topic, and during the remainder of his visit she succeeded + in keeping the conversation in the middle ground, although she had a sense + of the ultimate futility of the effort; a sense of pressure being exerted, + no matter what she said. She presently discovered, however, that the taste + for literature attributed to him which had seemed so incongruous—existed. + He spoke with a new fire when she led him that way, albeit she suspected + that some of the fuel was derived from the revelation that she shared his + liking for books. As the extent of his reading became gradually disclosed, + however, her feeling of inadequacy grew, and she resolved in the future to + make better use of her odd moments. On her table, in two green volumes, + was the life of a Massachusetts statesman that Mrs. Shorter had lent her. + She picked it up after Chiltern had gone. He had praised it. + </p> + <p> + He left behind him a blurred portrait on her mind, as that of two men + superimposed. And only that morning he had had such a distinct impression + of one. It was from a consideration of this strange phenomenon, with her + book lying open in her lap, that her maid aroused her to go to Mrs. + Pryor's. This was Tuesday. + </p> + <p> + Some of the modern inventions we deem most marvellous have been fitted for + ages to man and woman. Woman, particularly, possesses for instance a kind + of submarine bell; and, if she listens, she can at times hear it tinkling + faintly. And the following morning, Wednesday, Honora heard hers when she + received an invitation to lunch at Mrs. Shorter's. After a struggle, she + refused, but Mrs. Shorter called her up over the telephone, and she + yielded. + </p> + <p> + “I've got Alfred Dewing for myself,” said Elsie Shorter, as she greeted + Honora in the hall. “He writes those very clever things—you've read + them. And Hugh for you,” she added significantly. + </p> + <p> + The Shorter cottage, though commodious, was simplicity itself. From the + vine-covered pergola where they lunched they beheld the distant sea like a + lavender haze across the flats. And Honora wondered whether there were not + an element of truth in what Mr. Dewing said of their hostess—that + she thought nothing immoral except novels with happy endings. Chiltern did + not talk much: he looked at Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh has got so serious,” said Elsie Shorter, “that sometimes I'm + actually afraid of him. You ought to have done something to be as serious + as that, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Done something!” + </p> + <p> + “Written the 'Origin of Species,' or founded a new political party, or + executed a coup d'etat. Half the time I'm under the delusion that I'm + entertaining a celebrity under my roof, and I wake up and it's only Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “It's because he looks as though he might do any of those things,” + suggested Mr. Deming. “Perhaps he may.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Elsie Shorter, “the men who do them are usually little wobbly + specimens.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was silent, watching Chiltern. At times the completeness of her + understanding of him gave her an uncanny sensation; and again she failed + to comprehend him at all. She felt his anger go to a white heat, but the + others seemed blissfully unaware of the fact. The arrival of coffee made a + diversion. + </p> + <p> + “You and Hugh may have the pergola, Honora. I'll take Mr. Deming into the + garden.” + </p> + <p> + “I really ought to go in a few minutes, Elsie,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense!” exclaimed Mrs. Shorter. “If it's bridge at the + Playfairs', I'll telephone and get you out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “No—” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don't see where you can be going,” declared Mrs. Shorter, and + departed with her cavalier. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so anxious to get away?” asked Chiltern, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Honora coloured. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—did I seem so? Elsie has such a mania for pairing people + off-sometimes it's quite embarrassing.” + </p> + <p> + “She was a little rash in assuming that you'd rather talk to me,” he said, + smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You were not consulted, either.” + </p> + <p> + “I was consulted before lunch,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I wanted you,” he said. She had known it, of course. The + submarine bell had told her. And he could have found no woman in Newport + who would have brought more enthusiasm to his aid than Elsie Shorter. + </p> + <p> + “And you usually—get what you want,” she retorted with a spark of + rebellion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he admitted. “Only hitherto I haven't wanted very desirable + things.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, but her curiosity got the better of her. + </p> + <p> + “Hitherto,” she said, “you have just taken what you desired.” + </p> + <p> + From the smouldering fires in his eyes darted an arrowpoint of flame. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a man are you?” she asked, throwing the impersonal to the + winds. “Somebody called you a Viking once.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter. I'm beginning to think the name singularly + appropriate. It wouldn't be the first time one landed in Newport, + according to legend,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't read the poem since childhood,” said Chiltern, looking at her + fixedly, “but he became—domesticated, if I remember rightly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she admitted, “the impossible happened to him, as it usually does + in books. And then, circumstances helped. There were no other women.” + </p> + <p> + “When the lady died,” said Chiltern, “he fell upon his spear.” + </p> + <p> + “The final argument for my theory,” declared Honora. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” he maintained, smiling, “it proves there is always one + woman for every man—if he cars find her. If this man had lived in + modern times, he would probably have changed from a Captain Kidd into a + useful citizen of the kind you once said you admired.” + </p> + <p> + “Is a woman necessary,” she asked, “for the transformation?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her so intently that she blushed to the hair clustering at + her temples. She had not meant that her badinage should go so deep. + </p> + <p> + “It was not a woman,” he said slowly, “that brought me back to America.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she exclaimed, suffused, “I hope you won't think that curiosity”—and + got no farther. + </p> + <p> + He was silent a moment, and when she ventured to glance up at him one of + those enigmatical changes had taken place. He was looking at her gravely, + though intently, and the Viking had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted you to know,” he answered. “You must have heard more or less + about me. People talk. Naturally these things haven't been repeated to me, + but I dare say many of them are true. I haven't been a saint, and I don't + pretend to be now. I've never taken the trouble to deceive any one. And + I've never cared, I'm sorry to say, what was said. But I'd like you to + believe that when I agreed with with the sentiments you expressed the + first time I saw you, I was sincere. And I am still sincere.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I do believe it!” cried Honora. + </p> + <p> + His face lighted. + </p> + <p> + “You seemed different from the other women I had known—of my + generation, at least,” he went on steadily. “None of them could have + spoken as you did. I had just landed that morning, and I should have gone + direct to Grenoble, but there was some necessary business to be attended + to in New York. I didn't want to go to Bessie's dinner, but she insisted. + She was short of a man. I went. I sat next to you, and you interpreted my + mind. It seemed too extraordinary not to have had a significance.” + </p> + <p> + Honora did not reply. She felt instinctively that he was a man who was not + wont ordinarily to talk about his affairs. Beneath his speech was an + undercurrent—or undertow, perhaps—carrying her swiftly, + easily, helpless into the deep waters of intimacy. For the moment she let + herself go without a struggle. Her silence was of a breathless quality + which he must have felt. + </p> + <p> + “And I am going to tell you why I came home,” he said. “I have spoken of + it to nobody, but I wish you to know that it had nothing to do with any + ordinary complication these people may invent. Nor was there anything + supernatural about it: what happened to me, I suppose, is as old a story + as civilization itself. I'd been knocking about the world for a good many + years, and I'd had time to think. One day I found myself in the interior + of China with a few coolies and a man who I suspect was a ticket-of-leave + Englishman. I can see the place now the yellow fog, the sand piled up + against the wall like yellow snow. Desolation was a mild name for it. I + think I began with a consideration of the Englishman who was asleep in the + shadow of a tower. There was something inconceivably hopeless in his face + in that ochre light. Then the place where I was born and brought up came + to me with a startling completeness, and I began to go over my own life, + step by step. To make a long story short, I perceived that what my father + had tried to teach me, in his own way, had some reason in it. He was a + good deal of a man. I made up my mind I'd come home and start in where I + belonged. But I didn't do so right away—I finished the trip first, + and lent the Englishman a thousand pounds to buy into a firm in Shanghai. + I suppose,” he added, “that is what is called suggestion. In my case it + was merely the cumulative result of many reflections in waste places.” + </p> + <p> + “And since then?” + </p> + <p> + “Since then I have been at Grenoble, making repairs and trying to learn + something about agriculture. I've never been as happy in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “And you're going back on Friday,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He glanced at her quickly. He had detected the note in her speech: though + lightly uttered, it was unmistakably a command. She tried to soften its + effect in her next sentence. + </p> + <p> + “I can't express how much I appreciate your telling me this,” she said. + “I'll confess to you I wished to think that something of that kind had + happened. I wished to believe that—that you had made this + determination alone. When I met you that night there was something about + you I couldn't account for. I haven't been able to account for it until + now.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, confused, fearful that she had gone too far. A moment later + she was sure of it. A look came into his eyes that frightened her. + </p> + <p> + “You've thought of me?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You must know,” she replied, “that you have an unusual personality—a + striking one. I can go so far as to say that I remembered you when you + reappeared at Mrs. Grenfell's—” she hesitated. + </p> + <p> + He rose, and walked to the far end of the tiled pavement of the pergola, + and stood for a moment looking out over the sea. Then he turned to her. + </p> + <p> + “I either like a person or I don't,” he said. “And I tell you frankly I + have never met a woman whom I cared for as I do you. I hope you're not + going to insist upon a probationary period of months before you decide + whether you can reciprocate.” + </p> + <p> + Here indeed was a speech in his other character, and she seemed to see, in + a flash, his whole life in it. There was a touch of boyishness that + appealed, a touch of insistent masterfulness that alarmed. She recalled + that Mrs. Shorter had said of him that he had never had to besiege a + fortress—the white flag had always appeared too quickly. Of course + there was the mystery of Mrs. Maitland—still to be cleared up. It + was plain, at least, that resistance merely made him unmanageable. She + smiled. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” she said, “that in two days we have become astonishingly + intimate.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't we?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + But she was not to be led into casuistry. + </p> + <p> + “I've been reading the biography you recommended,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He continued to look at her a moment, and laughed as he sat down beside + her. Later he walked home with her. A dinner and bridge followed, and it + was after midnight when she returned. As her maid unfastened her gown she + perceived that her pincushion had been replaced by the one she had + received at the ball. + </p> + <p> + “Did you put that there, Mathilde?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde had. She had seen it on madame's bureau, and thought madame + wished it there. She would replace the old one at once. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Honora, “you may leave it, now.” + </p> + <p> + “Bien, madame,” said the maid, and glanced at her mistress, who appeared + to have fallen into a revery. + </p> + <p> + It had seemed strange to her to hear people talking about him at the + dinner that night, and once or twice her soul had sprung to arms to + champion him, only to remember that her knowledge was special. She alone + of all of them understood, and she found herself exulting in the + superiority. The amazed comment when the heir to the Chiltern fortune had + returned to the soil of his ancestors had been revived on his arrival in + Newport. Ned Carrington, amid much laughter, had quoted the lines about + Prince Hal: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To mock the expectations of the world, + To frustrate prophecies.” + </pre> + <p> + Honora disliked Mr. Carrington. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the events of Thursday, would better be left in the confusion in + which they remained in Honora's mind. She was awakened by penetrating, + persistent, and mournful notes which for some time she could not identify, + although they sounded oddly familiar; and it was not until she felt the + dampness of the coverlet and looked at the white square of her open + windows that she realized there was a fog. And it had not lifted when + Chiltern came in the afternoon. They discussed literature—but the + book had fallen to the floor. 'Absit omen'! If printing had then been + invented, undoubtedly there would have been a book instead of an apple in + the third chapter of Genesis. He confided to her his plan of collecting + his father's letters and of writing the General's life. Honora, too, would + enjoy writing a book. Perhaps the thought of the pleasure of collaboration + occurred to them both at once; it was Chiltern who wished that he might + have her help in the difficult places; she had, he felt, the literary + instinct. It was not the Viking who was talking now. And then, at last, he + had risen reluctantly to leave. The afternoon had flown. She held out her + hand with a frank smile. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” she said. “Good-by, and good luck.” + </p> + <p> + “But I may not go,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + She stood dismayed. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you told me you were going on Friday—to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I merely set that as a probable date. I have changed my mind. There is no + immediate necessity. Do you wish me to go?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + She had turned away, and was straightening the books on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't object to my remaining a few days more?” He had reached the + doorway. + </p> + <p> + “What have I to do with your staying?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” he answered—and was gone. + </p> + <p> + She stood still. The feeling that possessed her now was rebellion, and + akin to hate. + </p> + <p> + Her conduct, therefore, becomes all the more incomprehensible when we find + her accepting, the next afternoon, his invitation to sail on Mr. Farnham's + yacht, the 'Folly'. It is true that the gods will not exonerate Mrs. + Shorter. That lady, who had been bribed with Alfred Dewing, used her + persuasive powers; she might be likened to a skilful artisan who blew + wonderful rainbow fabrics out of glass without breaking it; she blew the + tender passion into a thousand shapes, and admired every one. Her criminal + culpability consisted in forgetting the fact that it could not be trusted + with children. + </p> + <p> + Nature seems to delight in contrasts. As though to atone for the fog she + sent a dazzling day out of the northwest, and the summer world was stained + in new colours. The yachts were whiter, the water bluer, the grass + greener; the stern grey rocks themselves flushed with purple. The wharves + were gay, and dark clustering foliage hid an enchanted city as the Folly + glided between dancing buoys. Honora, with a frightened glance upward at + the great sail, caught her breath. And she felt rather than saw the man + beside her guiding her seaward. + </p> + <p> + A discreet expanse of striped yellow deck separated them from the wicker + chairs where Mrs. Shorter and Mr. Dewing were already established. She + glanced at the profile of the Viking, and allowed her mind to dwell for an + instant upon the sensations of that other woman who had been snatched up + and carried across the ocean. Which was the quality in him that attracted + her? his lawlessness, or his intellect and ambition? Never, she knew, had + he appealed to her more than at this moment, when he stood, a stern figure + at the wheel, and vouchsafed her nothing but commonplaces. This, surely, + was his element. + </p> + <p> + Presently, however, the yacht slid out from the infolding land into an + open sea that stretched before them to a silver-lined horizon. And he + turned to her with a disconcerting directness, as though taking for + granted a subtle understanding between them. + </p> + <p> + “How well you sail,” she said, hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to be able to do that, at least,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you when you came in the other day, although I didn't know who it + was until afterwards. I was standing on the rocks near the Fort, and my + heart was in my mouth.” + </p> + <p> + He answered that the Dolly was a good sea boat. + </p> + <p> + “So you decided to forgive me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “For staying in Newport.” + </p> + <p> + Before accepting the invitation she had formulated a policy, cheerfully + confident in her ability to carry it out. For his decision not to leave + Newport had had an opposite effect upon her than that she had anticipated; + it had oddly relieved the pressure. It had given her a chance to rally her + forces; to smile, indeed, at an onslaught that had so disturbed her; to + examine the matter in a more rational light. It had been a cause for + self-congratulation that she had scarcely thought of him the night before. + And to-day, in her blue veil and blue serge gown, she had boarded the + 'Folly' with her wits about her. She forgot that it was he who, so to + speak, had the choice of ground and weapons. + </p> + <p> + “I have forgiven you. Why shouldn't I, when you have so royally atoned.” + </p> + <p> + But he obstinately refused to fence. There was nothing apologetic in this + man, no indirectness in his method of attack. Parry adroitly as she might, + he beat down her guard. As the afternoon wore on there were silences, when + Honora, by staring over the waters, tried to collect her thoughts. But the + sea was his ally, and she turned her face appealingly toward the receding + land. Fascination and fear struggled within her as she had listened to his + onslaughts, and she was conscious of being moved by what he was, not by + what he said. Vainly she glanced at the two representatives of an + ironically satisfied convention, only to realize that they were absorbed + in a milder but no less entrancing aspect of the same topic, and would not + thank her for an interruption. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish me to go away?” he asked at last abruptly, almost rudely. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” she said, “your work, your future isn't in Newport.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't answered my question.” + </p> + <p> + “It's because I have no right to answer it,” she replied. “Although we + have known each other so short a time, I am your friend. You must realize + that. I am not conventional. I have lived long enough to understand that + the people one likes best are not necessarily those one has known longest. + You interest me—I admit it frankly—I speak to you sincerely. I + am even concerned that you shall find happiness, and I feel that you have + the power to make something of yourself. What more can I say? It seems to + me a little strange,” she added, “that under the circumstances I should + say so much. I can give no higher proof of my friendship.” + </p> + <p> + He did not reply, but gave a sharp order to the crew. The sheet was + shortened, and the Folly obediently headed westward against the swell, + flinging rainbows from her bows as she ran. Mrs. Shorter and Dewing + returned at this moment from the cabin, where they had been on a tour of + inspection. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you taking us, Hugh?” said Mrs. Shorter. “Nowhere in + particular,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Please don't forget that I am having people to dinner to-night. That's + all I ask. What have you done to him, Honora, to put him in such a + humour?” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't noticed anything peculiar about him,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “This boat reminds me of Adele,” said Mrs. Shorter. “She loved it. I can + see how she could get a divorce from Dicky—but the 'Folly'! She told + me yesterday that the sight of it made her homesick, and Eustace Rindge + won't leave Paris.” + </p> + <p> + It suddenly occurred to Honora, as she glanced around the yacht, that Mrs. + Rindge rather haunted her. + </p> + <p> + “So that is your answer,” said Chiltern, when they were alone again. + </p> + <p> + “What other can I give you?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it because you are married?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + She grew crimson. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that an unnecessary question?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he declared. “It concerns me vitally to understand you. You were + good enough to wish that I should find happiness. I have found the + possibility of it—in you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she cried, “don't say such things!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you found happiness?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She turned her face from him towards their shining wake. But he had seen + that her eyes were filled with sudden tears. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” he pleaded; “I did not mean to be brutal. I said that + because I felt as I have never in my life felt before. As I did not know I + could feel. I can't account for it, but I ask you to believe me.” + </p> + <p> + “I can account for it,” she answered presently, with a strange gentleness. + “It is because you met me at a critical time. Such-coincidences often + occur in life. I happened to be a woman; and, I confess it, a woman who + was interested. I could not have been interested if you had been less + real, less sincere. But I saw that you were going through a crisis; that + you might, with your powers, build up your life into a splendid and useful + thing. And, womanlike, my instinct was to help you. I should not have + allowed you to go on, but—but it all happened so quickly that I was + bewildered. I—I do not understand it myself.” + </p> + <p> + He listened hungrily, and yet at times with evident impatience. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “I cannot believe that it was an accident. It was you—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped him with an imploring gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Please,” she said, “please let us go in.” + </p> + <p> + Without an instant's hesitation he brought the sloop about and headed her + for the light-ship on Brenton's reef, and they sailed in silence. Awhile + she watched the sapphire waters break to dazzling whiteness under the + westerning sun. Then, in an ecstasy she did not seek to question, she + closed her eyes to feel more keenly the swift motion of their flight. Why + not? The sea, the winds of heaven, had aided others since the dawn of + history. Legend was eternally true. On these very shores happiness had + awaited those who had dared to face primeval things. + </p> + <p> + She looked again, this time towards an unpeopled shore. No sentinel + guarded the uncharted reefs, and the very skies were smiling, after the + storm, at the scudding fates. + </p> + <p> + It was not until they were landlocked once more, and the Folly was + reluctantly beating back through the Narrows, that he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “So you wish me to go away?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot see any use in your staying,” she replied, “after what you have + said. I—cannot see,” she added in a low voice, “that for you to + remain would be to promote the happiness of—either of us. You should + have gone to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “You care!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “It is because I do not wish to care that I tell you to go—” + </p> + <p> + “And you refuse happiness?” + </p> + <p> + “It could be happiness for neither of us,” said Honora. “The situation + would be impossible. You are not a man who would be satisfied with + moderation. You would insist upon having all. And you do not know what you + are asking.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that I want you,” he said, “and that my life is won or lost with + or without you.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to say such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “We have each of us but one life to live.” + </p> + <p> + “And one life to ruin,” she answered. “See, you are running on the rocks!” + </p> + <p> + He swung the boat around. + </p> + <p> + “Others have rebuilt upon ruins,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + She smiled at him. + </p> + <p> + “But you are taking my ruins for granted,” she said. “You would make them + first.” + </p> + <p> + He relapsed into silence again. The Folly needed watching. Once he turned + and spoke her name, and she did not rebuke him. + </p> + <p> + “Women have a clearer vision of the future than men,” she began presently, + “and I know you better than you know yourself. What—what you desire + would not mend your life, but break it utterly. I am speaking plainly. As + I have told you, you interest me; so far that is the extent of my + feelings. I do not know whether they would go any farther, but on your + account as well as my own I will not take the risk. We have come to an + impasse. I am sorry. I wish we might have been friends, but what you have + said makes it impossible. There is only one thing to do, and that is for + you to go away.” + </p> + <p> + He eased off his sheet, rounded the fort, and set a course for the + moorings. The sun hung red above the silhouetted roofs of Conanicut, and a + quaint tower in the shape of a minaret stood forth to cap the illusions of + a day. + </p> + <p> + The wind was falling, the harbour quieting for the night, and across the + waters, to the tones of a trumpet, the red bars of the battleship's flag + fluttered to the deck. The Folly, making a wide circle, shot into the + breeze, and ended by gliding gently up to the buoy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST + </h2> + <p> + It was Saturday morning, but Honora had forgotten the fact. Not until she + was on the bottom step did the odour of cigarettes reach her and turn her + faint; and she clutched suddenly at the banisters. Thus she stood for a + while, motionless, and then went quietly into the drawing-room. The French + windows looking out on the porch were, as usual, open. + </p> + <p> + It was an odd sensation thus to be regarding one's husband objectively. + For the first time he appeared to her definitely as a stranger; as much a + stranger as the man who came once a week to wind Mrs. Forsythe's clocks. + Nay, more. There was a sense of intrusion in this visit, of invasion of a + life with which he had nothing to do. She examined him ruthlessly, very + much as one might examine a burglar taken unawares. There was the + inevitable shirt with the wide pink stripes, of the abolishment or even of + the effective toning down of which she had long since despaired. On the + contrary, like his complexion, they evinced a continual tendency towards a + more aggressive colour. There was also the jewelled ring, now + conspicuously held aloft on a fat little finger. The stripes appeared that + morning as the banner of a hated suzerain, the ring as the emblem of his + overlordship. He did not belong in that house; everything in it cried out + for his removal; and yet it was, in the eyes of the law at least, his. By + grace of that fact she was here, enjoying it. At that instant, as though + in evidence of this, he laid down a burning cigarette on a mahogany stand + he had had brought out to him. Honora seized an ash tray, hurried to the + porch, and picked up the cigarette in the tips of her fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Howard, I wish you would be more careful of Mrs. Forsythe's furniture,” + she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Honora,” he said, without looking up. “I see by the Newport paper + that old Maitland is back from Europe. Things are skyrocketing in Wall + Street.” He glanced at the ash tray, which she had pushed towards him. + “What's the difference about the table? If the old lady makes a row, I'll + pay for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Some things are priceless,” she replied; “you do not seem to realize + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Not this rubbish,” said Howard. “Judging by the fuss she made over the + inventory, you'd think it might be worth something.” + </p> + <p> + “She has trusted us with it,” said Honora. Her voice shook. + </p> + <p> + He stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw you look like that,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “It's because you never look at me closely,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + He laughed, and resumed his reading. She stood awhile by the railing. + Across the way, beyond the wall, she heard Mr. Chamberlin's shrill voice + berating a gardener. + </p> + <p> + “Howard,” she asked presently, “why do you come to Newport at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Why do I come to Newport?” he repeated. “I don't understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you come up here every week?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “it isn't a bad trip on the boat, and I get a change from + New York; and see men I shouldn't probably see otherwise.” He paused and + looked at her again, doubtfully. “Why do you ask such a question?” + </p> + <p> + “I wished to be sure,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Sure of what?” + </p> + <p> + “That the-arrangement suited you perfectly. You do not feel—the lack + of anything, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't care to stay in Newport all the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I know myself,” he replied. “I leave that part of it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “What part of it?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know. You do it pretty well,” he laughed. “By the way, + Honora, I've got to have a conference with Mr. Wing to-day, and I may not + be home to lunch.” + </p> + <p> + “We're dining there to-night,” she told him, in a listless voice. + </p> + <p> + Upon Ethel Wing had descended the dominating characteristics of the elder + James, who, whatever the power he might wield in Wall Street, was little + more than a visitor in Newport. It was Ethel's house, from the hour she + had swept the Reel and Carter plans (which her father had brought home) + from the table and sent for Mr. Farwell. The forehanded Reginald arrived + with a sketch, and the result, as every one knows, is one of the chief + monuments to his reputation. So exquisitely proportioned is its simple, + two-storied marble front as seen through the trees left standing on the + old estate, that tourists, having beheld the Chamberlin and other + mansions, are apt to think this niggardly for a palace. Two infolding + wings, stretching towards the water, enclose a court, and through the + slender white pillars of the peristyle one beholds in fancy the summer + seas of Greece. + </p> + <p> + Looking out on the court, and sustaining this classic illusion, is a + marble-paved dining room, with hangings of Pompeiian red, and frescoes of + nymphs and satyrs and piping shepherds, framed between fluted pilasters, + dimly discernible in the soft lights. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of these surroundings, at the head of his table, sat the + great financier whose story but faintly concerns this chronicle; the man + who, every day that he had spent down town in New York in the past thirty + years, had eaten the same meal in the same little restaurant under the + street. This he told Honora, on his left, as though it were not history. + He preferred apple pie to the greatest of artistic triumphs of his + daughter's chef, and had it; a glorified apple pie, with frills and + furbelows, and whipped cream which he angrily swept to one side with + contempt. + </p> + <p> + “That isn't apple pie,” he said. “I'd like to take that Frenchman to the + little New England hilltown where I went to school and show him what apple + pie is.” + </p> + <p> + Such were the autobiographical snatches—by no means so crude as they + sound that reached her intelligence from time to time. Mr. Wing was too + subtle to be crude; and he had married a Playfair, a family noted for good + living. Honora did not know that he was fond of talking of that apple pie + and the New England school at public banquets; nor did Mr. Wing suspect + that the young woman whom he was apparently addressing, and who seemed to + be hanging on his words, was not present. + </p> + <p> + It was not until she had put her napkin on the table that she awoke with a + start and gazed into his face and saw written there still another history + than the one he had been telling her. The face was hidden, indeed, by the + red beard. What she read was in the little eyes that swept her with a look + of possession: possession in a large sense, let it be emphasized, that an + exact justice be done Mr. James Wing,—she was one of the many + chattels over which his ownership extended; bought and paid for with her + husband. A hot resentment ran through her at the thought. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cuthbert, who was many kinds of a barometer, sought her out later in + the courtyard. + </p> + <p> + “Your husband's feeling tiptop, isn't he?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “He's been locked up with old Wing all day. Something's in the wind, and + I'd give a good deal to know what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I can't inform you,” replied Honora. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cuthbert apologized. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't mean to ask you far a tip,” he declared, quite confused. “I + didn't suppose you knew. The old man is getting ready to make another + killing, that's all. You don't mind my telling you you look stunning + tonight, do you?” + </p> + <p> + Honora smiled. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't mind,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cuthbert appeared to be ransacking the corners of his brain for words. + </p> + <p> + “I was watching you to-night at the table while Mr. Wing was talking to + you. I don't believe you heard a thing he said.” + </p> + <p> + “Such astuteness,” she answered, smiling at him, “astounds me.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed nervously. + </p> + <p> + “You're different than you've ever been since I've known you,” he went on, + undismayed. “I hope you won't think I'm making love to you. Not that I + shouldn't like to, but I've got sense enough to see it's no use.” + </p> + <p> + Her reply was unexpected. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think that?” she asked curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not a fool,” said Mr. Cuthbert. “But if I were a poet, or that + fellow Dewing, I might be able to tell you what your eyes were like + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you're not,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + As they were going in, she turned for a lingering look at the sea. A + strong young moon rode serenely in the sky and struck a path of light + across the restless waters. Along this shimmering way the eyes of her + companion followed hers. + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you what that colour is, at least. Do you remember the blue, + transparent substance that used to be on favours at children's parties?” + he asked. “There were caps inside of them, and crackers.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are a poet, after all,” she said. + </p> + <p> + A shadow fell across the flags. Honora did not move. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Chiltern,” said Cuthbert. “I thought you were playing bridge...” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't looked at me once to-night,” he said, when Cuthbert had gone + in. + </p> + <p> + She was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Are you angry?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a little,” she answered. “Do you blame me?” + </p> + <p> + The vibration of his voice in the moonlit court awoke an answering chord + in her; and a note of supplication from him touched her strangely. Logic + in his presence was a little difficult—there can be no doubt of + that. + </p> + <p> + “I must go in,” she said unsteadily, “my carriage is waiting.” + </p> + <p> + But he stood in front of her. + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought you would have gone,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “And now?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't leave while you feel this way,” he pleaded. “I can't abandon what + I have of you—what you will let me take. If I told you I would be + reasonable—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe in miracles,” she said, recovering a little; “at least in + modern ones. The question is, could you become reasonable?” + </p> + <p> + “As a last resort,” he replied, with a flash of humour and a touch of + hope. “If you would—commute my sentence.” + </p> + <p> + She passed him, and picking up her skirts, paused in the window. + </p> + <p> + “I will give you one more chance,” she said. + </p> + <p> + This was the conversation that, by repeating itself, filled the interval + of her drive home. So oblivious was she to Howard's presence, that he + called her twice from her corner of the carriage after the vehicle had + stopped; and he halted her by seizing her arm as she was about to go up + the stairs. She followed him mechanically into the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + He closed the door behind them, and the other door into the darkened + dining room. He even took a precautionary glance out of the window of the + porch. And these movements, which ordinarily might have aroused her + curiosity, if not her alarm, she watched with a profound indifference. He + took a stand before the Japanese screen in front of the fireplace, thrust + his hands in his pockets, cleared his throat, and surveyed her from her + white shoulders to the gold-embroidered tips of her slippers. + </p> + <p> + “I'm leaving for the West in the morning, Honora. If you've made any + arrangements for me on Sunday, you'll have to cancel them. I may be gone + two weeks, I may be gone a month. I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to tell you something those fellows in the smoking room + to-night did their best to screw out of me. If you say anything about it, + all's up between me and Wing. The fact that he picked me out to engineer + the thing, and that he's going to let me in if I push it through, is a + pretty good sign that he thinks something of my business ability, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “You'd better not tell me, Howard,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You're too clever to let it out,” he assured her; and added with a + chuckle: “If it goes through, order what you like. Rent a house on + Bellevue Avenue—any thing in reason.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked, with a sudden premonition that the thing had a + vital significance for her. + </p> + <p> + “It's the greatest scheme extant,” he answered with elation. “I won't go + into details—you wouldn't understand'em. Mr. Wing and some others + have tried the thing before, nearer home, and it worked like a charm. + Street railways. We buy up the little lines for nothing, and get an + interest in the big ones, and sell the little lines for fifty times what + they cost us, and guarantee big dividends for the big lines.” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds to me,” said Honora, slowly, “as though some one would get + cheated.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one get cheated!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Every one gets cheated, + as you call it, if they haven't enough sense to know what their property's + worth, and how to use it to the best advantage. It's a case,” he + announced, “of the survival of the fittest. Which reminds me that if I'm + going to be fit to-morrow I'd better go to bed. Mr. Wing's to take me to + New York on his yacht, and you've got to have your wits about you when you + talk to the old man.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Volume 6. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. CLIO, OR THALIA? + </h2> + <p> + According to the ordinary and inaccurate method of measuring time, a + fortnight may have gone by since the event last narrated, and Honora had + tasted at last the joys of authorship. Her name was not to appear, to be + sure, on the cover of the Life and Letters of General Angus Chiltern; nor + indeed, so far, had she written so much as a chapter or a page of a work + intended to inspire young and old with the virtues of citizenship. At + present the biography was in the crucial constructive stage. Should the + letters be put in one volume, and the life in another? or should the + letters be inserted in the text of the life? or could not there be a third + and judicious mixture of both of these methods? Honora's counsel on this + and other problems was, it seems, invaluable. Her own table was fairly + littered with biographies more or less famous which had been fetched from + the library, and the method of each considered. + </p> + <p> + Even as Mr. Garrick would never have been taken for an actor in his coach + and four, so our heroine did not in the least resemble George Eliot, for + instance, as she sat before her mirror at high noon with Monsieur Cadron + and her maid Mathilde in worshipful attendance. Some of the ladies, + indeed, who have left us those chatty memoirs of the days before the + guillotine, she might have been likened to. Monsieur Cadron was an artist, + and his branch of art was hair-dressing. It was by his own wish he was + here to-day, since he had conceived a new coiffure especially adapted, he + declared, to the type of Madame Spence. Behold him declaring ecstatically + that seldom in his experience had he had such hairs to work with. + </p> + <p> + “Avec une telle chevelure, l'on peut tout faire, madame. Etre simple, + c'est le comble de l'art. Ca vous donne,” he added, with clasped hands and + a step backward, “ca vous donne tout a fait l'air d'une dame de Nattier.” + </p> + <p> + Madame took the hand-glass, and did not deny that she was eblouissante. If + madame, suggested Monsieur Cadron, had but a little dress a la Marie + Antoinette? Madame had, cried madame's maid, running to fetch one with + little pink flowers and green leaves on an ecru ground. Could any coiffure + or any gown be more appropriate for an entertainment at which Clio was to + preside? + </p> + <p> + It is obviously impossible that a masterpiece should be executed under the + rules laid down by convention. It would never be finished. Mr. Chiltern + was coming to lunch, and it was not the first time. On her appearance in + the doorway he halted abruptly in his pacing of the drawing-room, and + stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry I kept you waiting,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It was worth it,” he said. And they entered the dining room. A subdued, + golden-green light came in through the tall glass doors that opened out on + the little garden which had been Mrs. Forsythe's pride. The scent of roses + was in the air, and a mass of them filled a silver bowl in the middle of + the table. On the dark walls were Mrs. Forsythe's precious prints, and + above the mantel a portrait of a thin, aristocratic gentleman who + resembled the poet Tennyson. In the noonday shadows of a recess was a dark + mahogany sideboard loaded with softly gleaming silver—Honora's. + Chiltern sat down facing her. He looked at Honora over the roses,—and + she looked at him. A sense of unreality that was, paradoxically, stronger + than reality itself came over her, a sense of fitness, of harmony. And for + the moment an imagination, ever straining at its leash, was allowed to + soar. It was Chiltern who broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “What a wonderful bowl!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It has been in my father's family a great many years. He was very fond of + it,” she answered, and with a sudden, impulsive movement she reached over + and set the bowl aside. + </p> + <p> + “That's better,” he declared, “much as I admire the bowl, and the roses.” + </p> + <p> + She coloured faintly, and smiled. The feast of reason that we are + impatiently awaiting is deferred. It were best to attempt to record the + intangible things; the golden-green light, the perfumes, and the faint + musical laughter which we can hear if we listen. Thalia's laughter, + surely, not Clio's. Thalia, enamoured with such a theme, has taken the + stage herself—and as Vesta, goddess of hearths. It was Vesta whom + they felt to be presiding. They lingered, therefore, over the coffee, and + Chiltern lighted a cigar. He did not smoke cigarettes. + </p> + <p> + “I've lived long enough,” he said, “to know that I have never lived at + all. There is only one thing in life worth having.