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diff --git a/old/64242-0.txt b/old/64242-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 02d3b10..0000000 --- a/old/64242-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7375 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Carcellini Emerald with Other Tales, by -Mrs. Burton Harrison - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: The Carcellini Emerald with Other Tales - The Carcellini Emerald--An Author's Reading and Its Consequences--Leander of Betsy's Pride--The Three Misses Benedict at Yale--A Girl of the Period--The Stolen Stradivarius--Wanted: A Chaperon - - -Author: Mrs. Burton Harrison - - - -Release Date: January 9, 2021 [eBook #64242] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARCELLINI EMERALD WITH OTHER -TALES*** - - -E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Susan Carr, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org). This ebook was -created in honour of Distributed Proofreaders' 20th Anniversary. - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations. - See 64242-h.htm or 64242-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/64242/64242-h/64242-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/64242/64242-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/carcelliniemeral00harriala - - - - - -THE CARCELLINI EMERALD -WITH OTHER TALES - - -[Illustration: “MAID? NEVER HAD SUCH A THING IN MY LIFE,” LAUGHED -CECILY; “AND WHAT WOULD HA’ BEEN THE USE, WHEN MR. LENVALE WOULD -INSIST ON ESCORTING ME.”] - - - -THE CARCELLINI EMERALD -WITH OTHER TALES - -by - -MRS. BURTON HARRISON - - -[Illustration: (Colophon)] - - - - - - -Herbert S. Stone and Company -Chicago and New York -MDCCCXCIX - -Copyright 1899 by -Herbert S. Stone & Co. - -THE PUBLISHERS ACKNOWLEDGE THE COURTESY OF -THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY (THE SATURDAY -EVENING POST), MAST, CROWELL AND KIRKPATRICK -(THE WOMAN’S HOME COMPANION), AND HARPER AND -BROTHERS, IN ALLOWING THE USE OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - The Carcellini Emerald 3 - An Author’s Reading and its Consequences 77 - Leander of Betsy’s Pride 103 - The Three Misses Benedict at Yale 123 - A Girl of the Period 169 - The Stolen Stradivarius 205 - Wanted: A Chaperon 287 - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - PAGE - “MAID? NEVER HAD SUCH A THING IN MY LIFE,” LAUGHED CECILY; - “AND WHAT WOULD HA’ BEEN THE USE, WHEN MR. LENVALE WOULD - INSIST ON ESCORTING ME.” Frontispiece - - “AN OPPORTUNITY TO DECK OUT HER BOARD WITH AN EFFECT.” 80 - - “MR. BLUDGEON HAD BETTER BE READ THAN SEEN.” 88 - - “NEED I SAY THAT IT GOES TO MY INMOST--” 98 - - THE THREE MISSES BENEDICT AT YALE. 124 - - “AND WITH GLOOM IN HIS HEART HE WENT BACK TO HIS LONELY - ROOM AND LIFE.” 154 - - “RUSSELL REAPPEARED, BRINGING WITH HIM THE SODDEN FORM OF - AGNES.” 162 - - “MY DEAR KATE, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HARD PUT TO IT I AM TO - MAKE ENDS MEET. I AM SO POOR IT IS A SCANDAL.” 288 - - - - - THE CARCELLINI EMERALD - - - - - THE CARCELLINI EMERALD - - - I - -How did Ashton Carmichael come by his aristocratic and decidedly -individual place as a dictator in New York’s smart society? Nobody -knew; nobody really cared. In his set it was sufficient for one sheep -to jump, and all the rest would follow. He was as much a power as -was Beau Brummell over modish London in the days of the Regency. -Asked everywhere, deferred to with bated breath by new aspirants, he -was seen only at the houses of authenticated fashion. In the clubs -to which he belonged--and the list of them was long, following his -name in the Social Register--some men affected to pooh-pooh his -right to membership; but rarely was there a member of a committee -on admissions found to vote against him on the score of fitness. -Good-looking, gentlemanlike, amusing when it suited him to be so, -sarcastic--and, on occasion, offensively snobbish--his uncertainties -of mood lent zest to pursuit by his admirers. He had no known income -beyond that derived from a nebulous business in real estate in which -he was alleged to hold a partnership. His place of residence was -in a couple of cheapish rooms in an out-of-the-way neighborhood. -But all the good things of life seemed to fall easily to his share; -and winter and summer, on land, at sea, he was heard of, in ripe -enjoyment of luxuries earned or inherited by other people. - -As a matter of fact, while the general public languished in ignorance -of Carmichael’s antecedents, there were two or three individuals in -New York who could have told his story from A to Z, but preferred -for various reasons to keep their mouths shut. One of these was -Tom Oliver, Carmichael’s chum at college and his sponsor in the -initiatory steps of worldly progress. Another was Tom’s sister -Eunice, now pretty Mrs. Arden Farnsworth, who, in days of lang syne, -had been engaged to her brother’s handsome friend. - -The third was a brave, hard-working young woman journalist on the -staff of a great city newspaper; a girl who never troubled Carmichael -with her presence, although she bore his name, and had given all her -little patrimony to help her only brother through the university and -provide him a start in life. - -It was at the beginning of senior year, when Tom Oliver came back -to college to surprise his friends by the announcement of his rich -father’s insolvency. Up to that time Tom had been regarded as a -prince of generosity and good-fellowship. His liberal allowance was -lavished upon college subscriptions and other fellows’ debts as soon -as it came into his hands. Before the end of the month he was as -impecunious as the rest of them. The blow of his sudden change of -prospects did not, therefore, afflict him as much as might have been -expected. As for the democratic, happy-go-lucky band who for three -years had made him their hero, it seemed, if anything, to bring him -nearer to their level. As a rule, the chaps of their brotherhood -were the sons of toilers, accustomed to scant means and modest ways -of life, who looked forward to opening the world’s oyster with their -own swords, or nobody’s. The man who appeared most to feel the hero’s -altered circumstances was his room-mate, known as Ash Carmichael, -a fellow the crowd had taken in among them through a not unnatural -delusion that his being so intimate with Tom made him of Tom’s sort. -Oliver and he had drifted together in freshman year, and Ash was -indebted to Tom for a long list of solid benefits bestowed with the -same recklessness of consequences and loyalty of affection that had -marked every kind action of the young man’s life. - -On all occasions when it was possible Tom had taken Ashton home to -New York with him for the holidays and flying visits. The latter had -spent two months of the summer preceding senior year at the Olivers’ -house at Newport, where he had made acquaintance with some of the -people who were afterward to be his sponsors in fashionable life. -The stress he laid upon these individuals, their homes and habits, -had elicited from his chum a great deal of good-natured fun at -Carmichael’s expense. But as that was the only thing he ever enjoyed -at the expense of that individual, Tom was entitled to make the most -of it. - -For Tom himself the smart people who forever dined and drove and -yachted and gave incessant dinners had no attraction. Mrs. Oliver, -a devotee of the gay world, and Charlotte, her older daughter, -who followed in the mother’s footsteps, had ceased chiding their -recreant brother, and were rather inclined to hustle him out of -the observation of their all-important circle. Eunice, the younger -girl, who adored Tom, used often to fall behind in the fashionable -procession for the pleasure of sharing her brother’s pastimes. In -athletics Tom had trained her well, and here Ash Carmichael had first -elicited her girlish admiration, for he was an adept in all sports -requiring grace and activity. - -But then even Mrs. Oliver told her son that his chum was the only -“possible” college-mate he had ever brought under the patrimonial -roof-tree! - -When the crash of Tom’s prospects came as to finances Carmichael -was disagreeably taken by surprise. The manifestation to his friend -of the exact condition of his feelings on this subject was, on the -whole, more trying to Tom than the original blow. - -The first public move in the disintegration of their friendship was -Tom’s withdrawal from the expensive rooms they had occupied together -since freshman year into much cheaper lodgings. - -Ash promptly installed in his place a wealthy and inane classmate -whom the “crowd” had antecedently styled “Miss Willie.” There was a -groan of derision among the fellows for this substitute for Tom; and -at an impromptu meeting of leading spirits in Tom’s new rooms, in an -old and shabby quarter, it was voted to give Carmichael henceforth -what they called the “icy nod.” - -After the Christmas holidays, which Ash spent with “Miss Willie’s” -family, something occurred to bring upon Tom’s former chum a ban more -serious than what had preceded it. The offense, the discovery of -it, the discussion, and the verdict were known to only a few of Tom -Oliver’s most devoted henchmen. Outsiders, aware of some dark mystery -in process of solution, talked of it--speculated curiously--but got -no farther. That Carmichael had done something awfully shady was -generally believed. What that something was nobody could find out. -But during the whole time of the agitation Tom went about black as a -thunder-cloud and silent as the grave. - -If the Faculty knew anything of these proceedings it was based upon -vague rumor only, or came by intuition. They had nothing to take hold -of, on which to condemn Carmichael. It was generally believed, among -them and the undergraduates, that a few men under Oliver’s leadership -had rectified whatever wrong was done; had saved Carmichael from -disgrace and exposure; and had then agreed to hush the matter up. - -Before graduating, Carmichael took a prize for an uncommonly clever -essay, which he delivered with ease and distinction before an -audience of whom the strangers applauded him to the echo. When he -took his degree, and the class was about to scatter, he was so -much alone that nobody thought of asking what he meant to do in the -future. When next heard from by his late associates Mr. Carmichael -had set out on a journey to Europe to end in the circuit of the -globe, as the companion of “Miss Willie,” whose family defrayed all -expenses. - -About this time Tom Oliver, in a suit of greasy overalls, was -beginning his labors in the repair-shops of a great railway in a -little Pennsylvania town, to obtain intimate personal knowledge -of all parts of the mighty motor that was henceforward to control -his destiny. For, at the advice of a friend of his father, he had -determined to work up from the bottom of the railroad business -to as near the top as ambition and energy might ultimately carry -him. Tom had need of all his pluck during the summer of this first -apprenticeship to toil. His father, overworried and outworn, was -stricken with apoplexy in New York, and suddenly passed away. Simply -because he could not tell what better to do for them, Tom transferred -his mother and sisters to live in a cottage in the suburbs of the -town where he was employed. - -Oh, the tragedy of life when small souls meet larger ones in everyday -friction! Mrs. Oliver and Charlotte, banded against Tom and Eunice, -made those summer days in the hot little house twice their ordinary -length. And Tom saw, in spite of her persistent effort to make the -best of things, that little Eunice was carrying a burden more heavy -for her shoulders than the loss of a great house, a troop of friends, -servants, and finery. Nor was it her mourning for the father she -had loved tenderly that oppressed her. Of him she and Tom talked -together frequently, and with honest feeling. But there was something -else--something she hugged to her heart in silence, that grew worse -as the summer waned. - -Just when matters were at their worst with the little household--when -petty domestic trials beat like billows over poor Tom’s head--when -Eunice began to look like an image of hope deferred--a visitor -arrived. Tom heartily welcomed Arden Farnsworth, a man much older -than himself, who in years past had been often at their home. A -dim idea that Farnsworth had come after Chatty penetrated the -brother’s head. It occurred to him that among his mother’s abundant -lamentations for lost joys she had mentioned the fact that last -winter she had been almost sure Farnsworth would propose for Chatty, -but that he had gone abroad and made no sign. And Farnsworth, as -everybody knew, would be a husband in a hundred--well born, well -placed, of such character, means, and position as would anchor -the whole Oliver family away from the quick-sands of their present -uncertainties. - -Then it came out it was Eunice, not Charlotte, whom Farnsworth wanted -for a wife--whom he had loved for a year past, and left because he -feared she would laugh at the disparity between their ages--nineteen -and thirty-five--whom he had now come back to America resolved to -secure, if earnest pleading would avail. - -But Eunice, urged to the front by her mother, who philosophically -made up her mind that one, if not _the_ one she had counted upon -of her daughters, should recoup their lost fortune and position, -disappointed all the family hopes. She told Arden Farnsworth that it -was impossible for her to marry him, and sent him away pierced with -sorrow at his failure. His generous nature longed for an opportunity -to place the dainty little beauty back in the niche where she -belonged. For her sake he was prepared to make any provision for Mrs. -Oliver and Chatty, short of offering them the hospitality of his -houses and yacht and other such covetable spots where the Farnsworth -Penates were enshrined. - -In the tempest that broke over Eunice after Farnsworth’s departure, -Tom learned his sister’s secret. She came to him, trembling and -tearful, nestled in his breast, and told him that for a year she had -considered herself engaged to Ashton Carmichael. - -“What!” shouted Tom, loosening his hold of her, his eyes darting -angry lightning. “That ----! Why, Eunice, it is impossible! You -cannot have met him since I broke with him last autumn a year ago.” - -“Oh, Tom! How dreadful you look! Of course I knew you were no longer -friends. It was just after poor papa’s troubles began when Ashton -wrote to me that you had separated, and that pride would not allow -him to correspond with me after what had taken place between you. -Then once, during the Christmas holidays, I met him in the street, -and we took a walk together, and he begged me to be true to him and -all would come out right. But still we did not write, until--” - -“Don’t tell me he dared approach you after _February_!” exclaimed -Tom, white to the lips with anger. - -“Yes. He said there had been such a bad quarrel between you he feared -it could not be made up; but he asked me to meet him in town--in a -picture-gallery--and I did. Don’t be angry, Tom. He wanted to let -me off from our engagement; indeed he did; but I saw he was in -great trouble, and so told him I would never give him up so long as -my love was worth anything to him; that he needn’t write--I should -understand. After this he began coming down to town to walk with me, -which took place several times--I couldn’t refuse him that comfort, -Tom.” - -“Comfort! He was laughing in his sleeve, the infernal scoundrel, that -he was so outwitting me! And I at that very time was holding him up -like a rock, to save him from utter ruin before the world! But go on; -for Heaven’s sake, tell me all!” - -“That _is_ all, Tom. He sent me a clipping about his essay, and I was -proud. Then he came once again, in June, to tell me he was going to -sail with Billy Innis around the world--and from that day to this I -have never heard from him.” Her head dropped forward forlornly upon -her breast. Large tears flooded her blue eyes and streamed down her -childish face. Tom’s tender heart smote him for having so increased -her grief. - -“My dear,” he said, gently, “I would give anything on earth if you -had confided in me before. In my desire to shelter a false and -contemptible fellow I have let you run into a trouble that makes -my blood boil to think of it. Now listen, Eunice, and believe I -speak plain truth. Not only did Ash Carmichael throw me overboard -the minute our father lost his money, but last February he was -guilty of a transaction involving me that might have landed him in -state’s prison if I had not consented to hush it up. Judge, then, -if he is likely to present himself before you again. No, Eunice, he -will never come back. He was a coward, a cad, a sneak, to gratify -himself at your expense in that way; and my heart aches for you, -dear. But now that you know him as he is you will never care for -him again. Think how much worse suffering was his sister’s, to whom -he wrote confessing all, when he was in abject fear that I’d expose -him. He had the cunning to make her come East to beg for him. For, -at the first sight of that brave, tortured girl I was disarmed of -my thoughts of punishment for him. For her sake, not his, I and two -or three other men he had involved in the affair resolved to let -him go and never to speak of it. Except to you, now, the matter has -not passed my lips. And you best know why I have broken our vow of -secrecy.” - -Again Eunice hung her head. The crimson of deep shame deepened upon -her face. For a time her voice was stifled by the sobs that shook her -frame. - -“Don’t cry, little sister,” Tom went on, distressfully. “You make -me feel like an ogre or an executioner. But in this case there was -no such thing as being merciful; I _had_ to tell you to cure you, -Eunice. Heaven knows the task was not to my taste. Some day, if the -opportunity ever comes in your way, I should like you to say a kind -word or do a kind act to that girl. She is a perfect heroine; and, -if she did not fancy herself under such tremendous obligations to me -already, I’d like to look Alice Carmichael up and try to help her.” - -“You are bigger and more generous than I am, Tom,” cried Eunice, -between gasps of pain. “As I feel now, I pray God never to let me -look upon one of their blood again!” - - * * * * * - -Four or five years later saw Mr. Ashton Carmichael a conqueror in -the lists of New York’s smart society. Among all the portals that -flew open at his magic touch there was one that remained obstinately -closed. This was the very fine front door belonging to the new -mansion up town in which Arden Farnsworth had, two years after her -refusal to marry him, installed his bride, recently Miss Eunice -Oliver. - -For Eunice, expanding into rare beauty during her exile from the gay -world, had come back to take her place as a power in its councils, -with a new understanding of people and things. Her grave husband -was valued for his truth and loyalty and virile force, immeasurably -beyond what her earlier love had been for his youthful graces of -exterior. With all her heart she loved and was grateful to Farnsworth -for “waiting till she came to her senses,” as she often laughingly -told him. Long, long ago the sting of Carmichael’s treatment had -ceased to pain her. Her fancy for him, in truth, expired that day -when poor, blundering Tom had revealed her lover’s treachery. - -With the marriage of Eunice the pressure of adverse circumstances -had been lifted from the Olivers. A former admirer of Miss Chatty’s, -a Mr. Ringstead, first discouraged by her mamma because she did not -want her daughter to remove to Philadelphia, had gallantly come -forward and offered himself anew. Mrs. Oliver, clearing her throat, -suavely remarked to Chatty that she had always considered Ringstead -a most excellent young man. To which Chatty pertly replied that his -excellence was secondary to the fact that he was going to take her -out of that hole of a provincial town where Tom had buried them -alive. Mrs. Oliver, after the second nuptials in her family, gave -it out that she meant to divide her time between her two married -daughters and “dear Tom,” whenever he could be persuaded to settle in -a decent place; and a short time after went abroad, to the relief of -all concerned. - -Tom, during most of these early years a bird of passage between -different headquarters of the railway that had annexed his services, -was rarely in New York. When occasionally he had fallen in with some -of his old college-mates they had dined and talked together till well -into next morning, and word was passed along the line of alumni of -their year to this effect: “Tom is all there, every inch of him”; -“The same glorious old fellow”; “True as steel”; “Deserves his luck -in business”; and the like. - -But except for these banquets of good-fellowship, Tom had almost -dropped out of conventional society, until Eunice Farnsworth at -last coaxed him to make her a little visit and take a peep into the -world that he had eschewed. It would do him good, she urged, to see -some of the pretty girls and lively matrons who would be present -at, for instance, a dinner to be given by Mr. Farnsworth’s cousin, -Mrs. Ellison, in honor of her daughter’s coming out. Mrs. Ellison, -rather a foolish woman Eunice must admit, would be charmed to extend -an invitation to him at their request. It was to be a large affair -of thirty guests, and Eunice wanted people to see her big handsome -brother. “For you are the pride of my heart, Tom; and I don’t care -who knows it,” she added, so genuinely that Tom was brought into -prompt submission to her will, and promised coöperation in her -schemes. - - * * * * * - -“Young lady from the _Epoch_ waiting to see you, sir,” said the -servant at Carmichael’s lodgings, encountering him in the hallway of -that domicile, as he let himself in by a pass-key late one afternoon -after a round of calls. - -Carmichael was the picture of self-satisfied complacency. In attire, -in bearing, he knew himself to be above criticism by the well -informed; and yet his vanity did not disdain the looks of heartfelt -admiration cast upon him by the hand-maidens to whom his landlady -paid small wages for the promiscuous service of her house. - -“Another reporter!” he exclaimed, petulantly. “Did I not tell you -never to let them wait for me?” - -“She’s in there, sir, not in your sittin’-room,” went on the girl, -pointing to the closed door of the boarding-house parlor. “She said -it was _very_ important, Mr. Carmichael.” - -Smiling at the awe-struck expression of the domestic, whose class -can never rid itself of respect for private individuals “wanted” -by the press, he opened the door of a long, narrow apartment with -abundant cheap draperies, spindle-work furniture, and artificial -palms, to find himself confronted by an unwelcome apparition. - -“You!” he said, in a tone from which all self-complacency had fled. - -“Yes, I. I was assigned to you, and I had to come. Until now I have -been fortunate in avoiding such a contingency.” - -“I did not know you were in New York,” he stammered, to gain time. - -“I got this appointment on the _Epoch_ last season, through a friend. -But I came here first in summer, when you were cruising on Mr. -Compton’s yacht. You see it is not difficult for me to keep account -of your movements, you are such a great man now; and besides, the -others tell me you are very good in giving them items about your -plans.” - -Carmichael colored. He could not believe that the cool, satiric, -self-reliant speaker was the orphaned sister who for years had made -him the god of her idolatry. - -“You are looking well,” he said; “your profession seems to agree with -you. I hope you have comfortable quarters. And if there is anything -I can do for you now, perhaps you will tell me as soon as may be, -since I am engaged for dinner and have some letters to write before -dressing.” - -“They sent me to ask you the correct date of the Bachelor’s Ball, and -any items about the affair you may wish to publish,” she answered, -fixing upon his evasive eyes a pair of clear, bright orbs. - -“That is easily done,” he replied, with an air of relief. “Or stop; -leave me your address, and I will send you the full data to-morrow -after the committee meets.” - -“Send it to me at the office, please. But now that our business is so -satisfactorily disposed of there is another little matter about which -I should like to speak to you in a more private place.” - -“But I am pressed for time, I tell you!” he exclaimed, uneasily. - -“It is something in the nature of a warning,” she said, with a -mocking intonation. “But just as you choose, of course.” - -“Come to my sitting-room on the floor above, then,” he responded, -ungraciously, leading the way up the stairs. - -The room into which he ushered her was a curious combination of -elemental homeliness and the little belongings of advanced luxury, -which littered it from wall to wall. Alice Carmichael’s quick eye did -not fail to discern this discrepancy, which she set down at once to -her brother’s habitual unwillingness to enjoy anything that was not -a gift from some one who could afford to pay the piper. But despite -her calm bearing, her heart was torn at sight of him. A thousand -recollections, tender and poignant, arose to overwhelm her. To -Ashton’s infinite relief, however, she continued to sit as unbending -as marble upon the edge of the cane-bottomed chair he had offered -her. He knew well enough that after the first drop into sentiment she -would soon be herself again. - -“I have always regarded it as a particular piece of good fortune,” -she began, presently, “that so far as I have followed your -fashionable career fate has not brought you into contact with any of -the Olivers. When Mrs. Farnsworth returned here to live it must have -been a considerable embarrassment to you to know how to avoid meeting -her. But that, I suppose, might have been left to her woman’s tact -to dispose of. I am quite sure that neither she nor any one of her -family would ever voluntarily come to look you in the face.” - -Her victim winced, and she saw that he felt the sting implied. - -“Just now, with the omniscience of my fraternity, I am in a position -to know the list of guests expected at Mrs. Ellison’s dinner for -her débutante daughter to-night. Not only are Mr. and Mrs. Arden -Farnsworth to be there, but Mr. Thomas Oliver himself, who is in town -stopping with his sister for a few days.” - -“The devil he is!” cried Carmichael, much perturbed. - -“You can hardly have expected to go on forever escaping the sword -of Damocles. Though, as you know, you are perfectly safe from Mr. -Oliver and the Farnsworths, too; indeed, I don’t believe they would -turn on their heels to look a second time if they saw you lying in -the gutter. But I have a feeling for them--a feeling that I can’t ask -you to understand--which makes me wish to spare them the annoyance of -your presence. It will be the first time in years that Mr. Oliver has -appeared in the society of his old friends. He has had a life of work -and care beyond his deserts. I should like to think that this one -evening’s enjoyment is not to be spoiled for him.” - -“I believe you are in love with that---- monolith!” said her brother, -with an oath. - -Miss Carmichael looked at him with undisturbed equanimity. - -“What Mr. Oliver did for me in my hour of greatest need would entitle -him to the best my heart could give. But you forget, I think, that -this and other experiences have made of me a machine, not a woman. No -need, however, to tell you what he did for me, or what I am. Will you -stay away from the Ellisons’ dinner, or will you not?” - -“I shall go,” said Carmichael, stubbornly. “I am to take in Miss -Ellison, and to lead their cotillon afterward. I could not be guilty -of such a departure from good form as to throw over the Ellisons -because this assorted lot of paragons of yours are going to be there. -Among thirty people it is hardly likely I shall run counter to them. -And should I do so, I fancy my position is assured beyond any attempt -at a slight _they_ could put upon me. My dear girl, your attitude in -all this is in the last degree strained and goody-goody. Leave me -to paddle my own canoe, as I have left you. We shall continue to do -without each other, I do not doubt. No man alive could endure to have -a Lady Macbeth kind of female arise and stalk about him indulging -in remorseful soliloquies about his past. I am sorry that the only -visit you have done me the honor to make me should have been devoted -to such a ridiculous and futile enterprise. And you will permit me to -suggest once more that I am really very much afraid you are indulging -in a schoolgirl passion for your hero, the doughty and horny-handed -Tom.” - -“Good evening,” said the reporter, briskly. “You won’t forget to send -that stuff about ‘The Bachelor’s’ to me not later than to-morrow?” - -She was up and off before he could intercept her. The little -servant-maid in the pink cotton frock, with cap askew, was hovering -outside his door as Miss Carmichael went out of it. - -“Ain’t he beautiful?” she said, with frank pride. “I s’pose you’ll -put another one o’ them pieces a-praisin’ him into your paper? -There’s lots of the newspaper folks come here to see him; and no -wonder--an’ him keepin’ company with all the high ’ristocrats o’ the -city.” - -A moment more and Alice was upon the street mingling with the throng -of workers like herself. Although well in check about matters of -mere sentiment, for which there was no longer time in her hurried -existence, her thoughts had filled with a vision of two children at -their mother’s knee, who shared everything in common until time and -the mother’s death and subsequent hard circumstances had forced them -apart forever. Ah, well! she did not begrudge Ashton anything she had -done for him. But she was glad their mother had not lived. - - - - - II - -“It was so good of you to come early,” murmured Carmichael’s hostess -to him, when her guests for the dinner were beginning to drop in. -“Now that you are here I feel a great weight off my mind. This kind -of thing is rather a tax when there is no man at the head of the -house, don’t you think so? Please manage to slip off and look into -the dining-room to see if the lights and ventilation are all right. -I arranged the cards myself, so I know that is as it should be. -You take in Gertrude, and on your other side I have put the very -prettiest young matron of my acquaintance--Mrs. Arden Farnsworth, who -married my cousin, don’t you know? I knew your fastidious taste would -be pleased by her, and it would be a sort of reward for your leading -our cotillon afterward. Here comes another raft of people. Do look -at the table, won’t you, and tell my butler if you want any changes -made?” - -Carmichael was accustomed to be deputy sovereign in many fine houses. -But he had never felt as grateful for the privilege as now. His plan -was executed quickly. So eager was he to effect a transfer of the -cards of Eunice and her companion away over to the other side of the -broad oval of damask bedecked with pallid orchids in silver vases, -silver flagons, and platters of hothouse grapes, he did not think to -notice for whom was reserved the place next Miss Ellison, whom he was -to take in. - -“What an escape!” he murmured inwardly, when Mrs. Farnsworth’s -cards were safely exchanged for two others, taken at hazard from -the opposite side. “Our good hostess will think it was her own -carelessness, but I am safe. I wish I had dared face the music, and -sit next to my late betrothed. There isn’t a woman of the year that -compares with her, and I’d like to force her to notice me again. -However, all comes to him who knows how to wait, and Eunice may once -again be made to thrill at my words of--” - -He started guiltily; but it was only Mrs. Ellison’s sleek butler -asking at his elbow if all was to the dictator’s fancy. - -“Very good, Masters, though I see you have taken on a little -red-headed cub of a waiter who spilled champagne down my neck at the -last Assembly supper. If I were you I wouldn’t have the little brute -at any price.” - -“Beg pardon, Mr. Carmichael, the man shall not be engaged here -again,” said Masters, in deep humility. And Ashton, having partially -settled his score with a poor menial who had had the temerity to -smile when he was laying down the law about the terrapin at a -subscription ball, returned to the drawing-room. - -It was quite filled up now with guests who had come in--the women -complacent in gorgeous gowns, the men lagging, beginning to be bored, -eager for food, and inclined to take pessimistic views of life by and -large. They were waiting for some one, it appeared; and presently, as -the door was thrown open, “Mr. and Mrs. Farnsworth and Mr. Oliver” -were heralded. - -Eunice, hurrying forward to explain to the hostess that one of their -horses had slipped and fallen upon the asphalt, was royal in her -young beauty. In her robes of shimmering rose color, her head, neck, -and bodice coruscating with jewels, she stirred Carmichael’s selfish -heart as nothing in woman’s shape had done before. He had to turn -away to avoid showing his emotion. - -“Don’t stare after Mrs. Farnsworth and forget you’ve got to take me -in,” said, in his ear, the piqued voice of Miss Gertrude Ellison. -“I declare, she has just bewitched all the men. I wish mamma hadn’t -thought it necessary to put her next to you. At this rate I shan’t -get the least notice taken of me. Luckily, I’ve got on my other hand -her brother, Tom Oliver, who is as much a beauty as she is, in his -way.” - -Carmichael could not repress a movement of tremor. At that moment he -saw going in ahead of them Oliver, who had been his dearest friend, -his most loyal benefactor, whom he had betrayed. And for an hour and -a half he was to sit so near him that their glances could not fail to -meet. He wished now he had taken the advice of his sister, and stayed -at home. - -“Dear me!” exclaimed little Miss Ellison, coming to a halt behind -their places. “It’s Mrs. Dick Anstey who’s next to you, after all. I -suppose mamma changed her mind about Mrs. Farnsworth.” - -“I suppose so,” said Carmichael, stooping mechanically to tuck in a -corner of Mrs. Anstey’s apple-green velvet skirt, as that lady took -her chair, having permitted a servant to advance it toward her and -the table. “That gown of yours should be treasured, Mrs. Anstey,” he -added. “It is the most charming you have worn this season, and that -is saying much.” - -Mrs. Anstey, who lived to dress, fluttered with excitement at this -compliment. It was unlooked for from Carmichael, who, until now, had -snubbed her unmercifully wherever they had met. He followed it up -by devoting himself to her so exclusively that three courses of the -dinner had passed before he gave heed to the heroine of the feast. - -“You _are_ civil,” said Gertrude, finally. “I don’t care, though; -I have been well taken care of. Do you know Mr. Carmichael, Mr. -Oliver?” she went on, with a coquettish glance back at her right-hand -neighbor, to include the two. - -“I know Mr. Carmichael,” was the answer. Full upon his false friend’s -countenance flashed Tom’s gaze of scorn. Little Miss Ellison, whose -attention was distracted by some one opposite, did not observe this -by-play. Carmichael was enraged at himself for dropping his eyes upon -his plate. When he gained courage to lift them, Tom had entered into -close conversation with Miss Cowper, who for some moments had been -awaiting attention on his other side. - -“What’s the matter with you? You look quite pale and rattled,” went -on Miss Ellison, who had a talent for attack. “One would think you -had seen a ghost. See, there is Mrs. Farnsworth looking this way, to -make sure I am taking good care of her big brother, I suppose. Let us -both nod to her and she’ll know--Goodness! What _has_ she got against -you, Mr. Carmichael? I never in all my days saw such a full-fledged -specimen of the cut direct!” - -Nor had Carmichael, in a much wider experience. His ears tingled, his -heart beat with angry resentment. By not the quiver of an eyelash had -Eunice betrayed emotion at sight of him, face to face. If he had been -the footman, just then engaged in projecting a silver dish between -her arm and her neighbor’s, she could not more utterly have ignored -his claim to her acquaintance. - -“Evidently it’s just as well Mrs. Farnsworth did not sit next -to you,” pursued Gertrude, at an age to look for little beyond -externals. “I did not expect ever to see the great Mr. Carmichael -come such a nasty cropper. She must be the only one of the ‘crowned -heads’ who doesn’t smile on you. But I must say she’s the freshest -and prettiest of the lot. When I get to be as old as _some_ women I -know, I’m going to stop playing kitten and settle down to be plain -cat. Eunice Farnsworth’s jewels are simply wonderful. Not as showy -as some, but very fine. Mamma says our Cousin Arden has always had -the most perfect taste in precious stones. The only time mamma ever -got ahead of him in a purchase was in the Carcellini emerald, a relic -from an old cardinal’s sale, I think. It was offered in Paris when -papa and mamma were there--oh, long ago, when I was a little kid. -Cousin Arden’s order by cable, to buy it, came to the dealer just -after papa had drawn a check in payment. Don’t know the Carcellini -emerald? Why, it’s famous everywhere. The only thing approaching it -in beauty and value belongs to one of the Russian Grand Duchesses. -Mamma generally wears it at dinner, and I dare say she has it on now. -If you have really never seen it, I’ll ask her to send the ring down -for us to look at.” - -“Do you think she will trust us?” asked Mrs. Anstey, who had turned -to catch the latter part of Gertrude’s chatter. “I have always been -dying to have a good look at the Carcellini emerald.” - -“Trust us? Of course. She often sends it around the table for her -friends to handle. Now watch me telegraph her, and see if she doesn’t -understand.” - -Leaning forward, the young lady managed to convey to her mother -the request. Shaking her finger at the suppliant, yet amiably -acquiescent, Mrs. Ellison drew from her left hand an object, which, -amid flattering enthusiasm from her guests, began its journey around -the table. Little cries of delight from the women, more restrained -expressions of admiration from the men, followed the beautiful well -of green fire in its progress. - -“Now look!” said Mrs. Anstey, when it came to her. Slipping the -ring upon her hand--a pretty hand, we may be sure--where it sent -into prompt eclipse all the rest of her outfit of jewels, she held -it up for Carmichael to view. “Did you ever see such a beauty?” she -exclaimed. “I declare I shall go home and never sleep a wink to-night -for coveting it! Such color, such luster, and such size! It ought to -be on the turban of a Grand Mogul.” - -Carmichael said nothing, but he stirred uneasily upon his chair. The -childish raptures of the speaker seemed to him like the crackling of -thorns under the pot. - -“There, Gertrude, take the tempter!” concluded Mrs. Anstey, plucking -the ring from her hand and extending it with affected resignation. - -“I tell mamma I will accept nothing less than this for my wedding -present,” answered Gertrude, receiving it in her outstretched palm. -“But so far I can’t get her to promise it to me. She says it must go -by will to my eldest brother, a boy at school, who doesn’t know the -difference between an emerald and a bit of glass, the wretch! Look, -Mr. Carmichael and Mr. Oliver; I will show you something nobody else -at the table has seen. The prettiest thing about the Carcellini is -the way it answers to a shaft of light. It leaps up like a fountain -and fairly bubbles radiance. See! I will lean over and hold it -between my thumb and finger sidewise under this candle nearest us, -and you can get the effect.” - -As she did so Carmichael’s eyes glittered and his breath came -quick. A moment later a shiver of alarm and excitement ran around -their quarter of the table. In inclining her head to catch the best -light from the candle Gertrude Ellison had set fire to the fanciful -aigrette of twisted tulle that soared high from her hair behind. The -young men on either side of her sprang upon their feet. It was Oliver -who, seizing the now blazing ornament, plucked it easily from the -girl’s mass of fluffy hair and crushed out the flames between his -strong brown fingers. - -“It is all over; I was not even singed, mamma, thanks to Mr. Oliver,” -called out Gertrude to her mother, who had just perceived the -commotion. At once the inexorable law of conventional society closed -upon the little incident. People resumed their interrupted chat, the -servants circled the board as before, everybody had some anecdote to -relate about a narrow escape from burning that had come under his -experience. - -And then, amid the murmur of voices, the tinkle of glasses, the -strains from an orchestra that had begun to play a waltz upon the -upper landing of the stairs, Gertrude Ellison turned upon Carmichael -a perfectly blanched face. - -“Don’t give any sign,” she whispered, “but tell me what I am to do. I -have lost the Carcellini emerald.” - -Carmichael darted one swift glance toward Tom Oliver, like the tongue -of a toad flashing out to catch a fly and withdrawing with its morsel. - -“He knows nothing,” she went on, petulantly. “He has been listening -all this time to an interminable story Annie Cowper has been telling -him. Who cares about her great-grandaunt’s feathers catching fire -from the chandelier at a Colonial ball? I suppose the ring slipped -off down the satin of my skirt, and has rolled under the table. I -can’t make a fuss now, but I won’t leave this spot while another -person remains in the room after me.” - -“You are quite right to keep the thing quiet,” he said, with -consoling deliberation. “In a little while your mother will be -leaving the table. You and I can hang back and intercept her after -every one has gone, unless you prefer to look first and tell her -afterward.” - -“Oh, no; I dare not! I _must_ tell her at once!” - -“Very well, then; I will help you. If I stay behind while the other -men go up to the smoking-room it will be thought I have matters to -discuss with Mrs. Ellison about the cotillon.” - -As the company arose from table, catching the eye of Masters, the -butler, he bade the men remain behind their chairs, and let no one -approach the spot. He and Gertrude then hastened to intercept Mrs. -Ellison at the end of the long procession, and make known to her the -loss. - -“I always told you, child, what would happen if you persisted in -putting on a ring too large for you,” she said, agitated, but (to -do her justice) courageous in calamity. “In that flurry about the -fire you must have let it slip to the floor, and being unused to -wearing it you didn’t at first notice its absence. Let this be a -lesson to you, Gertrude, though I am sure you will find the ring, -with Mr. Carmichael’s kind aid. I will make excuses for you. People -will understand your wanting to rearrange your hair. Mr. Carmichael, -I trust everything to you; and I shall go on and receive the people -who have already begun to come for the cotillon. Tell Masters to -shut all the doors, and let not a soul cross the threshold of the -dining-room until you give him leave.” - -There are heroines in all walks of life, and Mrs. Ellison, going -forth to receive a set of gay people, consumed by gnawing anxiety to -see the Carcellini emerald safely upon her finger, must be numbered -high up among them. - -“My dear Arden,” she said later on, capturing her cousin as he -appeared in the doorway, coming down from the smoking-room, “I am so -thankful you have come. Your wife has gone home. She bade me tell -you she did not feel equal to the cotillon, but that she wanted you -to stop and help me out. Her brother took her home. How nice to see -you, Mrs. Arbuthnot. Your daughters are looking charming; I hope they -both have partners for the cotillon. Gertrude will be in directly. -You know they are joking her about having set her aigrette afire -at dinner, but it might have been something worse. Arden, I really -can’t endure this another minute. For goodness sake, go into the -dining-room and see if Gertrude and Mr. Carmichael have found the -Carcellini emerald!” - -“The Carcellini emerald!” repeated Farnsworth, who, between vexation -at his wife’s unaccountable departure and stupefaction at his -cousin’s speech, did not know where to find himself. “Is it possible -you intrusted it to Gertrude?” - -“Their delay distracts me. If it had been underneath the table, at -Gertrude’s feet, where it might naturally have slipped down her satin -skirt, they would have returned by now.” - -“What’s Carmichael got to do with it?” asked Farnsworth, wrathfully. -He, better than any other, appreciated the enormous loss of the -splendid gem. “If I were you, Elizabeth, I would not intrust the -duties of a host to a pretentious nobody like that fellow. Of course -I’ll go. I never heard of such a thing in all my life.” - -He found the dining-room shut, every door barricaded by Carmichael’s -orders. Servants and waiters were gathered curiously outside. At the -sound of Farnsworth’s voice demanding admittance, Gertrude threw open -the door and ran to meet him, ghostly pale and trembling in every -limb. Behind her, candles in hand, with which they had been going -over the floor, already lighted in every part by the full power of -electricity, stood Masters and Carmichael, both anxious and perturbed. - -“Oh, Cousin Arden, I’m almost crazy!” cried the girl. “I can find no -trace of it.” - -In broken words she narrated the circumstances of the ring’s -disappearance. - -“I was kept in here during the search by no wish of mine, Mr. -Farnsworth,” said the butler, respectfully but firmly, when his young -lady had ceased speaking. “It’s a hard thing on a man that has to -live on the character he gets in a place to be mixed up in an affair -like this. And