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Honora. + </p> + <p> + “This,” he answered, with a gesture; “when it is permanent.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled. + </p> + <p> + “And how is one to know whether it would be—permanent?” + </p> + <p> + “Through experience and failure,” he answered quickly, “we learn to + distinguish the reality when it comes. It is unmistakable.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose it comes too late?” she said, forgetting the ancient verse + inscribed in her youthful diary: “Those who walk on ice will slide against + their wills.” + </p> + <p> + “To admit that is to be a coward,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “Such a philosophy may be fitting for a man,” she replied, “but for a + woman—” + </p> + <p> + “We are no longer in the dark ages,” he interrupted. “Every one, man or + woman, has the right to happiness. There is no reason why we should suffer + all our lives for a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “A mistake!” she echoed. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” he said. “It is all a matter of luck, or fate, or whatever + you choose to call it. Do you suppose, if I could have found fifteen years + ago the woman to have made me happy, I should have spent so much time in + seeking distraction?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you could not have been capable of appreciating her—fifteen + years ago,” suggested Honora. And, lest he might misconstrue her remark, + she avoided his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But suppose I have found her now, when I know the + value of things.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you should find her now—within a reasonable time. What + would you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Marry her,” he exclaimed promptly. “Marry her and take her to Grenoble, + and live the life my father lived before me.” + </p> + <p> + She did not reply, but rose, and he followed her to the shaded corner of + the porch where they usually sat. The bundle of yellow-stained envelopes + he had brought were lying on the table, and Honora picked them up + mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “I have been thinking,” she said as she removed the elastics, “that it is + a mistake to begin a biography by the enumeration of one's ancestors. + Readers become frightfully bored before they get through the first + chapter.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm beginning to believe,” he laughed, “that you will have to write this + one alone. All the ideas I have got so far have been yours. Why shouldn't + you write it, and I arrange the material, and talk about it! That appears + to be all I'm good for.” + </p> + <p> + If she allowed her mind to dwell on the vista he thus presented, she did + not betray herself. + </p> + <p> + “Another thing,” she said, “it should be written like fiction.” + </p> + <p> + “Like fiction?” + </p> + <p> + “Fact should be written like fiction, and fiction like fact. It's + difficult to express what I mean. But this life of your father deserves to + be widely known, and it should be entertainingly done, like Lockhart, or + Parton's works—” + </p> + <p> + An envelope fell to the floor, spilling its contents. Among them were + several photographs. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she exclaimed, “how beautiful! What place is this?” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't gone over these letters,” he answered. “I only got them + yesterday from Cecil Grainger. These are some pictures of Grenoble which + must leave been taken shortly before my father died.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed in silence at the old house half hidden by great maples and + beeches, their weighted branches sweeping the ground. The building was of + wood, painted white, and through an archway of verdure one saw the + generous doorway with its circular steps, with its fan-light above, and + its windows at the side. Other quaint windows, some of them of triple + width, suggested an interior of mystery and interest. + </p> + <p> + “My great-great-grandfather, Alexander Chiltern, built it,” he said, “on + land granted to him before the Revolution. Of course the house has been + added to since then, but the simplicity of the original has always been + kept. My father put on the conservatory, for instance,” and Chiltern + pointed to a portion at the end of one of the long low wings. “He got the + idea from the orangery of a Georgian house in England, and an English + architect designed it.” + </p> + <p> + Honora took up the other photographs. One of them, over which she + lingered, was of a charming, old-fashioned garden spattered with sunlight, + and shut out from the world by a high brick wall. Behind the wall, again, + were the dense masses of the trees, and at the end of a path between + nodding foxgloves and Canterbury bells, in a curved recess, a stone seat. + </p> + <p> + She turned her face. His was at her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “How could you ever have left it?” she asked reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + She voiced his own regrets, which the crowding memories had awakened. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he answered, not without emotion. “I have often asked + myself that question.” He crossed over to the railing of the porch, swung + about, and looked at her. Her eyes were still on the picture. “I can + imagine you in that garden,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Did the garden cast the spell by which she saw herself on the seat? or was + it Chiltern's voice? She would indeed love and cherish it. And was it true + that she belonged there, securely infolded within those peaceful walls? + How marvellously well was Thalia playing her comedy! Which was the real, + and which the false? What of true value, what of peace and security was + contained in her present existence? She had missed the meaning of things, + and suddenly it was held up before her, in a garden. + </p> + <p> + A later hour found them in Honora's runabout wandering northward along + quiet country roads on the eastern side of the island. Chiltern, who was + driving, seemed to take no thought of their direction, until at last, with + an exclamation, he stopped the horse; and Honora beheld an abandoned + mansion of a bygone age sheltered by ancient trees, with wide lands beside + it sloping to the water. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Beaulieu,” he replied. “It was built in the seventeenth century, I + believe, and must have been a fascinating place in colonial days.” He + drove in between the fences and tied the horse, and came around by the + side of the runabout. “Won't you get out and look at it?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated, and their eyes met as he held out his hand, but she avoided + it and leaped quickly to the ground neither spoke as they walked around + the deserted house and gazed at the quaint facade, broken by a crumbling, + shaded balcony let in above the entrance door. No sound broke the + stillness of the summer's day—a pregnant stillness. The air was + heavy with perfumes, and the leaves formed a tracery against the + marvellous blue of the sky. Mystery brooded in the place. Here, in this + remote paradise now in ruins, people had dwelt and loved. Thought ended + there; and feeling, which is unformed thought, began. Again she glanced at + him, and again their eyes met, and hers faltered. They turned, as with one + consent, down the path toward the distant water. Paradise overgrown! Could + it be reconstructed, redeemed? + </p> + <p> + In former days the ground they trod had been a pleasance the width of the + house, bordered, doubtless, by the forest. Trees grew out of the flower + beds now, and underbrush choked the paths. The box itself, that once + primly lined the alleys, was gnarled and shapeless. Labyrinth had replaced + order, nature had reaped her vengeance. At length, in the deepening shade, + they came, at what had been the edge of the old terrace, to the daintiest + of summer-houses, crumbling too, the shutters off their hinges, the + floor-boards loose. Past and gone were the idyls of which it had been the + stage. + </p> + <p> + They turned to the left, through tangled box that wound hither and + thither, until they stopped at a stone wall bordering a tree-arched lane. + At the bottom of the lane was a glimpse of blue water. + </p> + <p> + Honora sat down on the wall with her back to a great trunk. Chiltern, with + a hand on the stones, leaped over lightly, and stood for some moments in + the lane, his feet a little apart and firmly planted, his hands behind his + back. + </p> + <p> + What had Thalia been about to allow the message of that morning to creep + into her comedy? a message announcing the coming of an intruder not in the + play, in the person of a husband bearing gifts. What right had he, in the + eternal essence of things, to return? He was out of all time and place. + Such had been her feeling when she had first read the hastily written + letter, but even when she had burned it it had risen again from the ashes. + Anything but that! In trying not to think of it, she had picked up the + newspaper, learned of a railroad accident,—and shuddered. Anything + but his return! Her marriage was a sin,—there could be no sacrament + in it. She would flee first, and abandon all rather than submit to it. + </p> + <p> + Chiltern's step aroused her now. He came back to the wall where she was + sitting, and faced her. + </p> + <p> + “You are sad,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head at him, slowly, and tried to smile. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened?” he demanded rudely. “I can't bear to see you sad.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going away,” she said. The decision had suddenly come to her. Why + had she not seen before that it was inevitable? + </p> + <p> + He seized her wrist as it lay on the wall, and she winced from the sudden + pain of his grip. + </p> + <p> + “Honora, I love you,” he said, “I must have you—I will have you. I + will make you happy. I promise it on my soul. I can't, I won't live + without you.” + </p> + <p> + She did not listen to his words—she could not have repeated them + afterwards. The very tone of his voice was changed by passion; creation + spoke through him, and she heard and thrilled and swayed and soared, + forgetting heaven and earth and hell as he seized her in his arms and + covered her face with kisses. Thus Eric the Red might have wooed. And by + what grace she spoke the word that delivered her she never knew. As + suddenly as he had seized her he released her, and she stood before him + with flaming cheeks and painful breath. + </p> + <p> + “I love you,” he said, “I love you. I have searched the world for you and + found you, and by all the laws of God you are mine.” + </p> + <p> + And love was written in her eyes. He had but to read it there, though her + lips might deny it. This was the man of all men she would have chosen, and + she was his by right of conquest. Yet she held up her hand with a gesture + of entreaty. + </p> + <p> + “No, Hugh—it cannot be,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Cannot!” he cried. “I will take you. You love me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am married.” + </p> + <p> + “Married! Do you mean that you would let that man stand between you and + happiness?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she asked, in a frightened voice. + </p> + <p> + “Just what I say,” he cried, with incredible vehemence. “Leave him—divorce + him. You cannot live with him. He isn't worthy to touch your hand.” + </p> + <p> + The idea planted itself with the force of a barbed arrow from a + strong-bow. Struggle as she might, she could not henceforth extract it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + He took her arm, gently, and forced her to sit down on the wall. Such was + the completeness of his mastery that she did not resist. He sat down + beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Honora,” he said, and tried to speak calmly, though his voice was + still vibrant; “let us look the situation in the face. As I told you once, + the days of useless martyrdom are past. The world is more enlightened + today, and recognizes an individual right to happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “To happiness,” she repeated after him, like a child. He forgot his words + as he looked into her eyes: they were lighted as with all the candles of + heaven in his honour. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said hoarsely, and his fingers tightened on her arm. + </p> + <p> + The current running through her from him made her his instrument. Did he + say the sky was black, she would have exclaimed at the discovery. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I am listening.” + </p> + <p> + “Honora!” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh,” she answered, and blinded him. He was possessed by the tragic fear + that she was acting a dream; presently she would awake—and shatter + the universe. His dominance was too complete. + </p> + <p> + “I love you—I respect you. You are making it very hard for me. + Please try to understand what I am saying,” he cried almost fiercely. + “This thing, this miracle, has happened in spite of us. Henceforth you + belong to me—do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + Once more the candles flared up. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot drift. We must decide now upon some definite action. Our lives + are our own, to make as we choose. You said you were going away. And you + meant—alone?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes were wide, now, with fright. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I must—I must,” she said. “Don't—don't talk about it.” + And she put forth a hand over his. + </p> + <p> + “I will talk about it,” he declared, trembling. “I have thought it all + out,” and this time it was her fingers that tightened. “You are going + away. And presently—when you are free—I will come to you.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the current stopped. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she cried, almost in terror. The first fatalist must have been a + woman, and the vision of rent prison bars drove her mad. “No, we could + never be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “We can—we will be happy,” he said, with a conviction that was + unshaken. “Do you hear me? I will not debase what I have to say by + resorting to comparisons. But—others I know have been happy are + happy, though their happiness cannot be spoken of with ours. Listen. You + will go away—for a little while—and afterwards we shall be + together for all time. Nothing shall separate us: We never have known + life, either of us, until now. I, missing you, have run after the false + gods. And you—I say it with truth-needed me. We will go to live at + Grenoble, as my father and mother lived. We will take up their duties + there. And if it seems possible, I will go into public life. When I + return, I shall find you—waiting for me—in the garden.” + </p> + <p> + So real had the mirage become, that Honora did not answer. The desert and + its journey fell away. Could such a thing, after all, be possible? Did + fate deal twice to those whom she had made novices? The mirage, indeed, + suddenly became reality—a mirage only because she had proclaimed it + such. She had beheld in it, as he spoke, a Grenoble which was paradise + regained. And why should paradise regained be a paradox? Why paradise + regained? Paradise gained. She had never known it, until he had flung wide + the gates. She had sought for it, and never found it until now, and her + senses doubted it. It was a paradise of love, to be sure; but one, too, of + duty. Duty made it real. Work was there, and fulfilment of the purpose of + life itself. And if his days hitherto had been useless, hers had in truth + been barren. + </p> + <p> + It was only of late, after a life-long groping, that she had discovered + their barrenness. The right to happiness! Could she begin anew, and found + it upon a rock? And was he the rock? + </p> + <p> + The question startled her, and she drew away from him first her hand, and + then she turned her body, staring at him with widened eyes. He did not + resist the movement; nor could he, being male, divine what was passing + within her, though he watched her anxiously. She had no thought of the + first days,—but afterwards. For at such times it is the woman who + scans the veil of the future. How long would that beacon burn which flamed + now in such prodigal waste? Would not the very springs of it dry up? She + looked at him, and she saw the Viking. But the Viking had fled from the + world, and they—they would be going into it. Could love prevail + against its dangers and pitfalls and—duties? Love was the word that + rang out, as one calling through the garden, and her thoughts ran molten. + Let love overflow—she gloried in the waste! And let the lean years + come,—she defied them to-day. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh!” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest!” he cried, and would have seized her in his arms again but + for a look of supplication. That he had in him this innate and unsuspected + chivalry filled her with an exquisite sweetness. + </p> + <p> + “You will—protect me?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “With my life and with my honour,” he answered. “Honora, there will be no + happiness like ours.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I knew,” she sighed: and then, her look returning from the veil, + rested on him with a tenderness that was inexpressible. “I—I don't + care, Hugh. I trust you.” + </p> + <p> + The sun was setting. Slowly they went back together through the paths of + the tangled garden, which had doubtless seen many dramas, and the courses + changed of many lives: overgrown and outworn now, yet love was loth to + leave it. Honora paused on the lawn before the house, and looked back at + him over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “How happy we could have been here, in those days,” she sighed. + </p> + <p> + “We will be happier there,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Honora loved. Many times in her life had she believed herself to have had + this sensation, and yet had known nothing of these aches and ecstasies! + Her mortal body, unattended, went out to dinner that evening. Never, it is + said, was her success more pronounced. The charm of Randolph Leffingwell, + which had fascinated the nobility of three kingdoms, had descended on her, + and hostesses had discovered that she possessed the magic touch necessary + to make a dinner complete. Her quality, as we know, was not wit: it was + something as old as the world, as new as modern psychology. It was, in + short, the power to stimulate. She infused a sense of well-being; and + ordinary people, in her presence, surprised themselves by saying clever + things. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ayllington, a lean, hard-riding gentleman, who was supposed to be on + the verge of contracting an alliance with the eldest of the Grenfell + girls, regretted that Mrs. Spence was neither unmarried nor an heiress. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” he said to Cecil Grainger, who happened to be gracing his + wife's dinner-party, “she's the sort of woman for whom a man might consent + to live in Venice.” + </p> + <p> + “And she's the sort of woman,” replied, “a man couldn't get to go to + Venice.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ayllington's sigh was a proof of an intimate knowledge of the world. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not,” he said. “It's always so. And there are few American + women who would throw everything overboard for a grand passion.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to see her on the beach,” Mr. Grainger suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I intend to,” said Ayllington. “By the way, not a few of your American + women get divorced, and keep their cake and eat it, too. It's a bit + difficult, here at Newport, for a stranger, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm willing to bet,” declared Mr. Grainger, “that it doesn't pay. When + you're divorced and married again you've got to keep up appearances—the + first time you don't. Some of these people are working pretty hard.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon, for the Englishman's enlightenment, he recounted a little + gossip. + </p> + <p> + This, of course, was in the smoking room. In the drawing-room, Mrs. + Grainger's cousin did not escape, and the biography was the subject of + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “You see something of him, I hear,” remarked Mrs. Playfair, a lady the + deficiency of whose neck was supplied by jewels, and whose conversation + sounded like liquid coming out of an inverted bottle. “Is he really + serious about the biography?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to ask Mr. Grainger,” replied Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh ought to marry,” Mrs. Grenfell observed. + </p> + <p> + “Why did he come back?” inquired another who had just returned from a + prolonged residence abroad. “Was there a woman in the case?” + </p> + <p> + “Put it in the plural, and you'll be nearer right,” laughed Mrs. Grenfell, + and added to Honora, “You'd best take care, my dear, he's dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + Honora seemed to be looking down on them from a great height, and to + Reginald Farwell alone is due the discovery of this altitude; his + reputation for astuteness, after that evening, was secure. He had sat next + her, and had merely put two and two together—an operation that is + probably at the root of most prophecies. More than once that summer Mr. + Farwell had taken sketches down Honora's lane, for she was on what was + known as his list of advisers: a sheepfold of ewes, some one had called + it, and he was always piqued when one of them went astray. In addition to + this, intuition told him that he had taken the name of a deity in vain—and + that deity was Chiltern. These reflections resulted in another + after-dinner conversation to which we are not supposed to listen. + </p> + <p> + He found Jerry Shorter in a receptive mood, and drew him into Cecil + Grainger's study, where this latter gentleman, when awake, carried on his + lifework of keeping a record of prize winners. + </p> + <p> + “I believe there is something between Mrs. Spence and Hugh Chiltern, after + all, Jerry,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “By jinks, you don't say so!” exclaimed Mr. Shorter, who had a profound + respect for his friend's diagnoses in these matters. “She was dazzling + to-night, and her eyes were like stars. I passed her in the hall just now, + and I might as well have been in Halifax.” + </p> + <p> + “She fairly withered me when I made a little fun of Chiltern,” declared + Farwell. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you what it is, Reggie,” remarked Mr. Shorter, with more frankness + than tact, “you could talk architecture with 'em from now to Christmas, + and nothing'd happen, but it would take an iceberg to write a book with + Hugh and see him alone six days out of seven. Chiltern knocks women into a + cocked hat. I've seen 'em stark raving crazy. Why, there was that Mrs. + Slicer six or seven years ago—you remember—that Cecil Grainger + had such a deuce of a time with. And there was Mrs. Dutton—I was a + committee to see her, when the old General was alive,—to say nothing + about a good many women you and I know.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Farwell nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I'm confoundedly sorry if it's so,” Mr. Shorter continued, with + sincerity. “She has a brilliant future ahead of her. She's got good blood + in her, she's stunning to look at, and she's made her own way in spite of + that Billycock of a husband who talks like the original Rothschild. By the + bye, Wing is using him for a good thing. He's sent him out West to pull + that street railway chestnut out of the fire. I'm not particularly + squeamish, Reggie, though I try to play the game straight myself—the + way my father played it. But by the lord Harry, I can't see the difference + between Dick Turpin and Wing and Trixy Brent. It's hold and deliver with + those fellows. But if the police get anybody, their get Spence.” + </p> + <p> + “The police never get anybody,” said Farwell, pessimistically; for the + change of topic bored him. + </p> + <p> + “No, I suppose they don't,” answered Mr. Shorter, cheerfully finishing his + chartreuse, and fixing his eye on one of the coloured lithographs of lean + horses on Cecil Grainger's wall. “I'd talk to Hugh, if I wasn't as much + afraid of him as of Jim Jeffries. I don't want to see him ruin her + career.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should an affair with him ruin it?” asked Farwell, unexpectedly. + “There was Constance Witherspoon. I understand that went pretty far.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” said Mr. Shorter, “it's the women. Bessie Grainger here, + for instance—she'd go right up in the air. And the women had—well, + a childhood-interest in Constance. Self-preservation is the first law—of + women.” + </p> + <p> + “They say Hugh has changed—that he wants to settle down,” said + Farwell. + </p> + <p> + “If you'd ever gone to church, Reggie,” said Mr. Shorter, “you'd know + something about the limitations of the leopard.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. “LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS” + </h2> + <p> + That night was Honora's soul played upon by the unknown musician of the + sleepless hours. Now a mad, ecstatic chorus dinned in her ears and set her + blood coursing; and again despair seized her with a dirge. Periods of + semiconsciousness only came to her, and from one of these she was suddenly + startled into wakefulness by her own words. “I have the right to make of + my life what I can.” But when she beheld the road of terrors that + stretched between her and the shining places, it seemed as though she + would never have the courage to fare forth along its way. To look back was + to survey a prospect even more dreadful. + </p> + <p> + The incidents of her life ranged by in procession. Not in natural + sequence, but a group here and a group there. And it was given her, for + the first time, to see many things clearly. But now she loved. God alone + knew what she felt for this man, and when she thought of him the very + perils of her path were dwarfed. On returning home that night she had + given her maid her cloak, and had stood for a long time immobile,—gazing + at her image in the pierglass. + </p> + <p> + “Madame est belle comme l'Imperatrice d'Autriche!” said the maid at + length. + </p> + <p> + “Am I really beautiful, Mathilde?” + </p> + <p> + Mathilde raised her eyes and hands to heaven in a gesture that admitted no + doubt. Mathilde, moreover, could read a certain kind of history if the + print were large enough. + </p> + <p> + Honora looked in the glass again. Yes, she was beautiful. He had found her + so, he had told her so. And here was the testimony of her own eyes. The + bloom on the nectarines that came every morning from Mr. Chamberlin's + greenhouse could not compare with the colour of her cheeks; her hair was + like the dusk; her eyes like the blue pools among the rocks, and touched + now by the sun; her neck and arms of the whiteness of sea-foam. It was + meet that she should be thus for him and for the love he brought her. + </p> + <p> + She turned suddenly to the maid. + </p> + <p> + “Do you love me, Mathilde?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Mathilde was not surprised. She was, on the contrary, profoundly touched. + </p> + <p> + “How can madame ask?” she cried impulsively, and seized Honora's hand. How + was it possible to be near madame, and not love her? + </p> + <p> + “And would you go—anywhere with me?” + </p> + <p> + The scene came back to her in the night watches. For the little maid had + wept and vowed eternal fidelity. + </p> + <p> + It was not—until the first faint herald of the morning that Honora + could bring herself to pronounce the fateful thing that stood between her + and happiness, that threatened to mar the perfection of a heaven-born love—Divorce! + And thus, having named it resolutely several times, the demon of salvation + began gradually to assume a kindly aspect that at times became almost + benign. In fact, this one was not a demon at all, but a liberator: the + demon, she perceived, stalked behind him, and his name was Notoriety. It + was he who would flay her for coquetting with the liberator. + </p> + <p> + What if she were flayed? Once married to Chiltern, once embarked upon that + life of usefulness, once firmly established on ground of her own tilling, + and she was immune. And this led her to a consideration of those she knew + who had been flayed. They were not few, and a surfeit of publicity is a + sufficient reason for not enumerating them here. And during this process + of exorcism Notoriety became a bogey, too: he had been powerless to hurt + them. It must be true what Chiltern had said that the world was changing. + The tragic and the ridiculous here joining hands, she remembered that + Reggie Farwell had told her that he had recently made a trip to western + New York to inspect a house he had built for a “remarried” couple who were + not wholly unknown. The dove-cote, he had called it. The man, in his + former marriage, had been renowned all up and down tidewater as a rake and + a brute, and now it was an exception when he did not have at least one + baby on his knee. And he knew, according to Mr. Farwell, more about infant + diet than the whole staff of a maternity hospital. + </p> + <p> + At length, as she stared into the darkness, dissolution came upon it. The + sills of her windows outlined themselves, and a blurred foliage was + sketched into the frame. With a problem but half solved the day had + surprised her. She marvelled to see that it grew apace, and presently + arose to look out upon a stillness like that of eternity: in the grey + light the very leaves seemed to be holding their breath in expectancy of + the thing that was to come. Presently the drooping roses raised their + heads, from pearl to silver grew the light, and comparison ended. The reds + were aflame, the greens resplendent, the lawn sewn with the diamonds of + the dew. + </p> + <p> + A little travelling table was beside the window, and Honora took her pen + and wrote. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My dearest, above all created things I love you. Morning has come, + and it seems to me that I have travelled far since last I saw you. + I have come to a new place, which is neither hell nor heaven, and in + the mystery of it you—you alone are real. It is to your strength + that I cling, and I know that you will not fail me. + + “Since I saw you, Hugh, I have been through the Valley of the + Shadow. I have thought of many things. One truth alone is clear— + that I love you transcendently.. You have touched and awakened me + into life. I walk in a world unknown. + + “There is the glory of martyrdom in this message I send you now. + You must not come to me again until I send for you. I cannot, I + will not trust myself or you. I will keep this love which has come + to me undefiled. It has brought with it to me a new spirit, a + spirit with a scorn for things base and mean. Though it were my + last chance in life, I would not see you if you came. If I thought + you would not understand what I feel, I could not love you as I do. + + “I will write to you again, when I see my way more clearly. I told + you in the garden before you spoke that I was going away. Do not + seek to know my plans. For the sake of the years to come, obey me. + + “HONORA.” + </pre> + <p> + She reread the letter, and sealed it. A new and different exaltation had + come to her—begotten, perhaps, in the act of writing. A new courage + filled her, and now she contemplated the ordeal with a tranquillity that + surprised her. The disorder and chaos of the night were passed, and she + welcomed the coming day, and those that were to follow it. As though the + fates were inclined to humour her impatience, there was a telegram on her + breakfast tray, dated at New York, and informing her that her husband + would be in Newport about the middle of the afternoon. His western trip + was finished a day earlier than he expected. Honora rang her bell. + </p> + <p> + “Mathilde, I am going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Oui, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “And I should like you to go with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oui, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “It is only fair that you should understand, Mathilde. I am going away + alone. I am not—coming back.” + </p> + <p> + The maid's eyes filled with sudden tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, madame,” she cried, in a burst of loyalty, “if madame will permit me + to stay with her!” + </p> + <p> + Honora was troubled, but her strange calmness did not forsake her. The + morning was spent in packing, which was a simple matter. She took only + such things as she needed, and left her dinner-gowns hanging in the + closets. A few precious books of her own she chose, but the jewellery her + husband had given her was put in boxes and laid upon the dressing-table. + In one of these boxes was her wedding ring. When luncheon was over, an + astonished and perturbed butler packed the Leffingwell silver and sent it + off to storage. + </p> + <p> + There had been but one interruption in Honora's labours. A note had + arrived—from him—a note and a box. He would obey her! She had + known he would understand, and respect her the more. What would their love + have been, without that respect? She shuddered to think. And he sent her + this ring, as a token of that love, as undying as the fire in its stones. + Would she wear it, that in her absence she might think of him? Honora + kissed it and slipped it on her finger, where it sparkled. The letter was + beneath her gown, though she knew it by heart. Chiltern had gone at last: + he could not, he said, remain in Newport and not see her. + </p> + <p> + At midday she made but the pretence of a meal. It was not until + afterwards, in wandering through the lower rooms of this house, become so + dear to her, that agitation seized her, and a desire to weep. What was she + leaving so precipitately? and whither going? The world indeed was wide, + and these rooms had been her home. The day had grown blue-grey, and in the + dining room the gentle face seemed to look down upon her compassionately + from the portrait. The scent of the roses overpowered her. As she + listened, no sound brake the quiet of the place. + </p> + <p> + Would Howard never come? The train was in—had been in ten minutes. + Hark, the sound of wheels! Her heart beating wildly, she ran to the + windows of the drawing-room and peered through the lilacs. Yes, there he + was, ascending the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Spence is out, I suppose,” she heard him say to the butler, who + followed with his bag. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, she's is the drawing-room.” + </p> + <p> + The sight of him, with his air of satisfaction and importance, proved an + unexpected tonic to her strength. It was as though he had brought into the + room, marshalled behind him, all the horrors of her marriage, and she + marvelled and shuddered anew at the thought of the years of that + sufferance. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm back,” he said, “and we've made a great killing, as I wrote + you. They were easier than I expected.” + </p> + <p> + He came forward for the usual perfunctory kiss, but she recoiled, and it + was then that his eye seemed to grasp the significance of her travelling + suit and veil, and he glanced at her face. + </p> + <p> + “What's up? Where are you going?” he demanded. “Has anything happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” she said, and it was then, suddenly, that she felt the store + of her resolution begin to ebb, and she trembled. “Howard, I am going + away.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped short, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his checked + trousers. + </p> + <p> + “Going away,” he repeated. “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Honora; “I'm going away.” + </p> + <p> + As though to cap the climax of tragedy, he smiled as he produced his + cigarette case. And she was swept, as it were, by a scarlet flame that + deprived her for the moment of speech. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said complacently, “there's no accounting for women. A case of + nerves—eh, Honora? Been hitting the pace a little too hard, I + guess.” He lighted a match, blissfully unaware of the quality of her look. + “All of us have to get toned up once in a while. I need it myself. I've + had to drink a case of Scotch whiskey out West to get this deal through. + Now what's the name of that new boat with everything on her from a cafe to + a Stock Exchange? A German name.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Honora. She had answered automatically. + </p> + <p> + To the imminent peril of one of the frailest of Mrs. Forsythe's chairs, he + sat down on it, placed his hands on his knees, flung back his head, and + blew the smoke towards the ceiling. Still she stared at him, as in a state + of semi-hypnosis. + </p> + <p> + “Instead of going off to one of those thousand-dollar-a-minute doctors, + let me prescribe for you,” he said. “I've handled some nervous men in my + time, and I guess nervous women aren't much different. You've had these + little attacks before, and they blow over—don't they? Wing owes me a + vacation. If I do say it myself, there are not five men in New York who + would have pulled off this deal for him. Now the proposition I was going + to make to you is this: that we get cosey in a cabin de luxe on that + German boat, hire an automobile on the other side, and do up Europe. It's + a sort of a handicap never to have been over there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you're making it very hard for me, Howard,” she cried. “I might have + known that you couldn't understand, that you never could understand—why + I am going away. I've lived with you all this time, and you do not know me + any better than you know—the scrub-woman. I'm going away from you—forever.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of herself, she ended with an uncontrollable sob. + </p> + <p> + “Forever!” he repeated, but he continued to smoke and to look at her + without any evidences of emotion, very much as though he had received an + ultimatum in a business transaction. And then there crept into his + expression something of a complacent pity that braced her to continue. + “Why?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because—because I don't love you. Because you don't love me. You + don't know what love is—you never will.” + </p> + <p> + “But we're married,” he said. “We get along all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, can't you see that that makes it all the worse!” she cried. “I can + stand it no longer. I can't live with you—I won't live with you. I'm + of no use to you—you're sufficient unto yourself. It was all a + frightful mistake. I brought nothing into your life, and I take nothing + out of it. We are strangers—we have always been so. I am not even + your housekeeper. Your whole interest in life is in your business, and you + come home to read the newspapers and to sleep! Home! The very word is a + mockery. If you had to choose between me and your business you wouldn't + hesitate an instant. And I—I have been starved. It isn't your fault, + perhaps, that you don't understand that a woman needs something more than + dinner-gowns and jewels and—and trips abroad. Her only possible + compensation for living with a man is love. Love—and you haven't the + faintest conception of it. It isn't your fault, perhaps. It's my fault for + marrying you. I didn't know any better.” + </p> + <p> + She paused with her breast heaving. He rose and walked over to the + fireplace and flicked his ashes into it before he spoke. His calmness + maddened her. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you say something about this before?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because I didn't know it—I didn't realize it—until now.” + </p> + <p> + “When you married me,” he went on, “you had an idea that you were going to + live in a house on Fifth Avenue with a ballroom, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Honora. “I do not say I am not to blame. I was a fool. My + standards were false. In spite of the fact that my aunt and uncle are the + most unworldly people that ever lived—perhaps because of it—I + knew nothing of the values of life. I have but one thing to say in my + defence. I thought I loved you, and that you could give me—what + every woman needs.” + </p> + <p> + “You were never satisfied from the first,” he retorted. “You wanted money + and position—a mania with American women. I've made a success that + few men of my age can duplicate. And even now you are not satisfied when I + come back to tell you that I have money enough to snap my fingers at half + these people you know.” + </p> + <p> + “How,” asked Honora, “how did you make it?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She turned away from him with a gesture of weariness. + </p> + <p> + “No, you wouldn't understand that, either, Howard.” + </p> + <p> + It was not until then that he showed feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody has been talking to you about this deal. I'm not surprised. A + lot of these people are angry because we didn't let them in. What have + they been saying?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes flashed. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody has spoken to me on the subject,” she said. “I only know what I + have read, and what you have told me. In the first place, you deceived the + stockholders of these railways into believing their property was + worthless, and in the second place, you intend to sell it to the public + for much more than it is worth.” + </p> + <p> + At first he stared at her in surprise. Then he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “By George, you'd make something of a financier yourself, Honora,” he + exclaimed. And seeing that she did not answer, continued: “Well, you've + got it about right, only it's easier said than done. It takes brains. + That's what business is—a survival of the fittest. If you don't do + the other man, he'll do you.” He opened the cigarette case once more. “And + now,” he said, “let me give you a little piece of advice. It's a good + motto for a woman not to meddle with what doesn't concern her. It isn't + her business to make the money, but to spend it; and she can usually do + that to the queen's taste.” + </p> + <p> + “A high ideal?” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have some notion of where that ideal came from,” he + retorted. “You were all for getting rich, in order to compete with these + people. Now you've got what you want—” + </p> + <p> + “And I am going to throw it away. That is like a woman, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + He glanced at her, and then at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Honora, I ought to go over to Mr. Wing's. I wired him I'd be + there at four-thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let me keep you,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “By gad, you are pale!” he said. “What's got into the women these days? + They never used to have these confounded nerves. Well, if you are bent on + it, I suppose there's no use trying to stop you. Go off somewhere and take + a rest, and when you come back you'll see things differently.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Howard,” she said. “I wanted you to know that I didn't—bear + you any ill-will—that I blame myself as much as you. More, if + anything. I hope you will be happy—I know you will. But I must ask + you to believe me when I say that I shan't come back. I—I am leaving + all the valuable things you gave me. You will find them on my + dressing-table. And I wanted to tell you that my uncle sent me a little + legacy from my father-an unexpected one—that makes me independent.” + </p> + <p> + He did not take her hand, but was staring at her now, incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “You mean you are actually going?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But—what shall I say to Mr. Wing? What will he think?” + </p> + <p> + Despite the ache in her heart, she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Does it make any difference what Mr. Wing thinks?” she asked gently. + “Need he know? Isn't this a matter which concerns us alone? I shall go + off, and after a certain time people will understand that I am not coming + back.” + </p> + <p> + “But—have you considered that it may interfere with my prospects?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why should it? You are invaluable to Mr. Wing. He can't afford to + dispense with your services just because you will be divorced. That would + be ridiculous. Some of his own associates are divorced.” + </p> + <p> + “Divorced!” he cried, and she saw that he had grown pasty white. “On what + grounds? Have you been—” + </p> + <p> + He did not finish. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “you need fear no scandal. There will be nothing in any + way harmful to your—prospects.” + </p> + <p> + “What can I do?” he said, though more to himself than to her. Her quick + ear detected in his voice a note of relief. And yet, he struck in her, + standing helplessly smoking in the middle of the floor, chords of pity. + </p> + <p> + “You can do nothing, Howard,” she said. “If you lived with me from now to + the millennium you couldn't make me love you, nor could you love me—the + way I must be loved. Try to realize it. The wrench is what you dread. + After it is over you will be much more contented, much happier, than you + have been with me. Believe me.” + </p> + <p> + His next remark astonished her. + </p> + <p> + “What's the use of being so damned precipitate?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Precipitate!” + </p> + <p> + “Because I can stand it no longer. I should go mad,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + He took a turn up and down the room, stopped suddenly, and stared at her + with eyes that had grown smaller. Suspicion is slow to seize the + complacent. Was it possible that he had been supplanted? + </p> + <p> + Honora, with an instinct of what was coming, held up her head. Had he been + angry, had he been a man, how much humiliation he would have spared her! + </p> + <p> + “So you're in love!” he said. “I might have known that something was at + the bottom of this.” + </p> + <p> + She took account of and quivered at the many meanings behind his speech—meanings + which he was too cowardly to voice in words. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, “I am in love—in love as I never hoped to be—as + I did not think it possible to be. My love is such that I would go through + hell fire for the sake of it. I do not expect you to believe me when I + tell you that such is not the reason why I am leaving you. If you had + loved me with the least spark of passion, if I thought I were in the least + bit needful to you as a woman and as a soul, as a helper and a confidante, + instead of a mere puppet to advertise your prosperity, this would not—could + not—have happened. I love a man who would give up the world for me + to-morrow. I have but one life to live, and I am going to find happiness + if I can.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, afire with an eloquence that had come unsought. But her + husband only stared at her. She was transformed beyond his recognition. + Surely he had not married this woman! And, if the truth be told, down in + his secret soul whispered a small, congratulatory voice. Although he did + not yet fully realize it, he was glad he had not. + </p> + <p> + Honora, with an involuntary movement, pressed her handkerchief to her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Howard,” she said. “I—I did not expect you to understand. + If I had stayed, I should have made you miserably unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + He took her hand in a dazed manner, as though he knew not in the least + what he was doing. He muttered something and found speech impossible. He + gulped once, uncomfortably. The English language had ceased to be a + medium. Great is the force of habit! In the emergency he reached for his + cigarette case. + </p> + <p> + Honora had given orders that the carriage was to wait at the door. The + servants might suspect, but that was all. Her maid had been discreet. She + drew down her veil as she descended the steps, and told the coachman to + drive to the station. + </p> + <p> + It was raining. Leaning forward from under the hood as the horses started, + she took her last look at the lilacs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. IN WHICH THE LAW BETRAYS A HEART + </h2> + <p> + It was still raining when she got into a carriage at Boston and drove + under the elevated tracks, through the narrow, slippery business streets, + to the hotel. From the windows of her room, as the night fell, she looked + out across the dripping foliage of the Common. Below her, and robbed from + that sacred ground, were the little granite buildings that housed the + entrances to the subway, and for a long time she stood watching the people + crowding into these. Most of them had homes to go to! In the gathering + gloom the arc-lights shone, casting yellow streaks on the glistening + pavement; wagons and carriages plunged into the maelstrom at the corner; + pedestrians dodged and slipped; lightnings flashed from overhead wires, + and clanging trolley cars pushed their greater bulk through the mass. And + presently the higher toned and more ominous bell of an ambulance sounded + on its way to the scene of an accident. + </p> + <p> + It was Mathilde who ordered her dinner and pressed her to eat. But she had + no heart for food. In her bright sitting-room, with the shades tightly + drawn, an inexpressible loneliness assailed her. A large engraving of a + picture of a sentimental school hung on the wall: she could not bear to + look at it, and yet her eyes, from time to time, were fatally drawn + thither. It was of a young girl taking leave of her lover, in early + Christian times, before entering the arena. It haunted Honora, and wrought + upon her imagination to such a pitch that she went into her bedroom to + write. + </p> + <p> + For a long time nothing more was written of the letter than “Dear Uncle + Tom and Aunt Mary”: what to say to them? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I do not know what you will think of me. I do not know, to-night, + what to think of myself. I have left Howard. It is not because he + was cruel to me, or untrue. He does not love me, nor I him. I + cannot expect you, who have known the happiness of marriage, to + realize the tortures of it without love. My pain in telling you + this now is all the greater because I realize your belief as to the + sacredness of the tie—and it is not your fault that you did not + instil that belief into me. I have had to live and to think and to + suffer for myself. I do not attempt to account for my action, and I + hesitate to lay the blame upon the modern conditions and atmosphere + in which I lived; for I feel that, above all things, I must be + honest with myself. + + “My marriage with Howard was a frightful mistake, and I have grown + slowly to realize it, until life with him became insupportable. + Since he does not love me, since his one interest is his business, + my departure makes no great difference to him. + + “Dear Aunt Mary and Uncle Tom, I realize that I owe you much + —everything that I am. I do not expect you to understand or to + condone what I have done. I only beg that you will continue to + —love your niece, + + “HONORA.” + </pre> + <p> + She tried to review this letter. Incoherent though it were and incomplete, + in her present state of mind she was able to add but a few words as a + postscript. “I will write you my plans in a day or two, when I see my way + more clearly. I would fly to you—but I cannot. I am going to get a + divorce.” + </p> + <p> + She sat for a time picturing the scene in the sitting-room when they + should read it, and a longing which was almost irresistible seized her to + go back to that shelter. One force alone held her in misery where she was,—her + love for Chiltern; it drew her on to suffer the horrors of exile and + publicity. When she suffered most, his image rose before her, and she + kissed the ring on her hand. Where was he now, on this rainy night? On the + seas? + </p> + <p> + At the thought she heard again the fog-horns and the sirens. + </p> + <p> + Her sleep was fitful. Many times she went over again her talk with Howard, + and she surprised herself by wondering what he had thought and felt since + her departure. And ever and anon she was startled out of chimerical dreams + by the clamour of bells-the trolley cars on their ceaseless round passing + below. At last came the slumber of exhaustion. + </p> + <p> + It was nine o'clock when she awoke and faced the distasteful task she had + set herself for the day. In her predicament she descended to the office, + where the face of one of the clerks attracted her, and she waited until he + was unoccupied. + </p> + <p> + “I should like you to tell me—the name of some reputable lawyer,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, Mrs. Spence,” he replied, and Honora was startled at the sound + of her name. She might have realized that he would know her. “I suppose a + young lawyer would do—if the matter is not very important.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she cried, blushing to her temples. “A young lawyer would do + very well.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk reflected. He glanced at Honora again; and later in the day she + divined what had been going on in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “there are a great many. I happen to think of Mr. + Wentworth, because he was in the hotel this morning. He is in the Tremont + Building.” + </p> + <p> + She thanked him hurriedly, and was driven to the Tremont Building, through + the soggy street that faced the still dripping trees of the Common. + Mounting in the elevator, she read on the glass door amongst the names of + the four members of the firm that of Alden Wentworth, and suddenly found + herself face to face with the young man, in his private office. He was + well groomed and deeply tanned, and he rose to meet her with a smile that + revealed a line of perfect white teeth. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mrs. Spence?” he said. “I did not think, when I met you at + Mrs. Grenfell's, that I should see you so soon in Boston. Won't you sit + down?” + </p> + <p> + Honora sat down. There seemed nothing else to do. She remembered him + perfectly now, and she realized that the nimble-witted clerk had meant to + send her to a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” she faltered, “I thought I was coming to a—a stranger. + They gave me your address at the hotel—when I asked for a lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” suggested Mr. Wentworth, delicately, “perhaps you would prefer + to go to some one else. I can give you any number of addresses, if you + like.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him gratefully. He seemed very human and understanding,—very + honourable. He belonged to her generation, after all, and she feared an + older man. + </p> + <p> + “If you will be kind enough to listen to me, I think I will stay here. It + is only a matter of—of knowledge of the law.” She looked at him + again, and the pathos of her smile went straight to his heart. For Mr. + Wentworth possessed that organ, although he did not wear it on his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + He crossed the room, closed the door, and sat down beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Anything I can do,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him once more, helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know how to tell you,” she began. “It all seems so dreadful.” + She paused, but he had the lawyer's gift of silence—of sympathetic + silence. “I want to get a divorce from my husband.” + </p> + <p> + If Mr. Wentworth was surprised, he concealed it admirably. His attitude of + sympathy did not change, but he managed to ask her, in a business-like + tone which she welcomed:—“On what grounds?” + </p> + <p> + “I was going to ask you that question,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + This time Mr. Wentworth was surprised—genuinely so, and he showed + it. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Mrs. Spence,” he protested, “you must remember that—that + I know nothing of the case.” + </p> + <p> + “What are the grounds one can get divorced on?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He coloured a little under his tan. + </p> + <p> + “They are different in different states,” he replied. “I think—perhaps—the + best way would be to read you the Massachusetts statutes.” + </p> + <p> + “No—wait a moment,” she said. “It's very simple, after all, what I + have to tell you. I don't love my husband, and he doesn't love me, and it + has become torture to live together. I have left him with his knowledge + and consent, and he understands that I will get a divorce.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wentworth appeared to be pondering—perhaps not wholly on the + legal aspects of the case thus naively presented. Whatever may have been + his private comments, they were hidden. He pronounced tentatively, and a + little absently, the word “desertion.” + </p> + <p> + “If the case could possibly be construed as desertion on your husband's + part, you could probably get a divorce in three years in Massachusetts.” + </p> + <p> + “Three years!” cried Honora, appalled. “I could never wait three years!” + </p> + <p> + She did not remark the young lawyer's smile, which revealed a greater + knowledge of the world than one would have suspected. He said nothing, + however. + </p> + <p> + “Three years!” she repeated. “Why, it can't be, Mr. Wentworth. There are + the Waterfords—she was Mrs. Boutwell, you remember. And—and + Mrs. Rindge—it was scarcely a year before—” + </p> + <p> + He had the grace to nod gravely, and to pretend not to notice the + confusion in which she halted. Lawyers, even young ones with white teeth + and clear eyes, are apt to be a little cynical. He had doubtless seen from + the beginning that there was a man in the background. It was not his + business to comment or to preach. + </p> + <p> + “Some of the western states grant divorces on—on much easier terms,” + he said politely. “If you care to wait, I will go into our library and + look up the laws of those states.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would,” answered Honora. “I don't think I could bear to spend + three years in such—in such an anomalous condition. And at any rate + I should much rather go West, out of sight, and have it all as quickly + over with as possible.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed, and departed on his quest. And Honora waited, at moments growing + hot at the recollection of her conversation with him. Why—she asked + herself should the law make it so difficult, and subject her to such + humiliation in a course which she felt to be right and natural and noble? + Finally, her thoughts becoming too painful, she got up and looked out of + the window. And far below her, through the mist, she beheld the + burying-ground of Boston's illustrious dead which her cabman had pointed + out to her as he passed. She did not hear the door open as Mr. Wentworth + returned, and she started at the sound of his voice. + </p> + <p> + “I take it for granted that you are really serious in this matter, Mrs. + Spence,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “And that you have thoroughly reflected,” he continued imperturbably. + Evidently, in spite of the cold impartiality of the law, a New England + conscience had assailed him in the library. “I cannot take er—the + responsibility of advising you as to a course of action. You have asked me + the laws of certain western states as to divorce I will read them.” + </p> + <p> + An office boy followed him, deposited several volumes on the taule, and + Mr. Wentworth read from them in a voice magnificently judicial. + </p> + <p> + “There's not much choice, is there?” she faltered, when he had finished. + </p> + <p> + He smiled. + </p> + <p> + “As places of residence—” he began, in an attempt to relieve the + pathos. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't mean that,” she cried. “Exile is—is exile.” She + flushed. After a few moments of hesitation she named at random a state the + laws of which required a six months' residence. She contemplated him. “I + hardly dare to ask you to give me the name of some reputable lawyer out + there.” + </p> + <p> + He had looked for an instant into her eyes. Men of the law are not + invulnerable, particularly at Mr. Wentworth's age, and New England + consciences to the contrary notwithstanding. In spite of himself, her eyes + had made him a partisan: an accomplice, he told himself afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “Really, Mrs. Spence,” he began, and caught another appealing look. He + remembered the husband now, and a lecture on finance in the Grenfell + smoking room which Howard Spence had delivered, and which had grated on + Boston sensibility. “It is only right to tell you that our firm does not—does + not—take divorce cases—as a rule. Not that we are taking this + one,” he added hurriedly. “But as a friend—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you!” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Merely as a friend who would be glad to do you a service,” he continued, + “I will, during the day, try to get you the name of—of as reputable + a lawyer as possible in that place.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Wentworth paused, as red as though he had asked her to marry him. + </p> + <p> + “How good of you!” she cried. “I shall be at the Touraine until this + evening.” + </p> + <p> + He escorted her through the corridor, bowed her into the elevator, and her + spirits had risen perceptibly as she got into her cab and returned to the + hotel. There, she studied railroad folders. One confidant was enough, and + she dared not even ask the head porter the way to a locality where—it + was well known—divorces were sold across a counter. And as she + worked over the intricacies of this problem the word her husband had + applied to her action recurred to her—precipitate. No doubt Mr. + Wentworth, too, had thought her precipitate. Nearly every important act of + her life had been precipitate. But she was conscious in this instance of + no regret. Delay, she felt, would have killed her. Let her exile begin at + once. + </p> + <p> + She had scarcely finished luncheon when Mr. Wentworth was announced. For + reasons best known to himself he had come in person; and he handed her, + written on a card, the name of the Honourable David Beckwith. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have to confess I don't know much about him, Mrs. Spence,” he said, + “except that he has been in Congress, and is one of the prominent lawyers + of that state.” + </p> + <p> + The gift of enlisting sympathy and assistance was peculiarly Honora's. And + if some one had predicted that morning to Mr. Wentworth that before + nightfall he would not only have put a lady in distress on the highroad to + obtaining a western divorce (which he had hitherto looked upon as + disgraceful), but that likewise he would miss his train for Pride's + Crossing, buy the lady's tickets, and see her off at the South Station for + Chicago, he would have regarded the prophet as a lunatic. But that is + precisely what Mr. Wentworth did. And when, as her train pulled out, + Honora bade him goodby, she felt the tug at her heartstrings which comes + at parting with an old friend. + </p> + <p> + “And anything I can do for you here in the East, while—while you are + out there, be sure to let me know,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She promised and waved at him from the platform as he stood motionless, + staring after her. Romance had spent a whole day in Boston! And with Mr. + Alden Wentworth, of all people! + </p> + <p> + Fortunately for the sanity of the human race, the tension of grief is + variable. Honora, closed in her stateroom, eased herself that night by + writing a long, if somewhat undecipherable, letter to Chiltern; and was + able, the next day, to read the greater portion of a novel. It was only + when she arrived in Chicago, after nightfall, that loneliness again + assailed her. She was within nine hours—so the timetable said—of + St. Louis! Of all her trials, the homesickness which she experienced as + she drove through the deserted streets of the metropolis of the Middle + West was perhaps the worst. A great city on Sunday night! What traveller + has not felt the depressing effect of it? And, so far as the incoming + traveller is concerned, Chicago does not put her best foot forward. The + way from the station to the Auditorium Hotel was hacked and bruised—so + it seemed—by the cruel battle of trade. And she stared, in a kind of + fascination that increased the ache in her heart; at the ugliness and + cruelty of the twentieth century. + </p> + <p> + To have imagination is unquestionably to possess a great capacity for + suffering, and Honora was paying the penalty for hers. It ran riot now. + The huge buildings towered like formless monsters against the blackness of + the sky under the sickly blue of the electric lights, across the dirty, + foot-scarred pavements, strange black human figures seemed to wander + aimlessly: an elevated train thundered overhead. And presently she found + herself the tenant of two rooms in that vast refuge of the homeless, the + modern hotel, where she sat until the small hours looking down upon the + myriad lights of the shore front, and out beyond them on the black waters + of an inland sea. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ....................... +</pre> + <p> + From Newport to Salomon City, in a state not far from the Pacific tier, is + something of a transition in less than a week, though in modern life we + should be surprised at nothing. Limited trains are wonderful enough; but + what shall be said of the modern mind, that travels faster than light? and + much too fast for the pages of a chronicle. Martha Washington and the good + ladies of her acquaintance knew nothing about the upper waters of the + Missouri, and the words “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer” + were not merely literature to them. + </p> + <p> + 'Nous avons change tout cela', although there are yet certain crudities to + be eliminated. In these enlightened times, if in one week a lady is not + entirely at home with husband number one, in the next week she may have + travelled in comparative comfort some two-thirds across a continent, and + be on the highroad to husband number two. Why travel? Why have to put up + with all this useless expense and worry and waste of time? Why not have + one's divorce sent, C.O.D., to one's door, or establish a new branch of + the Post-office Department? American enterprise has surely lagged in this. + </p> + <p> + Seated in a plush-covered rocking-chair that rocked on a track of its own, + and thus saved the yellow-and-red hotel carpet, the Honourable Dave + Beckwith patiently explained the vexatious process demanded by his + particular sovereign state before she should consent to cut the Gordian + knot of marriage. And his state—the Honourable Dave remarked—was + in the very forefront of enlightenment in this respect: practically all + that she demanded was that ladies in Mrs. Spence's predicament should + become, pro tempore, her citizens. Married misery did not exist in the + Honourable Dave's state, amongst her own bona fide citizens. And, by a + wise provision in the Constitution of our glorious American Union, no one + state could tie the nuptial knot so tight that another state could not cut + it at a blow. + </p> + <p> + Six months' residence, and a whole year before the divorce could be + granted! Honora looked at the plush rocking-chair, the yellow-and-red + carpet, the inevitable ice-water on the marble-topped table, and the + picture of a lady the shape of a liqueur bottle playing tennis in the late + eighties, and sighed. For one who is sensitive to surroundings, that room + was a torture chamber. + </p> + <p> + “But Mr. Beckwith,” she exclaimed, “I never could spend a year here! Isn't + there a—house I could get that is a—a little—a little + better furnished? And then there is a certain publicity about staying at a + hotel.” + </p> + <p> + The Honourable Dave might have been justly called the friend of ladies in + a temporary condition of loneliness. His mission in life was not merely + that of a liberator, but his natural goodness led him to perform a hundred + acts of kindness to make as comfortable as possible the purgatory of the + unfortunates under his charge. He was a man of a remarkable appearance, + and not to be lightly forgotten. His hair, above all, fascinated Honora, + and she found her eyes continually returning to it. So incredibly short it + was, and so incredibly stiff, that it reminded her of the needle points on + the cylinder of an old-fashioned music-box; and she wondered, if it were + properly inserted, what would be the resultant melody. + </p> + <p> + The Honourable Dave's head was like a cannon-ball painted white. Across + the top of it (a blemish that would undoubtedly have spoiled the tune) was + a long scar,—a relic of one of the gentleman's many personal + difficulties. He who made the sear, Honora reflected, must have been a + strong man. The Honourable Dave, indeed, had fought his way upward through + life to the Congress of the United States; and many were the harrowing + tales of frontier life he told Honora in the long winter evenings when the + blizzards came down the river valley. They would fill a book; + unfortunately, not this book. The growing responsibilities of taking care + of the lonely ladies that came in increasing numbers to Salomon City from + the effeter portions of the continent had at length compelled him to give + up his congressional career. The Honourable Dave was unmarried; and, he + told Honora, not likely to become so. He was thus at once human and + invulnerable, a high priest dedicated to freedom. + </p> + <p> + It is needless to say that the plush rocking-chair and the picture of the + liqueur-bottle lady did not jar on his sensibilities. Like an eminent + physician who has never himself experienced neurosis, the Honourable Dave + firmly believed that he understood the trouble from which his client was + suffering. He had seen many cases of it in ladies from the Atlantic coast: + the first had surprised him, no doubt. Salomon City, though it contained + the great Boon, was not esthetic. Being a keen student of human nature, he + rightly supposed that she would not care to join the colony, but he + thought it his duty to mention that there was a colony. + </p> + <p> + Honora repeated the word. + </p> + <p> + “Out there,” he said, waving his cigar to the westward, “some of the + ladies have ranches.” Some of the gentlemen, too, he added, for it + appeared that exiles were not confined to one sex. “It's social—a + little too social, I guess,” declared Mr. Beckwith, “for you.” A delicate + compliment of differentiation that Honora accepted gravely. “They've got a + casino, and they burn a good deal of electricity first and last. They + don't bother Salomon City much. Once in a while, in the winter, they come + in a bunch to the theatre. Soon as I looked at you I knew you wouldn't + want to go there.” + </p> + <p> + Her exclamation was sufficiently eloquent. + </p> + <p> + “I've got just the thing for you,” he said. “It looks a little as if I was + reaching out into the sanitarium business. Are you acquainted by any + chance with Mrs. Boutwell, who married a fellow named Waterford?” he + asked, taking momentarily out of his mouth the cigar he was smoking by + permission. + </p> + <p> + Honora confessed, with no great enthusiasm, that she knew the present Mrs. + Waterford. Not the least of her tribulations had been to listen to a + partial recapitulation, by the Honourable Dave, of the ladies he had + assisted to a transfer of husbands. What, indeed, had these ladies to do + with her? She felt that the very mention of them tended to soil the pure + garments of her martyrdom. + </p> + <p> + “What I was going to say was this,” the Honourable Dave continued. “Mrs. + Boutwell—that is to say Mrs. Waterford—couldn't stand this + hotel any more than you, and she felt like you do about the colony, so she + rented a little house up on Wylie Street and furnished it from the East. I + took the furniture off her hands: it's still in the house, by the way, + which hasn't been rented. For I figured it out that another lady would be + coming along with the same notions. Now you can look at the house any time + you like.” + </p> + <p> + Although she had to overcome the distaste of its antecedents, the house, + or rather the furniture, was too much of a find in Salomon City to be + resisted. It had but six rooms, and was of wood, and painted grey, like + its twin beside it. But Mrs. Waterford had removed the stained-glass + window-lights in the front door, deftly hidden the highly ornamental steam + radiators, and made other eliminations and improvements, including the + white bookshelves that still contained the lady's winter reading fifty or + more yellow-and-green-backed French novels and plays. Honora's first care, + after taking possession, was to order her maid to remove these from her + sight: but it is to be feared that they found their way, directly, to + Mathilde's room. Honora would have liked to fumigate the house; and yet, + at the same time, she thanked her stars for it. Mr. Beekwith obligingly + found her a cook, and on Thursday evening she sat down to supper in her + tiny dining room. She had found a temporary haven, at last. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she remembered that it was an anniversary. One week ago that day, + in the old garden at Beaulieu, had occurred the momentous event that had + changed the current of her life! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. WYLIE STREET + </h2> + <p> + There was a little spindle-supported porch before Honora's front door, and + had she chosen she might have followed the example of her neighbours and + sat there in the evenings. She preferred to watch the life about her from + the window-seat in the little parlour. The word exile suggests, perhaps, + to those who have never tried it, empty wastes, isolation, loneliness. She + had been prepared for these things, and Wylie Street was a shock to her: + in sending her there at this crisis in her life fate had perpetrated + nothing less than a huge practical joke. Next door, for instance, in the + twin house to hers, flaunted in the face of liberal divorce laws, was a + young couple with five children. Honora counted them, from the eldest ones + that ran over her little grass plot on their way to and from the public + school, to the youngest that spent much of his time gazing skyward from a + perambulator on the sidewalk. Six days of the week, about six o'clock in + the evening, there was a celebration in the family. Father came home from + work! He was a smooth-faced young man whom a fortnight in the woods might + have helped wonderfully—a clerk in the big department store. + </p> + <p> + He radiated happiness. When opposite Honora's front door he would open his + arms—the signal for a race across her lawn. Sometimes it was the + little girl, with pigtails the colour of pulled molasses candy, who won + the prize of the first kiss: again it was her brother, a year her junior; + and when he was raised it was seen that the seat of his trousers was + obviously double. But each of the five received a reward, and the baby was + invariably lifted out of the perambulator. And finally there was a + conjugal kiss on the spindled porch. + </p> + <p> + The wife was a roly-poly little body. In the mornings, at the side + windows, Honora heard her singing as she worked, and sometimes the sun + struck with a blinding flash the pan she was in the act of shining. And + one day she looked up and nodded and smiled. Strange indeed was the effect + upon our heroine of that greeting! It amazed Honora herself. A strange + current ran through her and left her hot, and even as she smiled and + nodded back, unbidden tears rose scalding to her eyes. What was it? Why + was it? + </p> + <p> + She went downstairs to the little bookcase, filled now with volumes that + were not trash. For Hugh's sake, she would try to improve herself this + winter by reading serious things. But between her eyes and the book was + the little woman's smile. A month before, at Newport, how little she would + have valued it. + </p> + <p> + One morning, as Honora was starting out for her lonely walk—that + usually led her to the bare clay banks of the great river—she ran + across her neighbour on the sidewalk. The little woman was settling the + baby for his airing, and she gave Honora the same dazzling smile. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mrs. Spence,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” replied Honora, and in her strange confusion she leaned + over the carriage. “Oh, what a beautiful baby!” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he!” cried the little woman. “Of all of 'em, I think he's the + prize. His father says so. I guess,” she added, “I guess it was because I + didn't know so much about 'em when they first began to come. You take my + word for it, the best way is to leave 'em alone. Don't dandle 'em. It's + hard to keep your hands off 'em, but it's right.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure of it,” said Honora, who was very red. + </p> + <p> + They made a strange contrast as they stood on that new street, with its + new vitrified brick paving and white stone curbs, and new little trees set + out in front of new little houses: Mrs. Mayo (for such, Honora's cook had + informed her, was her name) in a housekeeper's apron and a shirtwaist, and + Honora, almost a head taller, in a walking costume of dark grey that would + have done justice to Fifth Avenue. The admiration in the little woman's + eyes was undisguised. + </p> + <p> + “You're getting a bill, I hear,” she said, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “A bill?” repeated Honora. + </p> + <p> + “A bill of divorce,” explained Mrs. Mayo. + </p> + <p> + Honora was conscious of conflicting emotions: astonishment, resentment, + and—most curiously—of relief that the little woman knew it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Mayo did not appear to notice or resent her brevity. + </p> + <p> + “I took a fancy to you the minute I saw you,” she said. “I can't say as + much for the other Easterner that was here last year. But I made up my + mind that it must be a mighty mean man who would treat you badly.” + </p> + <p> + Honora stood as though rooted to the pavement. She found a reply + impossible. + </p> + <p> + “When I think of my luck,” her neighbour continued, “I'm almost ashamed. + We were married on fifteen dollars a week. Of course there have been + trials, we must always expect that; and we've had to work hard, but—it + hasn't hurt us.” She paused and looked up at Honora, and added contritely: + “There! I shouldn't have said anything. It's mean of me to talk of my + happiness. I'll drop in some afternoon—if you'll let me—when I + get through my work,” said the little woman. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would,” replied Honora. + </p> + <p> + She had much to think of on her walk that morning, and new resolutions to + make. Here was happiness growing and thriving, so far as she could see, + without any of that rarer nourishment she had once thought so necessary. + And she had come two thousand miles to behold it. + </p> + <p> + She walked many miles, as a part of the regimen and discipline to which + she had set herself. Her haunting horror in this place, as she thought of + the colony of which Mr. Beckwith had spoken and of Mrs. Boutwell's row of + French novels, was degeneration. She was resolved to return to Chiltern a + better and a wiser and a truer woman, unstained by the ordeal. At the + outskirts of the town she halted by the river's bank, breathing deeply of + the pure air of the vast plains that surrounded her. + </p> + <p> + She was seated that afternoon at her desk in the sitting-room upstairs + when she heard the tinkle of the door-bell, and remembered her neighbour's + promise to call. With something of a pang she pushed back her chair. Since + the episode of the morning, the friendship of the little woman had grown + to have a definite value; for it was no small thing, in Honora's + situation, to feel the presence of a warm heart next door. All day she had + been thinking of Mrs. Mayo and her strange happiness, and longing to talk + with her again, and dreading it. And while she was bracing herself for the + trial Mathilde entered with a card. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Mrs. Mayo I shall be down in a minute,” she said. + </p> + <p> + It was not a lady, Mathilde replied, but a monsieur. + </p> + <p> + Honora took the card. For a long time she sat staring at it, while + Mathilde waited. It read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mr. Peter Erwin. +</pre> + <p> + “Madame will see monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + A great sculptor once said to the statesman who was to be his model: “Wear + your old coat. There is as much of a man in the back of his old coat, I + think, as there is in his face.” As Honora halted on the threshold, Peter + was standing looking out of the five-foot plate-glass window, and his back + was to her. + </p> + <p> + She was suddenly stricken. Not since she had been a child, not even in the + weeks just passed, had she felt that pain. And as a child, self-pity + seized her—as a lost child, when darkness is setting in, and the + will fails and distance appalls. Scalding tears welled into her eyes as + she seized the frame of the door, but it must have been her breathing that + he heard. He turned and crossed the room to her as she had known he would, + and she clung to him as she had so often done in days gone by when, hurt + and bruised, he had rescued and soothed her. For the moment, the delusion + that his power was still limitless prevailed, and her faith whole again, + so many times had he mended a world all awry. + </p> + <p> + He led her to the window-seat and gently disengaged her hands from his + shoulders and took one of them and held it between his own. He did not + speak, for his was a rare intuition; and gradually her hand ceased to + tremble, and the uncontrollable sobs that shook her became less frequent. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you come? Why did you come?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “To see you, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “But you might have—warned me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “it's true, I might.” + </p> + <p> + She drew her hand away, and gazed steadfastly at his face. + </p> + <p> + “Why aren't you angry?” she said. “You don't believe in what I have done—you + don't sympathize with it—you don't understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have come here to try,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “You can't—you can't—you never could.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” he answered, “it may not be so difficult as you think.” + </p> + <p> + Grown calmer, she considered this. What did he mean by it? to imply a + knowledge of herself? + </p> + <p> + “It will be useless,” she said inconsequently. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “it will not be useless.” + </p> + <p> + She considered this also, and took the broader meaning that such acts are + not wasted. + </p> + <p> + “What do you intend to try to do?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He smiled a little. + </p> + <p> + “To listen to as much as you care to tell me, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him again, and an errant thought slipped in between her + larger anxieties. Wherever he went, how extraordinarily he seemed to + harmonize with his surroundings. At Silverdale, and in the drawing-room of + the New York house, and in the little parlour in this far western town. + What was it? His permanence? Was it his power? She felt that, but it was a + strange kind of power—not like other men's. She felt, as she sat + there beside him, that his was a power more difficult to combat. That to + defeat it was at once to make it stronger, and to grow weaker. She + summoned her pride, she summoned her wrongs: she summoned the ego which + had winged its triumphant flight far above his kindly, disapproving eye. + He had the ability to make her taste defeat in the very hour of victory. + And she knew that, when she fell, he would be there in his strength to + lift her up. + </p> + <p> + “Did—did they tell you to come?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “There was no question of that, Honora. I was away when—when they + learned you were here. As soon as I returned, I came.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me how they feel,” she said, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “They think only of you. And the thought that you are unhappy overshadows + all others. They believe that it is to them you should have come, if you + were in trouble instead of coming here.” + </p> + <p> + “How could I?” she cried. “How can you ask? That is what makes it so hard, + that I cannot be with them now. But I should only have made them still + more unhappy, if I had gone. They would not have understood—they + cannot understand who have every reason to believe in marriage, why those + to whom it has been a mockery and a torture should be driven to divorce.” + </p> + <p> + “Why divorce?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean—do you mean that you wish me to give you the reasons + why I felt justified in leaving my husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless you care to,” he replied. “I have no right to demand them. I + only ask you to remember, Honora, that you have not explained these + reasons very clearly in your letters to your aunt and uncle. They do not + understand them. Your uncle was unable, on many accounts, to come here; + and he thought that—that as an old friend, you might be willing to + talk to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't live with—with my husband,” she cried. “I don't love him, + and he doesn't love me. He doesn't know what love is.” + </p> + <p> + Peter Erwin glanced at her, but she was too absorbed then to see the thing + in his eyes. He made no comment. + </p> + <p> + “We haven't the same tastes, nor—nor the same way of looking at + things—the same views about making money—for instance. We + became absolute strangers. What more is there to say?” she added, a little + defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Your husband committed no—flagrant offence against you?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “That would have made him human, at least,” she cried. “It would have + proved that he could feel—something. No, all he cares for in the + world is to make money, and he doesn't care how he makes it. No woman with + an atom of soul can live with a man like that.” + </p> + <p> + If Peter Erwin deemed this statement a trifle revolutionary, he did not + say so. + </p> + <p> + “So you just—left him,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Honora. “He didn't care. He was rather relieved than + otherwise. If I had lived with him till I died, I couldn't have made him + happy.” + </p> + <p> + “You tried, and failed,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + She flushed. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't have made him happier,” she declared, correcting herself. “He + has no conception of what real happiness is. He thinks he is happy,-he + doesn't need me. He'll be much more—contented without me. I have + nothing against him. I was to blame for marrying him, I know. But I have + only one life to live, and I can't throw it away, Peter, I can't. And I + can't believe that a woman and a man were intended to live together + without love. It is too horrible. Surely that isn't your idea of + marriage!” + </p> + <p> + “My idea of marriage isn't worth very much, I'm afraid,” he said. “If I + talked about it, I should have to confine myself to theories and—and + dreams.” + </p> + <p> + “The moment I saw your card, Peter, I knew why you had come here,” she + said, trying to steady her voice. “It was to induce me to go back to my + husband. You don't know how it hurts me to give you pain. I love you—I + love you as I love Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary. You are a part of me. But oh, + you can't understand! I knew you could not. You have never made any + mistakes—you have never lived. It is useless. I won't go back to + him. If you stayed here for weeks you could not make me change my mind.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent. + </p> + <p> + “You think that I could have prevented—this, if I had been less + selfish,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Where you are concerned, Honora, I have but one desire,” he answered, + “and that is to see you happy—in the best sense of the term. If I + could induce you to go back and give your husband another trial, I should + return with a lighter heart. You ask me whether I think you have been + selfish. I answer frankly that I think you have. I don't pretend to say + your husband has not been selfish also. Neither of you have ever tried, + apparently, to make your marriage a success. It can't be done without an + honest effort. You have abandoned the most serious and sacred enterprise + in the world as lightly as though it had been a piece of embroidery. All + that I can gather from your remarks is that you have left your husband + because you have grown tired of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Honora, “and you can never realize how tired, unless you knew + him as I did. When love dies, it turns into hate.” + </p> + <p> + He rose, and walked to the other end of the room, and turned. + </p> + <p> + “Could you be induced,” he said, “for the sake of your aunt and uncle, if + not for your own, to consider a legal separation?” + </p> + <p> + For an instant she stared at him hopelessly, and then she buried her face + in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she cried. “No, I couldn't. You don't know what you ask.” + </p> + <p> + He went to her, and laid his hand lightly on her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I think I do,” he said. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's tense silence, and then she got to her feet and + looked at him proudly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she cried, “it is true. And I am not ashamed of it. I have + discovered what love is, and what life is, and I am going to take them + while I can.” + </p> + <p> + She saw the blood slowly leave his face, and his hands tighten. It was not + until then that she guessed at the depth of his wound, and knew that it + was unhealed. For him had been reserved this supreme irony, that he should + come here to plead for her husband and learn from her own lips that she + loved another man. She was suddenly filled with awe, though he turned away + from her that she might not see his face: And she sought in vain for + words. She touched his hand, fearfully, and now it was he who trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Peter,” she exclaimed, “why do you bother with me? I—I am what I + am. I can't help it. I was made so. I cannot tell you that I am sorry for + what I have done—for what I am going to do. I will not lie to you—and + you forced me to speak. I know that you don't understand, and that I + caused you pain, and that I shall cause—them pain. It may be + selfishness—I don't know. God alone knows. Whatever it is, it is + stronger than I. It is what I am. Though I were to be thrown into eternal + fire I would not renounce it.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him again, and her breath caught. While she had been + speaking, he had changed. There was a fire in his eyes she had never seen + before, in all the years she had known him. + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” he said quietly, “the man who has done this is a scoundrel.” + </p> + <p> + She stared at him, doubting her senses, her pupils wide with terror. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you, Peter! How dare you!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “I dare to speak the truth,” he said, and crossed the room to where his + hat was lying and picked it up. She watched him as in a trance. Then he + came back to her. + </p> + <p> + “Some day, perhaps, you will forgive me for saying that, Honora. I hope + that day will come, although I shall never regret having said it. I have + caused you pain. Sometimes, it seems, pain is unavoidable. I hope you will + remember that, with the exception of your aunt and uncle, you have no + better friend than I. Nothing can alter that friendship, wherever you go, + whatever you do. Goodby.” + </p> + <p> + He caught her hand, held it for a moment in his own, and the door had + closed before she realized that he had gone. For a few moments she stood + motionless where he had left her, and then she went slowly up the stairs + to her own room.... + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. THE PRICE OF FREEDOM + </h2> + <p> + Had he, Hugh Chiltern, been anathematized from all the high pulpits of the + world, Honora's belief in him could not have been shaken. Ivanhoe and the + Knights of the Round Table to the contrary, there is no chivalry so + exalted as that of a woman who loves, no courage higher, no endurance + greater. Her knowledge is complete; and hers the supreme faith that is + unmoved by calumny and unbelief. She alone knows. The old Chiltern did not + belong to her: hers was the new man sprung undefiled from the sacred fire + of their love; and in that fire she, too, had been born again. Peter—even + Peter had no power to share such a faith, though what he had said of + Chiltern had wounded her—wounded her because Peter, of all others, + should misjudge and condemn him. Sometimes she drew consolation from the + thought that Peter had never seen him. But she knew he could not + understand him, or her, or what they had passed through: that kind of + understanding comes alone through experience. + </p> + <p> + In the long days that followed she thought much about Peter, and failed to + comprehend her feelings towards him. She told herself that she ought to + hate him for what he had so cruelly said, and at times indeed her + resentment was akin to hatred: again, his face rose before her as she had + seen it when he had left her, and she was swept by an incomprehensible + wave of tenderness and reverence. And yet—paradox of paradoxes—Chiltern + possessed her! + </p> + <p> + On the days when his letters came it was as his emissary that the sun + shone to give her light in darkness, and she went about the house with a + song on her lips. They were filled, these letters, with an elixir of which + she drank thirstily to behold visions, and the weariness of her exile fell + away. The elixir of High Purpose. Never was love on such a plane! He + lifting her,—no marvel in this; and she—by a magic power of + levitation at which she never ceased to wonder—sustaining him. By + her aid he would make something of himself which would be worthy of her. + At last he had the incentive to enable him to take his place in the world. + He pictured their future life at Grenoble until her heart was strained + with yearning for it to begin. Here would be duty,—let him who would + gainsay it, duty and love combined with a wondrous happiness. He at a + man's labour, she at a woman's; labour not for themselves alone, but for + others. A paradise such as never was heard of—a God-fearing + paradise, and the reward of courage. + </p> + <p> + He told her he could not go to Grenoble now and begin the life without + her. Until that blessed time he would remain a wanderer, avoiding the + haunts of men. First he had cruised in the 'Folly, and then camped and + shot in Canada; and again, as winter drew on apace, had chartered another + yacht, a larger one, and sailed away for the West Indies, whence the + letters came, stamped in strange ports, and sometimes as many as five + together. He, too, was in exile until his regeneration should begin. + </p> + <p> + Well he might be at such a time. One bright day in early winter Honora, + returning from her walk across the bleak plains in the hope of letters, + found newspapers and periodicals instead, addressed in an unknown hand. It + matters not whose hand: Honora never sought to know. She had long regarded + as inevitable this acutest phase of her martyrdom, and the long nights of + tears when entire paragraphs of the loathed stuff she had burned ran + ceaselessly in her mind. Would she had burned it before reading it! An + insensate curiosity had seized her, and she had read and read again until + it was beyond the reach of fire. + </p> + <p> + Save for its effect upon Honora, it is immaterial to this chronicle. It + was merely the heaviest of her heavy payments for liberty. But what, she + asked herself shamefully, would be its effect upon Chiltern? Her face + burned that she should doubt his loyalty and love; and yet—the + question returned. There had been a sketch of Howard, dwelling upon the + prominence into which he had sprung through his connection with Mr. Wing. + There had been a sketch of her; and how she had taken what the writer was + pleased to call Society by storm: it had been intimated, with a cruelty + known only to writers of such paragraphs, that ambition to marry a + Chiltern had been her motive! There had been a sketch of Chiltern's + career, in carefully veiled but thoroughly comprehensible language, which + might have made a Bluebeard shudder. This, of course, she bore best of + all; or, let it be said rather, that it cost her the least suffering. Was + it not she who had changed and redeemed him? + </p> + <p> + What tortured her most was the intimation that Chiltern's family + connections were bringing pressure to bear upon him to save him from this + supremest of all his follies. And when she thought of this the strange + eyes and baffling expression of Mrs. Grainger rose before her. Was it + true? And if true, would Chiltern resist, even as she, Honora, had + resisted, loyally? Might this love for her not be another of his mad + caprices? + </p> + <p> + How Honora hated herself for the thought that thus insistently returned at + this period of snows and blasts! It was January. Had he seen the + newspapers? He had not, for he was cruising: he had, for of course they + had been sent him. And he must have received, from his relatives, + protesting letters. A fortnight passed, and her mail contained nothing + from him! Perhaps something had happened to his yacht! Visions of + shipwreck cause her to scan the newspapers for storms at sea,—but + the shipwreck that haunted her most was that of her happiness. How easy it + is to doubt in exile, with happiness so far away! One morning, when the + wind dashed the snow against her windows, she found it impossible to rise. + </p> + <p> + If the big doctor suspected the cause of her illness, Mathilde knew it. + The maid tended her day and night, and sought, with the tact of her + nation, to console and reassure her. The little woman next door came and + sat by her bedside. Cruel and infinitely happy little woman, filled with + compassion, who brought delicacies in the making of which she had spent + precious hours, and which Honora could not eat! The Lord, when he had made + Mrs. Mayo, had mercifully withheld the gift of imagination. One topic + filled her, she lived to one end: her Alpha and Omega were husband and + children, and she talked continually of their goodness and badness, of + their illnesses, of their health, of their likes and dislikes, of their + accomplishments and defects, until one day a surprising thing happened. + Surprising for Mrs. Mayo. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't!” cried Honora, suddenly. “Oh, don't! I can't bear it.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” cried Mrs. Mayo, frightened out of her wits. “A turn? Shall + I telephone for the doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” relied Honora, “but—but I can't talk any more—to-day.” + </p> + <p> + She apologized on the morrow, as she held Mrs. Mayo's hand. “It—it + was your happiness,” she said; “I was unstrung. I couldn't listen to it. + Forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + The little woman burst into tears, and kissed her as she sat in bed. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive you, deary!” she cried. “I never thought.” + </p> + <p> + “It has been so easy for you,” Honora faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it has. I ought to thank God, and I do—every night.” + </p> + <p> + She looked long and earnestly, through her tears, at the young lady from + the far away East as she lay against the lace pillows, her paleness + enhanced by the pink gown, her dark hair in two great braids on her + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “And to think how pretty you are!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + It was thus she expressed her opinion of mankind in general, outside of + her own family circle. Once she had passionately desired beauty, the high + school and the story of Helen of Troy notwithstanding. Now she began to + look at it askance, as a fatal gift; and to pity, rather than envy, its + possessors. + </p> + <p> + As a by-industry, Mrs. Mayo raised geraniums and carnations in her front + cellar, near the furnace, and once in a while Peggy, with the + pulled-molasses hair, or chubby Abraham Lincoln, would come puffing up + Honora's stairs under the weight of a flower-pot and deposit it + triumphantly on the table at Honora's bedside. Abraham Lincoln did not + object to being kissed: he had, at least, grown to accept the process as + one of the unaccountable mysteries of life. But something happened to him + one afternoon, on the occasion of his giving proof of an intellect which + may eventually bring him, in the footsteps of his great namesake, to the + White House. Entering Honora's front door, he saw on the hall table a + number of letters which the cook (not gifted with his brains) had left + there. He seized them in one fat hand, while with the other he hugged the + flower-pot to his breast, mounted the steps, and arrived, breathless but + radiant, on the threshold of the beautiful lady's room, and there calamity + overtook him in the shape of one of the thousand articles which are left + on the floor purposely to trip up little boys. + </p> + <p> + Great was the disaster. Letters, geranium, pieces of flower-pot, a + quantity of black earth, and a howling Abraham Lincoln bestrewed the + floor. And similar episodes, in his brief experience with this world, had + not brought rewards. It was from sheer amazement that his tears ceased to + flow—amazement and lack of breath—for the beautiful lady + sprang up and seized him in her arms, and called Mathilde, who eventually + brought a white and gold box. And while Abraham sat consuming its contents + in ecstasy he suddenly realized that the beautiful lady had forgotten him. + She had picked up the letters, every one, and stood reading them with + parted lips and staring eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was Mathilde who saved him from a violent illness, closing the box and + leading him downstairs, and whispered something incomprehensible in his + ear as she pointed him homeward. + </p> + <p> + “Le vrai medecin—c'est toi, mon mignon.” + </p> + <p> + There was a reason why Chiltern's letters had not arrived, and great were + Honora's self-reproach and penitence. With a party of Englishmen he had + gone up into the interior of a Central American country to visit some + famous ruins. He sent her photographs of them, and of the Englishmen, and + of himself. Yes, he had seen the newspapers. If she had not seen them, she + was not to read them if they came to her. And if she had, she was to + remember that their love was too sacred to be soiled, and too perfect to + be troubled. As for himself, as she knew, he was a changed man, who + thought of his former life with loathing. She had made him clean, and + filled him with a new strength. + </p> + <p> + The winter passed. The last snow melted on the little grass plot, which + changed by patches from brown to emerald green; and the children ran over + it again, and tracked it in the soft places, but Honora only smiled. Warm, + still days were interspersed between the windy ones, when the sky was + turquoise blue, when the very river banks were steeped in new colours, + when the distant, shadowy mountains became real. Liberty ran riot within + her. If he thought with loathing on his former life, so did she. Only a + year ago she had been penned up in a New York street in that prison-house + of her own making, hemmed in by surroundings which she had now learned to + detest from her soul. + </p> + <p> + A few more penalties remained to be paid, and the heaviest of these was + her letter to her aunt and uncle. Even as they had accepted other things + in life, so had they accepted the hardest of all to bear—Honora's + divorce. A memorable letter her Uncle Tom had written her after Peter's + return to tell them that remonstrances were useless! She was their + daughter in all but name, and they would not forsake her. When she should + have obtained her divorce, she should go back to them. Their house, which + had been her home, should always remain so. Honora wept and pondered long + over that letter. Should she write and tell them the truth, as she had + told Peter? It was not because she was ashamed of the truth that she had + kept it from them throughout the winter: it was because she wished to + spare them as long as possible. Cruellest circumstance of all, that a love + so divine as hers should not be understood by them, and should cause them + infinite pain! + </p> + <p> + The weeks and months slipped by. Their letters, after that first one, were + such as she had always received from them: accounts of the weather, and of + the doings of her friends at home. But now the time was at hand when she + must prepare them for her marriage with Chiltern; for they would expect + her in St. Louis, and she could not go there. And if she wrote them, they + might try to stop the marriage, or at least to delay it for some years. + </p> + <p> + Was it possible that a lingering doubt remained in her mind that to + postpone her happiness would perhaps be to lose it? In her exile she had + learned enough to know that a divorced woman is like a rudderless ship at + sea, at the mercy of wind and wave and current. She could not go back to + her life in St. Louis: her situation there would be unbearable: her + friends would not be the same friends. No, she had crossed her Rubicon and + destroyed the bridge deep within her she felt that delay would be fatal, + both to her and Chiltern. Long enough had the banner of their love been + trailed in the dust. + </p> + <p> + Summer came again, with its anniversaries and its dragging, interminable + weeks: demoralizing summer, when Mrs. Mayo quite frankly appeared at her + side window in a dressing sacque, and Honora longed to do the same. But + time never stands absolutely still, and the day arrived when Mr. Beckwith + called in a carriage. Honora, with an audibly beating heart, got into it, + and they drove down town, past the department store where Mr. Mayo spent + his days, and new blocks of banks and business houses that flanked the + wide street, where the roaring and clanging of the ubiquitous trolley cars + resounded. + </p> + <p> + Honora could not define her sensations—excitement and shame and fear + and hope and joy were so commingled. The colours of the red and yellow + brick had never been so brilliant in the sunshine. They stopped before the + new court-house and climbed the granite steps. In her sensitive state, + Honora thought that some of the people paused to look after them, and that + some were smiling. One woman, she thought, looked compassionate. Within, + they crossed the marble pavement, the Honourable Dave handed her into an + elevator, and when it stopped she followed him as in a dream to an + oak-panelled door marked with a legend she did not read. Within was an + office, with leather chairs, a large oak desk, a spittoon, and portraits + of grave legal gentlemen on the wall. + </p> + <p> + “This is Judge Whitman's office,” explained the Honourable Dave. “He'll + let you stay here until the case is called.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he the judge—before whom—the case is to be tried?” asked + Honora. + </p> + <p> + “He surely is,” answered the Honourable Dave. “Whitman's a good friend of + mine. In fact, I may say, without exaggeration, I had something to do with + his election. Now you mustn't get flustered,” he added. “It isn't anything + like as bad as goin' to the dentist. It don't amount to shucks, as we used + to say in Missouri.” + </p> + <p> + With these cheerful words of encouragement he slipped out of a side door + into what was evidently the court room, for Honora heard a droning. After + a long interval he reappeared and beckoned her with a crooked finger. She + arose and followed him into the court room. + </p> + <p> + All was bustle and confusion there, and her counsel whispered that they + were breaking up for the day. The judge was stretching himself; several + men who must have been lawyers, and with whom Mr. Beckwith was exchanging + amenities behind the railing, were arranging their books and papers; some + of the people were leaving, and others talking in groups about the room. + The Honourable Dave whispered to the judge, a tall, lank, cadaverous + gentleman with iron-grey hair, who nodded. Honora was led forward. The + Honourable Dave, standing very close to the judge and some distance from + her, read in a low voice something that she could not catch—supposedly + the petition. It was all quite as vague to Honora as the trial of the Jack + of Hearts; the buzzing of the groups still continued around the court + room, and nobody appeared in the least interested. This was a comfort, + though it robbed the ceremony of all vestige of reality. It seemed + incredible that the majestic and awful Institution of the ages could be + dissolved with no smoke or fire, with such infinite indifference, and so + much spitting. What was the use of all the pomp and circumstance and + ceremony to tie the knot if it could be cut in the routine of a day's + business? + </p> + <p> + The solemn fact that she was being put under oath meant nothing to her. + This, too, was slurred and mumbled. She found herself, trembling, + answering questions now from her counsel, now from the judge; and it is to + be doubted to this day whether either heard her answers. Most convenient + and considerate questions they were. When and where she was married, how + long she had lived with her husband, what happened when they ceased to + live together, and had he failed ever since to contribute to her support? + Mercifully, Mr. Beckwith was in the habit of coaching his words + beforehand. A reputable citizen of Salomon City was produced to prove her + residence, and somebody cried out something, not loudly, in which she + heard the name of Spence mentioned twice. The judge said, “Take your + decree,” and picked up a roll of papers and walked away. Her knees became + weak, she looked around her dizzily, and beheld the triumphant + professional smile of the Honourable Dave Beckwith. + </p> + <p> + “It didn't hurt much, did it?” he asked. “Allow me to congratulate you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it—is it all over?” she said, quite dazed. + </p> + <p> + “Just like that,” he said. “You're free.” + </p> + <p> + “Free!” The word rang in her ears as she drove back to the little house + that had been her home. The Honourable Dave lifted his felt hat as he + handed her out of the carriage, and said he would call again in the + evening to see if he could do anything further for her. Mathilde, who had + been watching from the window, opened the door, and led her mistress into + the parlour. + </p> + <p> + “It's—it's all over, Mathilde,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Mon dieu, madame,” said Mathilde, “c'est simple comme bonjour!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Volume 7. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH IT IS ALL DONE OVER AGAIN + </h2> + <p> + All morning she had gazed on the shining reaches of the Hudson, their + colour deepening to blue as she neared the sea. A gold-bound volume of + Shelley, with his name on the fly-leaf, lay in her lap. And two lines she + repeated softly to herself—two lines that held a vision: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He was as the sun in his fierce youth, + As terrible and lovely as a tempest;” + </pre> + <p> + She summoned him out of the chaos of the past, and the past became the + present, and he stood before her as though in the flesh. Nay, she heard + his voice, his laugh, she even recognized again the smouldering flames in + his eyes as he glanced into hers, and his characteristic manners and + gestures. Honora wondered. In vain, during those long months of exile had + she tried to reconstruct him thus the vision in its entirety would not + come: rare, fleeting, partial, and tantalizing glimpses she had been + vouchsafed, it is true. The whole of him had been withheld until this + breathless hour before the dawn of her happiness. + </p> + <p> + Yet, though his own impatient spirit had fared forth to meet her with this + premature gift of his attributes, she had to fight the growing fear within + her. Now that the days of suffering were as they had not been, insistent + questions dinned in her ears: was she entitled to the joys to come? What + had she done to earn them? Had hers not been an attempt, on a gigantic + scale, to cheat the fates? Nor could she say whether this feeling were a + wholly natural failure to grasp a future too big, or the old sense of the + unreality of events that had followed her so persistently. + </p> + <p> + The Hudson disappeared. Factories, bridges, beflagged week-end resorts, + ramshackle houses, and blocks of new buildings were scattered here and + there. The train was running on a causeway between miles of tenements + where women and children, overtaken by lassitude, hung out of the windows: + then the blackness of the tunnel, and Honora closed her eyes. Four + minutes, three minutes, two minutes.... The motion ceased. At the steps of + the car a uniformed station porter seized her bag; and she started to walk + down the long, narrow platform. Suddenly she halted. + </p> + <p> + “Drop anything, Miss?” inquired the porter. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Honora, faintly. He looked at her in concern, and she began + to walk on again, more slowly. + </p> + <p> + It had suddenly come over her that the man she was going to meet she + scarcely knew! Shyness seized her, a shyness that bordered on panic. And + what was he really like, that she should put her whole trust in him? She + glanced behind her: that way was closed: she had a mad desire to get away, + to hide, to think. It must have been an obsession that had possessed her + all these months. The porter was looking again, and he voiced her + predicament. + </p> + <p> + “There's only one way out, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + And then, amongst the figures massed behind the exit in the grill, she saw + him, his face red-bronze with the sea tan, his crisp, curly head bared, + his eyes alight with a terrifying welcome; and a tremor of a fear akin to + ecstasy ran through her: the fear of the women of days gone by whose + courage carried them to the postern or the strand, and fainted there. She + could have taken no step farther—and there was no need. New strength + flowed from the hand she held that was to carry her on and on. + </p> + <p> + He spoke her name. He led her passive, obedient, through the press to the + side street, and then he paused and looked into her burning face. + </p> + <p> + “I have you at last,” he said. “Are you happy?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she faltered. “Oh, Hugh, it all seems so strange! I don't + know what I have done.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said exultantly; “but to save my soul I can't believe it.” + </p> + <p> + She watched him, bewildered, while he put her maid into a cab, and by an + effort roused herself. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “To get married,” he replied promptly. + </p> + <p> + She pulled down her veil. + </p> + <p> + “Please be sensible,” she implored. “I've arranged to go to a hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “What hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “The—the Barnstable,” she said. The place had come to her memory on + the train. “It's very nice and—and quiet—so I've been told. + And I've telegraphed for my rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll humour you this once,” he answered, and gave the order. + </p> + <p> + She got into the carriage. It had blue cushions with the familiar smell of + carriage upholstery, and the people in the street still hurried about + their business as though nothing in particular were happening. The horses + started, and some forgotten key in her brain was touched as Chiltern + raised her veil again. + </p> + <p> + “You'll tear it, Hugh,” she said, and perforce lifted it herself. Her eyes + met his—and she awoke. Not to memories or regrets, but to the + future, for the recording angel had mercifully destroyed his book. + </p> + <p> + “Did you miss me?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Miss you! My God, Honora, how can you ask? When I look back upon these + last months, I don't see how I ever passed through them. And you are + changed,” he said. “I could not have believed it possible, but you are. + You are—you are finer.” + </p> + <p> + He had chosen his word exquisitely. And then, as they trotted sedately + through Madison Avenue, he strained her in his arms and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh!” she cried, scarlet, as she disengaged, herself, “you mustn't—here!” + </p> + <p> + “You're free!” he exclaimed. “You're mine at last! I can't believe it! + Look at me, and tell me so.” + </p> + <p> + She tried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I—I am yours.” + </p> + <p> + She looked out of the window to avoid those eyes. Was this New York, or + Jerusalem? Were these the streets through which she had driven and trod in + her former life? Her whole soul cried out denial. No episode, no accusing + reminiscences stood out—not one: the very corners were changed. + Would it all change back again if he were to lessen the insistent pressure + on the hand in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” she answered, with a start. + </p> + <p> + “You missed me? Look at me and tell me the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “The truth!” she faltered, and shuddered. The contrast was too great—the + horror of it too great for her to speak of. The pen of Dante had not been + adequate. “Don't ask me, Hugh,” she begged, “I can't talk about it—I + never shall be able to talk about it. If I had not loved you, I should + have died.” + </p> + <p> + How deeply he felt and understood and sympathized she knew by the + quivering pressure on her hand. Ah, if he had not! If he had failed to + grasp the meaning of her purgatory. + </p> + <p> + “You are wonderful, Honora,” was what he said in a voice broken by + emotion. + </p> + <p> + She thanked him with one fleeting, tearful glance that was as a grant of + all her priceless possessions. The carriage stopped, but it was some + moments before they realized it. + </p> + <p> + “You may come up in a little while,” she whispered, “and lunch with me—if + you like.” + </p> + <p> + “If I like!” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + But she was on the sidewalk, following the bell boy into the cool, + marble-lined area of the hotel. A smiling clerk handed her a pen, and set + the new universe to rocking. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Leffingwell, I presume? We have your telegram.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Leffingwell! Who was that person? For an instant she stood blankly + holding the pen, and then she wrote rapidly, if a trifle unsteadily: “Mrs. + Leffingwell and maid.” A pause. Where was her home? Then she added the + words, “St. Louis.” + </p> + <p> + Her rooms were above the narrow canon of the side street, looking over the + roofs of the inevitable brownstone fronts opposite. While Mathilde, in the + adjoining chamber, unpacked her bag, Honora stood gazing out of the + sitting-room windows, trying to collect her thoughts. Her spirits had + unaccountably fallen, the sense of homelessness that had pursued her all + these months overtaken her once more. Never, never, she told herself, + would she enter a hotel again alone; and when at last he came she clung to + him with a passion that thrilled him the more because he could not + understand it. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh—you will care for me?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + He kissed away her tears. He could not follow her; he only knew that what + he held to him was a woman such as he had never known before. Tender, and + again strangely and fiercely tender: an instrument of such miraculous + delicacy as to respond, quivering, to the lightest touch; an harmonious + and perfect blending of strength and weakness, of joy and sorrow,—of + all the warring elements in the world. What he felt was the supreme + masculine joy of possession. + </p> + <p> + At last they sat down on either side of the white cloth the waiter had + laid, for even the gods must eat. Not that our deified mortals ate much on + this occasion. Vesta presided once more, and after the feast was over + gently led them down the slopes until certain practical affairs began to + take shape in the mind of the man. Presently he looked at his watch, and + then at the woman, and made a suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Marry you now—this of afternoon!” she cried, aghast. “Hugh, are you + in your right senses?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I'm reasonable for the first time in my life.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, and immediately became serious. But when she sought to + marshal her arguments, she found that they had fled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I couldn't,” she answered. “And besides, there are so many things + I ought to do. I—I haven't any clothes.” + </p> + <p> + But this was a plea he could not be expected to recognize. He saw no + reason why she could not buy as many as she wanted after the ceremony. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “No—that isn't all. Can't you see that—that we ought to wait, + Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he exclaimed, “No I can't see it. I can only see that every moment + of waiting would be a misery for us both. I can only see that the + situation, as it is to-day, is an intolerable one for you.” + </p> + <p> + She had not expected him to see this. + </p> + <p> + “There are others to be thought of,” she said, after a moment's + hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “What others?” + </p> + <p> + The answer she should have made died on her lips. + </p> + <p> + “It seems so-indecorous, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Indecorous!” he cried, and pushed back his chair and rose. “What's + indecorous about it? To leave you here alone in a hotel in New York would + not only be indecorous, but senseless. How long would you put it off? a + week—a month—a year? Where would you go in the meantime, and + what would you do?” + </p> + <p> + “But your friends, Hugh—and mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Friends! What have they got to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + It was the woman, now, who for a moment turned practical—and for the + man's sake. She loved, and the fair fabric of the future which they were + to weave together, and the plans with which his letters had been filled + and of which she had dreamed in exile, had become to-day as the stuff of + which moonbeams are made. As she looked up at him, eternity itself did not + seem long enough for the fulfilment of that love. But he? Would the time + not come when he would demand something more? and suppose that something + were denied? She tried to rouse herself, to think, to consider a situation + in which her instinct had whispered just once—there must be some + hidden danger: but the electric touch of his hand destroyed the process, + and made her incapable of reason. + </p> + <p> + “What should we gain by a week's or a fortnight's delay,” he was saying, + “except so much misery?” + </p> + <p> + She looked around the hotel sitting-room, and tried to imagine the + desolation of it, stripped of his presence. Why not? There was reason in + what he said. And yet, if she had known it, it was not to reason she + yielded, but to the touch of his hand. + </p> + <p> + “We will be married to-day,” he decreed. “I have planned it all. I have + bought the 'Adhemar', the yacht which I chartered last winter. She is + here. We'll go off on her together, away from the world, for as long as + you like. And then,” he ended triumphantly, “then we'll go back to + Grenoble and begin our life.” + </p> + <p> + “And begin our life!” she repeated. But it was not to him that she spoke. + “Hugh, I positively have to have some clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Clothes!” His voice expressed his contempt for the mundane thought. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, clothes,” she repeated resolutely. + </p> + <p> + He looked at his watch once more. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he said, “we'll get 'em on the way.” + </p> + <p> + “On the way?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “We'll have to have a marriage license, I'm afraid,” he explained + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + Honora grew crimson. A marriage license! + </p> + <p> + She yielded, of course. Who could resist him? Nor need the details of that + interminable journey down the crowded artery of Broadway to the Centre of + Things be entered into. An ignoble errand, Honora thought; and she sat + very still, with flushed cheeks, in the corner of the carriage. Chiltern's + finer feelings came to her rescue. He, too, resented this senseless demand + of civilization as an indignity to their Olympian loves. And he was a man + to chafe at all restraints. But at last the odious thing was over, grim + and implacable Law satisfied after he had compelled them to stand in line + for an interminable period before his grill, and mingle with those whom he + chose, in his ignorance, to call their peers. Honora felt degraded as they + emerged with the hateful paper, bought at such a price. The City Hall + Park, with its moving streams of people, etched itself in her memory. + </p> + <p> + “Leave me, Hugh,” she said; “I will take this carriage—you must get + another one.” + </p> + <p> + For once, he accepted his dismissal with comparative meekness. + </p> + <p> + “When shall I come?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “She smiled a little, in spite of herself. + </p> + <p> + “You may come for me at six o'clock,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Six o'clock!” he exclaimed; but accepted with resignation and closed the + carriage door. Enigmatical sex! + </p> + <p> + Enigmatical sex indeed! Honora spent a feverish afternoon, rest and + reflection being things she feared. An afternoon in familiar places; and + (strangest of all facts to be recorded!) memories and regrets troubled her + not at all. Her old dressmakers, her old milliners, welcomed her as one + risen, radiant, from the grave; risen, in their estimation, to a higher + life. Honora knew this, and was indifferent to the wealth of meaning that + lay behind their discretion. Milliners and dressmakers read the newspapers + and periodicals—certain periodicals. Well they knew that the lady + they flattered was the future Mrs. Hugh Chiltern. + </p> + <p> + Nothing whatever of an indelicate nature happened. There was no mention of + where to send the bill, or of whom to send it to. Such things as she + bought on the spot were placed in her carriage. And happiest of all + omissions, she met no one she knew. The praise that Madame Barriere + lavished on Honora's figure was not flattery, because the Paris models + fitted her to perfection. A little after five she returned to her hotel, + to a Mathilde in a high state of suppressed excitement. And at six, the + appointed fateful hour, arrayed in a new street gown of dark green cloth, + she stood awaiting him. + </p> + <p> + He was no laggard. The bell on the church near by was still singing from + the last stroke when he knocked, flung open the door, and stood for a + moment staring at her. Not that she had been shabby when he had wished to + marry her at noon: no self-respecting woman is ever shabby; not that her + present costume had any of the elements of overdress; far from it. Being a + woman, she had her thrill of triumph at his exclamation. Diana had no + need, perhaps, of a French dressmaker, but it is an open question whether + she would have scorned them. Honora stood motionless, but her smile for + him was like the first quivering shaft of day. He opened a box, and with a + strange mixture of impetuosity and reverence came forward. And she saw + that he held in his hand a string of great, glistening pearls. + </p> + <p> + “They were my mother's,” he said. “I have had them restrung—for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh!” she cried. She could find no words to express the tremor + within. And she stood passively, her eyes half closed, while he clasped + the string around the lace collar that pressed the slender column of her + neck and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + Even the humble beings who work in hotels are responsive to unusual + disturbances in the ether. At the Barnstable, a gala note prevailed: bell + boys, porters, clerk, and cashier, proud of their sudden wisdom, were + wreathed in smiles. A new automobile, in Chiltern's colours, with his + crest on the panel, was panting beside the curb. + </p> + <p> + “I meant to have had it this morning,” he apologized as he handed her in, + “but it wasn't ready in time.” + </p> + <p> + Honora heard him, and said something in reply. She tried in vain to rouse + herself from the lethargy into which she had fallen, to cast off the + spell. Up Fifth Avenue they sped, past meaningless houses, to the Park. + The crystal air of evening was suffused with the level evening light; and + as they wound in and out under the spreading trees she caught glimpses + across the shrubbery of the deepening blue of waters. Pools of mystery + were her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The upper West Side is a definite place on the map, and full, undoubtedly, + of palpitating human joys and sorrows. So far as Honora was concerned, it + might have been Bagdad. The automobile had stopped before a residence, and + she found herself mounting the steps at Chiltern's side. A Swedish maid + opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. White at home?” Chiltern asked. + </p> + <p> + It seemed that “the Reverend Mr. White” was. He appeared, a portly + gentleman with frock coat and lawn tie who resembled the man in the moon. + His head, like polished ivory, increased the beaming effect of his + welcome, and the hand that pressed Honora's was large and soft and warm. + But dreams are queer things, in which no events surprise us. + </p> + <p> + The reverend gentleman, as he greeted Chiltern, pronounced his name with + unction. His air of hospitality, of good-fellowship, of taking the world + as he found it, could not have been improved upon. He made it apparent at + once that nothing could surprise him. It was the most natural circumstance + in life that two people should arrive at his house in an automobile at + half-past six in the evening and wish to get married: if they chose this + method instead of the one involving awnings and policemen and + uncomfortably-arrayed relations and friends, it was none of Mr. White's + affair. He led them into the Gothic sanctum at the rear of the house where + the famous sermons were written that shook the sounding-board of the + temple where the gentleman preached,—the sermons that sometimes got + into the newspapers. Mr. White cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + “I am—very familiar with your name, Mr. Chiltern,” he said, “and it + is a pleasure to be able to serve you, and the lady who is so shortly to + be your wife. Your servant arrived with your note at four o'clock. Ten + minutes later, and I should have missed him.” + </p> + <p> + And then Honora heard Chiltern saying somewhat coldly:—“In order to + save time, Mr. White, I wish to tell you that Mrs. Leffingwell has been + divorced—” + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Mr. White put up a hand before him, and looked down at the + carpet, as one who would not dwell upon painful things. + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunate—ahem—mistakes will occur in life, Mr. Chiltern—in + the best of lives,” he replied. “Say no more about it. I am sure, looking + at you both—” + </p> + <p> + “Very well then,” said Chiltern brusquely, “I knew you would have to know. + And here,” he added, “is an essential paper.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later, in continuation of the same strange dream, Honora was + standing at Chiltern's side and the Reverend Mr. White was addressing + them: What he said—apart of it at least—seemed curiously + familiar. Chiltern put a ring on a finger of her ungloved hand. It was a + supreme moment in her destiny—this she knew. Between her responses + she repeated it to herself, but the mighty fact refused to be registered. + And then, suddenly, rang out the words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Those whom God hath joined together let no man Put asunder.” + </pre> + <p> + Those whom God hath joined together! Mr. White was congratulating her. + Other people were in the room—the minister's son, his wife, his + brother-in-law. She was in the street again, in the automobile, without + knowing how she got there, and Chiltern close beside her in the limousine. + </p> + <p> + “My wife!” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + Was she? Could it be true, be lasting, be binding for ever and ever? Her + hand pressed his convulsively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh!” she cried, “care for me—stay by me forever. Will you + promise?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise, Honora,” he repeated. “Henceforth we are one.” + </p> + <p> + Honora would have prolonged forever that honeymoon on summer seas. In + those blissful days she was content to sit by the hour watching him as, + bareheaded in the damp salt breeze, he sailed the great schooner and gave + sharp orders to the crew. He was a man who would be obeyed, and even his + flashes of temper pleased her. He was her master, too, and she gloried in + the fact. By the aid of the precious light within her, she studied him. + </p> + <p> + He loved her mightily, fiercely, but withal tenderly. With her alone he + was infinitely tender, and it seemed that something in him cried out for + battle against the rest of the world. He had his way, in port and out of + it. He brooked no opposition, and delighted to carry, against his + captain's advice, more canvas than was wise when it blew heavily. But the + yacht, like a woman, seemed a creature of his will; to know no fear when + she felt his guiding hand, even though the green water ran in the + scuppers. + </p> + <p> + And every day anew she scanned his face, even as he scanned the face of + the waters. What was she searching for? To have so much is to become + miserly, to fear lest a grain of the precious store be lost. On the second + day they had anchored, for an hour or two, between the sandy headlands of + a small New England port, and she had stood on the deck watching his + receding figure under the flag of the gasoline launch as it made its way + towards the deserted wharves. Beyond the wharves was an elm-arched village + street, and above the verdure rose the white cupola of the house of some + prosperous sea-captain of bygone times. Honora had not wished to go + ashore. First he had begged, and then he had laughed as he had leaped into + the launch. She lay in a chaise longue, watching it swinging idly at the + dock. + </p> + <p> + The night before he had written letters and telegrams. Once he had looked + up at her as she sat with a book in her hand across the saloon, and caught + her eyes. She had been pretending not to watch him. + </p> + <p> + “Wedding announcements,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And she had smiled back at him bravely. Such was the first acknowledgment + between them that the world existed. + </p> + <p> + “A little late,” he observed, smiling in his turn as he changed his pen, + “but they'll have to make allowances for the exigencies of the situation. + And they've been after me to settle down for so many years that they ought + to be thankful to get them at all. I've told them that after a decent + period they may come to Grenoble—in the late autumn. We don't want + anybody before then, do we, Honora?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said faintly; and added, “I shall always be satisfied with you + alone, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed happily, and presently she went up on deck and stood with her + face to the breeze. There were no sounds save the musical beat of the + water against the strakes, and the low hum of wind on the towering vibrant + sails. One moulten silver star stood out above all others. To the + northward, somewhere beyond the spot where sea and sky met in the hidden + kiss of night, was Newport,—were his relations and her friends. What + did they think? He, at least, had no anxieties about the world, why should + she? Their defiance of it had been no greater than that of an hundred + others on whom it had smiled benignly. But had not the others truckled + more to its conventions? Little she cared about it, indeed, and if he had + turned the prow of the 'Adhemar' towards the unpeopled places of the + earth, her joy would have been untroubled. + </p> + <p> + One after another the days glided by, while with the sharpened senses of a + great love she watched for a sign of the thing that slept in him—of + the thing that had driven him home from his wanderings to re-create his + life. When it awoke, she would have to share him; now he was hers alone. + Her feelings towards this thing did not assume the proportions of jealousy + or fear; they were merely alert, vaguely disquieting. The sleeping thing + was not a monster. No, but it might grow into one, if its appetite were + not satisfied, and blame her. + </p> + <p> + She told herself that, had he lacked ambition, she could not have loved + him, and did not stop to reflect upon the completeness of her satisfaction + with the Viking. He seemed, indeed, in these weeks, one whom the sea has + marked for its own, and her delight in watching him as he moved about the + boat never palled. His nose reminded her of the prow of a ship of war, and + his deep-set eyes were continually searching the horizon for an enemy. + Such were her fancies. In the early morning when he donned his sleeveless + bathing suit, she could never resist the temptation to follow him on deck + to see him plunge into the cold ocean: it gave her a delightful little + shiver—and he was made like one of the gods of Valhalla. + </p> + <p> + She had discovered, too, in these intimate days, that he had the + Northman's temperament; she both loved and dreaded his moods. And + sometimes, when the yacht glided over smoother seas, it was his pleasure + to read to her, even poetry and the great epics. That he should be fond of + the cruel Scotch ballads she was not surprised; but his familiarity with + the book of Job, and his love for it, astonished her. It was a singular + library that he had put on board the 'Adhemar'. + </p> + <p> + One evening when the sails flapped idly and the blocks rattled, when they + had been watching in silence the flaming orange of the sunset above the + amethystine Camden hills, he spoke the words for which she had been + waiting. + </p> + <p> + “Honora, what do you say to going back to Grenoble?” + </p> + <p> + She succeeded in smiling at him. + </p> + <p> + “Whenever you like, Hugh,” she said. + </p> + <p> + So the bowsprit of the 'Adhemar' was turned homewards; and with every + league of water they left behind them his excitement and impatience seemed + to grow. + </p> + <p> + “I can't wait to show it to you, Honora—to see you in it,” he + exclaimed. “I have so long pictured you there, and our life as it will + be.