when you are convinced, as I am sir, that the ring is -not to be found about this room, I should take it very kind of you -if you’d go upstairs with me and make a search of my clothes without -letting me out of your sight.” - -“Absurd, Masters,” put in Carmichael, sharply. “Why, any one, to look -at you, man, can see you’re as much bothered as any one of us. He has -been invaluable, Mr. Farnsworth; no one could have done more in our -thorough search.” - -“You must excuse me for not inviting your opinion, sir,” said -Farnsworth, stiffly, confronting the last speaker. “I think the man -is quite right in his request. Stay where you are, Masters, and when -I have been over the ground here, and have satisfied myself the ring -is missing, I will go with you to your room. Gertrude, my dear, do -you, too, go upstairs and search every portion of your clothes. -Don’t call a maid; we need take nobody more than is necessary into -our confidence. I’m inclined, as it is, to think the matter might -better have been kept exclusively between the members of the family.” - -“I beg to be excused, Miss Ellison,” said Carmichael, hotly. “Perhaps -you will ask Mrs. Ellison to tell Mr. Farnsworth that I remained -here at her particular request, to assist you in your search. The -whole matter is abhorrent to me; but I think no gentleman could have -refused to be of service to his hostess under the circumstances. And -if Mr. Farnsworth has at any time any other remarks to make to me -upon this subject I am quite at his disposition.” - -But Mr. Farnsworth had apparently no desire to hold further -conversation of any kind with his cousin’s guest. Gertrude, much -overcome, thanked Carmichael, and ran away to her own room. There was -nothing for Carmichael to do but to withdraw likewise; but he did -not leave the house, remaining to perform his usual functions as a -cotillon leader, with “distinguished success,” as the newspapers said -next day. - -By the time the guests crowded again into the Ellison dining-room -that night for a buffet supper, the strange tale of the loss of the -famous ring was upon everybody’s lips. How it leaked out no one -knew. When Carmichael was consulted, he announced himself to be in -the confidence of the family, and therefore preferred not to speak. -No one felt like alluding to it before the hostess or her daughter, -who were observed to “keep up” with conspicuous courage. - -When the last carriage had driven away, the two ladies went with Mr. -Farnsworth and a quiet, gentlemanlike-looking man in morning dress, -who appeared from the regions of the men’s dressing-rooms upstairs, -into close council in Mrs. Ellison’s boudoir. - -“Try to remember,” said Mr. Farnsworth, kindly, to Gertrude, who had -begun to look drawn and haggard at the end of a lengthy discussion -among the four, “upon which finger of which hand you had put the ring -when you began to show the emerald to those gentlemen.” - -“Why,” said the girl, suddenly, “I had never put it on at all! I was -holding it--so--between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, -turned sidewise to catch the light, when I felt the blazing up of my -aigrette. Then Mr. Oliver jumped up and snatched the burning thing -out of my hair, and scorched his own hand in doing it. It was all -over very quickly. But I was so startled, I did not think of the ring -for some minutes; and when I did, to my horror it was gone.” - -“Were there any servants behind or near you at the time, Miss -Ellison?” said the quiet man in morning clothes. - -“I think some of them may have run up to offer help, but I am not -sure,” said Gertrude, tears of nervous distress filling her eyes. - -“But you _are_ sure about the position of the ring as you leaned -forward beneath the candle?” went on the same unemotional voice. - -“Perfectly,” said Gertrude, with emphasis. “In that I cannot be -mistaken.” - -There was silence for a few moments in the little room with its pale -brocades and Dresden figurines and gilded furniture. Then the quiet -man spoke deliberately, drumming with a pencil upon the edge of Mrs. -Ellison’s dainty blotting-book. - -“I have no sort of doubt, madam, that your emerald was stolen. Who -took it, and who has it--whether we shall ever get it back--are -questions to which I propose to devote my best abilities. If it was -one of your own servants or employés from outside, the appearance and -character of the jewel will soon put us on the track of it. But if--” -He paused, and cleared his throat significantly. - -“I had rather lose it,” interrupted Mrs. Ellison, tearfully, “than -suspect one of my guests.” - -“But you will surely not refuse to oblige me, madam,” said the -detective, with a deprecating smile, “with the name and address of -the gentleman who sat on the left hand of the young lady at the time?” - -This was too much for the overwrought mistress of the house, who -broke down in a fit of hysterics that necessitated her prompt removal -to bed and the summons of a doctor, who for some days kept her in the -seclusion of her room, then sent her with her daughter out of town. - - * * * * * - -Although a nine-days’ wonder in the conversations of society, the -story of the Carcellini emerald had not, by a wonder, reached the -public prints. The absolute refusal of Mrs. Ellison to proceed in -the investigation, as far as her own friends were concerned, blocked -effectually the roll of the wheels of justice in the direction of -finding a possible thief. The other servants of her house, and the -hired waiters present on the occasion, had, to all appearance, come -out unscathed from the ordeal of suspicion, as well as had honest -Masters. The whole affair seemed likely to remain among mysteries -unsolved. - -About a fortnight after the disappearance of the jewel, a newspaper -not averse to the elaboration of savory personalities concerning the -wealthy leisure class published a carefully veiled discussion of the -affair at Mrs. Ellison’s. No names were given, but hints were made -of suspicion attached in a certain high quarter, involving a family -of character and antecedents hitherto beyond reproach. There was a -light touch suggesting that gallantry in the service of the fair may -sometimes be made to reap rich reward. And the article, worded to -excite curiosity without conveying facts, ended by forecasting a new -chapter, at an early date, about the lost gem that would surpass in -excitement anything so far derived from its adventures. - - - - - III - -At this crisis of the matter of the Carcellini emerald Eunice -Farnsworth, who had seen her lord depart for a banquet of public men, -from which even her claims could not appropriately detain him, sat, -one evening, quite alone. She had eaten a ridiculous little dinner of -the kind affected by women deserted on like occasions, had retired to -her morning-room upstairs, and was now sitting buried in the depths -of an easy-chair, with an open letter upon her knee. - -For the first time in her married life Eunice was unhappy. She had -received that day, inclosed by her friend Mrs. Ellison, a copy of -the mysterious newspaper article hinting darkly that the suspicions -of those who knew were now turned upon a guest at the famous dinner -where the jewel had disappeared. Read by a casual person the -paragraphs were void of specific application; to the initiated there -could be but one interpretation, and that connected with a most -odious act Mrs. Farnsworth’s own dear brother, Tom! - -“I am still far too wretched and broken up to think of coming back -to town,” said her correspondent, who wrote from a Southern health -resort; “and Gertrude is just getting back her nerve and tone. But -rather than let such an insinuation pass unchallenged we would do -anything, make any exertion. Of course, there are only a few people -who could understand the detestable suggestion; but the hint that -more is to follow fills me with dismay. Why _can’t_ they let the -whole affair alone? It is _my_ loss, my misfortune. I have accepted -it, and that ought to be the end. I have definitely withdrawn the -case from the hands of the detectives, feeling assured that I could -never take my place at the head of my own table again if I pushed -the misery of suspicion into an innocent person’s life--and that -person my friend and chosen guest. Arden may say, and probably -does, to you, ‘Elizabeth was always obstinate.’ Perhaps I am; but -in this case I have already had more than my share of distress and -annoyance from outside comment. They will be having it next that my -own Gertrude took the wretched emerald. I wish my poor husband had -never spent a fortune in buying it for me. But this much is certain: -if it is necessary for me to come back to town in order to refute the -abominable insinuation against your brother, I will do so--at any -sacrifice. The only thing that occurs to me is that Arden may be -able to choke off any further mention of the affair in the newspaper -that has done us this injury.” - -“I could tell her,” thought Eunice, bitterly, “that Arden has already -been in treaty with the editor to that effect, and that he could get -no satisfaction, the man declaring that if the ‘gentleman’ alluded to -was guilty of the theft, his high place in society makes it a public -duty to expose him, especially since the owner of the lost jewel has -so weakly backed out of her responsibility to justice.” - -It was not a pleasant theme for thought. Eunice longed for the -bright, strong presence of her brother to dissipate the clouds -that seemed to close her in. But Tom was away in the West for an -indefinite period. He had left town the morning after Mrs. Ellison’s -unlucky dinner, from which he and his sister had withdrawn simply -because it was impossible for them, in self-respect, to remain for -a dance of which Carmichael was the leader. Carmichael no doubt had -recognized their motive in quitting the house. For this offense -against his vanity, and the refusal to know him that had preceded it, -was it possible that he-- - -Eunice sprang upon her feet. She had solved the motive of the -attack upon her brother. It was Carmichael they had to thank for -the foul imputation. And upon this poor, lying, truckling creature, -living upon his wits and the patronage of wealthy friends, she had -once lavished the treasure of her young, impulsive love! A flood of -shame and disgust ran over her. Then anger filled up the measure -of her emotions. If she could only meet him--crush him with her -disdain--make him confess the new offense he had committed against -his former benefactor! - -For Eunice, despite her marriage and the dignity that fact gave -her, despite her husband’s wise control, was still a very young, -impulsive woman, and in that moment felt strong enough for any deed -of righteous wrath. - -A servant, coming noiselessly into the room, presented at her side a -little tray containing a card. - -“But I told you I am not receiving, Jasper,” she said, without -offering to take up the card. - -“The gentleman said it is about a matter of business, madam, and that -he will detain you a few moments only.” - -She glanced at the name, and felt a throb of the heart that almost -choked her utterance, for it was the card of Ashton Carmichael! - -Here, in her house! He had ventured to cross her threshold! It must -indeed be a matter of importance that had nerved him to come here! - -“Say I shall be down at once, Jasper.” - -Her spirit rose as she went down the broad stairway of her husband’s -home. She was on her own ground, safely intrenched; he was the -intruder whom a word could thrust from her door. - -Something of this was apparent in her beautiful face, in her erect -head, her eyes sparkling with indignation. - -Carmichael, who had not sat down in the formal room of state into -which they had ushered him, felt it, and winced. He had come there -relying upon his unconquerable audacity, and to be so soon put at a -disadvantage he resented bitterly. But he did not mean to let her -speak first. - -“I know what you would say,” he began, with an assumption of -humility. “I am a pretender, a man who pushes himself where he is not -bidden; a villain, if you like. But I have some feeling left, and I -mean to prove it to you.” - -She inclined her head with cold disdain, still standing before him. - -“I put out of the question everything that relates to our own two -selves--though if you knew all the story of that year--” - -“You asked to see me on business, I understood,” she interrupted, as -if he had come to peddle his wares in her drawing-room. - -Carmichael blushed crimson. The sting of her manner was intolerable. - -“I came, if you will have it outright, to offer to save you and -your brother Tom from the scandals that are already attacking his -good name,” he exclaimed, angrily. “For the sake of old times I can -forgive your inhospitality, and even the insulting rudeness of your, -and his, and your husband’s manner to me at the Ellisons’ dinner. -I suppose you did not dream that entertainment was to terminate so -unfortunately for you. The mischief this article in the ---- has done -him is, in point of fact, incredible. I happen to have some control -over the situation--” - -“Then it _is_ your work! I thought so,” she said, cutting him short. -“May I ask why you presume to come to me?” - -“You are determined to think the worst of me,” he answered, growing -white where he had been red. “I repeat that I came in friendship. I -can be of service to you, and I offer to do my best. I can, in two -words, get the forthcoming article suppressed, and will do so upon -condition that you withdraw your enmity to me before the world; that -you acknowledge and receive me in your house, and consent to overlook -the past; that you induce your husband to treat me with common -civility. This is not so much for me to ask from you--Eunice--the -only woman I ever loved, who has gone from me forever.” - -For one moment her eyes met his, and she saw that he spoke the truth -in what he had said last--that in all his poor, mean, warped life his -feeling for her had been the best he had known. But even this feeling -he would now make the vehicle of his selfish schemes. Eunice tried -to compass, but could not, the infinite pettiness of the bargain he -strove to make with her. Her brain, confused and shocked, refused to -see, what came to her afterward, that he could not, at this crisis, -afford to meet the open suspicion and hostility of a man of Arden -Farnsworth’s importance. - -“I do not see--I cannot believe--that we should owe this to you,” she -replied, more softly. “I can speak certainly for Tom, that he would -resent your interference in any affair of his. If I have done you -injustice in supposing you are responsible for our annoyance, I am -willing to ask your pardon. But I am sure--quite, quite sure--we can -none of us ever believe in you again.” - -“You are indeed implacable,” he muttered. - -That she did not ask him to be seated cut him to the quick. He -lingered uncertainly for a few moments, then bowing to her, took his -leave. The footman, standing in the hall outside, opened the door for -him, then was summoned back by Mrs. Farnsworth. - -“You will remember, Jasper, and tell the others to remember, that I -am never at home to Mr. Ashton Carmichael again.” - -The man, who, like the rest of his fraternity, knew all the -figure-heads of polite society, went below and told his mates that -there was “one house, anyhow, that cheeky young feller Carmichael -was not to boss,” and he was glad to see him made to eat a little -humble pie. More than ever her servants admired their fair young -mistress, whose wit and spirit and beauty, joined to her friendly -consideration for their feelings, had elicited their unanimous and -not-to-be-despised applause. - -“You are very brave and sagacious, my little wife,” said her husband, -when she told him later on of her interview; “but you are playing an -unequal game. That fellow, if my instinct is not at fault, will stop -at nothing. And the key to the present overture to you, my dear, is -that he’s afraid of me!” - -“What can you have done to him, Arden, dear, besides scowling most -unbecomingly whenever he has been near?” - -“I stand, in a way, behind Elizabeth Ellison, who, if she changes her -mind--and women have been known to do so--and takes my advice, will -run a very good chance of recovering the Carcellini emerald.” - -“Arden! What _do_ you mean? It isn’t possible you think--” - -“Never mind what I think. Even to you, dearest, I am not prepared -to say it in plain words. But this visit of his to-night, and his -proposition to put us under obligation through this matter of Tom’s, -is the most impudent bluff I ever heard of. To-morrow I wire for -Tom. He will reach here in the course of the week, probably; and we -shall go together to that newspaper office and force a withdrawal of -their threatened revelation. Depend on it, the matter of Mr. Ashton -Carmichael will not rest upon this evening’s work. The Carcellini -emerald scandal is about to assume a new and interesting phase.” - - * * * * * - -At the clubs that night, and in many homes next day, it seemed that -people had, simultaneously and without apparent new provocation, -adopted Mr. Farnsworth’s view of the late excitement. Flaring up from -the coals, the gossip about it began to burn with tenfold vigor. Some -oracles went so far as to declare that Mrs. Ellison had recovered -her jewel, had forgiven the thief (who had gone to reside on a ranch -in New Mexico), and in token of gratitude for her signal mercy was -about to present the Carcellini emerald to the Metropolitan Museum in -Central Park. The hint given by the offending newspaper had not so -far, prompted the general public to bring Tom Oliver’s name into the -affair. He was too little known to the makers of paragraphs and the -purveyors of contemporaneous news items to tempt the fate adumbrated -for him by Ashton Carmichael to his sister. But any number of wild, -vague, irrelevant stories were started, and left to drift down the -tide of idle talk. - -When Oliver, much disgusted on arrival in New York by the revelations -of his brother-in-law, was about to set forth with that gentleman -upon the disagreeable mission of stirring up the erring newspaper -office with a very long pole, Mr. Farnsworth, in leaving his front -door, was intercepted by a visitor--a young woman, closely veiled, -and wet by a driving rain, holding an open umbrella in her hand. - -“Eh? Very sorry, but--private business, you say?--and I am not to -speak for publication? My dear lady, if you could oblige me with the -least idea of what you intend to say I could better--” - -They were standing in the open door, Tom a little in the rear of -Farnsworth. Both men were surprised at her sudden, impetuous gesture -in throwing back her veil, and revealing a strong, excited face. - -“Mr. Oliver! I must speak to you, too. Don’t you remember Alice -Carmichael?” - -“This lady is entitled to the best respect any man has to give her, -Farnsworth,” said Tom, offering her his hand. “It is a long time -since we have met, but I should have known you anywhere. Farnsworth, -mayn’t we step back into your little study, to the fire, and let Miss -Carmichael tell us what is on her mind?” - -“It seems that I am always doomed to come to you, Mr. Oliver, under -stress of circumstance. This time, however, my errand shall be of the -briefest. I meant only to give this”--and she held out a large brown -envelope--“to Mr. Farnsworth for you. It contains, as you will find, -the original of an article that was to go to press to-night. It was -surrendered to me of his own free will by the author, who happens to -consider himself under some obligations to me for past services. -And it will not in any shape be duplicated or repeated. The greatest -favor you can do me in return is to ask me no questions concerning -it.” - -“Do you debar me from telling you that I am everlastingly obliged to -you?” cried Oliver. “You can imagine what it was, Miss Carmichael, -to be summoned back to New York by my good brother here, to find a -mine of malice and filthy lies ready to explode under my feet. I -can’t tell you yet what the whole confounded business means. Indeed, -I should be tempted to doubt the existence of this rot”--he gave the -envelope a scornful shake--“unless you and Farnsworth vouched for it.” - -“If you don’t mind I will look over the contents, to satisfy -myself they are what we desired to get hold of,” said Farnsworth, -withdrawing with the parcel to his desk. - -“Do, please,” said Oliver, with a shrug. “I certainly shall not -glance at them. Pray sit down by the fire, Miss Carmichael. I am sure -your feet are wet, and you seem to be shivering. Let me ask my sister -to come--” - -“No, no!” she exclaimed, woefully, compressing her lips to keep back -the tears evoked by his apparition. “This is a moment snatched from -business hours. I must be off. I am not cold; it is nervousness, I -suppose. Oh, think when and how I saw you last, and you will not -wonder! And I have lately had much care. Please forgive me, Mr. -Oliver; I shall be all right soon.” - -Many and varied had been the experiences of other people’s griefs -falling to Alice’s lot in her professional career. For so long she -had been in the habit of putting a lock upon her own feelings, while -absorbing those of her studies for the press, she could hardly -believe she was giving way to emotion on her own account. - -She had spent the previous evening on duty in the Tombs prison, -gathering for publication the last utterances of a wretched woman -about to be consigned for her crimes to life imprisonment. From here -she was going on to the tenement-house district to write up the case -of a starving family for whom a newspaper fund was to be created. -Later that day she was due at a crush reception, where there were -dresses to describe. Everywhere and every day of her busy, lonely -life, she was the human atom last to be considered. - -“I suppose you think I am rather a lunatic,” she went on, with an -attempt at sprightliness, seeing the deep concern in Oliver’s face. -“But you must not mind my giving way to this weakness. It is a -relief to think that anybody cares. Now I shall go, please--not to -keep you and Mr. Farnsworth longer.” - -Farnsworth, a sheaf of typed sheets in his hand, came forward to join -them upon the hearth-rug. - -“This is the most diabolically ingenious effort of imagination I ever -saw!” he exclaimed, impulsively. “What would be a fair punishment for -such a tissue of insinuations that can be read in two ways, yet would -succeed effectually in damning the person they are aimed at, I cannot -think.” - -The young journalist crimsoned to the roots of her hair. - -“I have not read it,” she said, in a faltering tone. “I only--became -aware--that it was in existence--and I was anxious to save it getting -into print.” - -“You have placed us under an obligation no money could discharge,” -went on Farnsworth, kindly; “but--er--it would give me genuine -pleasure to express our gratitude in some substantial way.” - -“No, no; do not speak of it!” she cried. “Your wife will tell you, -Mr. Farnsworth, if this gentleman does not, what a debt I am trying -to repay.” - -Before they could interpose she had left the room. Tom, overtaking -her in the hall, urged upon her to accept his escort, or his -assistance in some way; but with a melancholy smile she waved him -off, and taking up her wet umbrella from the servant’s hands went out -alone into the rain. - -“You don’t mean to tell me that fine, frank womanly creature is -the sneak’s own sister?” enquired Farnsworth, when Tom, looking -and feeling crestfallen, went back into the study to explain her -identity. “It seems incredible! I think her shyness with us is -because she knows Ashton inspired every word of this offending -article, that she, by good luck, has been able to abstract from the -writer’s clutches. Probably some poor devil of a reporter she’s come -across and befriended. Jove! that girl was made for better things -than a life like hers. I must set Eunice to work to get her out of -it.” - -“You will not succeed,” replied Tom. “She is fine and self-helpful -and proud to a degree, as her brother is the reverse. There is only -one scheme that suggests itself to me,” he added, after a pause. -“Somebody should marry her.” - -“It will be a very brave body who will saddle himself with such -a brother-in-law,” said Farnsworth, meaningly. “Don’t let your -chivalrous sentiment run away with you, my friend. Unless I am -greatly mistaken, Ashton Carmichael has in his possession the -Carcellini emerald, and will ultimately come to grief. What’s more, -I believe she thinks so, and that that accounts for her nervousness -with us. If I knew more about him in the past I could better tell. -I wish, in the interests of justice, Tom, you would answer me one -question. Was the affair she alluded to of a nature to justify us in -suspecting him of an act of criminal intent?” - -“I cannot answer you,” replied the young man, bluntly. “For years -what I know of it has never passed my lips; and I shall never again -tell that story.” - - - - - IV - -The morning’s drizzle had settled into a steady downpour when, after -concluding her notes upon the fashionable world as seen at Mrs. -Hathaway’s reception, Miss Carmichael, of the _Epoch_, put on her -rubber overshoes, extinguished her smartest gown under a waterproof -cloak, and unfurling her faithful umbrella, slipped down the steps -and under the awning at the front door to take an east-side car for -down town. - -Her destination was not unfamiliar, for the car stopped at a crossing -very near the house in which she previously visited her brother, -Ashton. But as she rang the bell of his lodgings and awaited the -coming of the maid, Alice’s heart beat with fierce excitement. To do -what she now purposed to accomplish would put into requisition her -best courage, tact, and persistence. - -She had written to her brother asking an interview with him at the -moment when her suspicions first fell upon his complicity with the -much-talked-of newspaper articles about the loss of the emerald at -Mrs. Ellison’s dinner. Upon his churlish refusal to receive her on -any terms she had set her wits to trace out and discover the tool -whom he had doubtless employed to do his noxious work. - -This for a time she could not accomplish. But chance finally threw -into her way the knowledge that on some previous occasion Carmichael -had had so-called literary dealings with a man named Lance, a -hack-writer of ability, whose bad habits were fast bringing his -usefulness to an end. Now, indeed, fate played into her hands. The -year before she had nursed Lance’s child through an illness ending in -the girl’s death in her arms in the boarding-house where they were -both living. For Alice, Lance would hazard his last hope of earthly -happiness. She was to him a thing sacred and apart from his sordid -world. When she sought him out, and asked him point-blank whether he -had not been employed by her brother, Ashton Carmichael, to transmit -certain information to a certain newspaper, the man was fairly -staggered. - -“Your brother!” he exclaimed. “That poor sycophant, whose pay even I -blush to take? He whom we call among ourselves the ‘Little Brother of -the Rich.’ Good Lord! You are as far asunder as the poles.” - -So Ashton thought, but with a difference! - -When Lance understood the case he hastened with almost pathetic -eagerness to bring his finished material and lay it in her hands. - -“Is this little all I can do for you?” he asked. - -“No, Mr. Lance. You might promise me never to put your hand to such -vile stuff again,” she said, looking him fearlessly in the face. - -“The wording only is my own. He gave me the ideas. He said it would -be a stinger to the man he hated most. As for the morality involved, -I am past distinguishing between the grades of principle--since _she_ -left me, and I see no more of you!” - -“There _is_ something in which you might help me,” she added, after -revolving matters in her mind. “I need to see my brother--to talk -with him alone. He has positively refused to receive me in his rooms. -I cannot push my way there in the face of servants. Could you bring -us together, do you think?” - -Lance brightened. - -“Why not? I have an appointment to wait for him at six on Friday. The -people of the house are used to seeing me come and go, sometimes with -a stenographer. I don’t know if you are aware that he does a steady -business contributing ‘society personals’ to our paper and to others. -His terms are high, but they like to have him, because he’s a sure -thing. Will you prefer to go with me or to meet me there?” - -“I shall be there at a quarter before six,” Alice had said, drawing a -long breath. - -She found Lance sitting in the hall. - -“This is the lady I told you was coming to take my place, Bridget,” -said Lance to the servant, pleasantly. Despite his shabby looks -the maids of the boarding-house liked him, whom they called “Mr. -Carmichael’s clerk.” The woman answered him in a jovial tone: - -“All right, Mr. Lance. The young lady can go on up and sit in the -sittin’-room.” As Lance said good evening and went out she added, -sociably: “You run right up, miss. Second story front. But, laws, I -remember you was here before! Our Mr. Carmichael do be mightily run -after by the newspaper folks. He’s such a high-flyer in society. But -he ain’t well, I’m thinking; he looks like a sheet o’ paper nowadays.” - -The winter’s day had closed in as Alice entered her brother’s room, -and sat down by the window, listening to the drip, drip of the rain -upon the sills. She wanted time to think before he should come in. - -He would resent her intrusion angrily, of course; but that would be -nothing in comparison with his wrath when he should know for what -she came. - -For days she had carried fear around with her, and slept with it at -night. Putting together one thing and another that had come to her -about the unlucky dinner at Mrs. Ellison’s, she had conceived the -horrible suspicion that her brother was the thief of the ring. Since -convicting him as the source of the slanderous article inculpating -Tom, this suspicion had been growing into assurance. Until that -morning her chief yearning desire had been to put Lance’s article -safely into Mr. Farnsworth’s hands. That accomplished, she had for -a moment breathed freer. Then the blacker weight had settled down -again. A desperate resolve possessed her. She must recover the ring -from Ashton, and restore it to its owner! - -Did she not accomplish this, how could she answer to her dead mother, -who with her last breath had prayed Alice to watch over the weakling -of her fold, and to forgive him until seventy times seven? - -Behind Alice was a line of Puritan ancestors who had lived and died -strong in the faith and fear of a just God. Surely He would not -permit her to fail now upon the threshold of such an endeavor. But -how could she set about it? How induce Ashton to confess his crime -unless he were sure he was found out? - -As the moments elapsed that were to bring the sound of his foot upon -the stair the ticking of his costly traveling clock over the mantel -beat louder and louder on her ear. Her brow and hands were bathed in -sweat, yet she was clammy cold. - -Six o’clock! He could not be long now. - -Oh! she could never bring him to own the truth. At the first hint of -her mission he would not hesitate to turn her with ignominy from the -house--to brand her as an impudent interloper. - -If the ring were here on the table before her she would even dare to -take it, and escape, flying till she had laid it in the right hands, -risking anything to save her brother from the consequences of his sin -and crime. - -A single jet of gas burned low under a shade of crimson silk above -the writing-table, littered with fantastic trifles in gold and -silver, spoils of his cotillons, gifts of his admirers. With fervid -fingers she turned on the full light, drew down the window-shades and -looked about her. There was no desk, casket, or piece of furniture -that seemed a likely hiding place for so rare a treasure. He would -never dare to carry it about his person. Nor, so long as the clamor -concerning it lasted, would he venture to dispose of the Carcellini -emerald! - -Her face burning with another’s shame, Alice went into the smaller -hall-room, where his bed was and his dressing things were kept. Still -the same commonplace furnishings, with a litter of clothes and boots -and trinkets of the toilet. Here, too, she turned up the gas and lit -it, terrified lest interruption should find her without excuse. - -“For _her_ sake,” she repeated, to give herself courage in the -search. Nothing was locked; all was at the mercy of the maid who -arranged and dusted Ashton’s rooms. With her old instinct of -making his belongings tidy, as she had been used to do when they -lived together, Alice began straightening the ties, laying the -handkerchiefs in piles, and putting the gloves in pairs. - -Forgetting her real intent, she smiled as of old to find behind -a lot of other things a box filled with a hodgepodge of buttons, -sleeve-links, cigar-cutters, scarf-pins, tangled with shoe-strings, -rubber bands, and other flotsam of a crowded chest of drawers. This -was Ashton all over, careless fellow! For the hundredth time his -loving sister would extract the rubbish from things of value, and set -the whole to rights. - -Out of the confusion of this receptacle she rolled a quaint curio -in the shape of a thimble-case made from a carved Indian nut, with -silver frame and settings tarnished for a long want of cleaning. The -trifle was too old and shabby now to tempt anybody’s cupidity, but -it aroused in Alice Carmichael a swelling tide of sentiment that -overflowed her eyes and softened her heart to childlike tenderness. -For it had been a gift to their mother long ago; had lain in her -work-basket, and was once scrambled for by her children with -eagerness proportioned to her withdrawal of it from their grasp. -Later on it had been given to Ashton, because he had first discovered -the trick of opening it by pressing a hidden spring. By some freak of -chance it had knocked about among his belongings ever since. - -Alice took the poor little blackened relic in her hand and went -back with it into the sitting-room, where she dropped upon a chair, -abandoning herself to retrospect. Away flew the hideous nightmare -of her present quest. Ashton and she were children together, she -loving him, sheltering him, proud of his beauty and accomplishments, -following his lead with blind idolatry. - -With this amulet in her grasp she longed to clasp him again in her -arms, to talk with him of their mother, their old home; to laugh and -chaff with him about the things of every day. - -Mechanically her fingers fumbled with the thimble-case, turning it -over and over to feel for the point of the carving that concealed its -mystery. Smiling, she discovered at last the spring--touched it--the -nut flew open--something dropped into her lap that she reached down -to regain. She was astounded to find her fingers close upon a gem -that at the gleam of gas-light falling full upon its lustrous surface -sent up a bubbling, dazzling fount of greenish flame! She started -with a convulsive movement of dismay. There could be no doubt that -she held in her hand the Carcellini emerald! - -Then flowed upon her soul a torrent of deepest misery. Once before -her brother had been guilty of a theft--of moneys laid to Tom -Oliver’s account as treasurer of a college fund. But she had paid -that out of her poor earnings, and Tom, for her sake, had offered to -hush the matter up, and give Ashton “another chance.” - -And thus he had used his chance! The flaring radiance of the jewel -seemed to taunt her anguish. - -What should she do? Whither should she turn to save him once again? -Rising, her feet refused to sustain her. As she stood dizzy, -trembling, aghast, holding the precious jewel as she looked at it, -the door opened and her brother came into the room. His eyes flashed -anger at sight of her, but something more devilish inspired him when -he saw what she had in her hand. - -In two bounds he was across the room and had seized her. She shut -her eyes, and uttered a prayer to God for strength. She was wiry and -vigorous, and did not mean to let Ashton take the emerald from her if -she could help it. At all costs she would save him from himself. He -said not a word, nor did she. Each was fiercely determined to conquer -in the struggle. Too well he knew that if he could regain his stolen -prize, and turn her from his room, her lips would be sealed as before. - -But he was not prepared for her physical resistance. At his approach -she had slipped the gem into hiding in her dress, keeping her right -hand clenched as if she still held it in her grasp. - -Without mercy he bent her arm back and forth, hurting her cruelly, -and at last, forcing her bruised fingers apart, saw that she held -nothing between them. Then with a savage oath he struck her full -across the face! - -Alice staggered back, stunned and dismayed. But she did not waver in -her intention to get by him to the door, and thence make her escape -into the street. Once free of Ashton she would carry the jewel to -Mr. Farnsworth or Tom Oliver if she could not reach its owner. - -Ashton divined her scheme. His only hope lay in keeping her prisoner -till he could force her to give up the gem. With more brutal words he -started to cut off her retreat by putting his back against the door. -His whole appearance was transformed by furious passion. - -At that moment help came to her from a quarter on which she had -not counted. She saw her brother shiver all over, and grow deadly -pale. His left hand made a clutching movement toward his heart; he -staggered forward, and fell--into her arms. - -Alice had seen this once before--an occasion never to be forgotten. -She knew the terror-stricken eyes, the awful, helpless appeal for -relief from sudden oppression. His livid features brought back to -her with agonizing force the face of their dying mother under like -conditions. Exerting all her powers she dragged him to a sofa, laid -him down, and flew to ring the bell, peal upon peal. - -The maid who ran up to answer it gave one frightened glance into -the room and rushed back to the landing to summon help from any one -who might be passing on the stairs. Her call brought among others -a gentleman just admitted into the hall below. In the maze of her -feelings Alice hardly felt surprised to see Tom Oliver entering her -brother’s room. She begged him, pathetically, to explain to the -proprietors of the house her right to be there, then went on her -knees again beside the prostrate form upon the lounge. In a very few -moments a physician came, and Alice, giving place to him, let Tom -lead her over to a window, where he left her looking out into the -night. - -Returning presently he told her that all was over. Ashton had died -without coming back to consciousness. - -“You will let me take charge of everything,” he added, with deep -feeling in his voice. “When I stood with the doctor looking down at -him I forgot what I came here to say--everything, in fact, but that I -once loved him like a brother.” - -“I think I know what you came for,” she answered, wistfully. “You -meant to silence him for the future, and now death has done it--oh, -how awfully!” - -She shuddered. The pain of her body was beginning to make itself -severely felt. It recalled to her the prize for which she had risked -so much, that lay close to the tumultuous beatings of her heart. -Above all things she longed for advice from Tom concerning it, but -could not bring herself to speak the words that would incriminate the -dead. - - * * * * * - -When, some months later Tom Oliver asked Alice Carmichael to be his -wife she tried to make him understand that in addition to other -reasons why she could not accept his “generous sacrifice,” there was -one supreme obstacle between them. - -“Do not tell me,” he said, with authority, “what you conceive this -to be. I know all that I care to know of what has kept us apart till -now. It is the future, not the past, that you and I have to deal -with. I shall take you to live far away from the scenes of your -sorrowful memories--and for the rest trust me!” - - * * * * * - -But no man, however thoughtful, however loving, can extinguish in a -faithful woman’s heart the flame of her earliest tenderness. Often -and again Alice Oliver thinks of the lonely, unhonored grave in which -lies one who is never mentioned in her little family. Less often--but -now always kindly--Eunice Farnsworth thinks of him, too. - - * * * * * - -The restoration to its owner of the great Carcellini emerald--without -the ring--is well known to have occurred directly upon Mrs. -Ellison’s return to town from her Southern journey. It was sent back -to her as mysteriously as it had vanished. No clew was ever found -that informed the public of the author of either its disappearance or -its reappearance. - - - - - AN AUTHOR’S READING AND ITS CONSEQUENCES - - - - - AN AUTHOR’S READING AND ITS CONSEQUENCES - - -For some time Sutphen had been in proud possession of a Literary -Club, the leading spirit of which organization was the lively and -irrepressible wife of the chief banker of the town. - -People in Sutphen, including her family, her followers and, last -but not least, her husband, never knew what Mrs. Chauncey Stratton -was going to do next for the benefit or entertainment of their -lives. She rushed them from bazaar to out-door play, from concerts -to cooking classes. She and her coterie of womenfolk had descended -upon the editor of the principal newspaper, and made him give them -one issue of his journal to be edited by them for charity. And -about six months before she had instituted a series of fortnightly -meetings, at which men and women were to meet for discussion of books -and current events. After the president (of course, Mrs. Chauncey -Stratton) had accomplished the matter of reading before the assembled -club two or three papers embodying her own views of given subjects, -and was getting a little tired of it, her friends began dimly to -feel that something new would shortly be in order to brighten these -occasions--something fresh and metropolitan, _fin de siècle_, that -would carry Sutphen again up on the wave of novelty. - -But like all great leaders, Mrs. Chauncey Stratton had malcontents -in her camp--close to her person--sharing in her daily councils. The -chief complaint made in vulgar parlance by these unsatisfied ones was -that they were tired of being bossed. - -The matter was under discussion one morning in the cozy library of -the secretary of the club, a well-to-do spinster, Miss Cornelia -Bennett, whose claim to literary cousinship was based upon -substantial grounds. For some years she had been in the habit of -sending slips of linen cloth to authors in America and Europe, with -the request that they would inscribe thereon their names in pencil. -These autographs, duly returned to and “backstitched” in color by -Cornelia, were then assembled in a sort of “crazy quilt,” and sold -for the benefit of a hospital for incurables. After this signal -success in the world of letters, Miss Bennett had been elected -without a dissenting voice to be Mrs. Stratton’s second in command. -She was a meek, ashen-hued female, who, to all appearance, accepted -it as her manifest destiny to walk in Mrs. Stratton’s tracks, never -dreaming of such defiance as pushing ahead of her, or crossing -her line of march. But, in reality, while engaged in covering for -distribution among the members of the club the batch of new books -ordered by Mrs. Stratton from New York, a strange spirit of revolt -was kindling in her flat chest. Aiding Miss Bennett in her work, sat -Mrs. Mark Grindstone, a large, dull, catarrhal lady, chosen to serve -as treasurer of their organization--chiefly because she lived in a -large, dull house, was sustained by a large, dull husband, and wore -to church on Sundays a black velvet cloak bursting with jet beads and -bugles at every pore. - -Dull as Mrs. Grindstone was, she yet possessed the spirit of the -traditional worm. “Of what use is it,” she asked herself, “to wear -the handsomest cloak in Sutphen, if one is always to be ordered to -the right about by Annetta Stratton?” - -And “Why have I been in correspondence with the most prominent -brain-workers of two hemispheres,” wondered Cornelia, “if here I am -actually afraid to portion out the books before Annetta Stratton -comes? If we had only a chance!” she murmured, making common cause -with Mrs. Grindstone, “to show her that when called upon for -independent action, we can be her equals in success.” - -“We will make a chance,” said Mrs. Grindstone, after clearing her -throat, rather unpleasantly, Cornelia thought. “What Annetta does not -like to think is that other people can do things without her telling -them how. It would be a good plan to keep quiet and go ahead, and do -some big thing exactly as she means to do it--on the same scale, in -every way.” - -“Exactly!” said Cornelia, with animation, as she wrestled with the -crackly brown paper enshrouding the last book of her pile. “One such -lesson would be enough for Annetta.” - -“Just so,” said Mrs. Grindstone, fairly slapping her last label into -place. - -“Look here, girls,” interposed old Mrs. Bennett, who always read -her morning’s paper from the rising to the going down of its varied -information; “fine times have come to Sutphen. Here’s a city caterer -set up in that built-over block on Main Street, where Blink’s -shoe-store used to be before the fire. There’s nothing he doesn’t -offer to furnish to customers--bread, rolls, patty shells, ice-creams -(French and American), birthday cakes, weddin’ cakes, salads, -cotillon favors, Jack Horner pies--” - -[Illustration: “AN OPPORTUNITY TO DECK OUT HER BOARD WITH AN -EFFECT.”] - -“You don’t say so?” interpolated Mrs. Grindstone with housekeeperish -relish. - -“Yes; and he undertakes to serve ‘dinners, luncheons, teas, and -receptions with glass, silverware, and elegant