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE ENTRANCE INTO EDEN + </h2> + <p> + They had travelled through the night, and in the early morning left the + express at a junction. Honora sat in the straight-backed seat of the + smaller train with parted lips and beating heart, gazing now and again at + the pearly mists rising from the little river valley they were climbing. + Chiltern was like a schoolboy. + </p> + <p> + “We'll soon be there,” he cried, but it was nearly nine o'clock when they + reached the Gothic station that marked the end of the line. It was a + Chiltern line, he told her, and she was already within the feudal domain. + Time indeed that she awoke! She reached the platform to confront a group + of upturned, staring faces, and for the moment her courage failed her. + Somehow, with Chiltern's help, she made her way to a waiting omnibus + backed up against the boards. The footman touched his hat, the grey-headed + coachman saluted, and they got in. As the horses started off at a quick + trot, Honora saw that the group on the station platform had with one + consent swung about to stare after them. + </p> + <p> + They passed through the main street of the town, lined with plate-glass + windows and lively signs, and already bustling with the business of the + day, through humbler thoroughfares, and presently rumbled over a bridge + that spanned a rushing stream confined between the foundation walls of + mills. Hundreds of yards of mills stretched away on either side; mills + with windows wide open, and within them Honora heard the clicking and + roaring of machinery, and saw the men and women at their daily tasks. Life + was a strange thing that they should be doing this while she should be + going to live in luxury at a great country place. On one of the walls she + read the legend Chiltern and Company. + </p> + <p> + “They still keep our name,” said Hugh, “although they are in the trust.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed out to her, with an air of pride, every landmark by the + roadside. In future they were to have a new meaning—they were to be + shared with her. And he spoke of the times—as child and youth, home + from the seashore or college, he had driven over the same road. It wound + to the left, behind the mills, threaded a village of neat wooden houses + where the better class of operatives lived, reached the river again, and + turned at last through a brick gateway, past a lodge in the dense shade of + sheltering boughs, into a wooded drive that climbed, by gentle degrees, a + slope. Human care for generations had given to the place a tradition. + People had lived here and loved those trees—his people. And could it + be that she was to inherit all this, with him? Was her name really + Chiltern? + </p> + <p> + The beating of her heart became a pain when in the distance through the + spreading branches she caught a glimpse of the long, low outline of the + house, a vision at once familiar and unreal. How often in the months gone + by had she called up the memory of the photograph she had once seen, only + to doubt the more that she should ever behold that house and these trees + with him by her side! They drew up before the door, and a venerable, + ruddy-faced butler stood gravely on the steps to welcome them. Hugh leaped + out. He was still the schoolboy. + </p> + <p> + “Starling,” he said, “this is Mrs. Chiltern.” + </p> + <p> + Honora smiled tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Starling?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Starling's an old friend, Honora. He's been here ever since I can + remember.” + </p> + <p> + The blue eyes of the old servant were fixed on her with a strange, + searching expression. Was it compassion she read in them, on this that + should be the happiest of her days? In that instant, unaccountably, her + heart went out to the old man; and something of what he had seen, and + something of what was even now passing within him, came to her + intuitively. It was as though, unexpectedly, she had found a friend—and + a friend who had had no previous intentions of friendship. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I wish you happiness, madame,—and Mr. Hugh, he said in a + voice not altogether firm. + </p> + <p> + “Happiness!” cried Hugh. “I've never known what it was before now, + Starling.” + </p> + <p> + The old man's eyes glistened. + </p> + <p> + “And you've come to stay, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “All my life, Starling,” said Hugh. + </p> + <p> + They entered the hall. It was wide and cool, white panelled to the + ceiling, with a dark oak floor. At the back of it was an + eighteenth-century stairway, with a band of red carpet running up the + steps, and a wrought-iron guard with a velvet-covered rail. Halfway up, + the stairway divided at a landing, lighted by great triple windows of + small panes. + </p> + <p> + “You may have breakfast in half an hour, Starling,” said Chiltern, and led + Honora up the stairs into the east wing, where he flung open one of the + high mahogany doors on the south side. “These are your rooms, Honora. I + have had Keller do them all over for you, and I hope you'll like them. If + you don't, we'll change them again.” + </p> + <p> + Her answer was an exclamation of delight. There was a bedroom in pink, + with brocaded satin on the walls, and an oriel window thrust out over the + garden; a panelled boudoir at the corner of the house, with a marble + mantel before which one of Marie Antoinette's duchesses had warmed her + feet; and shelves lined with gold-lettered books. From its windows, across + the flowering shrubbery and through the trees, she saw the gleaming waters + of a lake, and the hills beyond. From this view she turned, and caught her + breath, and threw her arms about her husband's neck. He was astonished to + see that her eyes were filled with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh,” she cried, “it's too perfect! It almost makes me afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “We will be very happy, dearest,” he said, and as he kissed her he laughed + at the fates. + </p> + <p> + “I hope so—I pray so,” she said, as she clung to him. “But—don't + laugh,—I can't bear it.” + </p> + <p> + He patted her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “What a strange little girl you are!” he said. “I suppose I shouldn't be + mad about you if you weren't that way. Sometimes I wonder how many women I + have married.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled at him through her tears. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that polygamy, Hugh?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + It was all like a breathless tale out of one of the wonder books of youth. + So, at least, it seemed to Honora as she stood, refreshed with a new white + linen gown, hesitating on the threshold of her door before descending. + Some time the bell must ring, or the cock crow, or the fairy beckon with a + wand, and she would have to go back. Back where? She did not know—she + could not remember. Cinderella dreaming by the embers, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + He was awaiting her in the little breakfast room, its glass casements open + to the garden with the wall and the round stone seat. The simmering urn, + the white cloth, the shining silver, the big green melons that the hot + summer sun had ripened for them alone, and Hugh's eyes as they rested on + her—such was her illusion. Nor was it quite dispelled when he + lighted a pipe and they started to explore their Eden, wandering through + chambers with, low ceilings in the old part of the house, and larger, + higher apartments in the portion that was called new. In the great + darkened library, side by side against the Spanish leather on the walls, + hung the portraits of his father and mother in heavy frames of gilt. + </p> + <p> + Her husband was pleased that she should remain so long before them. And + for a while, as she stood lost in contemplation, he did not speak. Once + she glanced at him, and then back at the stern face of the General,—stern, + yet kindly. The eyes, deep-set under bushy brows, like Hugh's, were full + of fire; and yet the artist had made them human, too. A dark, reddish + brown, close-trimmed mustache and beard hid the mouth and chin. Hugh had + inherited the nose, but the father's forehead was wider and fuller. Hugh + was at once a newer type, and an older. The face and figure of the General + were characteristic of the mid-century American of the northern states, a + mixture of boldness and caution and Puritanism, who had won his battles in + war and commerce by a certain native quality of mind. + </p> + <p> + “I never appreciated him,” said Hugh at length, “until after he died—long + after. Until now, in fact. At times we were good friends, and then + something he would say or do would infuriate me, and I would purposely + make him angry. He had a time and a rule for everything, and I could not + bear rules. Breakfast was on the minute, an hour in his study to attend to + affairs about the place, so many hours in his office at the mills, in the + president's room at the bank, vestry and charity meetings at regular + intervals. No movement in all this country round about was ever set on + foot without him. He was one to be finally reckoned with. And since his + death, many proofs have come to me of the things he did for people of + which the world was ignorant. I have found out at last that his way of + life was, in the main, the right way. But I know now, Honora,” he added + soberly, slipping his hand within her arm, “I know now that without you I + never could do all I intend to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't say that!” she cried. “Don't say that!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked, smiling at her vehemence. “It is not a confession of + weakness. I had the determination, it is true. I could—I should have + done something, but my deeds would have lacked the one thing needful to + lift them above the commonplace—at least for me. You are the + inspiration. With you here beside me, I feel that I can take up this work + with joy. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + She pressed his hand with her arm. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh,” she said slowly, “I hope that I shall be a help, and not—not + a hindrance.” + </p> + <p> + “A hindrance!” he exclaimed. “You don't know, you can't realize, what you + are to me.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent, and when she lifted her eyes it was to rest them on the + portrait of his mother. And she seemed to read in the sweet, sad eyes a + question—a question not to be put into words. Chiltern, following + her gaze, did not speak: for a space they looked at the portrait together, + and in silence.... + </p> + <p> + From one end of the house to the other they went, Hugh reviving at the + sight of familiar objects a hundred memories of his childhood; and she + trying to imagine that childhood, so different from her own, passed in + this wonderful place. In the glass cases of the gun room, among the + shining, blue barrels which he had used in all parts of the world, was the + little shotgun his father had had made for him when he was twelve years + old. Hugh locked the door after them when they came out, and smiled as he + put the key in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “My destroying days are over,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + Honora put on a linen hat and they took the gravelled path to the stables, + where the horses, one by one, were brought out into the courtyard for + their inspection. In anticipation of this hour there was a blood bay for + Honora, which Chiltern had bought in New York. She gave a little cry of + delight when she saw the horse shining in the sunlight, his nostrils in + the air, his brown eyes clear, his tapering neck patterned with veins. And + then there was the dairy, with the fawn-coloured cows and calves; and the + hillside pastures that ran down to the river, and the farm lands where the + stubbled grain was yellowing. They came back by the path that wound + through the trees and shrubbery bordering the lake to the walled garden, + ablaze in the mellow sunlight with reds and purples, salvias and zinnias, + dahlias, gladioli, and asters. + </p> + <p> + Here he left her for a while, sitting dreamily on the stone bench. Mrs. + Hugh Chiltern, of Grenoble! Over and over she repeated that name to + herself, and it refused somehow to merge with her identity. Yet was she + mistress of this fair domain; of that house which had sheltered them race + for a century, and the lines of which her eye caressed with a loving + reverence; and the Chiltern pearls even then lay hidden around her throat. + </p> + <p> + Her thoughts went back, at this, to the gentle lady to whom they had + belonged, and whose look began again to haunt her. Honora's superstition + startled her. What did it mean, that look? She tried to recall where she + had seen it before, and suddenly remembered that the eyes of the old + butler had held something not unlike it. Compassionate—this was the + only word that would describe it. No, it had not proclaimed her an + intruder, though it may have been ready to do so the moment before her + appearance; for there was a note of surprise in it—surprise and + compassion. + </p> + <p> + This was the lady in whose footsteps she was to walk, whose charities and + household cares she was to assume! Tradition, order, observance, + responsibility, authority it was difficult to imagine these as a logical + part of the natural sequence of her life. She would begin to-day, if God + would only grant her these things she had once contemned, and that seemed + now so precious. Her life—her real life would begin to-day. Why not? + How hard she would strive to be worthy of this incomparable gift! It was + hers, hers! She listened, but the only answer was the humming of the bees + in the still September morning. + </p> + <p> + Chiltern's voice aroused her. He was standing in the breakfast room + talking to the old butler. + </p> + <p> + “You're sure there were no other letters, Starling, besides these bills?” + </p> + <p> + Honora became tense. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” she heard the butler say, and she seemed to detect in his + deferential voice the note of anxiety suppressed in the other's. “I'm most + particular about letters, sir, as one who lived so many years with your + father would be. All that came were put in your study, Mr. Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter,” answered Chiltern, carelessly, and stepped out into + the garden. He caught sight of her, hesitated the fraction of a moment, + and as he came forward again the cloud in his eyes vanished. And yet she + was aware that he was regarding her curiously. + </p> + <p> + “What,” he said gayly, “still here?” + </p> + <p> + “It is too beautiful!” she cried. “I could sit here forever.” + </p> + <p> + She lifted her face trustfully, smilingly, to his, and he stooped down and + kissed it.... + </p> + <p> + To give the jealous fates not the least chance to take offence, the higher + life they were to lead began at once. And yet it seemed at times to Honora + as though this higher life were the gift the fates would most begrudge: a + gift reserved for others, the pretensions to which were a kind of knavery. + Merriment, forgetfulness, music, the dance; the cup of pleasure and the + feast of Babylon—these might more readily have been vouchsafed; even + deemed to have been bargained for. But to take that which supposedly had + been renounced—virtue, sobriety, security, respect—would this + be endured? She went about it breathlessly, like a thief. + </p> + <p> + Never was there a more exemplary household. They rose at half-past seven, + they breakfasted at a quarter after eight; at nine, young Mr. Manning, the + farm superintendent, was in waiting, and Hugh spent two or more hours in + his company, inspecting, correcting, planning; for two thousand acres of + the original Chiltern estate still remained. Two thousand acres which, + since the General's death, had been at sixes and sevens. The General's + study, which was Hugh's now, was piled high with new and bulky books on + cattle and cultivation of the soil. Government and state and private + experts came and made tests and went away again; new machinery arrived, + and Hugh passed hours in the sun, often with Honora by his side, + installing it. General Chiltern had been president and founder of the + Grenoble National Bank, and Hugh took up his duties as a director. + </p> + <p> + Honora sought, with an energy that had in it an element of desperation, to + keep pace with her husband. For she was determined that he should have no + interests in which she did not share. In those first days it was her dread + that he might grow away from her, and instinct told her that now or never + must the effort be made. She, too, studied farming; not from books, but + from him. In their afternoon ride along the shady river road, which was + the event of her day, she encouraged him to talk of his plans and + problems, that he might thus early form the habit of bringing them to her. + And the unsuspecting male in him responded, innocent of the simple + subterfuge. After an exhaustive discourse on the elements lacking in the + valley soil, to which she had listened in silent intensity, he would + exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “By George, Honora, you're a continual surprise to me. I had no idea a + woman would take an interest in these things, or grasp them the way you + do.” + </p> + <p> + Lordly commendations these, and she would receive them with a flush of + gratitude. + </p> + <p> + Nor was it ever too hot, or she too busy with household cares, for her to + follow him to the scene of his operations, whatever these might be: she + would gladly stand for an hour listening to a consultation with the + veterinary about an ailing cow. Her fear was lest some matter of like + importance should escape her. She had private conversations with Mr. + Manning, that she might surprise her husband by an unsuspected knowledge. + Such were her ruses. + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper who had come up from New York was the subject of a + conjugal conversation. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to send her away, Hugh,” Honora announced. “I don't believe—-your + mother had one.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper's departure was the beginning of Honora's real intimacy + with Starling. Complicity, perhaps, would be a better word for the + commencement of this relationship. First of all, there was an inspection + of the family treasures: the table-linen, the silver, and the china—Sevres, + Royal Worcester, and Minton, and the priceless dinner-set, of Lowestoft + which had belonged to Alexander Chiltern, reserved, for great occasions + only: occasions that Starling knew by heart; their dates, and the guests + the Lowestoft had honoured. His air was ceremonial as he laid, reverently, + the sample pieces on the table before her, but it seemed to Honora that he + spoke as one who recalls departed glories, who held a conviction that the + Lowestoft would never be used again. + </p> + <p> + Although by unalterable custom he submitted, at breakfast, the menus of + the day to Hugh, the old butler came afterwards to Honora's boudoir during + her struggle with the account books. Sometimes she would look up and + surprise his eyes fixed upon her, and one day she found at her elbow a + long list made out in a painstaking hand. + </p> + <p> + “What's this, Starling?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, madame,” he answered, “they're the current prices in the + markets—here.” + </p> + <p> + She thanked him. Nor was his exquisite delicacy in laying stress upon the + locality lost upon her. That he realized the magnitude—for her—of + the task to which she had set herself; that he sympathized deeply with the + spirit which had undertaken it, she was as sure as though he had said so. + He helped her thus in a dozen unobtrusive ways, never once recognizing her + ignorance; but he made her feel the more that that ignorance was a + shameful thing not to be spoken of. Speculations upon him were + irresistible. She was continually forgetting the nature of his situation, + and he grew gradually to typify in her mind the Grenoble of the past. She + knew his principles as well as though he had spoken them—which he + never did. For him, the world had become awry; he abhorred divorce, and + that this modern abomination had touched the house of Chiltern was a + calamity that had shaken the very foundations of his soul. In spite of + this, he had remained. Why? Perhaps from habit, perhaps from love of the + family and Hugh,—perhaps to see! + </p> + <p> + And having stayed, fascination had laid hold of him,—of that she was + sure,—and his affections had incomprehensibly become involved. He + was as one assisting at a high tragedy not unworthy of him, the outcome of + which he never for an instant doubted. And he gave Honora the impression + that he alone, inscrutable, could have pulled aside the curtain and + revealed the end. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. OF THE WORLD BEYOND THE GATES + </h2> + <p> + Honora paused in her toilet, and contemplated for a moment the white skirt + that her maid presented. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll wear the blue pongee to-day, Mathilde,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The decision for the blue pongee was the culmination of a struggle begun + with the opening of her eyes that morning. It was Sunday, and the time was + at hand when she must face the world. Might it not be delayed a little + while—a week longer? For the remembrance of the staring eyes which + had greeted her on her arrival at the station at Grenoble troubled her. It + seemed to her a cruel thing that the house of God should hold such terrors + for her: to-day she had a longing for it that she had never felt in her + life before. + </p> + <p> + Chiltern was walking in the garden, waiting for her to breakfast with him, + and her pose must have had in it an element of the self-conscious when she + appeared, smilingly, at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you're all dressed up,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It's Sunday, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is,” he agreed, with what may have been a studied lightness—she + could not tell. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to church,” she said bravely. + </p> + <p> + “I can't say much for old Stopford,” declared her husband. “His sermons + used to arouse all the original sin in me, when I had to listen to them.” + </p> + <p> + She poured out his coffee. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose one has to take one's clergyman as one does the weather,” she + said. “We go to church for something else besides the sermon—don't + we?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so, if we go at all,” he replied. “Old Stopford imposes a + pretty heavy penalty.” + </p> + <p> + “Too heavy for you?” she asked, and smiled at him as she handed him the + cup. + </p> + <p> + “Too heavy for me,” he said, returning her smile. “To tell you the truth, + Honora, I had an overdose of church in my youth, here and at school, and + I've been trying to even up ever since.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd like me to go, wouldn't you, Hugh?” she ventured, after a silence. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I should,” he answered, and again she wondered to what extent his + cordiality was studied, or whether it were studied at all. “I'm very fond + of that church, in spite of the fact that—that I may be said to + dissemble my fondness.” She laughed with him, and he became serious. “I + still contribute—the family's share toward its support. My father + was very proud of it, but it is really my mother's church. It was due to + her that it was built.” + </p> + <p> + Thus was comedy played—and Honora by no the means sure that it was a + comedy. Even her alert instinct had not been able to detect the acting, + and the intervening hours were spent in speculating whether her fears had + not been overdone. Nevertheless, under the eyes of Starling, at twenty + minutes to eleven she stepped into the victoria with an outward courage, + and drove down the shady avenue towards the gates. Sweet-toned bells were + ringing as she reached the residence portion of the town, and subdued + pedestrians in groups and couples made their way along the sidewalks. They + stared at her; and she in turn, with heightened colour, stared at her + coachman's back. After all, this first Sunday would be the most difficult. + </p> + <p> + The carriage turned into a street arched by old elms, and flanked by the + houses of the most prosperous townspeople. Some of these were of the + old-fashioned, classic type, and others new examples of a national + architecture seeking to find itself,—white and yellow colonial, + roughcast modifications of the Shakespearian period, and nondescript + mixtures of cobblestones and shingles. Each was surrounded by trim lawns + and shrubbery. The church itself was set back from the street. It was of + bluish stone, and half covered with Virginia creeper. + </p> + <p> + At this point, had the opportunity for a secret retreat presented itself, + Honora would have embraced it, for until now she had not realized the full + extent of the ordeal. Had her arrival been heralded by sounding trumpets, + the sensation it caused could not have been greater. In her Eden, the + world had been forgotten; the hum of gossip beyond the gates had not + reached her. But now, as the horses approached the curb, their restive + feet clattering on the hard pavement, in the darkened interior of the + church she saw faces turned, and entering worshippers pausing in the + doorway. Something of what the event meant for Grenoble dawned upon her: + something, not all; but all that she could bear. + </p> + <p> + If it be true that there is no courage equal to that which a great love + begets in a woman, Honora's at that moment was sublime. Her cheeks + tingled, and her knees weakened under her as she ran the gantlet to the + church door, where she was met by a gentleman on whose face she read + astonishment unalloyed: amazement, perhaps, is not too strong a word for + the sensation it conveyed to her, and it occurred to her afterwards that + there was an element in it of outrage. It was a countenance peculiarly + adapted to such an expression—yellow, smooth-shaven, heavy-jowled, + with one drooping eye; and she needed not to be told that she had + encountered, at the outset, the very pillar of pillars. The frock coat, + the heavy watch chain, the square-toed boots, all combined to make a + Presence. + </p> + <p> + An instinctive sense of drama amongst the onlookers seemed to create a + hush, as though these had been the unwilling witnesses to an approaching + collision and were awaiting the crash. The gentleman stood planted in the + inner doorway, his drooping eye fixed on hers. + </p> + <p> + “I am Mrs. Chiltern,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + He hesitated the fraction of an instant, but he somehow managed to make it + plain that the information was superfluous. He turned without a word and + marched majestically up the aisle before her to the fourth pew from the + front on the right. There he faced about and laid a protesting hand on the + carved walnut, as though absolving himself in the sight of his God and his + fellow-citizens. Honora fell on her knees. + </p> + <p> + She strove to calm herself by prayer: but the glances of a congregation + focussed between her shoulder-blades seemed to burn her back, and the + thought of the concentration of so many minds upon her distracted her own. + She could think of no definite prayer. Was this God's tabernacle? or the + market-place, and she at the tail of a cart? And was she not Hugh + Chiltern's wife, entitled to his seat in the place of worship of his + fathers? She rose from her knees, and her eyes fell on the softly glowing + colours of a stained-glass window: In memoriam—Alicia Reyburn + Chiltern. Hugh's mother, the lady in whose seat she sat. + </p> + <p> + The organist, a sprightly young man, came in and began turning over his + music, and the choir took their-places, in the old-fashioned' manner. Then + came the clergyman. His beard was white, his face long and narrow and + shrivelled, his forehead protruding, his eyes of the cold blue of a + winter's sky. The service began, and Honora repeated the familiar prayers + which she had learned by heart in childhood—until her attention was + arrested by the words she spoke: “We have offended against Thy holy laws.” + Had she? Would not God bless her marriage? It was not until then that she + began to pray with an intensity that blotted out the world that He would + not punish her if she had done wrong in His sight. Surely, if she lived + henceforth in fear of Him, He would let her keep this priceless love which + had come to her! And it was impossible that He should regard it as an + inordinate and sinful affection—since it had filled her life with + light. As the wife of Hugh Chiltern she sought a blessing. Would God + withhold it? He would not, she was sure, if they lived a sober and a + righteous life. He would take that into account, for He was just. + </p> + <p> + Then she grew calmer, and it was not until after the doctrinal sermon + which Hugh had predicted that her heart began to beat painfully once more, + when the gentleman who had conducted her to her seat passed her the plate. + He inspired her with an instinctive fear; and she tried to imagine, in + contrast, the erect and soldierly figure of General Chiltern performing + the same office. Would he have looked on her more kindly? + </p> + <p> + When the benediction was pronounced, she made her way out of the church + with downcast eyes. The people parted at the door to let her pass, and she + quickened her step, gained the carriage at last, and drove away—seemingly + leaving at her back a buzz of comment. Would she ever have the courage to + do it again? + </p> + <p> + The old butler, as he flung open the doors at her approach, seemed to be + scrutinizing her. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Mr. Chiltern, Starling?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “He's gone for a ride, madame.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh had gone for a ride! + </p> + <p> + She did not see him until lunch was announced, when he came to the table + in his riding clothes. It may have been that he began to talk a little + eagerly about the excursion he had made to an outlying farm and the + conversation he had had with the farmer who leased it. + </p> + <p> + “His lease is out in April,” said Chiltern, “and when I told him I thought + I'd turn the land into the rest of the estate he tried to bribe me into a + renewal.” + </p> + <p> + “Bribe you?” + </p> + <p> + Chiltern laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Only in joke, of course. The man's a character, and he's something of a + politician in these parts. He intimated that there would be a vacancy in + this congressional district next year, that Grierson was going to resign, + and that a man with a long purse who belonged to the soil might have a + chance. I suppose he thinks I would buy it.” + </p> + <p> + “And—would you like to go to Congress, Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, smiling, “a man never can tell when he may have to eat + his words. I don't say I shouldn't—in the distant future. It would + have pleased the General. But if I go,” he added with characteristic + vigour, “it will be in spite of the politicians, not because of them. If I + go I shan't go bound, and I'll fight for it. I should enjoy that.” + </p> + <p> + And she was able to accord him the smile of encouragement he expected. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you would,” she replied. “I think you might have waited until + this afternoon and taken me,” she reproached him. “You know how I enjoy + going with you to those places.” + </p> + <p> + It was not until later in the meal that he anticipated, in an admirably + accidental manner, the casual remark she had intended to make about + church. + </p> + <p> + “Your predictions were fulfilled,” she answered; “the sermon wasn't + thrilling.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced at her. And instead of avoiding his eyes, she smiled into them. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see the First Citizen of Grenoble?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it,” she laughed, “if he's yellow, with a drooping eye and a + presence; he was kind enough to conduct me to the pew.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he exclaimed, “that's Israel Simpson—you couldn't miss him. + How I used to hate him when I was a boy! I haven't quite got over it yet. + I used to outdo myself to make things uncomfortable for him when he came + up here—I think it was because he always seemed to be truckling. He + was ridiculously servile and polite in those days. He's changed since,” + added Hugh, dryly. “He must quite have forgotten by this time that the + General made him.” + </p> + <p> + “Is—is he so much?” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + Her husband laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that you have seen him and still ask that?” said he. “He + is Grenoble. Once the Chilterns were. He is the head of the honoured firm + of Israel Simpson and Sons, the president of the Grenoble National Bank, + the senior warden of the church, a director in the railway. Twice a year, + in the columns of the New York newspapers dedicated to the prominent + arrivals at the hotels, you may read the name of Israel Simpson of + Grenoble. Three times has he been abroad, respectably accompanied by + Maria, who invariably returns to read a paper on the cathedrals and art + before the Woman's Club.” + </p> + <p> + “Maria is his wife, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Didn't you run across Maria? She's quite as pronounced, in her way, + as Israel. A very tower of virtue.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't meet anybody, Hugh,” said Honora. “I'll—I'll look for her + next Sunday. I hurried out. It was a little embarrassing the first time,” + she added, “your family being so prominent in Grenoble.” + </p> + <p> + Upon this framework, the prominence of his family, she built up during the + coning week a new structure of hope. It was strange she had never thought + before of this quite obvious explanation for the curiosity of Grenoble. + Perhaps—perhaps it was not prejudice, after all—or not all of + it. The wife of the Chiltern heir would naturally inspire a considerable + interest in any event, and Mrs. Hugh Chiltern in particular. And these + people would shortly understand, if they did not now understand, that Hugh + had come back voluntarily and from a sense of duty to assume the burdens + and responsibilities that so many of his generation and class had shirked. + This would tell in their favour, surely. At this point in her meditations + she consulted the mirror, to behold a modest, slim-waisted young woman + becomingly arrayed in white linen, whose cheeks were aglow with health, + whose eyes seemingly reflected the fire of a distant high vision. Not a + Poppaea, certainly, nor a Delila. No, it was unbelievable that this, the + very field itself of their future labours, should be denied them. Her + heart, at the mere conjecture, turned to stone. + </p> + <p> + During the cruise of the Adhemar she had often watched, in the gathering + darkness, those revolving lights on headland or shoal that spread now a + bright band across the sea, and again left the waters desolate in the + night. Thus, ceaselessly revolving from white hope to darker doubt, were + her thoughts, until sometimes she feared to be alone with them, and + surprised him by her presence in his busiest moments. For he was going + ahead on the path they had marked out with a faith in which she could + perceive no flaw. If faint and shadowy forms had already come between + them, he gave no evidence of having as yet discerned these. There was the + absence of news from his family, for instance,—the Graingers, the + Stranger, the Shorters, and the Pendletons, whom she had never seen; he + had never spoken to her of this, and he seemed to hold it as of no + account. Her instinct whispered that it had left its mark, a hidden mark. + And while she knew that consideration for her prompted him to hold his + peace, she told herself that she would have been happier had he spoken of + it. + </p> + <p> + Always she was brought back to Grenoble when she saw him thus, manlike, + with his gaze steadily fixed on the task. If New York itself withheld + recognition, could Grenoble—provincial and conservative Grenoble, + preserving still the ideas of the last century for which his family had so + unflinchingly stood—be expected to accord it? New York! New York was + many, many things, she knew. The great house could have been filled from + weekend to week-end from New York; but not with Graingers and Pendletons + and Stranger; not with those around the walls of whose fortresses the + currents of modernity still swept impotently; not with those who, while + not contemning pleasure, still acknowledged duty; not with those whose + assured future was that for which she might have sold her soul itself. + Social free lances, undoubtedly, and unattached men; those who lived in + the world of fashion but were not squeamish—Mrs. Kame, for example; + and ladies like Mrs. Eustace Rindge, who had tried a second throw for + happiness,—such votaries of excitement would undoubtedly have been + more than glad to avail themselves of the secluded hospitality of Grenoble + for that which they would have been pleased to designate as “a lively + time.” Honora shuddered at the thought: And, as though the shudder had + been prophetic, one morning the mail contained a letter from Mrs. Kame + herself. + </p> + <p> + Mercifully Hugh had not noticed it. Honora did not recognize the + handwriting, but she slipped the envelope into her lap, fearful of what it + might contain, and, when she gained the privacy of her rooms, read it with + quickening breath. Mrs. Kame's touch was light and her imagination + sympathetic; she was the most adaptable of the feminine portion of her + nation, and since the demise of her husband she had lived, abroad and at + home, among men and women of a world that does not dot its i's or cross + its t's. Nevertheless, the letter filled Honora with a deep apprehension + and a deeper resentment. Plainly and clearly stamped between its + delicately worded lines was the claim of a comradeship born of Honora's + recent act. She tore the paper into strips and threw it into the flames + and opened the window to the cool air of the autumn morning. She had a + feeling of contamination that was intolerable. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Kame had proposed herself—again the word “delicately” must be + used—for one of Honora's first house-parties. Only an acute + perception could have read in the lady's praise of Hugh a masterly + avoidance of that part of his career already registered on the social + slate. Mrs. Kame had thought about them and their wonderful happiness in + these autumn days at Grenoble; to intrude on that happiness yet awhile + would be a sacrilege. Later, perhaps, they would relent and see something + of their friends, and throw open again the gates of a beautiful place long + closed to the world. And—without the air of having picked the single + instance, but of having chosen from many—Mrs. Kame added that she + had only lately seen Elsie Shorter, whose admiration for Honora was + greater than ever. A sentiment, Honora reflected a little bitterly, that + Mrs. Shorter herself had not taken the pains to convey. Consistency was + not Elsie's jewel. + </p> + <p> + It must perhaps be added for the sake of enlightenment that since going to + Newport Honora's view of the writer of this letter had changed. In other + words, enlarging ideals had dwarfed her somewhat; it was strictly true + that the lady was a boon companion of everybody. Her Catholicism had two + limitations only: that she must be amused, and that she must not—in + what she deemed the vulgar sense—be shocked. + </p> + <p> + Honora made several attempts at an answer before she succeeded in saying, + simply, that Hugh was too absorbed in his work of reconstruction of the + estate for them to have house-parties this autumn. And even this was a + concession hard for her pride to swallow. She would have preferred not to + reply at all, and this slightest of references to his work—and hers—seemed + to degrade it. Before she folded the sheet she looked again at that word + “reconstruction” and thought of eliminating it. It was too obviously + allied to “redemption”; and she felt that Mrs. Kame could not understand + redemption, and would ridicule it. Honora went downstairs and dropped her + reply guiltily into the mail-bag. It was for Hugh's sake she was sending + it, and from his eyes she was hiding it. + </p> + <p> + And, while we are dealing with letters, one, or part of one, from Honora's + aunt, may perhaps be inserted here. It was an answer to one that Honora + had written a few days after her installation at Grenoble, the contents of + which need not be gone into: we, who know her, would neither laugh nor + weep at reading it, and its purport may be more or less accurately + surmised from her aunt's reply. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “As I wrote you at the time, my dear,”—so it ran “the shock which + your sudden marriage with Mr. Chiltern caused us was great—so great + that I cannot express it in words. I realize that I am growing old, + and perhaps the world is changing faster than I imagine. And I + wrote you, too, that I would not be true to myself if I told you + that what you have done was right in my eyes. I have asked myself + whether my horror of divorce and remarriage may not in some degree + be due to the happiness of my life with your uncle. I am, + undoubtedly, an exceptionally fortunate woman; and as I look + backwards I see that the struggles and trials which we have shared + together were really blessings. + + “Nevertheless, dear Honora, you are, as your uncle wrote you, our + child, and nothing can alter that fact in our hearts. We can only + pray with all our strength that you may find happiness and peace in + your new life. I try to imagine, as I think of you and what has + happened to you in the few years since you have left us—how long + they seem!—I try to imagine some of the temptations that have + assailed you in that world of which I know nothing. If I cannot, it + is because God made us different. I know what you have suffered, + and my heart aches for you. + + “You say that experience has taught you much that you could not + have—learned in any other way. I do not doubt it. You tell me + that your new life, just begun, will be a dutiful one. Let me + repeat that it is my anxious prayer that you have not builded upon + sand, that regrets may not come. I cannot say more. I cannot + dissemble. Perhaps I have already said too much. + + “Your loving + + “AUNT MARY.” + </pre> + <p> + An autumn wind was blowing, and Honora gazed out of the window at the + steel-blue, ruffled waters of the lake. Unconsciously she repeated the + words to herself: + </p> + <p> + “Builded upon sand!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. CONTAINING PHILOSOPHY FROM MR. GRAINGER + </h2> + <p> + Swiftly came the autumn days, and swiftly went. A bewildering, ever + changing, and glorious panorama presented itself, green hillsides struck + first with flaming crimsons and yellows, and later mellowing into a + wondrous blending of gentler, tenderer hues; lavender, and wine, and the + faintest of rose colours where the bare beeches massed. Thus the slopes + were spread as with priceless carpets for a festival. Sometimes Honora, + watching, beheld from her window the russet dawn on the eastern ridge, and + the white mists crouching in strange, ghostly shapes abode the lake and + the rushing river: and she saw these same mists gather again, shivering, + at nightfall. In the afternoon they threaded valleys, silent save for the + talk between them and the stirring of the leaves under their horses' feet. + </p> + <p> + So the Indian summer passed—that breathless season when even + happiness has its premonitions and its pangs. The umber fields, all + ploughed and harrowed, lay patiently awaiting the coming again of the + quickening spring. Then fell the rain, the first, cold winter rain that + shrouded the valley and beat down upon the defenceless, dismantled garden + and made pools in the hollows of the stone seat: that flung itself against + Honora's window as though begrudging her the warmth and comfort within. + Sometimes she listened to it in the night. + </p> + <p> + She was watching. How intent was that vigil, how alert and sharpened her + senses, a woman who has watched alone may answer. Now, she felt, was the + crisis at hand: the moment when her future, and his was to hang in the + balance. The work on the farms, which had hitherto left Chiltern but + little time for thought, had relaxed. In these wet days had he begun to + brood a little? Did he show signs of a reversion to that other + personality, the Chiltern she had not known, yet glimpses of whom she had + had? She recalled the third time she had seen him, the morning at the + Lilacs in Newport, that had left upon her the curious sense of having + looked on a superimposed portrait. That Chiltern which she called her + Viking, and which, with a woman's perversity, she had perhaps loved most + of all, was but one expression of the other man of days gone by. The life + of that man was a closed book she had never wished to open. Was he dead, + or sleeping? And if sleeping, would he awake? How softly she tread! + </p> + <p> + And in these days, with what exquisite, yet tremulous skill and courage + did she bring up the subject of that other labour they were to undertake + together—the life and letters of his father. In the early dusk, when + they had returned from their long rides, she contrived to draw Chiltern + into his study. The cheerfulness, the hopefulness, the delight with which + she approached the task, the increasing enthusiasm she displayed for the + character of the General as she read and sorted the letters and documents, + and the traits of his she lovingly traced in Hugh, were not without their + effect. It was thus she fanned, ceaselessly and with a smile, and with an + art the rarest women possess, the drooping flame. And the flame responded. + </p> + <p> + How feverishly she worked, unknown to him, he never guessed; so carefully + and unobtrusively planted her suggestions that they were born again in + glory as his inspiration. The mist had lifted a little, and she beheld the + next stage beyond. To reach that stage was to keep him intent on this work—and—after + that, to publish! Ah, if he would only have patience, or if she could keep + him distracted through this winter and their night, she might save him. + Love such as hers can even summon genius to its aid, and she took fire + herself at the thought of a book worthy of that love, of a book—though + signed by him that would redeem them, and bring a scoffing world to its + knees in praise. She spent hours in the big library preparing for + Chiltern's coming, with volumes in her lap and a note-book by her side. + </p> + <p> + One night, as they sat by the blazing logs in his study, which had been + the General's, Chiltern arose impulsively, opened the big safe in the + corner, and took out a leather-bound book and laid it on her lap. Honora + stared at it: it was marked: “Highlawns, Visitors' Book.” + </p> + <p> + “It's curious I never thought of it before,” he said, “but my father, had + a habit of jotting down notes in it on important occasions. It may be of + some use to us Honora.” + </p> + <p> + She opened it at random and read: “July 5, 1893, Picnic at Psalter's + Falls. Temperature 71 at 9 A.M. Bar. 30. Weather clear. Charles left for + Washington, summons from President, in the midst of it. Agatha and Victor + again look at the Farrar property. Hugh has a ducking. P.S. At dinner + night Bessie announces her engagement to Cecil Grainger. Present Sarah and + George Grenfell, Agatha and Victor Strange, Gerald Shorter, Lord Kylie—” + </p> + <p> + Honora looked up. Hugh was at her shoulder, with his eyes on the page. + </p> + <p> + “Psalter's Falls!” he exclaimed. “How well I remember that day! I was just + home from my junior year at Harvard.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was 'Charles'?” inquired Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Senator Pendleton—Bessie's father. Just after I jumped into the + mill-pond the telegram came for him to go to Washington, and I drove him + home in my wet clothes. The old man had a terrible tongue, a whip-lash + kind of humour, and he scored me for being a fool. But he rather liked me, + on the whole. He told me if I'd only straighten out I could be anything, + in reason.” + </p> + <p> + “What made you jump in the mill-pond?” Honora asked, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Bessie Grainger. She had a devil in her, too, in those days, but she + always kept her head, and I didn't.” He smiled. “I'm willing to admit that + I was madly in love with her, and she treated me outrageously. We were + standing on the bridge—I remember it as though it were yesterday—and + the water was about eight feet deep, with a clear sand bottom. She took + off a gold bracelet and bet me I wouldn't get it if she threw it in. That + night, right in the middle of dinner, when there was a pause in the + conversation, she told us she was engaged to Cecil Grainger. It turned + out, by the way, to have been his bracelet I rescued. I could have wrung + his neck, and I didn't speak to her for a month.” + </p> + <p> + Honora repressed an impulse to comment on this incident. With his arm over + her shoulder, he turned the pages idly, and the long lists of guests which + bore witness to the former life and importance of Highlawns passed before + her eyes. Distinguished foreigners, peers of England, churchmen, and men + renowned in literature: famous American statesmen, scientists, and names + that represented more than one generation of wealth and achievement—all + were here. There were his school and college friends, five and six at a + time, and besides them those of young girls who were now women, some of + whom Honora had met and known in New York or Newport. + </p> + <p> + Presently he closed the book abruptly and returned it to the safe. To her + sharpened senses, the very act itself was significant. There were other + and blank pages in it for future years; and under different circumstances + he might have laid it in its time-honoured place, on the great table in + the library. + </p> + <p> + It was not until some weeks later that Honora was seated one afternoon in + the study waiting for him to come in, and sorting over some of the letters + that they had not yet examined, when she came across a new lot thrust + carelessly at the bottom of the older pile. She undid the elastic. Tucked + away in one of the envelopes she was surprised to find a letter of recent + date—October. She glanced at it, read involuntarily the first lines, + and then, with a little cry, turned it over. It was from Cecil Grainger. + She put it back into the envelope whence it came, and sat still. + </p> + <p> + After a while, she could not tell how long, she heard Hugh stamping the + snow from his feet in the little entry beside the study. And in a few + moments he entered, rubbing his hands and holding them out to the blaze. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Honora,” he said; “are you still at it? What's the matter—a + hitch?” + </p> + <p> + She reached mechanically into the envelope, took out the letter, and + handed it to him. + </p> + <p> + “I found it just now, Hugh. I didn't read much of it—I didn't mean + to read any. It's from Mr. Grainger, and you must have overlooked it.” + </p> + <p> + He took it. + </p> + <p> + “From Cecil?” he said, in an odd voice. “I wasn't aware that he had sent + me anything-recently.” + </p> + <p> + As he read, she felt the anger rise within him, she saw it in his eyes + fixed upon the sheet, and the sense of fear, of irreparable loss, that had + come over her as she had sat alone awaiting him, deepened. And yet, long + expected verdicts are sometimes received in a spirit of recklessness: He + finished the letter, and flung it in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Read it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh!” she protested tremulously. “Perhaps—perhaps I'd better + not.” He laughed, and that frightened her the more. It was the laugh, she + was sure, of the other man she had not known. + </p> + <p> + “I've always suspected that Cecil was a fool—now I'm sure of it. + Read it!” he repeated, in a note of command that went oddly with his next + sentence; “You will find that it is only ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + This assurance of the comedy it contained, however, did not serve to + fortify her misgivings. It was written from a club. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “DEAR HUGH: Herewith a few letters for the magnum opus which I have + extracted from Aunt Agatha, Judge Gaines, and others, and to send + you my humble congratulations. By George, my boy, you have dashed + off with a prize, and no mistake. I've never made any secret, you + know, of my admiration for Honora—I hope I may call her so now. + And I just thought I'd tell you you could count on me for a friend + at court. Not that I'm any use now, old boy. I'll have to be frank + with you—I always was. Discreet silence, and all that sort of + thing: as much as my head is worth to open my mouth. But I had an + idea it would be an act of friendship to let you know how things + stand. Let time and works speak, and Cecil will give the thing + a push at the proper moment. I understand from one of the + intellectual journals I read that you have gone in for simple life + and scientific farming. A deuced canny move. And for the love of + heaven, old man, keep it up for a while, anyhow. I know it's + difficult, but keep it up. I speak as a friend. + + “They received your letters all right, announcing your marriage. + You always enjoyed a row—I wish you could have been on hand to see + and hear this one. It was no place for a man of peace, and I spent + two nights at the club. I've never made any secret, you know, of + the fact that I think the Pendleton connection hide-bound. And you + understand Bessie—there's no good of my explaining her. You'd have + thought divorce a brand-new invention of the devil, instead of a + comparatively old institution. And if you don't mind my saying so, + my boy, you took this fence a bit on the run, the way you do + everything. + + “The fact is, divorce is going out of fashion. Maybe it's because + the Pendleton-Grenfell element have always set their patrician faces + against it; maybe its been a bit overdone. Most people who have + tried it have discovered that the fire is no better than the frying- + pan—both hot as soon as they warm up. Of course, old boy, there's + nothing personal in this. Sit tight, and stick to the simple life— + that's your game as I see it. No news—I've never known things to + be so quiet. Jerry won over two thousand night before last—he made + it no trumps in his own hand four times running. + + “Yours, + + “CECIL.” + </pre> + <p> + Honora returned this somewhat unique epistle to her husband, and he + crushed it. There was an ill-repressed, terrifying savagery in the act, + and her heart was torn between fear and pity for this lone message of + good-will. Whatever its wording, such it was. A dark red flush had mounted + his forehead to the roots of his short curly hair. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said. + </p> + <p> + She was fighting for her presence of mind. Flashes of his temper she had + known, but she had never seen the cruel, fiendish thing—his anger. + Not his anger, but the anger of the destroyer that she beheld waking now + after its long sleep, and taking possession of him, and transforming him + before her very eyes. She had been able to cope with the new man, but she + felt numb and powerless before the resuscitated demon of the old. + </p> + <p> + “What do you expect me to say, Hugh?” she faltered, with a queer feeling + that she was not addressing him. + </p> + <p> + “Anything you like,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Defend Cecil.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I defend him?” she said dully. + </p> + <p> + “Because you have no pride.” + </p> + <p> + A few seconds elapsed before the full import and brutality of this insult + reached her intelligence, and she cried out his name in a voice shrill + with anguish. But he seemed to delight in the pain he had caused. + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't be expected, I suppose, to see that this letter is a d—d + impertinence, filled with an outrageous flippancy, a deliberate affront, + an implication that our marriage does not exist.” + </p> + <p> + She sat stunned, knowing that the real pain would come later. That which + slowly awoke in her now, as he paced the room, was a high sense of danger, + and a persistent inability to regard the man who had insulted her as her + husband. He was rather an enemy to them both, and he would overturn, if he + could, the frail craft of their happiness in the storm. She cried out to + Hugh as across the waters. + </p> + <p> + “No,—I have no pride, Hugh,—it is gone. I have thought of you + only. The fear that I might separate you from your family, from your + friends, and ruin your future has killed my pride. He—Mr. Grainger + meant to be kind. He is always like that—it's his way of saying + things. He wishes to show that he is friendly to you—to me—” + </p> + <p> + “In spite of my relations,” cried Chiltern, stopping in the middle of the + room. “They cease to be my relations from this day. I disown them. I say + it deliberately. So long as I live, not one of them shall come into this + house. All my life they have begged me to settle down, to come up here and + live the life my father did. Very well, now I've done it. And I wrote to + them and told them that I intended to live henceforth like a gentleman and + a decent citizen—more than some of them do. No, I wash my hands of + them. If they were to crawl up here from the gate on their knees, I'd turn + them out.” + </p> + <p> + Although he could not hear her, she continued to plead. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, try to think of how—how our marriage must have appeared to + them. Not that I blame you for being angry. We only thought of one thing—our + love—” her voice broke at the word, “and our own happiness. We did + not consider others. It is that which sometimes has made me afraid, that + we believed ourselves above the law. And now that we have—begun so + well, don't spoil it, Hugh! Give them time, let them see by our works that + we are in earnest, that we intend to live useful lives. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean to beg them,” she cried, at sight of his eyes. “Oh, I don't + mean that. I don't mean to entreat them, or even to communicate with them. + But they are your flesh and blood—you must remember that. Let us + prove that we are—not—like the others,” she said, lifting her + head, “and then it cannot matter to us what any one thinks. We shall have + justified our act to ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + But he was striding up and down the room again. It was as she feared—her + plea—had fallen on unheeding ears. A sudden convulsive leaping of + the inner fires sent him to his desk, and he seized some note-paper from + the rack. Honora rose to her feet, and took a step towards him. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh—what are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Do!” he cried, swinging in his chair and facing her, “I'm going to do + what any man with an ounce of self-respect would do under the + circumstances. I'm going to do what I was a fool not to have done three + months ago—what I should have done if it hadn't been for you. If in + their contemptible, pharisaical notions of morality they choose to forget + what my mother and father were to them, they cease to exist for me. If + it's the last act of my life I'm going to tell them so.” + </p> + <p> + She stood gazing at him, but she was as one of whom he took no account. He + turned to the desk and began to write with a deliberation all the more + terrible to her because of the white anger he felt. And still she stood. + He pressed the button on his desk, and Starling responded. + </p> + <p> + “I want a man from the stable to be ready to take some letters to town in + half an hour,” he said. + </p> + <p> + It was not until then that she turned and slowly left the room. A mortal + sickness seemed to invade her vitals, and she went to her own chamber and + flung herself, face downward, on the lace covering of the bed: and the + sobs that shook her were the totterings of the foundations of her + universe. For a while, in the intensity of her anguish, all thought was + excluded. Presently, however, when the body was spent, the mind began to + practise its subtle and intolerable torture, and she was invaded by a + sense of loneliness colder than the space between the worlds. + </p> + <p> + Where was she to go, whither flee, now that his wrath was turned against + her? On the strength of his love alone she had pinned her faith, discarded + and scorned all other help. And at the first contact with that greater + power which he had taught her so confidently to despise, that strength had + broken! + </p> + <p> + Slowly, she gazed back over the path she had trod; where roses once had + held up smiling heads. It was choked now by brambles that scratched her + nakedness at every step. Ah, how easily she had been persuaded to enter + it! “We have the right to happiness,” he had said, and she had looked into + his eyes and believed him. What was this strange, elusive happiness, that + she had so pantingly pursued and never overtaken? that essence pure and + unalloyed with baser things? Ecstasy, perhaps, she had found—for was + it delirium? Fear was the boon companion of these; or better, the + pestilence that stalked behind them, ever ready to strike. + </p> + <p> + Then, as though some one had turned on a light—a sickening, yet + penetrating blue light—she looked at Hugh Chiltern. She did not wish + to look, but that which had turned on the light and bade her was stronger + than she. She beheld, as it were, the elements of his being, the very + sources of the ceaseless, restless energy that was driving him on. And + scan as she would, no traces of the vaunted illimitable power that is + called love could she discern. Love he possessed; that she had not + doubted, and did not doubt, even now. But it had been given her to see + that these springs had existed before love had come, and would flow, + perchance, after it had departed. Now she understood his anger; it was + like the anger of a fiercely rushing river striving to break a dam and + invade the lands below with devastating floods. All these months the + waters had been mounting.... + </p> + <p> + Turning at length from the consideration of this figure, she asked herself + whether, if with her present knowledge she had her choice to make over + again, she would have chosen differently. The answer was a startling + negative. She loved him. Incomprehensible, unreasonable, and un reasoning + sentiment! That she had received a wound, she knew; whether it were + mortal, or whether it would heal and leave a scar, she could not say. One + salient, awful fact she began gradually to realize, that if she sank back + upon the pillows she was lost. Little it would profit her to save her + body. She had no choice between her present precarious foothold and the + abyss, and wounded as she was she would have to fight. There was no + retreat: + </p> + <p> + She sat up, and presently got to her feet and went to the window and + stared through the panes until she distinguished the blue whiteness of the + fallen snow on her little balcony. The night, despite the clouds, had a + certain luminous quality. Then she drew the curtains, searched for the + switch, and flooded the room with a soft glow—that beautiful room in + which he had so proudly installed her four months before. She smoothed the + bed, and walking to the mirror gazed intently at her face, and then she + bathed it. Afterwards she opened her window again, admitting a flurry of + snow, and stood for some minutes breathing in the sharp air. + </p> + <p> + Three quarters of an hour later she was dressed and descending the stairs, + and as she entered the library dinner was announced. Let us spare Honora + the account of that repast or rather a recital of the conversation that + accompanied it. What she found to say under the eyes of the servants is of + little value, although the fact itself deserves to be commended as a high + accomplishment; and while she talked, she studied the brooding mystery + that he presented, and could make nothing of it. His mood was new. It was + not sullenness, nor repressed rage; and his answers were brief, but he was + not taciturn. It struck her that in spite of a concentration such as she + had never in her life bestowed on any other subject, her knowledge of him + of the Chiltern she had married—was still wofully incomplete, and + that in proportion to the lack of perfection of that knowledge her danger + was great. Perhaps the Chiltern she had married was as yet in a formative + state. Be this as it may, what she saw depicted on his face to-night + corresponded to no former experience. + </p> + <p> + They went back to the library. Coffee was brought and carried off, and + Honora was standing before the fire. Suddenly he rose from his chair, + crossed the room, and before she could draw away seized and crushed her in + his arms without a word. She lay there, inert, bewildered as in the grip + of an unknown force, until presently she was aware of the beating of his + heart, and a glimmering of what he felt came to her. Nor was it an + understandable thing, except to the woman who loved him. And yet and yet + she feared it even in that instant of glory. + </p> + <p> + When at last she dared to look up, he kissed away the tears from her + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I love you,” he said. “You must never doubt it—do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “You must never doubt it,” he repeated roughly. + </p> + <p> + His contrition was a strange thing—if it were contrition. And love—woman's + love—is sometimes the counsellor of wisdom. Her sole reproach was to + return his kiss. + </p> + <p> + Presently she chose a book, and he read to her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY + </h2> + <p> + One morning, as he gathered up his mail, Chiltern left lying on the + breakfast table a printed circular, an appeal from the trustees of the + Grenoble Hospital. As Honora read it she remembered that this institution + had been the favourite charity of his mother; and that Mrs. Chiltern, at + her death, had bequeathed an endowment which at the time had been ample. + But Grenoble having grown since then, the deficit for this year was + something under two thousand dollars, and in a lower corner was a request + that contributions be sent to Mrs. Israel Simpson. + </p> + <p> + With the circular in her hand, Honora went thoughtfully up the stairs to + her sitting-room. The month was February, the day overcast and muggy, and + she stood for a while apparently watching the holes made in the snow by + the steady drip from the cap of the garden wall. What she really saw was + the face of Mrs. Israel Simpson, a face that had haunted her these many + months. For Mrs. Simpson had gradually grown, in Honora's mind, to typify + the hardness of heart of Grenoble. With Grenoble obdurate, what would + become of the larger ambitions of Hugh Chiltern? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Simpson was indeed a redoubtable lady, whose virtue shone with a + particular high brightness on the Sabbath. Her lamp was brimming with oil + against the judgment day, and she was as one divinely appointed to be the + chastener of the unrighteous. So, at least, Honora beheld her. Her attire + was rich but not gaudy, and had the air of proclaiming the prosperity of + Israel Simpson alone as its unimpeachable source: her nose was long, her + lip slightly marked by a masculine and masterful emblem, and her eyes + protruded in such a manner as to give the impression of watchfulness on + all sides. + </p> + <p> + It was this watchfulness that our heroine grew to regard as a salient + characteristic. It never slept—even during Mr. Stopford's sermons. + She was aware of it when she entered the church, and she was sure that it + escorted her as far as the carriage on her departure. It seemed to oppress + the congregation. And Honora had an idea that if it could have been + withdrawn, her cruel proscription would have ended. For at times she + thought that she read in the eyes of some of those who made way for her, + friendliness and even compassion. + </p> + <p> + It was but natural, perhaps, in the situation in which our heroine found + herself, that she should have lost her sense of proportion to the extent + of regarding this lady in the light of a remorseless dragon barring her + only path to peace. And those who might have helped her—if any there + were—feared the dragon as much as she. Mrs. Simpson undoubtedly + would not have relished this characterization, and she is not to have the + opportunity of presenting her side of the case. We are looking at it from + Honora's view, and Honora beheld chimeras. The woman changed, for Honora, + the very aspect of the house of God; it was she who appeared to preside + there, or rather to rule by terror. And Honora, as she glanced at her + during the lessons, often wondered if she realized the appalling extent of + her cruelty. Was this woman, who begged so audibly to be delivered from + pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy, in reality a Christian? Honora hated her, + and yet she prayed that God would soften her heart. Was there no way in + which she could be propitiated, appeased? For the sake of the thing + desired, and which it was given this woman to withhold, she was willing to + humble herself in the dust. + </p> + <p> + Honora laid the hospital circular on the desk beside her account book. She + had an ample allowance from Hugh; but lying in a New York bank was what + remained of the unexpected legacy she had received from her father, and it + was from this that she presently drew a cheque for five hundred dollars,—a + little sacrifice that warmed her blood as she wrote. Not for the + unfortunate in the hospital was she making it, but for him: and that she + could do this from the little store that was her very own gave her a + thrill of pride. She would never need it again. If he deserted her, it + mattered little what became of her. If he deserted her! + </p> + <p> + She sat gazing out of the window over the snow, and a new question was in + her heart. Was it as a husband—that he loved her? Did their + intercourse have that intangible quality of safety that belonged to + married life? And was it not as a mistress rather than a wife that, in + their isolation, she watched his moods so jealously? A mistress! Her lips + parted, and she repeated the word aloud, for self-torture is human. + </p> + <p> + Her mind dwelt upon their intercourse. There were the days they spent + together, and the evenings, working or reading. Ah, but had the time ever + been when, in the depths of her being, she had felt the real security of a + wife? When she had not always been dimly conscious of a desire to please + him, of a struggle to keep him interested and contented? And there were + the days when he rode alone, the nights when he read or wrote alone, when + her joy was turned to misery; there were the alternating periods of + passion and alienation. Alienation, perhaps, was too strong a word. + Nevertheless, at such times, her feeling was one of desolation. + </p> + <p> + His heart, she knew, was bent upon success at Grenoble, and one of the + books which they had recently read together was a masterly treatise, by an + Englishman, on the life-work of an American statesman. The vast width of + the country, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, was stirred with politics: + a better era was coming, the pulse of the nation beating with renewed + life; a stronger generation was arising to take the Republic into its own + hands. A campaign was in progress in the State, and twice her husband had + gone some distance to hear the man who embodied the new ideas, and had + come back moody and restless, like a warrior condemned to step aside. + Suppose his hopes were blighted—what would happen? Would the spirit + of reckless adventure seize him again? Would the wilds call him? or the + city? She did not dare to think. + </p> + <p> + It was not until two mornings later that Hugh tossed her across the + breakfast table a pink envelope with a wide flap and rough edges. Its + sender had taken advantage of the law that permits one-cent stamps for + local use. + </p> + <p> + “Who's your friend, Honora?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She tried to look calmly at the envelope that contained her fate. + </p> + <p> + “It's probably a dressmaker's advertisement,” she answered, and went on + with the pretence of eating her breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “Or an invitation to dine with Mrs. Simpson,” he suggested, laughingly, as + he rose. “It's just the stationery she would choose.” + </p> + <p> + Honora dropped her spoon in her egg-cup. It instantly became evident, + however, that his remark was casual and not serious, for he gathered up + his mail and departed. Her hand trembled a little as she opened the + letter, and for a moment the large gold monogram of its sender danced + before her eyes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dear Madam, Permit me to thank you in the name of the Trustees of + the Grenoble Hospital for your generous contribution, and believe + me, Sincerely yours, + + “MARIA W. SIMPSON.” + </pre> + <p> + The sheet fluttered to the floor. + </p> + <p> + When Sunday came, for the first time her courage failed her. She had heard + the wind complaining in the night, and the day dawned wild and wet. She + got so far as to put on a hat and veil and waterproof coat; Starling had + opened the doors, and through the frame of the doorway, on the wet steps, + she saw the footman in his long mackintosh, his umbrella raised to escort + her to the carriage. Then she halted, irresolute. The impassive old butler + stood on the sill, a silent witness, she knew, to the struggle going on + within her. It seemed ridiculous indeed to play out the comedy with him, + who could have recited the lines. And yet she turned to him. + </p> + <p> + “Starling, you may send the coachman back to the stable.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, madam.” + </p> + <p> + As she climbed the stairs she saw him gravely closing the doors. She + paused on the landing, her sense of relief overborne by a greater sense of + defeat. There was still time! She heard the wheels of the carriage on the + circle—yet she listened to them die away. Starling softly caught the + latch, and glanced up. For an instant their looks crossed, and she hurried + on with palpitating breast, reached her boudoir, and closed the door. The + walls seemed to frown on her, and she remembered that the sitting-room in + St. Louis had worn that same look when, as a child, she had feigned + illness in order to miss a day at school. With a leaden heart she gazed + out on the waste of melting snow, and then tried in vain to read a novel + that a review had declared amusing. But a question always came between her + and the pages: was this the turning point of that silent but terrible + struggle, when she must acknowledge to herself that the world had been too + strong for her? After a while her loneliness became unbearable. Chiltern + was in the library. + </p> + <p> + “Home from church?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't go, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I thought I saw you start,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It's such a dreary day, Hugh.” + </p> + <p> + “But that has never prevented you before.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think I'm entitled to one holiday?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + But it was by a supreme effort she kept back the tears. He looked at her + attentively, and got up suddenly and put his hands upon her shoulders. She + could not meet his eyes, and trembled under his touch. + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” he said, “why don't you tell me the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been wondering how long you'd stand it. I mean that these women, + who call themselves Christians, have been brutal to you. They haven't so + much as spoken to you in church, and not one of them has been to this + house to call. Isn't that so?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let us judge them yet, Hugh,” she begged, a little wildly, feeling + again the gathering of another destroying storm in him that might now + sweep the last vestige of hope away. And she seized the arguments as they + came. “Some of them may be prejudiced, I know. But others—others I + am sure are kind, and they have had no reason to believe I should like to + know them—to work among them. I—I could not go to see them + first, I am glad to wait patiently until some accident brings me near + them. And remember, Hugh, the atmosphere in which we both lived before we + came here—an atmosphere they regard as frivolous and + pleasure-loving. People who are accustomed to it are not usually supposed + to care to make friends in a village, or to bother their heads about the + improvement of a community. Society is not what it was in your mother's + day, who knew these people or their mothers, and took an interest in what + they were doing. Perhaps they think me—haughty.” She tried to smile. + “I have never had an opportunity to show them that I am not.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, breathless, and saw that he was unconvinced. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe that, Honora?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I—I want to believe it. And I am sure, that if it is not true now, + it will become so, if we only wait.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Never,” he said, and dropped his hands and walked over to the fire. She + stood where he had left her. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” she heard him say, “I understand that you sent Mrs. + Simpson five hundred dollars for the hospital. Simpson told me so + yesterday, at the bank.” + </p> + <p> + “I had a little money of my own—from my father and I was glad to do + it, Hugh. That was your mother's charity.” + </p> + <p> + Her self-control was taxed to the utmost by the fact that he was moved. + She could not see his face, but his voice betrayed it. + </p> + <p> + “And Mrs. Simpson?” he asked, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Simpson?” + </p> + <p> + “She thanked you?” + </p> + <p> + “She acknowledged the cheque, as president. I was not giving it to her, + but to the hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see the letter.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I have destroyed it.” + </p> + <p> + He brought his hands together forcibly, and swung about and faced her. + </p> + <p> + “Damn them!” he cried, “from this day I forbid you to have anything to do + with them, do you hear. I forbid you! They're a set of confounded, + self-righteous hypocrites. Give them time! In all conscience they have had + time enough, and opportunity enough to know what our intentions are. How + long do they expect us to fawn at their feet for a word of recognition? + What have we done that we should be outlawed in this way by the very + people who may thank my family for their prosperity? Where would Israel + Simpson be to-day if my father had not set him up in business? Without + knowing anything of our lives they pretend to sit in judgment on us. Why? + Because you have been divorced, and I married you. I'll make them pay for + this!” + </p> + <p> + “No!” she begged, taking a step towards him. “You don't know what you're + saying, Hugh. I implore you not to do anything. Wait a little while! Oh, + it is worth trying!” So far the effort carried her, and no farther. + Perhaps, at sight of the relentlessness in his eyes, hope left her, and + she sank down on a chair and buried her face in her hands, her voice + broken by sobs. “It is my fault, and I am justly punished. I have no right + to you—I was wicked, I was selfish to marry you. I have ruined your + life.” + </p> + <p> + He went to her, and lifted her up, but she was like a child whom + passionate weeping has carried beyond the reach of words. He could say + nothing to console her, plead as he might, assume the blame, and swear + eternal fealty. One fearful, supreme fact possessed her, the wreck of + Chiltern breaking against the rocks, driven there by her.... + </p> + <p> + That she eventually grew calm again deserves to be set down as a tribute + to the organism of the human body. + </p> + <p> + That she was able to breathe, to move, to talk, to go through the pretence + of eating, was to her in the nature of a mild surprise. Life went on, but + it seemed to Honora in the hours following this scene that it was life + only. Of the ability to feel she was utterly bereft. Her calmness must + have been appalling: her own indifference to what might happen now,—if + she could have realized it,—even more so. And in the afternoon, + wandering about the house, she found herself in the conservatory. It had + been built on against the library, and sometimes, on stormy afternoons, + she had tea there with Hugh in the red-cushioned chairs beside the + trickling fountain, the flowers giving them an illusion of summer. + </p> + <p> + Under ordinary circumstances the sound of wheels on the gravel would have + aroused her, for Hugh scarcely ever drove. And it was not until she + glanced through the open doors into the library that she knew that a + visitor had come to Highlawns. He stood beside the rack for the magazines + and reviews, somewhat nervously fingering a heavy watch charm, his large + silk hat bottom upward on the chair behind him. It was Mr. Israel Simpson. + She could see him plainly, and she was by no means hidden from him by the + leaves, and yet she did not move. He had come to see Hugh, she understood; + and she was probably going to stay where she was and listen. It seemed of + no use repeating to herself that this conversation would be of vital + importance; for the mechanism that formerly had recorded these alarms and + spread them, refused to work. She saw Chiltern enter, and she read on his + face that he meant to destroy. It was no news to her. She had known it for + a long, long time—in fact, ever since she had came to Grenoble. Her + curiosity, strangely enough—or so it seemed afterwards—was + centred on Mr. Simpson, as though he were an actor she had been very + curious to see. + </p> + <p> + It was this man, and not her husband, whom she perceived from the first + was master of the situation. His geniality was that of the commander of an + overwhelming besieging force who could afford to be generous. She seemed + to discern the cloudy ranks of the legions behind him, and they encircled + the world. He was aware of these legions, and their presence completely + annihilated the ancient habit of subserviency with which in former years + he had been wont to enter this room and listen to the instructions of that + formidable old lion, the General: so much was plain from the orchestra. He + went forward with a cheerful, if ponderous bonhomie. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Hugh,” said he, “I got your message just in time. I was on the point + of going over to see old Murdock. Seriously ill—you know—last + time, I'm afraid,” and Mr. Simpson shook his head. He held out his hand. + Hugh did not appear to notice it. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Mr. Simpson,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Simpson sat down. Chiltern took a stand before him. + </p> + <p> + “You asked me the other day whether I would take a certain amount of the + stock and bonds of the Grenoble Light and Power Company, in which you are + interested, and which is, I believe, to supply the town with electric + light, the present source being inadequate.” + </p> + <p> + “So I did,” replied Mr. Simpson, urbanely, “and I believe the investment + to be a good one. There is no better power in this part of the country + than Psalter's Falls.” + </p> + <p> + “I wished to inform you that I do not intend to go into the Light and + Power Company,” said Chiltern. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to hear it,” Mr. Simpson declared. “In my opinion, if you + searched the state for a more profitable or safer thing, you could not + find it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt the investment is all that could be desired, Mr. Simpson. + I merely wished you to know, as soon as possible, that I did not intend to + put my money into it. There are one or two other little matters which you + have mentioned during the week. You pointed out that it would be an + advantage to Grenoble to revive the county fair, and you asked me to + subscribe five thousand dollars to the Fair Association.” + </p> + <p> + This time Mr. Simpson remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to the conclusion, to-day, not to subscribe a cent. I also + intend to notify the church treasurer that I will not any longer rent a + pew, or take any further interest in the affairs of St. John's church. My + wife was kind enough, I believe, to send five hundred dollars to the + Grenoble hospital. That will be the last subscription from any member of + my family. I will resign as a director of the Grenoble Bank to-morrow, and + my stock will be put on the market. And finally I wished to tell you that + henceforth I do not mean to aid in any way any enterprise in Grenoble.” + </p> + <p> + During this announcement, which had been made with an ominous calmness, + Mr. Simpson had gazed steadily at the brass andirons. He cleared his + throat. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Hugh,” said he, “what you have said pains me + excessively-excessively. I—ahem—fail to grasp it. As an old + friend of your family—of your father—I take the liberty of + begging you to reconsider your words.” + </p> + <p> + Chiltern's eyes blazed. + </p> + <p> + “Since you have mentioned my father, Mr. Simpson,” he exclaimed, “I may + remind you that his son might reasonably have expected at your hands a + different treatment than that you have accorded him. You have asked me to + reconsider my decision, but I notice that you have failed to inquire into + my reasons for making it. I came back here to Grenoble with every + intention of devoting the best efforts of my life in aiding to build up + the community, as my father had done. It was natural, perhaps, that I + should expect a little tolerance, a little friendliness, a little + recognition in return. My wife was prepared to help me. We did not ask + much. But you have treated us like outcasts. Neither you nor Mrs. Simpson, + from whom in all conscience I looked for consideration and friendship, + have as much as spoken to Mrs. Chiltern in church. You have made it clear + that, while you are willing to accept our contributions, you cared to have + nothing to do with us whatever. If I have overstated the case, please + correct me.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Simpson rose protestingly. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Hugh,” he said. “This is very painful. I beg that you will spare + me.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Chiltern,” answered Hugh, shortly. “Will you kindly explain, + if you can, why the town of Grenoble has ignored us?” + </p> + <p> + Israel Simpson hesitated a moment. He seemed older when he looked at + Chiltern again, and in his face commiseration and indignation were oddly + intermingled. His hand sought his watch chain. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will tell you,” he replied slowly, “although in all my life no + crueller duty has fallen on me. It is because we in Grenoble are + old-fashioned in our views of morality, and I thank God we are so. It is + because you have married a divorced woman under circumstances that have + shocked us. The Church to which I belong, and whose teachings I respect, + does not recognize such a marriage. And you have, in my opinion, committed + an offence against society. To recognize you by social intercourse would + be to condone that offence, to open the door to practices that would lead, + in a short time, to the decay of our people.” + </p> + <p> + Israel Simpson turned, and pointed a shaking forefinger at the portrait of + General Augus Chiltern. + </p> + <p> + “And I affirm here, fearlessly before you, that he, your father, would + have been the last to recognize such a marriage.” + </p> + <p> + Chiltern took a step forward, and his fingers tightened. + </p> + <p> + “You will oblige me by leaving my father's name out of this discussion,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + But Israel Simpson did not recoil. + </p> + <p> + “If we learn anything by example in this world, Mr. Chiltern,” he + continued, “and it is my notion that we do, I am indebted to your father + for more than my start in life. Through many years of intercourse with + him, and contemplation of his character, I have gained more than riches.—You + have forced me to say this thing. I am sorry if I have pained you. But I + should not be true to the principles to which he himself was consistent in + life, and which he taught by example so many others, if I ventured to hope + that social recognition in Grenoble would be accorded you, or to aid in + any way such recognition. As long as I live I will oppose it. There are, + apparently, larger places in the world and less humble people who will be + glad to receive you. I can only hope, as an old friend and well-wisher of + your family, that you may find happiness.” + </p> + <p> + Israel Simpson fumbled for his hat, picked it up, and left the room. For a + moment Chiltern stood like a man turned to stone, and then he pressed the + button on the wall behind him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Volume 8. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH A MIRROR IS HELD UP + </h2> + <p> + Spring came to Highlawns, Eden tinted with myriad tender greens. + Yellow-greens, like the beech boughs over the old wall, and gentle + blue-greens, like the turf; and the waters of the lake were blue and white + in imitation of the cloud-flecked sky. It seemed to Honora, as she sat on + the garden bench, that the yellow and crimson tulips could not open wide + enough their cups to the sun. + </p> + <p> + In these days she looked at her idol, and for the first time believed it + to be within her finite powers to measure him. She began by asking herself + if it were really she who had ruined his life, and whether he would + ultimately have redeemed himself if he had married a woman whom the world + would have recognized. Thus did the first doubt invade her heart. It was + of him she was thinking still, and always. But there was the doubt. If he + could have stood this supreme test of isolation, of the world's laughter + and scorn, although it would have made her own heavy burden of + responsibility heavier, yet could she still have rejoiced. That he should + crumble was the greatest of her punishments. + </p> + <p> + Was he crumbling? In these months she could not quite be sure, and she + tried to shut her eyes when the little pieces fell off, to remind herself + that she must make allowances for the severity of his disappointment. + Spring was here, the spring to which he had so eagerly looked forward, and + yet the listlessness with which he went about his work was apparent. + Sometimes he did not appear at breakfast, although Honora clung with + desperation to the hour they had originally fixed: sometimes Mr. Manning + waited for him until nearly ten o'clock, only to receive curt dismissal. + He went off for long rides, alone, and to the despair of the groom brought + back the horses in a lather, with drooping heads and heaving sides; one of + them he ruined. He declared there wasn't a horse in the stable fit to give + him exercise. + </p> + <p> + Often he sat for hours in his study, brooding, inaccessible. She had the + tennis-court rolled and marked, but the contests here were + pitifully-unequal; for the row of silver cups on his mantel, engraved with + many dates, bore witness to his athletic prowess. She wrote for a book on + solitaire, but after a while the sight of cards became distasteful. With a + secret diligence she read the reviews, and sent for novels and memoirs + which she scanned eagerly before they were begun with him. Once, when she + went into his study on an errand, she stood for a minute gazing painfully + at the cleared space on his desk where once had lain the papers and + letters relative to the life of General Angus Chiltern. + </p> + <p> + There were intervals in which her hope flared, in which she tasted, + fearfully and with bated breath, something that she had not thought to + know again. It was characteristic of him that his penitence was never + spoken: nor did he exhibit penitence. He seemed rather at such times + merely to become normally himself, as one who changes personality, + apparently oblivious to the moods and deeds of yesterday. And these + occasions added perplexity to her troubles. She could not reproach him—which + perhaps in any event she would have been too wise to do; but she could + not, try as she would, bring herself to the point of a discussion of their + situation. The risk, she felt, was too great; now, at least. There were + instances that made her hope that the hour might come. + </p> + <p> + One fragrant morning Honora came down to find him awaiting her, and to + perceive lying on her napkin certain distilled drops of the spring + sunshine. In language less poetic, diamonds to be worn in the ears. The + wheel of fashion, it appeared, had made a complete revolution since the + early days of his mother's marriage. She gave a little exclamation, and + her hand went to her heart. + </p> + <p> + “They are Brazilian stones,” he explained, with a boyish pleasure that + awoke memories and held her speechless. “I believe it's very difficult, if + not impossible, to buy them now. My father got them after the war and I + had them remounted.” And he pressed them against the pink lobes of her + ears. “You look like the Queen of Sheba.