services of china, -competent waiters and chefs, awnings, camp-chairs, crash, tables, -decorations--all in first-class style!’” - -“For all the world as they do it in the city,” exclaimed Miss -Cornelia, excitedly. “Mother, it does look as if Providence had -rolled a stone out of our pathway. Everybody knows we could have had -just as fine parties as Annetta Stratton if we’d only not had to ask -her how to set about givin’ ’em. And so could you, Mrs. Grindstone. -Your house is two feet wider than Annetta’s, four rooms on a floor, -and splendid chandeliers in every room. Just the place for an evening -reception, like the one I went to at Professor Slocum’s in New York.” - -“I have often thought of it,” sighed Mrs. Grindstone. “Of course, -there’d be some trouble to get Mr. Grindstone into it. He’s sort -o’ set in his ways, and thinks it a sin to light more than one gas -burner in a room. But we might get over _him_, if there was only any -excuse to give a party--any brides or explorers or great folks that -we knew, coming to town, that had to be entertained.” - -“That’s it,” said Miss Cornelia. “We are as dull as ditchwater in -Sutphen--unless Annetta stirs us up,” she added, reluctantly. - -At this moment, enter Mrs. Chauncey Stratton, plump, rustling, -well-dressed, with red cheeks like a china doll, self-satisfaction in -every line of her face, in every movement of her person. At the bare -sight of her the two conspirators shrunk into their shells. Old Mrs. -Bennett, who had returned to the perusal of a column devoted to the -wants of domestic service, alone preserved her equilibrium. - -“My dear girls,” exclaimed the oracle, dropping into her chair at the -literary table, “if I am late, put it down to the claims of excessive -correspondence. And as I see you’ve finished with the books, let me -lose no time in informing you that I have just had the good fortune -to conclude successfully a negotiation for a lecture before our club -from no less a literary light than Timothy Bludgeon, who is at the ----- Hotel in New York.” - -“Bludgeon, the English author!” replied Miss Cornelia, faintly. -“Not that I’ve much opinion of his works, since he refused me his -autograph for my quilt, and even sent me a very tart letter through -his secretary. But, still, he is the lion of the day.” - -“Precisely,” observed Mrs. Stratton calmly; “so I made up my mind to -get him--and I did!” - -Mrs. Grindstone made a series of muffled sounds that might have been -applause. In her heart she was struck with jealous indignation. -Quick as a flash she and Cornelia saw open before them another vista -in which Annetta would walk glorified, they remaining part of the -inconspicuous crowd ranged on either side of her. - -“I asked him to come for our meeting on the fifteenth,” remarked Mrs. -Stratton, with the same exasperating composure born of certainty. -“And he could just fit it in on his way to Boston. He will arrive on -the 11 A.M. train on the fifteenth, and leave next morning at the -same time, thus allowing to Sutphen just twenty-four hours. I have -decided to give him a dinner in the evening, and to change the hour -for the lecture to the afternoon.” - -“Such assurance!” said both satellites internally. But they only -murmured, “Splendid!” “Just like you, Annetta,” and the like. - -“Of course, you and dear Mr. Grindstone will be included in my -dinner list,” went on Mrs. Stratton, addressing her now speechless -treasurer. “And you, Cornelia, will pair with old Major Gooch. -Sixteen I can seat easily, all choice spirits, and the rest of the -club will have to be satisfied with an introduction to Bludgeon over -a cup of tea at five o’clock. Mr. Bludgeon will, I fancy, see that -Sutphen is not so far behind New York in her style of doing things.” - -“And what will the lecture be about?” ventured Cornelia, more than -anything else to cover her own pique. - -“Oh, that is of no consequence! Readings from his own works, -possibly. But the name of Bludgeon is enough. It will exhaust a good -deal of the reserve fund of the club to pay him his price, but I -felt sure we could make that all right, Mrs. Grindstone. That I had -decided it is best would, of course, be sufficient for the club.” - -And the treasurer was to have no voice in this, her own especial -branch of service! No wonder Mrs. Grindstone’s spirit rose! Old Mrs. -Bennett, breaking in upon the conversation to read aloud an obituary -notice striking her fancy, effected a happy diversion. - -From that date Mrs. Stratton, absorbed in her own ambitious plans for -a feast to the English author that should be described in the local -prints, and perchance quoted in metropolitan news columns, saw but -little of her two friends. It was observed by some lookers-on that -Cornelia Bennett was seen moving about the streets with animation, -paying frequent visits to the new caterer, Simonson, and preserving -withal an air of pleasing mystery. Other people saw good Mrs. -Grindstone going hither and thither in much the same way. And putting -two and two together, Sutphen decided that there was to be at least -a “chicken salad and oyster spread” in store for the members of the -Literary Club, following the appearance on their platform of the -great man, Timothy Bludgeon. The unliterary portion of Sutphen licked -its chops at the suggestion! - -But a week before the appointed time, out came a genuine surprise. -Two sets of cards were issued simultaneously. One from Mrs. and Miss -Bennett, inviting their friends to meet Mr. Bludgeon at luncheon -on the fifteenth; the other stating that Mr. and Mrs. Grindstone -would be “At Home” on the evening of the same day, at half-past ten -o’clock, with the additional words, “To meet Mr. Bludgeon” inscribed -across the tops! - -Where now was the wind to fill Mrs. Stratton’s sails? In vain might -she whistle for it, when her lion was due to roar at two banquets -besides her own in the self-same day. And worse than all, Cornelia -Bennett, in undertaking to give this ridiculous luncheon of hers, -would actually take precedence in point of time of Mrs. Chauncey -Stratton! Of course the affair would be a sad failure. Cornelia knew -little, her mother less, of the customs of entertaining in modern -society. Theirs would be homely doings. Turkey with cranberry sauce, -for example; jellies in tall glasses set around a china _compotier_ -of floating island; cakes, big and little. No lobster _farcie_, no -mushroom on toast, French chops, birds, tongue in aspic, salads, -ices--such as Mrs. Stratton would have ordered. Mrs. Grindstone’s -festivity would be--equally, of course--on the same old-fashioned -lines. Oyster stews and molds of ice-cream, the predominating element -of the table. A smell of fried oysters enveloping all. Oh! Annetta -well knew the sort of thing to expect. She pitied poor Mr. Bludgeon -for falling into the hands of these stupid, pushing women, who were -not satisfied to sit still and see her take the field of Sutphen’s -hospitality to distinguished strangers. One thought occurred to -her, to fill Annetta’s soul with consolation! The weak spot in -Sutphen’s domestic panoply, as known to all Sutphen’s housekeepers, -was the general prevalence of plain white or old willow-pattern -china on the shelves. Most of Sutphen’s lords and masters preferred -these varieties of porcelain, and had set their feet down upon any -suggestion of change. Strange to say, even the amenable Mr. Chauncey -Stratton had once asserted himself so far as to declare he preferred -to eat his meals from the dishes he had been accustomed to ever -since his wife and he had set up housekeeping. This was the crumpled -roseleaf in Mrs. Chauncey Stratton’s couch of down. That her set -of white porcelain rejoiced in gilded edges, while those of other -people were plain, gave her but limited satisfaction. For two years -she had been bending every energy of her mind toward securing a set -of Royal Meissen--“onion pattern”--that she had seen in a famous -shop in New York. For two years Mr. Chauncey Stratton had resisted -her. His attitude was to be accounted for only by the saying of old -Mrs. Bennett, “The very best and most biddable of husbands has his -obstinate spot, my dear; and when a woman runs afoul of it, she might -as well give up.” - -Of late, coincidently with the threatened dinner to Mr. Timothy -Bludgeon, Mrs. Stratton had seen a ray of light pierce the darkness -surrounding this question of china for the table. In investigating -the resources of Simonson, the New York _restaurateur_, her eyes had -sparkled at the discovery in the rear of his premises of an entire -service of “onion pattern” Meissen--or at least a good imitation of -that desired original. - -What an opportunity was here to deck out her board with an “effect” -in porcelain of the latter-day style she aspired to introduce into -Sutphen. - -Little by little, the wily caterer had induced her to trust the whole -thing into his hands. In cases where Simonson undertook to serve -the feast throughout, it was his custom, he said, to supply also -the table service, china, silver, dishes, candelabra, rose-colored -candles with shades to match, side-dishes for bonbons--all. Under -these conditions he guaranteed that Mrs. Stratton’s dinner should -be the finest ever seen in Sutphen. And thus it came to pass that -with a heart lightened of responsibility, but weighted with some -apprehension as to the amount of the final bill, Mrs. Stratton had -tripped away from Simonson’s. Her last word, an afterthought upon the -sidewalk, which she returned to the shop to deliver, was to enjoin -upon the glib caterer absolute silence regarding every detail of her -arrangements. - -[Illustration: “MR. BLUDGEON HAD BETTER BE READ THAN SEEN.”] - -When the day arrived that was to see the triplicated entertainment -of the Englishman, Sutphen was at fever-heat. So much had popular -imagination expected of the object of all these cares, it was -a distinct disappointment when a solemn little black-a-vised man -carrying an American “dress-suit” case, stepped out of the omnibus -of the Dixon House and requested of the clerk of that hostelry one -of his one-dollar rooms. Barring a further demand for hot water in -a jug--which the bell boy took to indicate some intention toward a -private brew of punch--there was nothing to distinguish the great -genius from an ordinary commercial traveler. Some enterprising -spirits who had been hanging around the hotel corridor to see this -arrival, went home and confided to wives and daughters their opinion -that Mr. Bludgeon had better be read than seen. And these ladies who -for days had been conning well-thumbed volumes of his writings sighed -the sigh of discomfiture--feeling rather glad, however, that certain -entertainers who were at that moment yearning for his arrival, were -destined to share their disillusionment. Just before the arrival -of her twelve guests for luncheon, Miss Bennett received a hasty -note from Mrs. Stratton, expressing deepest regret that her fatigue -resulting from necessary cares of state and home (of which naturally -there was no one to relieve _her_) would prevent her from being -present. - -“‘A positively raging headache,’ she says,” remarked Cornelia, -compressing her lips. “Never mind, mother; I don’t care. I’ll send -right over and fill up with little Miss James, the elocution teacher. -She is pretty and clever, and can talk up to Annetta any day, if she -only gets the chance. And if you’ll believe _me_, mother, it’s not so -much headache the matter with Annetta as vexation because I’m to skim -the cream off the milk pan first. Good gracious! I’m tired to death -myself, but I’d rather die than give up now.” - -Curiosity among Miss Bennett’s _invités_ was fully sated when, upon -the arrival of the guest of honor, luncheon was at once announced, -and they filed into the well-remembered dining-room, where they had -of old partaken of feasts of the frizzled beef and scrambled egg -description. Here, _mirabile dictu!_ was a board set out in modern -conventional fashion--a silver wine-cooler full of roses in the -center, silver dishlets holding salted almonds, bonbons and little -cakes around it; at each cover a name card, napkin, glass for claret, -another for sauterne, and still another for sherry, setting off a -plate of blue Meissen porcelain! - -So far Mr. Bludgeon had said little beside “hum!” and “ha!” He had -devoured his bread and bouillon in silence, and had drank a glass of -white wine; but now he bestowed upon the listening public his first -connected utterance: - -“Hum! ha! very fair imitation,” he said to his hostess, turning his -plate upside down to gaze upon the trade-mark on the bottom. “We -use this kind of thing in our own house for every day. Perhaps you -knew--but it may be only chance--that this is my favorite pattern in -china. Looks clean and tidy somehow, so I tell my wife.” - -Sustained by this mark of approval, Miss Bennett inwardly blessed -Simonson, who, looking unconscious in an evening dress suit, -was occupied at the side table, in dispensing platters of fish -croquettes to his two subordinates to serve. She only wished that -Annetta Stratton might have been near enough to hear. The rest -of the meal, whisked along expeditiously by the trained minions, -went so fast, that Miss Bennett could hardly believe her good luck -when all was over. True to the instincts of more artless days, -she had some thoughts of putting on her bonnet and running out -to talk it over with Annetta. But her feet ached, her dress felt -too tight, her mother was fretting over the loss of both pairs of -spectacles, Simonson’s men were overrunning everything, Mr. Bludgeon -had gone away without more than the scantest recognition of her -personality--so she went up to her bedroom and had a hearty, nervous -cry. - -In the Lyceum Hall that afternoon, where the literary club met at 4 -P.M. for the “lecture,” everybody was buzzing over the reports of the -Bennetts’ swell luncheon. Mrs. Chauncey Stratton, who had insisted -upon calling at the Dixon House to fetch Mr. Bludgeon to the hall in -her own carriage, did not arrive till too late to hear the gossip. -Just before the solemn little man stepped upon the platform, the -great lady of Sutphen passed up the middle aisle, wearing a bonnet -with plumes turning to all points of the compass, a trailing skirt -of rich satin, a jet cuirass, and a large bouquet of violets in the -bosom of her gown. Smiling, nodding on all sides with conscious -pride, this patron of letters took her seat beside Mrs. Mark -Grindstone. - -“Seems to me you’ve ‘picked up’ since lunch time,” observed that -lady, in her customary muffled tones. - -“I _do_ feel better,” said Mrs. Stratton, unable to cease bowing, -although in conversation with her friend. “So you were at poor -Cornelia’s little affair? Do tell me how it went off.” - -“Six courses--three wines--the whole thing served by -Simonson--couldn’t have been better done,” answered Mrs. Grindstone, -lightly. - -“Simonson?” The shot had gone home. - -“Mr. Bludgeon was most agreeable. He particularly noticed the table -service, and seemed so pleased,” went on Mrs. Grindstone, who had a -long score to settle. “But hush! Here he comes. What do you suppose -he is going to read?” - -“Didn’t you see the program?” asked Annetta in a chilly tone. “It was -settled with me, by letter. In fact I selected the extracts from his -own works, and it will be sure to be satisfactory to all.” - -We pass over the somewhat subduing effect upon a large mixed -audience, alien to him by birth and training, of the Englishman’s -recital of his own gems of thought. The usual frost accompanying -this species of entertainment was deepened while his tragic scenes -and interludes were rehearsed successively. Some members of the Club -were rash enough to whisper between themselves that the entertainment -wasn’t worth the appropriation from their treasury required to meet -its cost. - -During the “tea” with introductions, that followed, Mrs. Stratton -again rose to the occasion. As the fairy godmother of Genius she was -immense. But Genius remained from first to last unsmiling. Life was -real, life was earnest to him during that episode of American homage. - -Seated at Mrs. Stratton’s right hand, at dinner in her pleasant -dining-room, Mr. Bludgeon, in evening dress, unfolding his napkin, -looked almost amiable. When he caught sight of the soup plate -succeeding the one on which his oysters had been served, his face -actually expanded into a smile. - -“Very nice, very nice, upon my word,” he said, indicating the object -before him with a condescending wave of his hand. “I had always been -told you Americans do things in very lavish style, but, this, really, -is more than I could have expected, don’t you know?” - -Annetta was radiant, although she could not exactly understand why -her guest’s gratitude for courtesy extended took this form. Evidently -Simonson’s china, silver, roses, bonbons, decorations, were on a -scale surpassing anything in Bludgeon’s previous experience of -America. She felt she could afford then and there to forgive Cornelia -Bennett for having had Simonson for lunch. - -The dinner, rather a weight upon the Sutphenites, dragged heavily -along, but it ended at last, and after coffee and cigars (Simonson’s -cigars!) the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room. - -“I am sorry to say,” explained Mrs. Stratton to her guest-in-chief, -“that as we in Sutphen keep rather early hours, the reception given -for you at my friend Mrs. Grindstone’s will have already begun. Mr. -and Mrs. Grindstone left some time ago, with apologies to you. It -is too bad that we should have to deprive ourselves of you; but I -hope you will not quite forget our home and our little efforts to be -agreeable.” - -“No, I shall not, by George,” exclaimed the author, who had become -a trifle more relaxed; “and when I tell them at home about it, they -will hardly believe me, don’t you know!” - -This put the apex upon Mrs. Stratton’s pyramid of joy. In her own -carriage, the author seated beside her, facing her husband and -Cornelia Bennett, they drove to Mrs. Grindstone’s house on the -outskirts of the town. - -The most novel revelation of Mrs. Grindstone’s party, at first -sight, was that all the gas jets in the house were lighted and -blazing--reckless of the monthly gas bill. This was something -unprecedented, as also the cloak-room (Simonson’s invention), the -white-capped maids (Simonson’s), and the four pieces of music hidden -by Simonson in a bower of palms on the stairway. Only the familiar -stooping figure of old Mr. Grindstone in his worn frock coat with a -large new white silk tie, brought the public to a realizing sense -of where they were. If Simonson could have tucked away the host into -the hall closet, along with superfluous wraps, umbrellas, and old -overshoes, that functuary would have been very much relieved. - -Mrs. Grindstone, on the contrary, who might always be reckoned upon -to come out strong in the matter of finery, wore a brave new gown of -black silk and net, upon which had been let loose a whole collection -of green beaded butterflies. The splendor of this reality at once -effaced the tradition of the velvet cloak. Mrs. Grindstone’s flaxen -gray hair strained to the summit of her head, was there surmounted by -an aigrette of green feathers, caught by a diamond brooch. Directly -she saw her, Mrs. Stratton knew why her friend had hurried home at -the conclusion of the dinner. Mrs. Grindstone had not been willing -to expend the first blush of success of such a toilette upon another -woman’s entertainment. - -“Isn’t she splendid?” whispered Cornelia. “No such dressing has ever -been seen in Sutphen, in my time.” - -“If I didn’t feel sure Mr. Bludgeon would think it overdone,” said -Annetta, shrugging. - -But she was herself impressed, and greatly. The revolt of Cornelia -and Mrs. Grindstone from her rule; their blossoming forth with all -this magnificence of a day; the fact that they would henceforth stand -side by side with _her_ in the reminiscences of how Sutphen welcomed -Mr. Timothy Bludgeon to its Literary bosom, made Annetta smart. The -one consoling thought was that Mr. Bludgeon had told her his people -at home would not believe him when he described to them her dinner. - -“Now for the fried oysters and ice cream,” thought Mrs. Chauncey -Stratton when, later on, old Mr. Grindstone offered his arm to her to -follow Mrs. Grindstone and Mr. Bludgeon into supper. - -Here a new surprise--one greater than all the rest--awaited her. -Little tables, an innovation undreamt of in simple Sutphen, were -dotting the whole room. At the chief one of these, the two leading -couples, flanked by Cornelia Bennett and Major Gooch, were placed. -In a trice, that indefatigable Simonson had begun the service of a -supper in courses, closely resembling Miss Cornelia Bennett’s lunch. - -Annetta could have cried with annoyance. Not only were the dishes, -the silver, the candelabra, and all the rest, just what had twice -already that day appeared before the Englishman--but the china--the -imitation “onion pattern”--was identically the same. - -Mr. Bludgeon, when this latter fact became manifest to his -observation, smiled for the second time in Sutphen. It was not, at -best, a gay, hilarious, or even a complaisant smile; but a reluctant -smile of flattered vanity impossible to mistake. Presently, when they -called upon him for a speech, he arose holding in his hand a glass -of Simonson’s (American) champagne. What he said, preliminary to the -gist of his remarks, Mrs. Stratton hardly understood. Her brain was -tingling with vexation, she even snapped at Cornelia in an undertone, -and fairly turned the cold shoulder on Mrs. Grindstone. When she -could at last control herself sufficiently to be able to listen, the -author had reached the climax of his sentences, and Mrs. Stratton -was rewarded for all her labors in behalf of the Literary Club, by -hearing this: - -“Before I came to this country,” said the solemn little man, “I may -have had doubts about American hospitality. Since visiting Sutphen -especially, I have none remaining. You are the most gracious hosts -in the world. As an instance of this fact, I shall always cite my -unparalleled experience to-day. At the luncheon of your Secretary, -the amiable lady who sits at the table with me here, pleased me with -her china service; I happened to tell her it reminded me of home. -What was my surprise and gratification to find that your accomplished -President, at whose house I was dining a few hours later on--to whom -no doubt my remark had been repeated--had at such very short notice -managed to duplicate the set of china I had commended. And now, -again, what can I say? Words indeed fail me, when at the hospitable -board of your admirable Treasurer, I find a third set of my favorite -porcelain. The resources of you Americans really do surprise me. Such -a compliment, so conceived, so carried out, has never been paid to -me, before. Need I say that it goes to my inmost--” - -[Illustration: “NEED I SAY THAT IT GOES TO MY INMOST--”] - -Mr. Bludgeon stopped. He had heard a giggle of hilarity that could -no longer be repressed. The company, among whom Simonson and his -belongings had of course been under free discussion ever since they -had sat down to the tables, fairly exploded with delight. - -Mr. Bludgeon hemmed, hawed, colored--finally took his seat. Mrs. -Stratton hastily left the room. Mrs. Grindstone and Miss Bennett, sat -on, mute, unrevealing as two Sphinxes--but evidently not offended -beyond hope of recovery. - - * * * * * - -Some time after Mr. Bludgeon’s visit to Sutphen had begun to pass -into tradition, poor Simonson’s establishment in Main Street was -shut up. He had dragged along for some time; but, lacking customers, -finally decided to pack up his onion-pattern china, and the rest, and -had emigrated to a more promising field for a caterer’s operations. -The day of his great success had proved his Waterloo. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Grindstone is now the President of the Sutphen Literary -Club--_vice_ Mrs. Chauncey Stratton resigned and gone abroad. Miss -Bennett is still the Secretary. Mr. Grindstone’s gas bills remain -reasonably low. - - - - - LEANDER OF BETSY’S PRIDE - - - - - LEANDER OF BETSY’S PRIDE - - -The close of a long, bright summer’s day at one of the Virginian -watering-places found a little party of young people, most of them -from the North, importuning jolly old Dick Ross (an offspring of the -soil, and imbued with its traditions as an orange-flower is with -scent) to tell them “stories.” - -Ross, a tall, high-stepping, grizzled veteran, who had come out of -the civil strife a Brigadier-General of Confederate Volunteers, and -the hero of a hundred daring adventures about which he kept close -as an oyster, was considered by the bevy who now surrounded him -the best boon of their visit to the South. But for General Ross it -had been passing dull at the staid old mountain spa, whither their -respective families had journeyed for health and pleasure. Evening -after evening, after they had danced together in the moldering old -drawing-room, or played cards around a rickety table, seated in -shabby chairs of defaced mahogany with ancient haircloth seats, or -yawned because there was nothing else to do, the apparition of the -General’s lean figure strolling into their hall of pleasures had been -hailed with delight. Through him the visitors had become familiar -with habits, customs, and incidents of a bygone generation, in a -community as foreign to their own modes of thought as if it had been -geographically remote, like Russia or the golden India. And on his -side Ross never realized what a tremendously old fogy he had become -till he saw the impersonal nature of the approval expressed of him -and his narrations in the eyes of that pretty Puritan, little Miss -Eunice Hall of Boston. - -She was a scion of a famous abolition tree. Her progenitors had -fought to the death against Ross and his fellow-Virginians, and had -triumphed loftily over the eternal downfall of the slave aristocracy -in the crash of war. True, her brother Angus, named for the sturdy -representative of their line who had done most mischief to the South, -showed but a homeopathically diluted remnant of his ancestor’s spirit -in this respect. He had but a dim general idea of the part his -grandsire had played in the Senate of the United States before the -war, and was rather bored when accosted about it by strangers. He was -more interested in his yacht, in golf, and in University boat-races -than in musty discussions and wrangles about the right of men to hold -their brother men enslaved. - -Eunice was different. Lately, since she had come to womanhood, it -had been her “fad” to unearth every item concerning this mighty -question that had rent asunder for a time the great country she -revered. Since her mamma had elected to take a cure at a placid -Virginian watering-place Eunice had found several good opportunities -to prosecute her researches--but none, on the whole, as satisfactory -as those afforded by General Richard Ross. - -The old bachelor had been absent for a few days, having ridden away -astride of a pair of venerable saddle-bags on a fiery, half-broken -colt to visit some kinsfolks of whom he vaguely spoke as residing -“up in the country.” Now, on his return to the “Old Blue,” as these -springs were generically termed, General Ross consumed a hasty -supper, endued himself in a suit of spotless white duck, brushed his -back hair well to the front, and stepped into the parlor, where he -knew the young ladies were to be found. He was received as a hero -come home from the wars. - -“We have stagnated since you left,” said Louisa Stapleton of New -York. “While Eunice filled up her note-book with yarns of your -skirmishing, there has been nothing for the rest of us to do.” - -“I am too much honored,” said the General, bowing to Miss Hall, hand -on heart. “But have there been no new arrivals, no younger men to -push me into the background?” - -“Only one newcomer,” said Eunice, making place for him on a rusty -sofa. - -“And he a foreigner, ailing and married,” added Louisa, disdainfully. -“Who but Eunice would have looked twice at that old fossil with one -foot in the grave?” - -“He interested me, I don’t know why,” confessed Miss Hall. “I met -him first walking in Chinquepin Hollow, his head sunk on his breast, -talking to himself. I thought I never saw such a wreck of a handsome -man. And his eyes, when he fixed them on me in passing, burned like -live coals.” - -Old Dick started irrepressibly. - -“He--you met--oh, impossible! Gad, I believe I’m possessed by one -idea. A foreigner, you say--traveling with his wife?” - -“Yes; they stopped here but a day, to take the evening train. As it -happened, they had the room next to mine, on the upper gallery; and -as our windows, opening at the floor, almost touched, I heard them -speaking to each other in French in a very excited, agitated way. -Fearing I might overhear what was not intended for my ear, I got up -and stepped out upon the gallery. Immediately there was silence, and -a long, emaciated hand, like yellow wax, drew in their shutters close -together.” - -A burst of laughter followed this narration. - -“Trust Eunice for hatching mystery,” said Louisa, laughing. “I saw -the couple getting into the stage to go to the station: he, a prosaic -invalid, his head wrapped in a silk muffler; she, a dumpy little -French woman, perfectly commonplace. Come, General Ross, have you not -brought back to us from your travels a new story?” - -“Something that happened before the war, in a nice, gone-to-seed -family,” added Louisa’s younger sister, Blanche. “And pray let the -house have wainscoting and a secret chamber.” - -“No, no; something real. A war story,” said young Harry Lemist, who -had a thirst for active movement and little imagination. - -“Upon my word,” said the General, when they allowed him to reply, “I -am almost afraid to tell you what occurred in the room I slept in -night before last, for fear you will think I have trumped it up to -answer Miss Blanche’s requisition.” - -“How awfully jolly,” exclaimed Louisa Stapleton, pulling out the -fringe of curls upon her forehead. - -“It was nothing of the kind, Miss Stapleton. In point of fact it was -about as disagreeable an experience as I remember. But to tell the -tale connectedly I shall have to go back many, many years, to the -time when the old mansion that sheltered me night before last was in -its prime of hospitable attraction for every one that strayed within -its gates. About a day’s ride from here is ‘Betsey’s Pride,’ for by -this quaint appellation is still known the house built for his young -wife by a wealthy Virginian land-owner, just before this century came -in.” - -“Not old enough by half,” exclaimed Blanche, pouting. - -“Truth will out, however,” answered the narrator, accustomed to -lawless interruptions. “It is a fine old house built like Lee’s -birthplace, Stratford, in the form of a letter H. The cross of the H -is a large salon, now absolutely bare of furniture. At the juncture -of each wing with the house arises a pile of chimneys, serving to -support a pavilion on the roof, where in old days a darky band used -to play for the gentry, of an evening. There was a fish-pond up -there, too, in my boyhood; and there still is, at the back of the -house, an old ruined garden. When a lad I loved nothing better than a -visit in vacation to ‘Betsey’s Pride.’ The oldest son of this house -was my chum at the University, and also a kinsman, though remote. -We will call him, for dramatic purposes, Llewellyn Chester. Chester -was always a handsome, easy-going, free-handed fellow, brought up to -consider himself the master of abundant means. His people gave him -the best education of the times, and in due course sent him to travel -abroad, attended only by the ‘boy,’ who in old Virginian fashion had -been told off at a very tender age from among the slaves to wait on -him. Leander Jameson was the ‘boy’s’ name. Smile if you will, young -ladies, but gentle and simple, white and colored, we Virginians -always relish fine-sounding names. Leander was a very light mulatto, -tall, erect, manly, good-looking as his master, and of astonishing -versatility of talent. He could sing, whistle, impersonate any one on -the plantation, was an adept in athletic exercises, and had, as we -said, the manners of a prince. Chester, dependent on him for so many -long years for companionship, treated him with lavish indulgence and -generosity. While they were in Paris, where Leander was, of course, -received as an equal by his class among the whites, Chester had him -take lessons in singing, dancing, fencing, and the like; filled his -pockets with money, and turned him loose upon what, as it seems, was -a very wild career for both of them. - -“When, a few years before the war broke out, I again visited -‘Betsey’s Pride,’ it was to see a woeful change in the circumstances -of the returned prodigal, my cousin. Chester’s parents had died, his -sisters had lived on there in seclusion, little knowing that his -extravagance had wasted all his own and involved their substance. -When he finally turned up again, like a bad penny, at their home, -it was to linger a few months and die. In his last illness poor -Llewellyn was nursed by Leander as no one else could have nursed him. -Such fidelity, tenderness! Well, it’s not of that I started out to -tell. Llew Chester under the cedars of the family burying-ground, -his sisters had to hear that they were ruined in fortune. But, then -or since, those two women would never hear a word said against ‘poor -Llew.’ - -“Here comes in,” went on the General, doughtily, “a chapter -fortunately not common among the slave-holding families of those -days. As the negroes on large plantations went on multiplying and -exacting care and outlay, the revenues of their owners were naturally -consumed. But it was part of our religion to hold fast to the trust -committed to us by our fathers. Nothing but dire want ever made -a Virginian of ‘the real sort’ part with a slave for money. When -dire want came, so much the worse for slave and master. It was a -degradation that bowed down the seller to the earth with shame--to -have to part with these people of our black families. If anybody -ever tells you to the contrary, Miss Eunice, send him to me to be -convinced.” - -The General, growing red in the face, winked, gulped, got up and -walked up and down the room, tugged at his mustache, then sat down. - -“I suppose none of you ever heard of the character as much avoided in -the society of decent men with us as the headsman is in France--the -negro broker and trader. But there he was, often growing fat and rich -on the proceeds of his horrid business; and, like the headsman, when -occasion demanded he turned up. Chester had slighted in public one -of the most formidable of this fraternity, a man named Israel Johns, -a sullen bully, who laid up the slight in silence and bided his time -for revenge. - -“As it happened, Johns’s opportunity did not come till the breath had -left his enemy’s body. When it was known that the Misses Chester -would be forced to part with all of their ‘likely’ black people, in -order to pay the debts of the estate and live, the deepest feeling -was everywhere shown for the pair. My own mother went a two days’ -journey on horseback to weep with them. Remember, the oversupply of -slaves in Virginia made their buyers very particular to select the -best, and it was therefore much feared by the friends of the family -that the first man to go off would be Leander Jameson.” - -“His master’s friend--intimate! Oh, infamous! I would have starved -first!” cried out Eunice, a red spot glowing in either cheek. - -“God knows I think so, too, Miss Eunice,” said the old soldier, -bowing his head sadly. “But that such things were was part of our -burden and our curse. - -“A number of us,” he went on presently, “old friends and neighbors, -met together and made a purse to buy in Leander for the estate. But -we were tricked--outbidden--overruled. The man who got him was, as -you may surmise, none other than Israel Johns. We learned afterward -that Johns said he would own that nigger if it took every cent -he had. I can see him now, the dirty blackguard! A middle-sized, -low-browed, swart, powerful fellow, dark as a Spaniard, with thick -lips, curly black hair, and black, shifty eyes that couldn’t look -you in the face. It was at the county court-house on New Year’s Day -where the auction had taken place. When Leander found out who had -become his owner his eyes glared like a savage animal’s. I never saw -a handsome young face so transformed by rage and despair. A man who -stood next to me said carelessly, ‘By Jove! it’s he that looks like -the master, and Johns like the man, I am thinking.’ - -“I will pass over the feelings of all concerned when, in a few days, -we heard that Johns had started for New Orleans to sell his prize to -the highest bidder. I for one do not enjoy analyses of human emotion -under stress. When you know that Chester had promised to free Leander -in order to enable the fellow to go back and marry a Creole girl from -Martinique whom he had met in Paris, and had died without doing so, -you see how the affair stood. What followed is well known to many -persons. Johns flaunted down to New Orleans with his chattel; and -on the way Leander conceived one of the most daring schemes that -was ever carried out to a successful ending. He managed to get his -master drunk, and on arriving at New Orleans to actually sell him -for a thousand dollars to a buyer before whom Leander had posed as a -Virginian planter on his travels, encumbered with a tipsy ruffian he -was glad to dispose of cheap. - -“The complexion, good manners, educated voice, and easy diction of -Leander made this thing possible. Upon receiving, as was agreed, the -money down, he at once disappeared; and he has never been heard of -since.” - -“And Johns? What became of him?” asked the hearers in concert. - -“When he came to himself and found out his condition he fought, -blustered, was overcome and held in servitude. Finally the -law allowed him to institute ‘a freedom suit’; and after many -disappointments and delays he was identified as Israel Johns by -persons sent from Virginia to New Orleans for that purpose, at -Johns’s expense. By the time his freedom was secured and he was -restored to his privileges as a white citizen, Leander Jameson was -far beyond reach of his vengeance. But Johns’s spirit was broken, and -a year later he died.” - -“Is all that true?” asked Eunice Hall, who had listened in breathless -interest. - -“To the best of my belief, yes; you may see certainly that the tale -is unvarnished by me. But as I told you, it was only the prelude -to a personal experience of mine during the last six and thirty -hours. When, night before last, I reached ‘Betsey’s Pride’ after -a long day in the saddle, I was kindly greeted by the two little -Miss Chesters, who continue to live there in the most frugal way. -War, that left over their heads the shell of their father’s mansion, -has left them but little else besides. My visit was, in rude fact, -one of investigation--to see whether the two ladies were supplied -with the necessaries of life, for which they are too proud to ask -their friends. After a meal and a conversation that I can’t think of -without a feeling like a knife thrust into the heart, they showed me -to my room. It was, as I at once saw, the apartment in which their -brother Llewellyn had breathed his last, a cold, bare place, the -arrangement of its furniture unchanged in all these weary years. -Through a crack widened around the window-frame ivy had shot into -the room and was curling about the inner sash. The Miss Chesters -could not bear to remove this vine. ‘It looked so sweet,’ they said, -‘growing in poor Llew’s room.’ An old negro woman, who brought me a -jug of spring-water, hurried out as soon as she had deposited her -burden. By the look in her face I knew she believed the place to -contain another presence than my own.” - -“Now we are coming to the real thing!” exclaimed light-hearted -Blanche, clapping her hands gleefully. - -“It might be, if I knew how to dress it up in fine words at awesome -intervals; but I can’t. I can just tell you the simple truth--that, -awakening in the middle of the night I saw, in the moonlight, as -plainly as I see you now, the face and figure of Leander Jameson.” - -“Good gracious!” cried Eunice, sitting bolt upright, and fixing upon -old Dick a fascinated gaze. - -“Of course, I had been thinking of him and his master when I fell -asleep. Of course, it was an optical illusion,” added the old man. “I -have said so to myself a dozen times since it happened.” - -“What did you do? What did he do?” queried the listeners in unison. - -They could not decide whether or not the General was trying to take -them in. But all the same, the girls clutched at each other’s hands, -and the young men essayed to put on an air of incredulous superiority -as they waited for the climax. - -“Frankly speaking,” said the hero of many fights with flesh and -blood, “_I_ pulled the clothes over my head. _He_ executed the usual -‘vanishing act.’ When I looked again he was gone. The only occupant -of the room beside myself was a rat that seemed to be dragging my -boot across the boards of the floor.” - -“Was the window open?” - -“Wide,” said the General; “and, as it was the usual French window -upon the ground floor of a bachelor’s wing, nothing could have been -easier for a ghost than to step in and out over the sill. Next -morning I examined the premises, but on the soft old green sward of -a century that came close to the window outside found no trace of -footsteps. The birds were singing in the very room with me; the warm -sunshine bathed its every nook and corner. A young heifer, straying -up, looked as if she meant to step over the threshold, but desisted. -There was no trace or filament of visitation, supernatural or -otherwise.” - -“Naturally, since you dreamed it,” said Mr. Harry Lemist, -convincingly. - -“Naturally,” said the General. “I, too, made up my mind to that view -of the case. But the whole thing was a curious episode. It brought -back the details of my poor friend’s life and death, and of his -valet’s reckless and successful stroke for freedom. On my ride back -here to-day I have been recalling many instances of the intercourse -between Chester and Leander Jameson--things I had long forgotten. One -was that, as lads, Chester had his ‘boy’ learn tattooing of an old -sailor in the neighborhood. The first result of his accomplishment -was the shield of Virginia in blue on Chester’s forearm--‘_Sic semper -tyrannis_’ and the rest of it, buried with him, of course--while -Leander carried through life, on the outside of his right hand, the -crimson image of the swan that is the Chester crest.” - -Eunice Hall, self-contained little being that she was, gave at this a -galvanic start. - -“Why!” she exclaimed, growing pale with excitement, “I have seen -it--that hand marked with a crimson swan--only a little while ago! -It was the one thrust out to draw in the shutters of the Frenchman’s -window. I noticed it particularly.” - -“By George--then it _was_ Leander!” cried the General, springing to -his feet. - - * * * * * - -The best efforts of General Ross to trace the fugitive and his -wife resulted only in finding that they had boarded a train bound -northward, and were by then probably safely in New York, if not, as -seemed likely, on the ocean sailing back to Leander Jameson’s adopted -home. That the ex-slave had prospered in circumstances his appearance -and surroundings left no room to doubt. The General’s idea that, -broken in health and knowing himself to be a dying man, Leander had -not been able to resist a secret visit to the scene of his birth and -of his early tragedy was considered the correct one. - - * * * * * - -General Dick Ross still makes his annual visit to drink the waters -of “Old Blue.” The only time he has been persuaded to cross Mason -and Dixon’s line, to pursue his investigations of society, was for -the purpose of attending the marriage of Miss Eunice Hall, when that -charming enthusiast decided upon concentrating her efforts at reform -of the human race upon a single undefended man. - - - - - THE THREE MISSES BENEDICT AT YALE - - - - - THE THREE MISSES BENEDICT AT YALE - - -A heavy fall of snow upon the old streets of New Haven had not -succeeded in blocking the wheels of progress of that merriest season -of the collegiate year, known to the university world as “Prom Week.” -For three days a crowd of fair visitors and their chaperons had trod -the round of gayeties; had frequented the concerts, germans, teas, -and receptions; they were now drawing breath and gathering energy -for the last crucial test of physical endurance, the ball called the -Junior Promenade. - -For, to properly celebrate this time-honored and brilliant -affair, custom decrees that the list of thirty or more dances -and intermissions printed upon the ball-card presented to each -damsel crossing the threshold of this hall of raptures shall, long -beforehand, have been filled with names by the brother, cousin, -or admirer having the list in charge. It follows naturally that -by the time not only all these dances are accomplished but every -“intermission” has been spent in an impromptu dance to the music of -the band, alternating with the orchestra, night has brightened into -dawn. - -[Illustration: THE THREE MISSES BENEDICT AT YALE.] - -When the girls are finally induced by their exhausted matrons to -withdraw from the giddy whirl, they leave behind a set of men, -wild-eyed, and wilted as to shirt-fronts, cuffs, and collars, but -undaunted in spirit. These men, the givers of the ball, then go away -to their dormitories to snatch an hour or two of slumber before -chapel, which has, not infrequently, been attended by beings in -ulsters worn over evening clothes. It was to such tireless devotees -rather invigorating than depressing to see snowflakes come trooping -down