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” she asked tremulously. “You never saw her.” + </p> + <p> + “According to competent judges,” he replied, “she was the most beautiful + woman of her time. Go upstairs and put them on.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. An inspiration had come to her. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” she cried. And that morning, when Hugh had gone out, she sent for + Starling and startled him by commanding that the famous Lowestoft set be + used at dinner. He stared at her, and the corners of his mouth twitched, + and still he stood respectfully in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “That is all, Starling.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon, madam. How—how many will there be at the table?” + </p> + <p> + “Just Mr. Chiltern and I,” she replied. But she did not look at him. + </p> + <p> + It was superstition, undoubtedly. She was well aware that Starling had not + believed that the set would be used again. An extraordinary order, that + might well have sent him away wondering; for the Lowestoft had been + reserved for occasions. Ah, but this was to be an occasion, a festival! + The whimsical fancy grew in her mind as the day progressed, and she longed + with an unaccustomed impatience for nightfall, and anticipation had a + strange taste. Mathilde, with the sympathetic gift of her nation, shared + the excitement of her mistress in this fete. The curtains in the pink + bedroom were drawn, and on the bed, in all its splendour of lace and + roses, was spread out the dinner-gown-a chef-d'oeuvre of Madame Barriere's + as yet unworn. And no vulgar, worldly triumph was it to adorn. + </p> + <p> + Her heart was beating fast as she descended the stairway, bright spots of + colour flaming in her cheeks and the diamonds sparkling in her ears. A + prima donna might have guessed her feelings as she paused, a little + breathless on the wide landing under the windows. She heard a footstep. + Hugh came out of the library and stood motionless, looking up at her. But + even those who have felt the silence and the stir that prefaces the + clamorous applause of the thousands could not know the thrill that swept + her under his tribute. She came down the last flight of steps, slowly, and + stopped in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “You are wonderful, Honora!” he said, and his voice was not quite under + control. He took her hand, that trembled in his, and he seemed to be + seeking to express something for which he could find no words. Thus may + the King have looked upon Rosamond in her bower; upon a beauty created for + the adornment of courts which he had sequestered for his eyes alone. + </p> + <p> + Honora, as though merely by the touch of his hand in hers, divined his + thought. + </p> + <p> + “If you think me so, dear,” she whispered happily, “it's all I ask.” + </p> + <p> + And they went in to dinner as to a ceremony. It was indeed a ceremony + filled for her with some occult, sacred, meaning that she could not put + into words. A feast symbolical. Starling was sent to the wine-cellar to + bring back a cobwebbed Madeira near a century old, brought out on rare + occasions in the family. And Hugh, when his glass was filled, looked at + his wife and raised it in silence to his lips. + </p> + <p> + She never forgot the scene. The red glow of light from the shaded candles + on the table, and the corners of the dining room filled with gloom. The + old butler, like a high priest, standing behind his master's chair. The + long windows, with the curtains drawn in the deep, panelled arches; the + carved white mantelpiece; the glint of silver on' the sideboard, with its + wine-cooler underneath,—these, spoke of generations of + respectability and achievement. Would this absorbed isolation, this + marvellous wild love of theirs, be the end of it all? Honora, as one + detached, as a ghost in the corner, saw herself in the picture with + startling clearness. When she looked up, she met her husband's eyes. + Always she met them, and in them a questioning, almost startled look that + was new. “Is it the earrings?” she asked at last. “I don't know,” he + answered. “I can't tell. They seem to have changed you, but perhaps they + have brought out something in your face and eyes I have never seen + before.” + </p> + <p> + “And—you like it, Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I like it,” he replied, and added enigmatically, “but I don't + understand it.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent, and oddly satisfied, trusting to fate to send more + mysteries. + </p> + <p> + Two days had not passed when that restlessness for which she watched so + narrowly revived. He wandered aimlessly about the place, and flared up + into such a sudden violent temper at one of the helpers in the fields that + the man ran as for his life, and refused to set foot again on any of the + Chiltern farms. In the afternoon he sent for Honora to ride with him, and + scolded her for keeping him waiting. And he wore a spur, and pressed his + horse so savagely that she cried out in remonstrance, although at such + times she had grown to fear him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh, how can you be so cruel!” + </p> + <p> + “The beast has no spirit,” he said shortly. “I'll get one that has.” + </p> + <p> + Their road wound through the western side of the estate towards misty + rolling country, in the folds of which lay countless lakes, and at length + they caught sight of an unpainted farmhouse set amidst a white cloud of + apple trees in bloom. On the doorstep, whittling, sat a bearded, unkempt + farmer with a huge frame. In answer to Hugh's question he admitted that he + had a horse for sale, stuck his knife in the step, rose, and went off + towards the barn near by; and presently reappeared, leading by a halter a + magnificent black. The animal stood jerking his head, blowing and pawing + the ground while Chiltern examined him. + </p> + <p> + “He's been ridden?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The man nodded. + </p> + <p> + Chiltern sprang to the ground and began to undo his saddle girths. A + sudden fear seized Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh, you're not going to ride him!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? How else am I going to find out anything about him?” + </p> + <p> + “He looks—dangerous,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “I'm tired of horses that haven't any life in them,” he said, as he lifted + off the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we'd better get him in the barn,” said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + Honora went behind them to witness the operation, which was not devoid of + excitement. The great beast plunged savagely when they tightened the + girths, and closed his teeth obstinately against the bit; but the farmer + held firmly to his nose and shut off his wind. They led him out from the + barn floor. + </p> + <p> + “Your name Chiltern?” asked the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hugh, curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Thought so,” said the farmer, and he held the horse's head. + </p> + <p> + Honora had a feeling of faintness. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, do be careful!” she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + He paid no heed to her. His eyes, she noticed, had a certain feverish + glitter of animation, of impatience, such as men of his type must wear + when they go into battle. He seized the horse's mane, he put his foot in + the stirrup; the astonished animal gave a snort and jerked the bridle from + the farmer's hand. But Chiltern was in the saddle, with knees pressed + tight. + </p> + <p> + There ensued a struggle that Honora will never forget. And although she + never again saw that farm-house, its details and surroundings come back to + her in vivid colours when she closes her eyes. The great horse in every + conceivable pose, with veins standing out and knotty muscles twisting in + his legs and neck and thighs. Once, when he dashed into the apple trees, + she gave a cry; a branch snapped, and Chiltern emerged, still seated, with + his hat gone and the blood trickling from a scratch on his forehead. She + saw him strike with his spurs, and in a twinkling horse and rider had + passed over the dilapidated remains of a fence and were flying down the + hard clay road, disappearing into a dip. A reverberating sound, like a + single stroke, told them that the bridge at the bottom had been crossed. + </p> + <p> + In an agony of terror, Honora followed, her head on fire, her heart + pounding faster than the hoof beats. But the animal she rode, though a + good one, was no match for the great infuriated beast which she pursued. + Presently she came to a wooded corner where the road forked thrice, and + beyond, not without difficulty,—brought her sweating mare to a + stand. The quality of her fear changed from wild terror to cold dread. A + hermit thrush, in the wood near by, broke the silence with a song + inconceivably sweet. At last she went back to the farm-house, hoping + against hope that Hugh might have returned by another road. But he was not + there. The farmer was still nonchalantly whittling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how could you let any one get on a horse like that?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “You're his wife, ain't you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Something in the man's manner seemed to compel her to answer, in spite of + the form of the question. + </p> + <p> + “I am Mrs. Chiltern,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her with an expression that she found incomprehensible. + His glance was penetrating, yet here again she seemed to read compassion. + He continued to gaze at her, and presently, when he spoke, it was as + though he were not addressing her at all. + </p> + <p> + “You put me in mind of a young girl I used to know,” he said; “seems like + a long time ago. You're pretty, and you're young, and ye didn't know what + you were doin,' I'll warrant. Lost your head. He has a way of gittin' 'em—always + had.” + </p> + <p> + Honora did not answer. She would have liked to have gone away, but that + which was stronger than her held her. + </p> + <p> + “She didn't live here,” he explained, waving his hand deprecatingly + towards the weather-beaten house. “We lived over near Morrisville in them + days. And he don't remember me, your husband don't. I ain't surprised. + I've got considerable older.” + </p> + <p> + Honora was trembling from head to foot, and her hands were cold. + </p> + <p> + “I've got her picture in there, if ye'd like to look at it,” he said, + after a while. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she cried. “Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know as I blame you.” He sat down again and began to + whittle. “Funny thing, chance,” he remarked; “who'd a thought I should + have owned that there hoss, and he should have come around here to ride + it?” + </p> + <p> + She tried to speak, but she could not. The hideous imperturbability of the + man's hatred sickened her. And her husband! The chips fell in silence + until a noise on the road caused them to look up. Chiltern was coming + back. She glanced again at the farmer, but his face was equally incapable, + or equally unwilling, to express regret. Chiltern rode into the dooryard. + The blood from the scratch on his forehead had crossed his temple and run + in a jagged line down his cheek, his very hair (as she had sometimes seen + it) was damp with perspiration, blacker, kinkier; his eyes hard, reckless, + bloodshot. So, in the past, must he have emerged from dozens of such + wilful, brutal contests with man and beast. He had beaten the + sweat-stained horse (temporarily—such was the impression Honora + received), but she knew that he would like to have killed it for its + opposition. + </p> + <p> + “Give me my hat, will you?” he cried to the farmer. + </p> + <p> + To her surprise the man obeyed. Chiltern leaped to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want for him?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take five hundred dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring him over in the morning,” said Chiltern, curtly. + </p> + <p> + They rode homeward in silence. Honora had not been able to raise her voice + against the purchase, and she seemed powerless now to warn her husband of + the man's enmity. She was thinking, rather, of the horror of the tragedy + written on the farmer's face, to which he had given her the key: Hugh + Chiltern, to whom she had intrusted her life and granted her all, had done + this thing, ruthlessly, even as he had satisfied to-day his unbridled + cravings in maltreating a horse! And she thought of that other woman, on + whose picture she had refused to look. What was the essential difference + between that woman and herself? He had wanted them both, he had taken them + both for his pleasure, heedless of the pain he might cause to others and + to them. For her, perhaps, the higher organism, had been reserved the + higher torture. She did not know. The vision of the girl in the outer + darkness reserved for castaways was terrible. + </p> + <p> + Up to this point she had, as it were, been looking into one mirror. Now + another was suddenly raised behind her, and by its aid she beheld not a + single, but countless, images of herself endlessly repeated. How many + others besides this girl had there been? The question gave her the shudder + of the contemplation of eternity. It was not the first time Honora had + thought of his past, but until today it had lacked reality; until to-day + she had clung to the belief that he had been misunderstood; until to-day + she had considered those acts of his of the existence of which she was + collectively aware under the generic term of wild oats. He had had too + much money, and none had known how to control him. Now, through this + concrete example of another's experience, she was given to understand that + which she had strangely been unable to learn from her own. And she had + fancied, in her folly, that she could control him! Unable as yet to grasp + the full extent of her calamity, she rode on by his side, until she was + aware at last that they had reached the door of the house at Highlawns. + </p> + <p> + “You look pale,” he said as he lifted her off her horse. The demon in him, + she perceived, was tired. + </p> + <p> + “Do I?” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “It's confoundedly silly to get frightened that way,” he declared. “The + beast only wants riding.” + </p> + <p> + Three mornings later she was seated in the garden with a frame of fancy + work. Sometimes she put it down. The weather was overcast, langourous, and + there was a feeling of rain in the air. Chiltern came in through the + gaffe, and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to New York on the noon train,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “To New York?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “There's no reason why you shouldn't if you wish to,” she replied, picking + up her frame. + </p> + <p> + “Anything I can get you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “You've been in such a deuced queer mood the last few days I can't make + you out, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have learned something about women by this time,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” he announced, “that we need a little livening up.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. THE RENEWAL OF AN ANCIENT HOSPITALITY + </h2> + <p> + There were six letters from him, written from a club, representing the + seven days of his absence. He made no secret of the fact that his visit to + the metropolis was in the nature of a relaxation and a change of scene, + but the letters themselves contained surprisingly little information as to + how he was employing his holiday. He had encountered many old friends, + supposedly all of the male sex: among them—most welcome of surprises + to him!—Mr. George Pembroke, a boon companion at Harvard. And this + mention of boon companionship brought up to Honora a sufficiently vivid + idea of Mr. Pembroke's characteristics. The extent of her knowledge of + this gentleman consisted in the facts that he was a bachelor, a member of + a prominent Philadelphia family, and that time hung heavy on his hands. + </p> + <p> + One morning she received a telegram to the effect that her husband would + be home that night, bringing three people with him. He sent his love, but + neglected to state the names and sexes of the prospective guests. And she + was still in a quandary as to what arrangements to make when Starling + appeared in answer to her ring. + </p> + <p> + “You will send the omnibus to the five o'clock train,” she said. “There + will be three extra places at dinner, and tea when Mr. Chiltern arrives.” + </p> + <p> + Although she strove to speak indifferently, she was sure from the way the + old man looked at her that her voice had not been quite steady. Of late + her curious feeling about him had increased in intensity; and many times, + during this week she had spent alone, she had thought that his eyes had + followed her with sympathy. She did not resent this. Her world having now + contracted to that wide house, there was a comfort in knowing that there + was one in it to whom she could turn in need. For she felt that she could + turn to Starling; he alone, apparently, had measured the full depth of her + trouble; nay, had silently predicted it from the beginning. And to-day, as + he stood before her, she had an almost irresistible impulse to speak. Just + a word-a human word would have been such a help to her! And how ridiculous + the social law that kept the old man standing there, impassive, + respectful, when this existed between them! Her tragedy was his tragedy; + not in the same proportion, perhaps; nevertheless, he had the air of one + who would die of it. + </p> + <p> + And she? Would she die? What would become of her? When she thought of the + long days and months and years that stretched ahead of her, she felt that + her soul would not be able to survive the process of steady degradation to + which it was sure to be subjected. For she was a prisoner: the uttermost + parts of the earth offered no refuge. To-day, she knew, was to see the + formal inauguration of that process. She had known torture, but it had + been swift, obliterating, excruciating. And hereafter it was to be slow, + one turn at a time of the screws, squeezing by infinitesimal degrees the + life out of her soul. And in the end—most fearful thought of all—in + the end, painless. Painless! She buried her head in her arms on the little + desk, shaken by sobs. + </p> + <p> + How she fought that day to compose herself, fought and prayed! Prayed + wildly to a God whose help, nevertheless, she felt she had forfeited, who + was visiting her with just anger. At half-past four she heard the carriage + on the far driveway, going to the station, and she went down and walked + across the lawn to the pond, and around it; anything to keep moving. She + hurried back to the house just in time to reach the hall as the omnibus + backed up. And the first person she saw descend, after Hugh, was Mrs. + Kame. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are, Honora,” she cried. “I hope you're glad to see us, and that + you'll forgive our coming so informally. You must blame Hugh. We've + brought Adele.” + </p> + <p> + The second lady was, indeed, none other than Mrs. Eustace Rindge, formerly + Mrs. Dicky Farnham. And she is worth—even at this belated stage in + our chronicle an attempted sketch, or at least an attempted impression. + She was fair, and slim as a schoolgirl; not very tall, not exactly petite; + at first sight she might have been taken for a particularly immature + debutante, and her dress was youthful and rather mannish. Her years, at + this period of her career, were in truth but two and twenty, yet she had + contrived, in the comparatively brief time since she had reached the + supposed age of discretion, to marry two men and build two houses, and + incidentally to see a considerable portion of what is known as the world. + The suspicion that she was not as innocent as a dove came to one, on + closer inspection, as a shock: her eyes were tired, though not from loss + of sleep; and her manner—how shall it be described to those whose + happy lot in life has never been to have made the acquaintance of Mrs. + Rindge's humbler sisters who have acquired—more coarsely, it is true—the + same camaraderie? She was one of those for whom, seemingly, sex does not + exist. Her air of good-fellowship with men was eloquent of a precise + knowledge of what she might expect from them, and she was prepared to do + her own policing,—not from any deep moral convictions. She belonged, + logically, to that world which is disposed to take the law into its own + hands, and she was the possessor of five millions of dollars. + </p> + <p> + “I came along,” she said to Honora, as she gave her hand-bag to a footman. + “I hope you don't mind. Abby and I were shopping and we ran into Hugh and + Georgie yesterday at Sherry's, and we've been together ever since. Not + quite that—but almost. Hugh begged us to come up, and there didn't + seem to be any reason why we shouldn't, so we telephoned down to Banbury + for our trunks and maids, and we've played bridge all the way. By the way, + Georgie, where's my pocket-book?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Pembroke handed it over, and was introduced by Hugh. He looked at + Honora, and his glance somehow betokened that he was in the habit of + looking only once. He had apparently made up his mind about her before he + saw her. But he looked again, evidently finding her at variance with a + preconceived idea, and this time she flushed a little under his stare, and + she got the impression that Mr. Pembroke was a man from whom few secrets + of a certain kind were hid. She felt that he had seized, at a second + glance, a situation that she had succeeded in hiding from the women. He + was surprised, but cynically so. He was the sort of person who had + probably possessed at Harvard the knowledge of the world of a Tammany + politician; he had long ago written his book—such as it was—and + closed it: or, rather, he had worked out his system at a precocious age, + and it had lasted him ever since. He had decided that undergraduate life, + freed from undergraduate restrictions, was a good thing. And he did not, + even in these days, object to breaking something valuable occasionally. + </p> + <p> + His physical attributes are more difficult to describe, so closely were + they allied to those which, for want of a better word, must be called + mental. He was neither tall nor short, he was well fed, but hard, his + shoulders too broad, his head a little large. If he should have happened + to bump against one, the result would have been a bruise—not for + him. His eyes were blue, his light hair short, and there was a slight + baldness beginning; his face was red-tanned. There was not the slightest + doubt that he could be effectively rude, and often was; but it was + evident, for some reason, that he meant to be gracious (for Mr. Pembroke) + to Honora. Perhaps this was the result of the second glance. One of his + name had not lacked, indeed, for instructions in gentility. It must not be + thought that she was in a condition to care much about what Mr. Pembroke + thought or did, and yet she felt instinctively that he had changed his + greeting between that first and second glance. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you'll forgive my coming in this way,” he said. “I'm an old friend + of Hugh's.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm very glad to have Hugh's friends,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her again. + </p> + <p> + “Is tea ready?” inquired Mrs. Kame. “I'm famished.” And, as they walked + through the house to the garden, where the table was set beside the stone + seat: “I don't see how you ever can leave this place, Honora. I've always + wanted to come here, but it's even more beautiful than I thought.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very beautiful,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have a whiskey and soda, if I may,” announced Mrs. Rindge. “Open + one, Georgie.” + </p> + <p> + “The third to-day,” said Mr. Pembroke, sententiously, as he obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care. I don't see what business it is of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Except to open them,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “You'd have made a fortune as a barkeeper,” she observed, dispassionately, + as she watched the process. + </p> + <p> + “He's made fortunes for a good many,” said Chiltern. + </p> + <p> + “Not without some expert assistance I could mention,” Mr. Pembroke + retorted. + </p> + <p> + At this somewhat pointed reference to his ancient habits, Chiltern + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You've each had three to-day yourselves,” said Mrs. Rindge, in whose + bosom Mr. Pembroke's remark evidently rankled, “without counting those you + had before you left the club.” + </p> + <p> + Afterwards Mrs. Kame expressed a desire to walk about a little, a proposal + received with disfavour by all but Honora, who as hostess responded. + </p> + <p> + “I feel perfectly delightful,” declared Mrs. Rindge. “What's the use of + moving about?” And she sank back in the cushions of her chair. + </p> + <p> + This observation was greeted with unrestrained merriment by Mr. Pembroke + and Hugh. Honora, sick at heart, led Mrs. Kame across the garden and + through the gate in the wall. It was a perfect evening of early June, the + great lawn a vivid green in the slanting light. All day the cheerful music + of the horse-mowers had been heard, and the air was fragrant with the + odour of grass freshly cut. The long shadows of the maples and beeches + stretched towards the placid surface of the lake, dimpled here and there + by a fish's swirl: the spiraeas were laden as with freshly fallen snow, a + lone Judas-tree was decked in pink. The steep pastures beyond the water + were touched with gold, while to the northward, on the distant hills, + tender blue lights gathered lovingly around the copses. Mrs. Kame sighed. + </p> + <p> + “What a terrible thing it is,” she said, “that we are never satisfied! + It's the men who ruin all this for us, I believe, and prevent our enjoying + it. Look at Adele.” + </p> + <p> + Honora had indeed looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “I found out the other day what is the matter with her. She's madly in + love with Dicky.” + </p> + <p> + “With—with her former husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, with poor little innocent Dicky Farnham, who's probably still + congratulating himself, like a canary bird that's got out of a cage. + Somehow Dicky's always reminded me of a canary; perhaps it's his name. + Isn't it odd that she should be in love with him?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” replied Honora, slowly, “that it's a tragedy.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a tragedy,” Mrs. Kame hastily agreed. “To me, this case is one of + the most incomprehensible aspects of the tender passion. Adele's idea of + existence is a steeplechase with nothing but water-jumps, Dicky's to + loiter around in a gypsy van, and sit in the sun. During his brief + matrimonial experience with her, he nearly died for want of breath—or + rather the life was nearly shaken out of him. And yet she wants Dicky + again. She'd run away with him to-morrow if he should come within hailing + distance of her.” + </p> + <p> + “And her husband?” asked Honora. + </p> + <p> + “Eustace? Did you ever see him? That accounts for your question. He only + left France long enough to come over here and make love to her, and he + swears he'll never leave it again. If she divorces him, he'll have to have + alimony.” + </p> + <p> + At last Honora was able to gain her own room, but even seclusion, though + preferable to the companionship of her guests, was almost intolerable. The + tragedy of Mrs. Rindge had served—if such a thing could be—to + enhance her own; a sudden spectacle of a woman in a more advanced stage of + desperation. Would she, Honora, ever become like that? Up to the present + she felt that suffering had refined her, and a great love had burned away + all that was false. But now—now that her god had turned to clay, + what would happen? Desperation seemed possible, notwithstanding the + awfulness of the example. No, she would never come to that! And she + repeated it over and over to herself as she dressed, as though to + strengthen her will. + </p> + <p> + During her conversation with Mrs. Kame she had more than once suspected, + in spite of her efforts, that the lady had read her state of mind. For + Mrs. Kame's omissions were eloquent to the discerning: Chiltern's + relatives had been mentioned with a casualness intended to imply that no + breach existed, and the fiction that Honora could at any moment take up + her former life delicately sustained. Mrs. Kame had adaptably chosen the + attitude, after a glance around her, that Honora preferred Highlawns to + the world: a choice of which she let it be known that she approved, while + deploring that a frivolous character put such a life out of the question + for herself. She made her point without over-emphasis. On the other hand, + Honora had read Mrs. Kame. No very careful perusal was needed to convince + her that the lady was unmoral, and that in characteristics she resembled + the chameleon. But she read deeper. She perceived that Mrs. Kame was + convinced that she, Honora, would adjust herself to the new conditions + after a struggle; and that while she had a certain sympathy in the + struggle, Mrs. Kame was of opinion that the sooner it was over with the + better. All women were born to be disillusionized. Such was the key, at + any rate, to the lady's conduct that evening at dinner, when she capped + the anecdotes of Mr. Pembroke and Mrs. Rindge and even of Chiltern with + others not less risque but more fastidiously and ingeniously suggestive. + The reader may be spared their recital. + </p> + <p> + Since the meeting in the restaurant the day before, which had resulted in + Hugh's happy inspiration that the festival begun should be continued + indefinitely at Highlawns, a kind of freemasonry had sprung up between the + four. Honora found herself, mercifully, outside the circle: for such was + the lively character of the banter that a considerable adroitness was + necessary to obtain, between the talk and—laughter, the ear of the + company. And so full were they of the reminiscences which had been crowded + into the thirty hours or so they had spent together, that her comparative + silence remained unnoticed. To cite an example, Mr. Pembroke was + continually being addressed as the Third Vice-president, an allusion that + Mrs. Rindge eventually explained. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have been with us coming up on the train,” she cried to + Honora; “I thought surely we'd be put off. We were playing bridge in the + little room at the end of the car when the conductor came for our tickets. + Georgie had 'em in his pocket, but he told the man to go away, that he was + the third vice-president of the road, and we were his friends. The + conductor asked him if he were Mr. Wheeler, or some such name, and Georgie + said he was surprised he didn't know him. Well, the man stood there in the + door, and Georgie picked up his hand and made it hearts—or was it + diamonds, Georgie?” + </p> + <p> + “Spades,” said that gentleman, promptly. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate,” Mrs. Rindge continued, “we all began to play, although we + were ready to blow up with laughter, and after a while Georgie looked + around and said, 'What, are you there yet?' My dear, you ought to have + seen the conductor's face! He said it was his duty to establish Georgie's + identity, or something like that, and Georgie told him to get off at the + next station and buy Waring's Magazine—was that it, Georgie?” + </p> + <p> + “How the deuce should I know?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, some such magazine. Georgie said he'd find an article in it on the + Railroad Kings and Princes of America, and that his picture, Georgie's, + was among the very first!” At this juncture in her narrative Mrs. Rindge + shrieked with laughter, in which she was joined by Mrs. Kame and Hugh; and + she pointed a forefinger across the table at Mr. Pembroke, who went on + solemnly eating his dinner. “Georgie gave him ten cents with which to buy + the magazine,” she added a little hysterically. “Well, there was a + frightful row, and a lot of men came down to that end of the car, and we + had to shut the door. The conductor said the most outrageous things, and + Georgie pretended to be very indignant, too, and gave him the tickets + under protest. He told Georgie he ought to be in an asylum for the + criminally insane, and Georgie advised him to get a photograph album of + the high officials of the railroad. The conductor said Georgie's picture + was probably in the rogue's gallery. And we lost two packs of cards out of + the window.” + </p> + <p> + Such had been the more innocent if eccentric diversions with which they + had whiled away the time. When dinner was ended, a renewal of the bridge + game was proposed, for it had transpired at the dinner-table that Mrs. + Rindge and Hugh had been partners all day, as a result of which there was + a considerable balance in their favour. This balance Mr. Pembroke was + palpably anxious to wipe out, or at least to reduce. But Mrs. Kame + insisted that Honora should cut in, and the others supported her. + </p> + <p> + “We tried our best to get a man for you,” said Mrs. Rindge to Honora. + “Didn't we, Abby? But in the little time we had, it was impossible. The + only man we saw was Ned Carrington, and Hugh said he didn't think you'd + want him.” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh showed a rare perception,” said Honora. + </p> + <p> + Be it recorded that she smiled. One course had been clear to her from the + first, although she found it infinitely difficult to follow; she was + determined, cost what it might, to carry through her part of the affair + with dignity, but without stiffness. This is not the place to dwell upon + the tax to her strength. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Honora,” said Hugh, “cut in.” His tone was of what may be termed + a rough good nature. She had not seen him alone since his return, but he + had seemed distinctly desirous that she should enjoy the festivities he + had provided. And not to yield would have been to betray herself. + </p> + <p> + The game, with its intervals of hilarity, was inaugurated in the library, + and by midnight it showed no signs of abating. At this hour the original + four occupied the table for the second time, and endurance has its limits. + The atmosphere of Liberty Hall that prevailed made Honora's retirement + easier. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you won't mind if I go to bed,” she said. “I've been so used to + the routine of—of the chickens.” She smiled. “And I've spent the day + in the open air.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, my dear,” said Mrs. Kame; “I know exactly how one feels in the + country. I'm sure it's dreadfully late. We'll have one more rubber, and + then stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't stop,” replied Honora; “please play as long as you like.” + </p> + <p> + They didn't stop—at least after one more rubber. Honora, as she lay + in the darkness, looking through the open square of her window at the + silver stars, heard their voiced and their laughter floating up at + intervals from below, and the little clock on her mantel had struck the + hour of three when the scraping of chairs announced the breaking up of the + party. And even after that an unconscionable period elapsed, beguiled, + undoubtedly, by anecdotes; spells of silence—when she thought they + had gone—ending in more laughter. Finally there was a crash of + breaking glass, a climax of uproarious mirth, and all was still... + </p> + <p> + She could not have slept much, but the birds were singing when she finally + awoke, the sunlight pouring into her window: And the hands of her clock + pointed to half-past seven when she rang her bell. It was a relief to + breakfast alone, or at least to sip her coffee in solitude. And the dew + was still on the grass as she crossed the wide lawn and made her way + around the lake to the path that entered the woods at its farther end. She + was not tired, yet she would have liked to have lain down under the green + panoply of the forest, where the wild flowers shyly raised sweet faces to + be kissed, and lose herself in the forgetfulness of an eternal sleep; + never to go back again to an Eden contaminated. But when she lingered the + melody of a thrush pierced her through and through. At last she turned and + reluctantly retraced her steps, as one whose hour of reprieve has expired. + </p> + <p> + If Mrs. Rindge had a girlish air when fully arrayed for the day, she + looked younger and more angular still in that article of attire known as a + dressing gown. And her eyes, Honora remarked, were peculiarly bright: + glittering, perhaps, would better express the impression they gave; as + though one got a glimpse through them of an inward consuming fire. Her + laughter rang shrill and clear as Honora entered the hall by the rear + door, and the big clock proclaimed that the hour was half-past eleven. + Hugh and Mr. Pembroke were standing at the foot of the stairs, gazing + upward. And Honora, following their glances, beheld the two ladies, in the + negligee referred to above, with their elbows on the railing of the upper + hall and their faces between their hands, engaged in a lively exchange of + compliments with the gentlemen. Mrs. Kame looked sleepy. + </p> + <p> + “Such a night!” she said, suppressing a yawn. “My dear, you did well to go + to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “And to cap it all,” cried Mrs. Rindge, “Georgie fell over backwards in + one of those beautiful Adam chairs, and there's literally nothing left of + it. If an ocean steamer had hit it, or a freight train, it couldn't have + been more thoroughly demolished.” + </p> + <p> + “You pushed me,” declared Mr. Pembroke. + </p> + <p> + “Did I, Hugh? I barely touched him.” + </p> + <p> + “You knocked him into a cocked hat,” said Hugh. “And if you'd been in that + kimono, you could have done it even easier.” + </p> + <p> + “Georgie broke the whole whiskey service,—or whatever it is,” Mrs. + Rindge went on, addressing Honora again. “He fell into it.” + </p> + <p> + “He's all right this morning,” observed Mrs. Kame, critically. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll take to swallowing swords and glass and things in public. I + can do it so well,” said Mr. Pembroke. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you got what you like for breakfast,” said Honora to the ladies. + </p> + <p> + “Hurry up and come down, Adele,” said Hugh, “if you want to look over the + horses before lunch.” + </p> + <p> + “It's Georgie's fault,” replied Mrs. Rindge; “he's been standing in the + door of my sitting-room for a whole half-hour talking nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + A little later they all set out for the stables. These buildings at + Highlawns, framed by great trees, were old-fashioned and picturesque, + surrounding three sides of a court, with a yellow brick wall on the + fourth. The roof of the main building was capped by a lantern, the home of + countless pigeons. Mrs. Rindge was in a habit, and one by one the saddle + horses were led out, chiefly for her inspection; and she seemed to Honora + to become another woman as she looked them over with a critical eye and + discussed them with Hugh and O'Grady, the stud-groom, and talked about + pedigrees and strains. For she was renowned in this department of sport on + many fields, both for recklessness and skill. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get that brute, Hugh?” she asked presently. + </p> + <p> + Honora, who had been talking to Pembroke, looked around with a start. And + at the sight of the great black horse, bought on that unforgettable day, + she turned suddenly faint. + </p> + <p> + “Over here in the country about ten miles,” Chiltern was saying. “I heard + of him, but I didn't expect anything until I went to look at him last + week.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you call him?” asked Mrs. Rindge. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't named him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you a name.” + </p> + <p> + Chiltern looked at her. “What is it?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oblivion,” she replied: + </p> + <p> + “By George, Adele,” he exclaimed, “you have a way of hitting it off!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me ride him this afternoon?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a—a candidate for oblivion.” She laughed a little and her eyes + shone feverishly. + </p> + <p> + “No you don't,” he said. “I'm giving you the grey. He's got enough in him + for any woman—even for you: And besides, I don't think the black + ever felt a side saddle, or any other kind, until last week.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got another habit,” she said eagerly. “I'd rather ride him astride. + I'll match you to see who has him.” + </p> + <p> + Chiltern laughed. + </p> + <p> + “No you don't,” he repeated. “I'll ride him to-day, and consider it + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I think I'll go back to the house,” said Honora to Pembroke. + “It's rather hot here in the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not very keen about sunshine, either,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + At lunch she was unable to talk; to sustain, at least, a conversation. + That word oblivion, which Mrs. Rindge had so aptly applied to the horse, + was constantly on her lips, and it would not have surprised her if she had + spoken it. She felt as though a heavy weight lay on her breast, and to + relieve its intolerable pressure drew in her breath deeply. She was wild + with fear. The details of the great room fixed themselves indelibly in her + brain; the subdued light, the polished table laden with silver and glass, + the roses, and the purple hot-house grapes. All this seemed in some way to + be an ironic prelude to disaster. Hugh, pausing in his badinage with Mrs. + Rindge, looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up, Honora,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid this first house-party is too much for her,” said Mrs. Kame. + </p> + <p> + Honora made some protest that seemed to satisfy them, tried to rally + herself, and succeeded sufficiently to pass muster. After lunch they + repaired again to the bridge table, and at four Hugh went upstairs to + change into his riding clothes. Five minutes longer she controlled + herself, and then made some paltry excuse, indifferent now as to what they + said or thought, and followed him. She knocked at his dressing-room door + and entered. He was drawing on his boots. “Hello, Honora,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Honora turned to his man, and dismissed him. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to speak to Mr. Chiltern alone.” + </p> + <p> + Chiltern paused in his tugging at the straps, and looked up at her. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with you to-day, Honora?” he asked. “You looked like + the chief mourner at a funeral all through lunch.” + </p> + <p> + He was a little on edge, that she knew. He gave another tug at the boot, + and while she was still hesitating, he began again. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to apologize, I know, for bringing these people up without + notice, but I didn't suppose you'd object when you understood how + naturally it all came about. I thought a little livening up, as I said, + wouldn't, hurt us. We've had a quiet winter, to put it mildly.” He laughed + a little. “I didn't have a chance to see you until this morning, and when + I went to your room they told me you'd gone out.” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh,” she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. “It isn't the guests. + If you want people, and they amuse you, I'm—I'm glad to have them. + And if I've seemed to be—cold to them, I'm sorry. I tried my best—I + mean I did not intend to be cold. I'll sit up all night with them, if you + like. And I didn't come to reproach you, Hugh. I'll never do that—I've + got no right to.” + </p> + <p> + She passed her hand over her eyes. If she had any wrongs, if she had + suffered any pain, the fear that obsessed her obliterated all. In spite of + her disillusionment, in spite of her newly acquired ability to see him as + he was, enough love remained to scatter, when summoned, her pride to the + winds. + </p> + <p> + Having got on both boots, he stood up. + </p> + <p> + “What's the trouble, then?” he asked. And he took an instant's hold of her + chin—a habit he had—and smiled at her. + </p> + <p> + He little knew how sublime, in its unconscious effrontery, his question + was! She tried to compose herself, that she might be able to present + comprehensively to his finite masculine mind the ache of today. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, it's that black horse.” She could not bring herself to pronounce + the name Mrs. Rindge had christened him. + </p> + <p> + “What about him?” he said, putting on his waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + “Don't ride him!” she pleaded. “I—I'm afraid of him—I've been + afraid of him ever since that day. + </p> + <p> + “It may be a foolish feeling, I know. Sometimes the feelings that hurt + women most are foolish. If I tell you that if you ride him you will + torture me, I'm sure you'll grant what I ask. It's such a little thing and + it means so much—so much agony to me. I'd do anything for you—give + up anything in the world at your slightest wish. Don't ride him!” + </p> + <p> + “This is a ridiculous fancy of yours, Honora. The horse is all right. I've + ridden dozens of worse ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm sure he isn't,” she cried; “call it fancy, call it instinct, call + it anything you like—but I feel it, Hugh. That woman—Mrs. + Rindge—knows something about horses, and she said he was a brute.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he interrupted, with a short laugh, “and she wants to ride him.” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, she's reckless. I—I've been watching her since she came here, + and I'm sure she's reckless with—with a purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “You're morbid,” he said. “She's one of the best sportswomen in the + country—that's the reason she wanted to ride the horse. Look here, + Honora, I'd accede to any reasonable request. But what do you expect me to + do?” he demanded; “go down and say I'm afraid to ride him? or that my wife + doesn't want me to? I'd never hear the end of it. And the first thing + Adele would do would be to jump on him herself—a little wisp of a + woman that looks as if she couldn't hold a Shetland pony! Can't you see + that what you ask is impossible?” + </p> + <p> + He started for the door to terminate a conversation which had already + begun to irritate him. For his anger, in these days, was very near the + surface. She made one more desperate appeal. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh—the man who sold him—he knew the horse was dangerous. + I'm sure he did, from something he said to me while you were gone.” + </p> + <p> + “These country people are all idiots and cowards,” declared Chiltern. + “I've known 'em a good while, and they haven't got the spirit of mongrel + dogs. I was a fool to think that I could do anything for them. They're + kind and neighbourly, aren't they?” he exclaimed. “If that old rascal + flattered himself he deceived me, he was mistaken. He'd have been mightily + pleased if the beast had broken my neck.” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, Honora. That's all there is to it, I can't. Now don't cut up + about nothing. I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Adele's waiting.” + </p> + <p> + He came back, kissed her hurriedly, turned and opened the door. She + followed him into the hallway, knowing that she had failed, knowing that + she never could have succeeded. There she halted and watched him go down + the stairs, and stand with her hands tightly pressed together: voices + reached her, a hurrah from George Pembroke, and the pounding of hoofs on + the driveway. It had seemed such a little thing to ask! + </p> + <p> + But she did not dwell upon this, now, when fear was gnawing her: how she + had humbled her pride for days and weeks and months for him, and how he + had refused her paltry request lest he should be laughed at. Her + reflections then were not on his waning love. She was filled with the + terror of losing him—of losing all that remained to her in the + world. Presently she began to walk slowly towards the stairs, descended + them, and looked around her. The hall, at least, had not changed. She + listened, and a bee hummed in through the open doorway. A sudden longing + for companionship possessed her-no matter whose; and she walked hurriedly, + as though she were followed, through the empty rooms until she came upon + George Pembroke stretched at full length on the leather-covered lounge in + the library. He opened his eyes, and got up with alacrity. + </p> + <p> + “Please don't move,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her. Although his was not what may be called a sympathetic + temperament, he was not without a certain knowledge of women; superficial, + perhaps. But most men of his type have seen them in despair; and since he + was not related to this particular despair, what finer feelings he had + were the more easily aroused. It must have been clear to her then that she + had lost the power to dissemble, all the clearer because of Mr. Pembroke's + cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't going to sleep,” he assured her. “Circumstantial evidence is + against me, I know. Where's Abby? reading French literature?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't seen her,” replied Honora. + </p> + <p> + “She usually goes to bed with a play at this hour. It's a horrid habit—going + to bed, I mean. Don't you think? Would you mind showing me about a + little?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really wish to?” asked Honora, incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been here since my senior year,” said Mr. Pembroke. “If the old + General were alive, he could probably tell you something of that visit—he + wrote to my father about it. I always liked the place, although the + General was something of a drawback. Fine old man, with no memory.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought him to have had a good memory,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I have always been led to believe that he was once sent away from college + in his youth,—for his health,” he explained significantly. “No man + has a good memory who can't remember that. Perhaps the battle of + Gettysburg wiped it out.” + </p> + <p> + Thus, in his own easy-going fashion, Mr. Pembroke sought to distract her. + She put on a hat, and they walked about, the various scenes recalling + incidents of holidays he had spent at Highlawns. And after a while Honora + was thankful that chance had sent her in this hour to him rather than to + Mrs. Kame. For the sight, that morning of this lady in her dressing-gown + over the stairway, had seemingly set the seal on a growing distaste. Her + feeling had not been the same about Mrs. Rindge: Mrs. Kame's actions + savoured of deliberate choice, of an inherent and calculating wickedness. + </p> + <p> + Had the distraction of others besides himself been the chief business of + Mr. Pembroke's life, he could not have succeeded better that afternoon. He + must be given this credit: his motives remain problematical; at length he + even drew laughter from her. The afternoon wore on, they returned to the + garden for tea, and a peaceful stillness continued to reign about them, + the very sky smiling placidly at her fears. Not by assuring her that Hugh + was unusual horseman, that he had passed through many dangers beside which + this was a bagatelle, could the student of the feminine by her side have + done half so well. And it may have been that his success encouraged him as + he saw emerging, as the result of his handiwork, an unexpectedly + attractive—if still somewhat serious-woman from the gloom that had + enveloped her. That she should still have her distrait moments was but + natural. + </p> + <p> + He talked to her largely about Hugh, of whom he appeared sincerely fond. + The qualities which attracted Mr. Pembroke in his own sex were somewhat + peculiar, and seemingly consisted largely in a readiness to drop the + business at hand, whatever it might be, at the suggestion of a friend to + do something else; the “something else,” of course, to be the conception + of an ingenious mind. And it was while he was in the midst of an anecdote + proving the existence of this quality in his friend that he felt a sudden + clutch on his arm. + </p> + <p> + They listened. Faintly, very faintly, could be heard the sound of hoof + beats; rapid, though distant. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear?” she whispered, and still held his arm. + </p> + <p> + “It's just like them to race back,” said Pembroke, with admirable + nonchalance. + </p> + <p> + “But they wouldn't come back at this time—it's too early. Hugh + always takes long rides. They started for Hubbard's—it's twelve + miles.” + </p> + <p> + “Adele changes her mind every minute of the day,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” she cried, and her clutch tightened. The hoof beats grew louder. + “It's only one—it's only one horse!” + </p> + <p> + Before he could answer, she was already halfway up the garden path towards + the house. He followed her as she ran panting through the breakfast room, + the dining room, and drawing-room, and when they reached the hall, + Starling, the butler, and two footmen were going out at the door. A voice—Mrs. + Kame's—cried out, “What is it?” over the stairs, but they paid no + heed. As they reached the steps they beheld the slight figure of Mrs. + Rindge on a flying horse coming towards them up the driveway. Her black + straw hat had slipped to the back of her neck, her hair was awry, her + childish face white as paper. Honora put her hand to her heart. There was + no need to tell her the news—she had known these many hours. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Rindge's horse came over the round grass-plot of the circle and + planted his fore feet in the turf as she pulled him up. She lurched + forward. It was Starling who lifted her off—George Pembroke stood by + Honora. + </p> + <p> + “My God, Adele,” he exclaimed, “why don't you speak?” + </p> + <p> + She was staring at Honora. + </p> + <p> + “I can't!” she cried. “I can't tell you—it's too terrible! The horse—” + she seemed to choke. + </p> + <p> + It was Honora who went up to her with a calmness that awed them. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she said, “is he dead?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Rindge nodded, and broke into hysterical sobbing. + </p> + <p> + “And I wanted to ride him myself,” she sobbed, as they led her up the + steps. + </p> + <p> + In less than an hour they brought him home and laid him in the room in + which he had slept from boyhood, and shut the door. Honora looked into his + face. It was calm at last, and his body strangely at rest. The passions + which had tortured it and driven it hither and thither through a wayward + life had fled: the power gone that would brook no guiding hand, that had + known no master. It was not until then that she fell upon him, weeping.... + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. IN WHICH MR. ERWIN SEEK PARIS + </h2> + <p> + As she glanced around the sitting-room of her apartment in Paris one + September morning she found it difficult, in some respects, to realize + that she had lived in it for more than five years. After Chiltern's death + she had sought a refuge, and she had found it here: a refuge in which she + meant—if her intention may be so definitely stated—to pass the + remainder of her days. + </p> + <p> + As a refuge it had become dear to her. When first she had entered it she + had looked about her numbly, thankful for walls and roof, thankful for its + remoteness from the haunts of the prying: as a shipwrecked castaway + regards, at the first light, the cave into which he has stumbled into the + darkness-gratefully. And gradually, castaway that she felt herself to be, + she had adorned it lovingly, as one above whose horizon the sails of hope + were not to rise; filled it with friends not chosen in a day, whose + faithful ministrations were not to cease. Her books, but only those worthy + to be bound and read again; the pictures she had bought when she had grown + to know what pictures were; the music she had come to love for its eternal + qualities—these were her companions. + </p> + <p> + The apartment was in the old quarter across the Seine, and she had found + it by chance. The ancient family of which this hotel had once been the + home would scarce have recognized, if they had returned the part of it + Honora occupied. The room in which she mostly lived was above the corner + of the quiet street, and might have been more aptly called a sitting-room + than a salon. Its panels were the most delicate of blue-gray, + fantastically designed and outlined by ribbings of blue. Some of them + contained her pictures. The chairs, the sofas, the little tabourets, were + upholstered in yellow, their wood matching the panels. Above the carved + mantel of yellowing marble was a quaintly shaped mirror extending to the + high ceiling, and flanked on either side by sconces. The carpet was a + golden brown, the hangings in the tall windows yellow. And in the morning + the sun came in, not boisterously, but as a well-bred and cheerful guest. + An amiable proprietor had permitted her also to add a wrought-iron balcony + as an adjunct to this room, and sometimes she sat there on the warmer days + reading under the seclusion of an awning, or gazing at the mysterious + facades of the houses opposite, or at infrequent cabs or pedestrians + below. + </p> + <p> + An archway led out of the sitting-room into a smaller room, once the + boudoir of a marquise, now Honora's library. This was in blue and gold, + and she had so far modified the design of the decorator as to replace the + mirrors of the cases with glass; she liked to see her books. Beyond the + library was a dining room in grey, with dark red hangings; it overlooked + the forgotten garden of the hotel. + </p> + <p> + One item alone of news from the outer world, vital to her, had drifted to + her retreat. Newspapers filled her with dread, but it was from a + newspaper, during the first year of her retirement, that she had learned + of the death of Howard Spence. A complication of maladies was mentioned, + but the true underlying cause was implied in the article, and this had + shocked but not surprised her. A ferment was in progress in her own + country, the affairs of the Orange Trust Company being investigated, and + its president under indictment at the hour of his demise. Her feelings at + the time, and for months after, were complex. She had been moved to deep + pity, for in spite of what he had told her of his business transactions, + it was impossible for her to think of him as a criminal. That he had been + the tool of others, she knew, but it remained a question in her mind how + clearly he had perceived the immorality of his course, and of theirs. He + had not been given to casuistry, and he had been brought up in a school + the motto of which he had once succinctly stated: the survival of the + fittest. He had not been, alas, one of those to survive. + </p> + <p> + Honora had found it impossible to unravel the tangled skein of their + relationship, and to assign a definite amount of blame to each. She did + not shirk hers, and was willing to accept a full measure. That she had + done wrong in marrying him, and again in leaving him to marry another man, + she acknowledged freely. Wrong as she knew this to have been, severely + though she had been punished for it, she could not bring herself to an + adequate penitence. She tried to remember him as he had been at + Silverdale, and in the first months of their marriage, and not as he had + afterwards become. There was no question in her mind, now that it was + given her to see things more clearly, that she might have tried harder, + much harder, to make their marriage a success. He might, indeed, have done + more to protect and cherish her. It was a man's part to guard a woman + against the evils with which she had been surrounded. On the other hand, + she could not escape the fact, nor did she attempt to escape it, that she + had had the more light of the two: and that, though the task were + formidable, she might have fought to retain that light and infuse him with + it. + </p> + <p> + That she did not hold herself guiltless is the important point. Many of + her hours were spent in retrospection. She was, in a sense, as one dead, + yet retaining her faculties; and these became infinitely keen now that she + was deprived of the power to use them as guides through life. She felt + that the power had come too late, like a legacy when one is old. And she + contemplated the Honora of other days—of the flesh, as though she + were now the spirit departed from that body; sorrowfully, poignantly + regretful of the earthly motives, of the tarnished ideals by which it had + been animated and led to destruction. + </p> + <p> + Even Hugh Chiltern had left her no illusions. She thought of him at times + with much tenderness; whether she still loved him or not she could not + say. She came to the conclusion that all capacity for intense feeling had + been burned out of her. And she found that she could permit her mind to + rest upon no period of her sojourn at Grenoble without a sense of horror; + there had been no hour when she had seemed secure from haunting terror, no + day that had not added its mite to the gathering evidence of an ultimate + retribution. And it was like a nightmare to summon again this spectacle of + the man going to pieces under her eyes. The whole incident in her life as + time wore on assumed an aspect bizarre, incredible, as the follies of a + night of madness appear in the saner light of morning. Her great love had + bereft her of her senses, for had the least grain of sanity remained to + her she might have known that the thing they attempted was impossible of + accomplishment. + </p> + <p> + Her feeling now, after four years, might be described as relief. To employ + again the figure of the castaway, she often wondered why she of all others + had been rescued from the tortures of slow drowning and thrown up on an + island. What had she done above the others to deserve preservation? It was + inevitable that she should on occasions picture to herself the years with + him that would have stretched ahead, even as the vision of them had come + to her that morning when, in obedience to his telegram, she had told + Starling to prepare for guests. Her escape had indeed been miraculous! + </p> + <p> + Although they had passed through a ceremony, the conviction had never + taken root in her that she had been married to Chiltern. The tie that had + united her to him had not been sacred, though it had been no less binding; + more so, in fact. That tie would have become a shackle. Her perception of + this, after his death, had led her to instruct her attorney to send back + to his relatives all but a small income from his estate, enough for her to + live on during her lifetime. There had been some trouble about this + matter; Mrs. Grainger, in particular, had surprised her in making + objections, and had finally written a letter which Honora received with a + feeling akin to gratitude. Whether her own action had softened this lady's + feelings, she never understood; she had cherished the letter for its + unexpectedly charitable expressions. Chiltern's family had at last agreed + to accept the estate on the condition that the income mentioned should be + tripled. And to this Honora had consented. Money had less value than ever + in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + She lived here in Paris in what may be called a certain peace, made no + demands upon the world, and had no expectations from it. She was now in + half mourning, and intended to remain so. Her isolation was of her own + choice, if a stronger expression be not used. She was by no means an + enforced outcast. And she was even aware that a certain sympathy for her + had grown up amongst her former friends which had spread to the colony of + her compatriots in Paris; in whose numbers there were some, by no means + unrecognized, who had defied the conventions more than she. Hugh + Chiltern's reputation, and the general knowledge of his career, had no + doubt aided to increase this sympathy, but the dignity of her conduct + since his death was at the foundation of it. Sometimes, on her walks and + drives, she saw people bowing to her, and recognized friends or + acquaintances of what seemed to her like a former existence. + </p> + <p> + Such had been her life in Paris until a certain day in early September, a + month before this chapter opens. It was afternoon, and she was sitting in + the balcony cutting a volume of memoirs when she heard the rattle of a cab + on the cobbles below, and peered curiously over the edge of the railing. + Although still half a block away, the national characteristics of the + passenger were sufficiently apparent. He was an American—of that she + was sure. And many Americans did not stray into that quarter. The length + of his legs, for one thing, betrayed him: he found the seat of the fiacre + too low, and had crossed one knee over the other. Other and less easily + definable attributes he did not lack. And as he leaned against the faded + blue cushions regarding with interest the buildings he passed, he seemed, + like an ambassador, to convert the cab in which he rode into United States + territory. Then she saw that it was Peter Erwin. + </p> + <p> + She drew back her head from the balcony rail, and tried to sit still and + to think, but she was trembling as one stricken with a chill. The cab + stopped; and presently, after an interval, his card was handed her. She + rose, and stood for a moment with her hand against the wall before she + went into the salon. None of the questions she had asked herself were + answered. Was she glad to see him? and what would be his attitude towards + her? When she beheld him standing before her she had strength only to + pronounce his name. + </p> + <p> + He came forward quickly and took her hand and looked down into her face. + She regarded him tremulously, instinctively guessing the vital importance + of this moment for him; and she knew then that he had been looking forward + to it in mingled hope and dread, as one who gazes seaward after a night of + tempest for the ship he has seen at dusk in the offing. What had the + tempest done to her? Such was his question. And her heart leaped as she + saw the light growing in his eyes, for it meant much to her that he should + see that she was not utterly dismantled. She fell; his own hand tremble as + he relinquished hers. He was greatly moved; his voice, too, betrayed it. + </p> + <p> + “You see I have found you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered; “—why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Why have I always come to you, when it was possible?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No one ever had such a friend, Peter. Of that I am sure:' + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to see Paris,” he said, “before I grew too decrepit to enjoy + it.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, and turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen much of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Enough to wish to see more.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you arrive?” + </p> + <p> + “Some time in the night,” he said, “from Cherbourg. And I'm staying at a + very grand hotel, which might be anywhere. A man I crossed with on the + steamer took me there. I think I'd move to one of the quieter ones, the + French ones, if I were a little surer of my pronunciation and the + subjunctive mood.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say you've been studying French!” + </p> + <p> + He coloured a little, and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You think it ridiculous at my time of life? I suppose you're right. You + should have seen me trying to understand the cabmen. The way these people + talk reminds me more of a Gatling gun than anything I can think of. It + certainly isn't human.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you have come over as ambassador,” she suggested. “When I saw you + in the cab, even before I recognized you, I thought of a bit of our soil + broken off and drifted over here.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice did not quite sustain the lighter note—the emotion his + visit was causing her was too great. He brought with him into her retreat + not so much a flood of memories as of sensations. He was a man whose image + time with difficulty obliterates, whose presence was a shining thing: so + she had grown to value it in proportion as she had had less of it. She did + inevitably recall the last time she had seen him, in the little Western + city, and how he had overwhelmed her, invaded her with doubts and aroused + the spirit which had possessed her to fight fiercely for its foothold. And + to-day his coming might be likened to the entrance of a great physician + into the room of a distant and lonely patient whom amidst wide + ministrations he has not forgotten. She saw now that he had been right. + She had always seen it, clearly indeed when he had been beside her, but + the spirit within her had been too strong, until now. Now, when it had + plundered her soul of treasures—once so little valued—it had + fled. Such were her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + The great of heart undoubtedly possess this highest quality of the + physician,—if the statement may thus be put backhandedly,—and + Peter Erwin instinctively understood the essential of what was going on + within her. He appeared to take a delight in the fancy she had suggested; + that he had brought a portion of the newer world to France. + </p> + <p> + “Not a piece of the Atlantic coast, certainly,” he replied. “One of the + muddy islands, perhaps, of the Mississippi.” + </p> + <p> + “All the more representative,” she said. “You seem to have taken + possession of Paris, Peter—not Paris of you. You have annexed the + seat of the Capets, and brought democracy at last into the Faubourg.” + </p> + <p> + “Without a Reign of Terror,” he added quizzically. + </p> + <p> + “If you are not ambassador, what are you?” she asked. “I have expected at + any moment to read in the Figaro that you were President of the United + States.” + </p> + <p> + “I am the American tourist,” he declared, “with Baedeker for my Bible, who + desires to be shown everything. And I have already discovered that the + legend of the fabulous wealth of the Indies is still in force here. There + are many who are willing to believe that in spite of my modest appearance—maybe + because of it—I have sailed over in a galleon filled with gold. + Already I have been approached from every side by confidential gentlemen + who announced that they spoke English—one of them said 'American'—who + have offered to show me many things, and who have betrayed enough interest + in me to inquire whether I were married or single.” + </p> + <p> + Honora laughed. They were seated in the balcony by this time, and he had + the volume of memoirs on his knee, fingering it idly. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say to them?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I told them I was the proud father of ten children,” he replied. “That + seemed to stagger them, but only for a moment. They offered to take us all + to the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter, you are ridiculous! But, in spite of your nationality, you don't + look exactly gullible.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a relief,” he said. “I had begun to think I ought to leave my + address and my watch with the Consul General....” + </p> + <p> + Of such a nature was the first insidious rupture of that routine she had + grown to look upon as changeless for the years to come, of the life she + had chosen for its very immutable quality. Even its pangs of loneliness + had acquired a certain sweet taste. Partly from a fear of a world that had + hurt her, partly from fear of herself, she had made her burrow deep, that + heat and cold, the changing seasons, and love and hate might be things far + removed. She had sought to remove comparisons, too, from the limits of her + vision; to cherish and keep alive, indeed, such regrets as she had, but to + make no new ones. + </p> + <p> + Often had she thought of Peter Erwin, and it is not too much to say that + he had insensibly grown into an ideal. He had come to represent to her the + great thing she had missed in life, missed by feverish searching in the + wrong places, digging for gold where the ground had glittered. And, if the + choice had been given her, she would have preferred his spiritual to his + bodily companionship—for a while, at least. Some day, when she + should feel sure that desire had ceased to throb, when she should have + acquired an unshakable and absolute resignation, she would see him. It is + not too much to say, if her feeling be not misconstrued and stretched far + beyond her own conception of it, that he was her one remaining interest in + the world. She had scanned the letters of her aunt and uncle for knowledge + of his doings, and had felt her curiosity justified by a certain + proprietorship that she did not define, faith in humankind, or the lack of + it, usually makes itself felt through one's comparative contemporaries. + That her uncle was a good man, for instance, had no such effect upon + Honora, as the fact that Peter was a good man. And that he had held a true + course had gradually become a very vital thing to her, perhaps the most + vital thing; and she could have imagined no greater personal calamity now + than to have seen him inconsistent. For there are such men, and most + people have known them. They are the men who, unconsciously, keep life + sweet. + </p> + <p> + Yet she was sorry he had invaded her hiding-place. She had not yet + achieved peace, and much of the weary task would have to be done over + after he was gone. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime she drifted with astounding ease into another existence. + For it was she, and not the confidential gentlemen, who showed Peter + Paris: not the careless, pleasure-loving Paris of the restaurants, but of + the Cluny and the Carnavalet. The Louvre even was not neglected, and as + they entered it first she recalled with still unaccustomed laughter his + reply to the proffered services of the guide. Indeed, there was much + laughter in their excursions: his native humour sprang from the same well + that held his seriousness. She was amazed at his ability to strip a sham + and leave it grotesquely naked; shams the risible aspect of which she had + never observed in spite of the familiarity four years had given her. Some + of his own countrymen and countrywomen afforded him the greatest amusement + in their efforts to carry off acquired European “personalities,” + combinations of assumed indifference and effrontery, and an accent the + like of which was never heard before. But he was neither bitter nor crude + in his criticisms. He made her laugh, but he never made her ashamed. His + chief faculty seemed to be to give her the power to behold, with + astonishing clearness, objects and truths which had lain before her eyes, + and yet hidden. And she had not thought to acquire any more truths. + </p> + <p> + The depth of his pleasure in the things he saw was likewise a revelation + to her. She was by no means a bad guide to the Louvre and the Luxembourg, + but the light in her which had come slowly flooded him with radiance at + the sight of a statue or a picture. He would stop with an exclamation and + stand gazing, self-forgetful, for incredible periods, and she would watch + him, filled with a curious sense of the limitations of an appreciation she + had thought complete. Where during his busy life had he got this thing + which others had sought in many voyages in vain? + </p> + <p> + Other excursions they made, and sometimes these absorbed a day. It was a + wonderful month, that Parisian September, which Honora, when she allowed + herself to think, felt that she had no right to. A month filled to the + brim with colour: the stone facades of the houses, which in certain lights + were what the French so aptly call bleuatre; the dense green foliage of + the horse-chestnut trees, the fantastic iron grills, the Arc de Triomphe + in the centre of its circle at sunset, the wide shaded avenues radiating + from it, the bewildering Champs Elysees, the blue waters of the Seine and + the graceful bridges spanning it, Notre Dame against the sky. Their walks + took them, too, into quainter, forgotten regions where history was grim + and half-effaced, and they speculated on the France of other days. + </p> + <p> + They went farther afield; and it was given them to walk together down + green vistas cut for kings, to linger on terraces with the river far below + them, and the roofs of Paris in the hazy distance; that Paris, sullen so + long, the mutterings of which the kings who had sat there must have heard + with dread; that Paris which had finally risen in its wrath and taken the + pleasure-houses and the parks for itself. + </p> + <p> + Once they went out to Chantilly, the cameo-like chateau that stands + mirrored in its waters, and wandered through the alleys there. Honora had + left her parasol on the parapet, and as they returned Peter went to get + it, while she awaited him at a little distance. A group was chatting gayly + on the lawn, and one of them, a middle-aged, well-dressed man hailed him + with an air of fellowship, and Peter stopped for a moment's talk. + </p> + <p> + “We were speaking of ambassadors the other day,” he said when he joined + her; “that was our own, Minturn.” + </p> + <p> + “We were speaking of them nearly a month ago,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “A month ago! I can't believe it!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “What did he say to you?” Honora inquired presently. + </p> + <p> + “He was abusing me for not letting him know I was in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter, you ought to have let him know!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't come over here to see the ambassador,” answered Peter, gayly. + </p> + <p> + She talked less than usual on their drive homeward, but he did not seem to + notice the fact. Dusk was already lurking in the courtyards and byways of + the quiet quarter when the porter let them in, and the stone stairway of + the old hotel was almost in darkness. The sitting-room, with its yellow, + hangings snugly drawn and its pervading but soft light, was a grateful + change. And while she was gone to—remove her veil and hat, Peter + looked around it. + </p> + <p> + It was redolent of her. A high vase of remarkable beauty, filled with + white roses, stood on the gueridon. He went forward and touched it, and + closed his eyes as though in pain. When he opened them he saw her standing + in the archway. + </p> + <p> + She had taken off her coat, and was in a simple white muslin gown, with a + black belt—a costume that had become habitual. Her age was thirty. + The tragedy and the gravity of her life during these later years had + touched her with something that before was lacking. In the street, in the + galleries, people had turned to look at her; not with impudent stares. She + caught attention, aroused imagination. Once, the year before, she had had + a strange experience with a well-known painter, who, in an impulsive note, + had admitted following her home and bribing the concierge. He craved a few + sittings. Her expression now, as she looked at Peter, was graver than + usual. + </p> + <p> + “You must not come to-morrow,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I thought we were going to Versailles again,” he replied in surprise. “I + have made the arrangements.” + </p> + <p> + “I have changed my mind. I'm not going.” + </p> + <p> + “You want to postpone it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She took a chair beside the little blaze in the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Peter. I wish to say something to you. I have been wishing to + do so for some time.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you object if I stand a moment?” he said. “I feel so much more + comfortable standing, especially when I am going to be scolded.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she admitted, “I am going to scold you. Your conscience has warned + you.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” he declared, “it has never been quieter. If I have + offended; it is through ignorance.” + </p> + <p> + “It is through charity, as usual,” she said in a low voice. “If your + conscience be quiet, mine is not. It is in myself that I am disappointed—I + have been very selfish. I have usurped you. I have known it all along, and + I have done very wrong in not relinquishing you before.” + </p> + <p> + “Who would have shown me Paris?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she continued, “you would not have been alone. If I had needed proof + of that fact, I had it to-day—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Minturn,” he interrupted; “think of me hanging about an Embassy and + trying not to spill tea!” And he smiled at the image that presented. + </p> + <p> + Her own smile was fleeting. + </p> + <p> + “You would never do that, I know,” she said gravely. + </p> + <p> + “You are still too modest, Peter, but the time has gone by when I can be + easily deceived. You have a great reputation among men of affairs, an + unique one. In spite of the fact that you are distinctly American, you + have a wide interest in what is going on in the world. And you have an + opportunity here to meet people of note, people really worth while from + every point of view. You have no right to neglect it.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent a moment, looking down at her. She was leaning forward, her + eyes fixed on the fire, her hands clasped between her knees. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I care for that?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to care,” she said, without looking up. “And it is my duty to + try to make you care.” + </p> + <p> + “Honora, why do you think I came over here?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “To see Paris,” she answered. “I have your own word for it. To—to + continue your education. It never seems to stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you really believe that?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I believed it. What could be more natural? And you have never + had a holiday like this.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he agreed. “I admit that.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how much longer you are going to stay,” she said. “You have + not been abroad before, and there are other places you ought to go.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll get you to make out an itinerary.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter, can't you see that I'm serious? I have decided to take matters in + my own hands. The rest of the time you are here, you may come to see me + twice a week. I shall instruct the concierge.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and grasped the mantel shelf with both hands, and touched the + log with the toe of his boot. + </p> + <p> + “What I told you about seeing Paris may be called polite fiction,” he + said. “I came over here to see you. I have been afraid to say it until + to-day, and I am afraid to say it now.” + </p> + <p> + She sat very still. The log flared up again, and he turned slowly and + looked at the shadows in her face. + </p> + <p> + “You-you have always been good to me,” she answered. “I have never + deserved it—I have never understood it. If it is any satisfaction + for you to know that what I have saved of myself I owe to you, I tell you + so freely.” + </p> + <p> + “That,” he said, “is something for which God forbid that I should take + credit. What you are is due to the development of a germ within you, a + development in which I have always had faith. I came here to see you, I + came here because I love you, because I have always loved you, Honora.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not that!” she cried; “not that!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked. “It is something I cannot help, something beyond my + power to prevent if I would. But I would not. I am proud of it, and I + should be lost without it. I have had it always. I have come over to beg + you to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + “It's impossible! Can't you see it's impossible?” + </p> + <p> + “You don't love me?” he said. Into those few words was thrown all the + suffering of his silent years. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what I feel for you,” she answered in an agonized voice, her + fingers tightening over the backs of her white hands. “If reverence be + love—if trust be love, infinite and absolute trust—if + gratitude be love—if emptiness after you are gone be a sign of it—yes, + I love you. If the power to see clearly only through you, to interpret + myself only by your aid be love, I acknowledge it. I tell you so freely, + as of your right to know. And the germ of which you spoke is you. You have + grown until you have taken possession of—of what is left of me. If I + had only been able to see clearly from the first, Peter, I should be + another woman to-day, a whole woman, a wise woman. Oh, I have thought of + it much. The secret of life was there at my side from the time I was able + to pronounce your name, and I couldn't see it. You had it. You stayed. You + took duty where you found it, and it has made you great. Oh, I don't mean + to speak in a worldly sense. When I say that, it is to express the highest + human quality of which I can think and feel. But I can't marry you. You + must see it.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot see it,” he replied, when he had somewhat gained control of + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Because I should be wronging you.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place, I should be ruining your career.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had a career,” he said, smiling gently, “you couldn't ruin it. You + both overestimate and underestimate the world's opinion, Honora. As my + wife, it will not treat you cruelly. And as for my career, as you call it, + it has merely consisted in doing as best I could the work that has come to + me. I have tried to serve well those who have employed me, and if my + services be of value to them, and to those who may need me in the future, + they are not going to reject me. If I have any worth in the world, you + will but add to it. Without you I am incomplete.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are great,” she said. “You pity me, you think of my loneliness.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true I cannot bear to picture you here,” he exclaimed. “The thought + tortures me, but it is because I love you, because I wish to take and + shield you. I am not a man to marry a woman without love. It seems to me + that you should know me well enough to believe that, Honora. There never + has been any other woman in my life, and there never can be. I have given + you proof of it, God knows.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not what I was,” she said, “I am not what I was. I have been dragged + down.” + </p> + <p> + He bent and lifted her hand from her knee, and raised it to his lips, a + homage from him that gave her an exquisite pain. + </p> + <p> + “If you had been dragged down,” he answered simply, “my love would have + been killed. I know something of the horrors you have been through, as + though I had suffered them myself. They might have dragged down another + woman, Honora. But they have strangely ennobled you.” + </p> + <p> + She drew her hand away. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “I do not deserve happiness. It cannot be my destiny.” + </p> + <p> + “Destiny,” he repeated. “Destiny is a thing not understandable by finite + minds. It is not necessarily continued tragedy and waste, of that I am + certain. Only a little thought is required, it seems to me, to assure us + that we cannot be the judges of our own punishment on this earth. And of + another world we know nothing. It cannot be any one's destiny to throw + away a life while still something may be made of it. You would be throwing + your life away here. That no other woman is possible, or ever can be + possible, for me should be a consideration with you, Honora. What I ask of + you is a sacrifice—will you make me happy?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes filled with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter, do you care so much as that? If—if I could be sure that + I were doing it for you! If in spite—of all that has happened to me, + I could be doing something for you—!” + </p> + <p> + He stooped and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “You can if you will,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PG EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Best way is to leave 'em alone. Don't dandle 'em (babies) + Blessed are the ugly, for they shall not be tempted + Comparisons, as Shakespeare said, are odorous + Constitutionally honest + Conversation was a mockery + Every one, man or woman, has the right to happiness + Fact should be written like fiction, and fiction like fact + Fetters of love + Happy the people whose annals are blank in history's book + He has always been too honest to make a great deal of money + Her words of comfort were as few as her silent deeds were many + How can you talk of things other people have and not want them + Immutable love in a changing, heedless, selfish world + Intense longing is always followed by disappointment + Little better than a gambling place (Stock Exchange) + No reason why we should suffer all our lives for a mistake + Often in real danger at the moment when they feel most secure + Providence is accepted by his beneficiaries as a matter of fact + Regarding favourable impressions with profound suspicion + Resented the implication of possession + Rocks to which one might cling, successful or failing + Self-torture is human + She had never known the necessity of making friends + Sleep! A despised waste of time in childhood + So glad to have what other people haven't + Sought to remove comparisons + Taking him like daily bread, to be eaten and not thought about + That magic word Change + The greatest wonders are not at the ends of the earth, but near + The days of useless martyrdom are past + Thinking that because you have no ideals, other people haven't + Those who walk on ice will slide against their wills + Time, the unbribeable + Weak coffee and the Protestant religion seemed inseparable + Why should I desire what I cannot have +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Modern Chronicle, Complete, by Winston Churchill + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MODERN CHRONICLE, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 5382-h.htm or 5382-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/8/5382/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + </body> +</html> |