upon the final scenes of their three-days’ gayety. Toward nine -o’clock P.M. the streets were encumbered by lumbering old hacks -pulling up before doors to receive their loads of hooded and cloaked -figures, then driving with them at a furious pace to the door of -the armory where the “Prom” is given, and dashing off again to -secure new fares. The drivers of these vehicles, known by name to -most of the students, extend to the university and its doings an -almost parental indulgence. To the guests who are aiding to make the -occasion brilliant they are suave beyond imagination; solicitous of -comfort, descending from their perches to open the carriage doors, -and assisting parlously at the elbow of the lady entering or getting -out. Little of the evening’s fun is to be theirs, honest fellows, but -they are sustained through the chilly vigils of the night by _esprit -de corps_ and a brave desire to keep up the credit of their town. - -Quite early in the fray one of these hacks disgorged under the -armory’s awning a party consisting of a mother, two daughters, and -a girl cousin, all three of the young women marked with the same -general characteristics of family, but differing in feature and -degree of beauty. The mother, a stout, comely body, with diamond -butterflies quivering about the base of a tall, black aigrette that, -springing from her hair, swept the carriage top as she sat, emerged -with a look denoting resolution to carry on the struggle of spirit -against flesh to the bitter end. For was not her only son, her -pride and joy, leader of the revels as head of the floor committee -of the “Prom”? Not for worlds would she have given up the wearying -privilege of sitting out the ball. Never, in her own palmiest days, -had she drawn near to a scene of gayety with a more proud sense of -identification than to-night, when she shone in the reflected glory -of her handsome boy! - -Jack Benedict was, on his part, modest, as becomes the truly great! -An immense favorite with his class, he had been one of those fellows -who sail serenely through college life, winning, without apparent -effort, honors toiled for by others without success. A good scholar, -an athlete of renown, frank, cordial, sympathetic, he was put -forward by the vote of his comrades whenever opportunity occurred to -represent them before the world; the election to his present post -being upon one of these occasions. - -Fresh-faced, clear-eyed, smiling, dressed in immaculate attire, -the tall young hero advanced to meet his mother and, giving her -his arm, conducted the party along the length of the large hall to -a box fitted up for the friends of the committee of management. -The girls following them were immediately surrounded by a throng -of men, consulting their dance programmes and receiving with pride -their compliments upon the charming arrangements of the hall. It had -already been decided among the opinion-makers that the three Misses -Benedict were the stars of the festive week, and their approbation of -the scene was generally awaited. - -The vast inclosure of the armory was lined to its arched roof with -breadths of semi-transparent stuff, alternatively pale lavender and -yellow in tint, giving it a delightfully fresh and blossomy effect. -From the ceiling, lighted by veiled electric bulbs, depended a -racing-shell filled with flowers and a floral football, emblems of -the University’s late prowess in the athletic world. From high stands -on either side of the hall the band, or else the orchestra, clashed -forth unceasingly enlivening strains. Beneath one or the other of -these draped eyries were seen to disappear during the progress of -the ball panting and perspiring men, who went away wilted after -saltatory toil--but returned arrayed in the glory of fresh linen, -white collars, and cuffs immaculate. Around the walls, hung with -tapestry and placques of flowers, were ranged the boxes severally -sold at auction to the highest bidder among the classmen who desired -thus proudly to extol the ladies of their visiting families and -parties. In these dainty nooks were assembled treasures from many a -college sitting-room. Easy-chairs, rugs, lamps, draperies, tables, -cushions--above all, cushions!--of every size, material, and color, -were brought hither by their owners or borrowers from acquiescent -friends, to make resting-places for the chaperons, and, when -possible, the girls. - -The wide, crash-covered floor, soon covered with whirling figures, -became a dazzling kaleidoscope. The suggestion presented by the -sight was one of extraordinary brilliancy and lightness. It was as -if the Genius of American youth were abroad and at his best. No face -there that did not gleam with happiness, no foot that did not spring -with rapturous life. Of those encumbrances of an ordinary ball-room, -the sad, the sour, the world-weary, the middle-aged, none was -discernible. The young men and maidens prominent in this function, -gathered from far and near in the broad Republic, were types of -blended races, or pure Americans such as one may hardly see elsewhere -in an Eastern festivity; and the conventional uniformity of a dance -in New York, Boston, or Philadelphia was thus most agreeably varied. -And through all was apparent to older eyes the joy of living and -being that comes only in the first quarter of the century of life. - -“Are you satisfied with it, madre?” asked Benedict, as he stopped in -his evening’s toil to bend affectionately over his mother, where she -sat in front of the committee-box, her satin and jet rustling in the -breeze created by an ostrich-feathered fan. - -“Satisfied? Indeed I am! It is a perfectly enchanting scene,” said -the biased critic. “And your decorations are really admirable. I -never saw such a well-managed dance. But, my dearest boy, can’t you -sit down and take a moment’s rest? You will really wear yourself out.” - -“No fear of that,” quoth Jack, inflating his broad chest. “After -to-night we shall all lapse into ‘innocuous desuetude,’ and there’ll -be full time to repose. I hope you and the other mothers can hold -out. You won’t see much of your charges, I’m afraid.” - -Mrs. Benedict laughed cheerily. “Dear me, no; they only rush back -to be pinned or put to rights, and are off again. As to keeping -the faces, much less the names, of their partners in mind, I can’t -pretend to do it. Agnes and Margaret, being older, take it with more -composure, but Lou flies about as if she were on wings instead of -high heels. It was a whim of Agnes and Margaret to come dressed alike -in those blue satin gowns with the chiffon ruffles, and I must say -they are becoming. I am proud of our dear girls’ looks, aren’t you?” - -“I should think so,” said Jack, starting with something of a blush -as she repeated this query. He had been straining his gaze over the -revolving crowd, in the effort to identify not his sisters, Lou and -Margaret--pretty blonde girls of eighteen and twenty--but his cousin -Agnes, a tall and rather stately young woman, a year older than -Margaret, whom he had his own private reasons for not allowing to get -far out of his sight or thoughts. - -Agnes, the orphan daughter of a good-for-nothing cousin of Mr. -Benedict’s, had a year or two before, after the death of her father, -been taken by these kindly people to reside under their roof in New -York. When it was Jack had first owned to himself that he loved -her he could not exactly say. But her clear, pale beauty, the soft -luster of her hazel eyes, her somewhat foreign grace of speech and -manner--born of wide wanderings in Continental cities--had begun by -captivating his imagination, and ended by exciting his enthusiastic -affection. Now he thought no vision of his future was complete -without Agnes installed in its penetralia. And as yet she had no idea -of it. - -Knowing that his parents would disapprove of love-making between the -cousins until Jack had at least been long enough out of college to -see his way clear to an independence, he had had the rare strength of -mind to keep his passion to himself. Not even his mother suspected -what a cable had been thrown out to annex her bonny craft to this -landing-stage for life! - -One person only had shared in his secret, and he a classmate bound to -Jack by the most intimate of college ties, the man of all others in -the University whom Jack most admired and trusted. This was Hubert -Russell, who, coming a stranger to Yale from his birthplace in a far -Western town, had remained an enigma to the many, although treasured -by the few who had found him out. Russell was known as a brilliant -scholar, but had never been called a “grind.” His isolation seemed to -be a thing of preference. - -To the society of women his objection was apparently insuperable. No -threshold in the hospitable town had been crossed by him for social -purposes. Jack Benedict, who alone seemed to exercise over him the -magnetism that drew him from his shell, had often talked to Russell -about his own family, and had striven without success to induce his -friend to visit them in the holidays. Russell had listened with a -sort of fascinated reserve to Benedict’s happy boyish confidences, -but had not responded to them in kind until one evening in junior -year over their pipes in Jack’s sitting-room. Then he had blurted -out a sad tale of his father’s disgrace and imprisonment and death -in the penitentiary, following the embezzlement of trust-funds -confided to his keeping. This awful chapter had left upon the boy’s -mind an indelible imprint. To remove the effect of it his mother -had strained every nerve to send him to an Eastern University. At -the beginning of freshman year he had lost his mother, too; and -since then the spell of darkness had reassumed its sway over Hubert -Russell. Benedict, a wholesome, happy fellow, born to no great -inheritance of riches, and having his own way to hew in the world’s -wilderness, then set himself to the task of restoring Russell’s tone -of mind and of dissipating in him the uncertainty as to his right of -place among people of unblemished honor and respectability. Little by -little he had succeeded in bringing about this result. In his zeal -to win Russell’s full confidence he had poured out his own--had even -told him of his love for the radiant cousin, Agnes Benedict, whom -Jack hoped one day to win for his wife. - -During the past days of gayety Russell had been more miserably shy -and reserved than ever. In vain had Jack urged him to call upon or -make acquaintance with his family. As a last resort he had gone to -Russell’s room that afternoon, and had shot into the letter-slit upon -the locked door a note inclosing a ticket for the “Prom,” begging -Hubert to look in at the ball, if only for a glance in passing, at -Jack’s people in their box. While Jack now stopped to speak to his -mother he saw, with curious elation and surprise, Russell standing a -little distance away, talking with one of the tutors. Before he had -time to beckon his friend, his sister Louisa and their cousin Agnes -hurried together into the box, forsaking each the young man who had -escorted her, to have some trifling repair to her toilette made by -Mrs. Benedict. - -“Oh, Jack!” exclaimed his madcap sister, “I am too happy for -anything, and Agnes should be, if she is not, for she has evidently -captivated the best-looking man in the room--next to you, of -course--that tall, dark one over there. He has done nothing but gaze -after her in a moony, melancholy way, while _I_ am dying to know him. -Do fetch him here _now_, and introduce him, there’s a dear. Only give -me half a chance and I can make him forget Agnes, I’ll promise you.” - -“That?” said Jack, identifying at last the individual she was trying -to point out, and watching for the effect of his revelation upon his -family. “I am not surprised that you want to know him. That is my -best friend, Hubert Russell.” - -“Is _that_ Russell?” said the three women in concert. To them he had -long been a household word. - -“Yes, and he came here to please me, dear old chap. The trouble is, I -don’t know whether he’ll have the courage to follow it up by being -presented to you.” - -“Lou does not know why he was so interested in Agnes--my Agnes,” he -added to himself, striving to repress the exultation of his heart as -he looked upon her he loved. - - - - - II - -Jack did not realize that his friend Russell could have any confusion -of mind as to which of the three Misses Benedict was the cousin -honored by preference undeclared. The fact was that Hubert had -strayed into the whirl of the “Prom” for, indeed, nothing but to -please his friend. While making up his mind to take his courage in -two hands and seek for an introduction, Russell had espied, standing -in a set of lancers, a girl who then and there struck him as his -ideal of scarce acknowledged dreams of woman’s loveliness. So swift -yet strong was the impression thus received that Russell gasped and -wondered what had come over him. The blood of young manhood surging -into his temples showed him in a flash that he was to the full -as weak as those at whom he had often jeered--Jack Benedict, for -example, whose ravings over his pretty cousin had often made Russell -smile with superiority and amusement. Whatever had been Russell’s -ambitions and hopes for the future, woman had had no part in them. -And yet, here in the twinkling of an eye, the waving coils of a -maiden’s loosely bound hair, her airy grace, her supple, slender -waist and noble shoulders had held him captive. When she turned and -he saw that her face was as lovely as her form, Russell had actually -started to go away. What evil spell had fallen upon him to lure -his steps into this place? He resented Jack’s influence, secretly -objurgated Jack’s tiresome lady-love and sisters, vowed he must and -would return home--and lingered. - -When the set was over, and the girl went off with her partner, -Russell, half-ashamed, asked the college official who had accosted -him if he knew who was the young lady in pale blue with a small -wreath of white roses perched sidewise upon her hair. - -“Let me see,” said the flattered tutor, squinting his eyes to take -in the receding figure. “Isn’t that--yes, of course it is--a sister -of Benedict’s? I met them yesterday at Mrs. Clarkson’s tea. But you -ought to know Benedict’s people better than I do, Russell.” - -“You know I am a recluse,” said Russell, coloring. - -“Then I advise you to repair neglected opportunities and make their -acquaintance on the spot. There’s another one--a little, jolly, -laughing girl, and a cousin--not so good-looking by a long shot, but -nice manners and intelligent. Decidedly, Benedict’s party has lent -luster to the week.” - -Before Mr. Grampion had finished his chuckling remarks Russell had -melted away from him, and stood alone, irresolute. In this attitude -he was overhauled by Benedict, who, breathless, laid a hand upon his -shoulder. - -“Here you are, you old fraud; come along and be presented to my -mother. She is all anxiety to meet you. Expects you to have wings and -a harp, from my description. And the girls are, luckily, all in the -box for a minute’s breathing spell. I call this kind, Russell, for -you to turn up here after all, and I’ll not forget it in a hurry.” - -Russell, having no alternative, rushed blindly upon his fate. How -could he tell Benedict that he had already, without reason, without -excuse, fallen in love with Jack’s beautiful sister, and knew that -the better part of wisdom was to retire from the fray before matters -should get worse. He walked, dream-like, beside his friend, went -through the ceremony of introduction to Jack’s mother, received a -kind hand-shake from Mrs. Benedict, and scarcely venturing to look -up, heard Jack say: - -“Mr. Russell, my sisters, my cousin--all Miss Benedicts; so you will -have no trouble in knowing how to address them.” - -Jack’s voice thrilled with affection for his friend. Russell’s -fingers clasped in succession three gloved right hands. He knew -by intuition when he touched those of the girl whose charm had -enthralled him and, looking her full in the eyes, met in return a -glance of gentle approbation. - -“Jack has cried me in their market better than I knew,” he thought, -gratefully. By the immediate departure of the other two young ladies -in answer to the inspiriting strains of the “Washington Post,” set to -a two-step, together with Jack’s flight in search of his own partner, -Russell found himself for a moment alone with the Miss Benedict he -most admired. - -“I am not detaining you?” he asked, nervously. - -“Not at all. In fact, I am stranded upon your hands. My idea is -that the man I promised this dance to is fainting somewhere on the -outskirts of the crowd. When I saw him last he was already pumped, -and supper not yet served,” she answered, laughing. - -“I hope they will not revive him,” said Russell, yielding for once to -the temptation of the hour. - -Back of the committee box was a little room set apart for wraps -and _tête-à-têtes_, into which he had the hardihood to invite his -companion to retire, hoping thus to seclude her from the observation -of her tardy dancer. - -“Yes, do go; I shan’t tell,” said Mrs. Benedict, smiling approval. -“The little rest will do you good, and I know Jack will think well of -your change of comrades.” - -Thus everything conspired to bring closer around poor Russell the -net he had not sought to weave. Sitting back among the cloaks and -hats, with the music floating in to them in softened cadence, he -could feast his eyes upon the beauty that had ensnared him. Her talk, -bright, friendly, unaffected, girlish, was exactly calculated to win -him from his habitual attitude of reserve. He found himself pouring -out upon her ear the stream of strong original thought and language -which had first made Jack Benedict his ardent admirer. She, in turn, -felt a sense of pleasure and bedazzlement in this man’s society that -she had never known before. All Jack had said of Hubert Russell was -more than confirmed by her talk with him; and before the brief period -of their isolation was ended, something of the same everyday marvel -worked upon him by her was accomplished in her gentle breast by him. -A tremor of admiration, of preference for his society, ran through -her veins. She asked herself timorously what _should_ she do if she -never met him again; why fate had been so long in granting to her -this experience of delight! - -An invasion of young men (the missing partner, full of apologies -for the accident of his detention, and the man to whom the next -intermission was promised) broke up their _tête-à-tête_. Russell -hardly believed his good fortune when she said, in a vexed aside: - -“There, now, they have spoiled the best of the evening for me. I am -sure we shall have no other chance to talk.” - -“You are going to-morrow?” he murmured, trying to seem indifferent. - -“Yes, at eleven. I am so sorry,” she answered in the same vein of -restrained feeling. - -“I _must_ see you once more,” he said, briefly--then drew within -himself, frightened at his own audacity. - -After that he watched her from afar, not being able to bring himself -to join the throng of chatterers who surrounded her in the intervals -of dancing or at supper time. Once only, Jack, running upon him, -paused under the weight of official cares to say, brightly: - -“You took to them, then? My people, I mean.” - -“I should say I did. They are all delightful, and your sister, Jack, -is--well--” - -“Which sister?” interrogated his friend, merrily. - -“I actually do not know,” said Russell, shame-facedly. “But she wears -blue and has a wreath of white roses.” - -“That’s my sister Margaret. Do you know I always had an idea that -you would hit it off with Margaret. She doesn’t let herself out to -everybody by any means. But, Hubert, you might say one word for my -own particular goddess--Agnes--who is the chief woman in the world -for me, though I daren’t tell her so till I’m farther ahead in -fortune.” - -“Agnes? Which is she?” answered Russell, confusedly, conscious -that he had given thought only to the companion of his talk in the -committee-room. - -“Stupid!” laughed Jack, pulled this way and that by people asking him -questions. “There’s but one Agnes, as I said, and she--er--she wears -blue.” - -He was torn away by an imperative demand for the floor manager, and -Russell felt relieved. - -“I should not like to have confessed to him that neither of the -others made the least impression upon my sensibility. I saw, -of course, that there were two young females of pleasing but -conventional exterior--that was all. Only the blindness of a brother -could overlook the fact that Margaret is far and away the most -distinguished, individual, high-bred, graceful, gracious, of the -three. A man who has once spoken to Margaret would seek conversation -with the other two only when he had absolutely no chance with -Margaret.” - -Russell stayed till daylight, looking in at the armory windows, -drove the last dancers to withdraw. Poor Mrs. Benedict, yawning -dismally behind the ostrich-feather fan, had to confess herself -beaten by sheer fatigue. Walking stiffly out upon the arm of her -son, she soon fell into the corner of her carriage, thanking heaven -that Jack could by no possibility be again the floor manager of a -Junior “Prom.” All around her limp figures were seen slinking into -retreat. The most indefatigable of the dancers among the men revealed -foreheads streaked with matted hair, staring eyes, shirt-fronts and -collars flaccid for want of starch, buttonhole bouquets like crushed -vegetables. Upon that stage of the annual festivity it were well to -let fall a veil! - -When Russell appeared at the carriage door to aid Jack in putting his -family into their vehicle, a faint blush came into the clear pale -cheeks of his companion in the talk of a few hours before. - -“Might I--would you take a little stroll with me before you leave?” -he ventured, with throbbing heart, to ask her. - -“To-morrow? I mean, to-day?” she queried, a little confused. - -“Yes; you see it is my only chance.” - -“I will be waiting in the little reception-room of the hotel at ten,” -she said, rapidly. It seemed to her that they were in a boat being -borne onward by the current. - -Jack and Russell walked together back to their dormitory building, -where each man occupied with a room-mate a suite of two bedrooms and -a sitting-room. As the gray of the sky warmed with rose color, Jack -yawned mightily between two puffs at a cigar. - -“I’d give a kingdom for a solid eight hours’ sleep,” he said, -stretching his arms out. “But alas! I’ve got to be up betimes at the -station, on duty, putting ‘them’ in the train, you know, or I think -I’d take ‘cuts’ enough to tide me over a half a day in bed.” - -“That is one of those things I can’t do for you, or I would,” said -Russell. “I mean putting the ladies in the train.” - -“Why, man, are you made of iron and whale-bone that you show not a -sign of somnolence?” asked Jack. - -“Not in the least. I never so heartily wished that I were constructed -after that model as since this evening’s experience. But remember -that you have danced many miles, while I’ve merely hung around on the -outskirts.” - -“You sound gay as a lark. What’s come over you? I’d advise a ball a -week at this rate. Perhaps you are going to come out as a ‘fusser’--a -regular squire of dames--in your old age.” - -“No such good luck. I have seen but one dame I should care to squire, -and she--well--” and Russell sighed genuinely. - -“A confession?” exclaimed Jack, gleefully. “But it’s never too late -to mend, so go ahead.” - -“I have no story. I am simply the victim of overwhelming -circumstances. Love came unsought, unsent, and it will probably -expire when I do. So no more at present from yours idiotically.” - -“I know you too well to press queries. You will, as usual, just shut -your jaw and glare in silence if you don’t care to hold forth on any -topic. I, too, am ready for silence, though for a grosser reason.” - -They kept pace together without speaking, until they reached the -landing where Jack turned in at his door, Russell ascending higher. - -“Good night! Good day!” said Jack as they parted. “By the way, I -forgot to mention that my mother tells me it was Agnes--my Agnes, you -know--and not my sister Margaret, with whom you had that chat in the -committee-room. Now, I did suppose that even a churlish old bach like -you could tell the difference between those two. Margaret’s a nice -girl--a dear girl--but Agnes--well, you know what I think of Agnes!” - -“Agnes?” repeated Russell, almost in a whisper. - -“Yes, my bride-to-be, when I get money enough to claim her. My mother -said she as evidently took to you as you did to her. That’s as it -should be, old chap. When I’m awake we’ll have a jolly long talk over -her perfections. Meantime, you evidently need sleep as much as I do. -I never saw such a pale face as you’ve got on you suddenly. Brace up, -and good-by till we meet again.” - -“Agnes,” repeated Russell, mechanically, as he crept up his flight of -stairs and went into his room. - -Down fell his card-castle! The havoc wrought on him by that one -short talk must be borne in silence and lived down. It was Jack’s -lady-love that he had coveted. To follow up the advantage he could -not but feel that what he had gained with her would mean treachery to -Jack. Rather than betray his friend he would so cancel his engagement -to meet her at ten o’clock that she, considering him a boor, would -not choose to hold speech with him again. He would simply fail to go -to her hotel; and, cost him what it might, this course were better -than undermining Jack. - - - - - III - -As the hour of her appointment with Hubert Russell passed without -sign or token from him, a blush of shame dyed the cheek of Agnes -Benedict. She wondered at herself for making this engagement to meet -Jack’s friend, and for feeling ashamed to speak of it to her family. -But with a sort of desperate faith in him she waited in the little -reception-room at the foot of the hotel stairs where she had promised -to be found. When she could wait no longer she went into her room and -burst into tears. Mortified by her want of self-control, she promised -herself that Russell would yet explain satisfactorily the slight -to her. At the station, where Jack finally appeared--arriving at a -gallop in a cab just as the train was about to start--she experienced -a new pang of disappointment. Not only was Hubert Russell nowhere -to be seen, but he had sent no message. Agnes came to the swift, -maidenly conclusion that it was because she had cheapened herself -by making an appointment to see him alone after but a half-hour’s -acquaintance. She would bear her punishment in silence, and tell -nobody--Jack, least of all. - -As the days wore on, Agnes felt that something had gone out of -her life--something not quite warranted by the briefness of that -interlude at the ball. Try as she might, she could not forget Russell -and the emotion he had caused in and had seemed to feel for her. -Jack’s letters home spoke of him as winning new honors in the college -course. When June came the family went up again to Yale to hear the -speaking for the “De Forest” medal, for which both Jack and Russell -were to be competitors. It was known that popular opinion inclined -to select Jack Benedict as the prize-winner, but that Russell was -considered a close second. In their zeal for their own hero the -Benedicts were beginning to look a little frigidly upon Jack’s -opponent. And it is safe to say that all of them, save Agnes, hoped -and prayed that Russell might not win. - -Agnes, who would have given anything for an excuse to stay away, -found none. The appointed day saw her one of an audience assembled -within the walls of the old college chapel, whose prim Puritan -interior made even this gala occasion seem a little less cheerful -than a funeral elsewhere. She had been standing with her cousins in -the corridor as the procession of senior classmen in caps and gowns -filed by; and, to her utter discomfiture, a momentary halt in the -line had brought her face to face with Hubert Russell. In an instant -the blood rushed into her cheeks. Russell, looking her full in the -face, saluted her with conventional reserve. In reality he felt more -of inward excitement than did she. A moment more and they had parted, -she to sit gathering her faculties together in one end of the pew to -which the Benedicts had been assigned, and trying to believe that she -had not cared a bit. - -“Did you see that Mr. Russell?” whispered Louisa in her ear. “A -stiff, cross-looking fellow, spite of Jack’s praises. Oh, Agnes, if -he and not Jack should win the ‘De Forest’ I could never get over -it--never. I almost hate him now, don’t you?” - -“No-o,” whispered Agnes, blushing and hesitating. - -“You are too angelic. And when any one can see Jack cares more for -what you think than for all the rest of us put together! At any rate, -you will own that Hubert Russell is very uncivil. He has never taken -the least notice of Jack’s family, and considering all Jack has been -to him! A man told me it is quite well known there’s a cloud over -Russell’s family--something really dreadful, and that Jack has -simply brought everybody to forget it and to treat Russell as if it -had never been.” - -“What Jack has done is grand, and I honor him for it,” said Agnes. -“Who dares judge a man for the sins of his father? If ever any one -showed a high and noble nature in his countenance it is Hubert -Russell.” - -“Don’t get excited,” said Lou, teasingly. “The object isn’t worth it, -in my opinion. I suppose, though, you and Jack see things with the -same eyes nowadays.” - -“Lou, you mustn’t. Jack and I are nothing but cousins--_dear_ -cousins,” said Agnes, imploringly. - -Mrs. Benedict, looking across Margaret, here hushed their whispers. -The exercises were already under way. - -When it was Jack’s turn to step upon the platform, and after a -courteous bow in his student’s gown to the president and judges, -to begin his oration, all hearts in the audience warmed toward the -manly and graceful and straight-forward young fellow. His essay, -well-written, carefully polished, was delivered with excellent -judgment, and when he had ended and stepped down amid tremendous -applause from his friends and classmen, the general verdict was that -it would win the prize. Last upon the list of speakers came Hubert -Russell. The rather measured applause bestowed on him as he appeared -was warmed up by the individual hand-clapping of his friend and -predecessor, Jack. Hardly a smile lighted Russell’s dark and handsome -face as he began. His manner, never prepossessing, seemed now under -some spell or chill of indifference. - -By hazard the pew in which the Benedicts were placed was well to the -front, upon the left-hand side of the speaker. As Russell finally -approached his peroration, his glance chanced for a moment to rest -upon the glowing, inspiring, appealing countenance of a girl who -leaned forward to gaze on him with her whole soul in her eyes. The -effect of this was immediate. Casting aside his embarrassment, his -indifference, he burst into a fervor of natural eloquence the like of -which had not been heard in that spot that day, or for many a day. -To Russell was given the persuasiveness of speech, the music of the -voice, the flow of language, the flexibility of countenance, that -combined may give interest to material of less value than was his. -When he had finished the brief essay there was no question among his -hearers as to who had spoken best; they yielded him the spontaneous -applause that no favor to the individual can simulate. Louder and -longer than any other present applauded honest Jack Benedict, who -knew himself outdone. - -“Why, mother, that is not like you,” said Jack that evening, when he -went to take supper with his family at their hotel. - -Mrs. Benedict, who had been delivering herself of a few rather bitter -criticisms upon the winner of the “De Forest” (news of the award to -Hubert Russell had just been communicated to them by Jack), tried to -smile deprecatingly, and ended by dropping a few tears. - -“I know it, Jack darling. But it’s because you are so much more to us -than any Mr. Russell.” - -“Oh, mother dear, that’s the fortune of war. Russell did it a -thousand times better than ever I could have done. When you think -he has no one--absolutely no human being to whom to telegraph his -success, and I have all of you--you will see that what I have is more -than a balance for Hubert’s luck to-day.” - -“Poor fellow! I wish he had come here with you. I wish we could -say something nice to him,” said the good lady, her little fit of -ill-temper dissipated by native kindness of heart. - -“He can’t be captured, I’m afraid. He is more queer than ever -regarding women since the Prom. About that time he let me think he -was or had been hopelessly in love, and was ashamed of himself for -being so. Had he confided in me, I should keep my lips sealed. But -no! Hubert Russell lives and must always live, I fear, severely -within himself.” - -A secret love for some one that must govern all his life! Agnes, -listening, felt her heart sink in very shame. Since she had heard -Russell speak, her fancy for him, that had but lain dormant, had -sprung up in full growth and vigor. And now she was told that he -whom she loved in secret cared nothing at all for her. That meeting -on going into chapel but confirmed her in this conviction. She -little knew that a glimpse of her face it was which had inspired his -brilliant effort of oratory. She little knew-- - -After supper, in the cool, soft evening air of June, they walked over -to the town green, and while Mrs. Benedict and Margaret sat together -on a bench talking, Lou strolled in one direction, accompanied by -a certain young man who had of late begun to arrest her butterfly -attention, while Agnes and Jack took another path. - -The latter pair talked long and easily together, of the interests -shared by them through relationship and intimacy of habit. It was -only when Jack began insensibly to glide into the tone of tenderness -she had noticed often of late with some alarm that his cousin drew -back a little in her friendly attitude. - -“Don’t Jack; there’s a dear boy,” she said, coaxingly. “If you only -knew how nice you can be when you are sensible.” - -Jack’s reply was a burst of long repressed devotion, to which Agnes -listened in dismay. She had no idea matters had gone so far, and was -shocked at this evidence of deep feeling. - -Very gently, very tenderly, she pleaded with him to give up the idea, -and after a long and painful talk brought herself to the point of -avowing that her love was not hers to give. Jack, who knew most of -her acquaintances, could not conceive of a rival among them. But the -double blow of losing in one day the cherished hopes of two such -prizes was more than the poor fellow could meet with equanimity. In -their absorption, as they walked to and fro, neither observed that -Russell, straying out to be alone beneath the starlight with his own -swelling emotions, had encountered them; had made an irrepressible -movement toward Agnes, then, seeing the expression of Jack’s face, -had hurried on with a bitterness of jealousy in his heart that robbed -success of all its charms. - -[Illustration: “AND WITH GLOOM IN HIS HEART HE WENT BACK TO HIS -LONELY ROOM AND LIFE.”] - -“Then you care for some one else?” Jack was saying in a fierce -undertone. - -“Jack--don’t, please!” murmured she, tears welling into her eyes. - -“But I must know,” he went on, hardly aware of his own insistence. - -“Yes,” she said at last, never so faintly. “But he does not care for -me.” - -All of Jack’s manhood answered to this pitiful confession. He spoke -to her gently, soothingly, laid her hand in his arm, and told her he -would always watch over her like a brother. And Agnes, reassured, -looked up in his face with loving gratitude. - -At this point, Russell, on the return, again passed them. A single -glance at the couple convinced him that Jack had won a prize dearer -far than the one his friend had that day wrested from him. - -“It was a miserable delusion of my vanity,” Russell said within -himself, “that made me answer to the inspiration of her gaze. It is -Jack, the fortunate, the pet of Destiny, who is to claim her. Here -endeth the chapter of my folly.” - -And with gloom in his heart he went back into his lonely room and -life. - - - - - IV - -Three years after the brief episode of Hubert Russell’s two meetings -with Agnes Benedict he found himself enjoying a hard-earned holiday -in camp on an island in Georgian Bay. Since graduating, he had -made a quick climb up the ladder of success. A series of fortunate -circumstances had enabled him to conquer difficulties apparently -insuperable. His residence in a progressive town of the Middle West, -congenial occupation, and the sense of work well bestowed, had done -much to restore the healthy tone of his mind, biased to melancholy -through another’s crime. He had corresponded intermittently with Jack -Benedict, but without touching upon the subject of Jack’s domestic or -sentimental ties. He had read, in the “society” columns of certain -New York newspapers, of various occasions upon which the three Misses -Benedict had appeared before the world; of their summers abroad and -at home; of the marriage of Margaret; and recently of the more than -amateur achievement of Agnes as the artist of some pastels displayed -at an exhibition in the spring. What he had expected to read--the -announcement of her marriage with her cousin Jack--had not yet -reached Russell’s eye. When that event should occur, and not till -then, Russell said to himself, he would give up, once and for all, -the haunting witchery of Agnes Benedict’s fair face. Through the -mists of three years of memory it shone upon him still! - -One day in August a little pleasure-yacht of light draft and dainty -build (meant to thread her way between innumerable rocky islands and -dally beside tempting bits of shore, rather than to brave the rough -water of the open bay) passed into an inlet where its owner had -decided to throw a rope over a large rock and stop to lunch! - -This primitive method of anchorage was a favorite one with the owners -of the Juanita, the Cartwrights, a benevolent elderly couple from -New York, who, owning a summer residence upon one of the islands -lower down the bay, often took their house-parties away for days of -pleasuring afloat. Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright had now as their guests -several young men and maidens, among them Jack Benedict, his sister -Louisa, and his Cousin Agnes. All day the Juanita had run through -narrow channels of pale green water, between rocky ramparts crowned -with spruce and birch, around the gray flanks of which sprang from -the water forests of bulrushes, sprinkled with cardinal flowers -and water-lilies. As they now steered skillfully into the channel, -in which it was expected to find their usual landing-place open to -approach, an expression of disappointment arose from the forward -deck, where gathered a little group of voyagers in the gay attire of -summer on the wave. - -“A camp of men! Horrid things! Why did they choose our island!” cried -Lou Benedict, pouting. - -A rough house-boat anchored near the shore formed the center of -supplies for the camp, often replenished by a tri-weekly steam -launch from the mainland. Around a fire built upon stones a party of -young men were making rather bored preparations for their mid-day -meal. As the whistle of the toy yacht sounded a salute they arose to -their feet and came hurrying down to the water’s edge, evidently not -displeased at the invasion of their privacy. - -“Hubert Russell!” exclaimed Benedict, joyfully, as he identified -among them his old friend. “Who would have dreamed of our meeting -here?” - -Greetings and introductions followed, and from this point no -expression was heard from the girls of disapproval of “those horrid -men.” - -It was in truth a stalwart and good-looking band of which Russell was -the leader. Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright, nominally joining forces with -them for luncheon, brought joy to the hearts of these weary cooks -and bottle-washers by the unpacking of a dainty meal, well served -by the yacht’s cook and stewards. As the party grouped itself under -the shade of glimmering birches, Russell, as if through a mockery -of Fate, found himself next to the lady of his dreams. The talk, at -first general, subsided into chat between persons sitting at a picnic -casually side by side. Russell, almost fearing to continue where he -was, looked over the circle to see Jack Benedict half reclining on -the moss at the feet of an extremely pretty girl in white duck, a -sailor-hat tied down with a white veil half covering her face. Seeing -him thus provided for, Russell had less scruple in accepting his own -half-hour of joy. - -He thought Agnes sweeter, more womanly, more to his taste than ever. -The rare experience was his of finding one’s self confirmed in a -predilection after three years of total separation from the object. -They talked easily, without reference to the past, without touching -upon intimate topics. He fancied, without being sure, that Agnes knew -the incidents of his advance since leaving college. That she had -thus kept track of him was a flattery he must accept only because -he was Jack’s friend. When he left her, his pulses bounding with -delight of her presence, Jack Benedict took him off to the roof of -the yacht’s deck, where they sat by the pilot-house and smoked and -chatted through a long and lazy hour. During this time the rest of -the party had scattered for various enterprises--exploring the waters -in canoes, fishing, reading novels under the deck-awning, or lounging -beneath the trees and overhanging rocks. - -And as yet no word had passed Jack’s lips concerning his sentimental -relations with the sex. Suddenly Mrs. Cartwright’s voice called up to -him: - -“Mr. Benedict, won’t you please take a canoe and paddle up that inlet -yonder in search of your cousin and Miss Clare? We shall be starting -before long, and I must begin to gather my chickens under my wings.” - -Jack blushed as he prepared to obey the chaperon’s behest. - -“You will think that for an engaged man I’m rather forgetful of my -treasure,” he said, smiling. “I meant to tell you, Russell, that I’m -to be married in October.” - -Russell’s heart gave a despairing leap. “Wasn’t it to be expected?” -he said, smiling also. - -“Well--I--there were reasons why I couldn’t bring myself to write -to you, old chap,” rejoined Jack, as he dropped lightly into the -canvas canoe a deck-hand had put into the water, Russell following. -“And perhaps we need not discuss it further. But I’m happier than I -deserve to be, and I have won a gem of purest ray.” - -As they paddled rapidly around the sharp projection of rocks that had -seemed to block the way ahead of them, they saw the girls’ canoe in -the center of a field of lily-pads bordering another one of the rocky -points here so numerous in the channel. When the lily-gatherers, -who had half filled their craft with masses of gleaming flowers and -long, curling stems, espied the search-party, they waved them a merry -welcome. - -“I knew they were not fishing; she’s too tender-hearted by far,” -exclaimed Jack, with a lover’s pride. - -Simultaneously the smiles vanished from his handsome face. A naphtha -launch just then passing into this inlet had left behind it a swell -that made the canoe containing the two girls rock perilously from -side to side. Agnes, evidently recognizing the danger, sat quite -still, but Edith Clare threw herself forward with a scream and -clasped her companion in her arms. The canoe, upsetting, plunged both -occupants into the broad-leafed greenery, under which they sank at -once out of sight. - -“Can they swim?” asked Russell, quickening his stroke. - -“Yes, both of them, if they are not caught below,” answered Benedict, -hoarsely. - -Their canoe shot madly forward. Prompt as were the people in the -naphtha launch in turning back to attempt rescue, they could not -vie with these men in their eager effort to reach the scene of the -disaster. It was soon fatally evident that while one of the young -women had arisen to the surface and was keeping herself afloat, -something had happened to prevent the reappearance of the other. Jack -was not so quick as Hubert Russell to see that it was Agnes who was -missing. With misery clutching at his heart-strings, Russell said, -entreatingly: - -“Let me save her for you, Jack! It will be something to pay back all -you’ve done for me if I can put the woman I’ve loved ever since I -first laid eyes on her into your arms again.” - -He could not see that Jack was not even looking toward the place -where Agnes had gone down. All his thoughts were directed to the -spot whence Edith Clare called out to him to save her. “Coming, my -darling; have no fear,” Jack answered her, tenderly. - -[Illustration: “RUSSELL REAPPEARED, BRINGING WITH HIM THE SODDEN FORM -OF AGNES.”] - -Russell, without an instant’s further delay, dived overboard. The -canoe, violently shaken, was yet steadied by the other occupant, who -succeeded in reaching Edith and extricating her in safety from her -perilous surroundings. - -An anxious interval, and Russell reappeared, bringing with him the -sodden form of Agnes, who, snared and held under water by the green -serpents of the lily-stems, was quite inanimate. They got her aboard -the launch and hurried back to the yacht, where poor Mrs. Cartwright -received them wringing her hands over this sad ending of her day of -pleasure. During the hour while Russell waited in an agony of fear on -deck, Jack Benedict, who stood beside him, became for the first time -aware of his friend’s long ordeal of repressed feeling for Agnes. - -“And I might have spared you so much of it; it was my fault; I only -was to blame,” Jack said, sorrowfully. “Ages ago, had I known this, I -might have told you how she gently and tenderly--poor soul--but with -finality, put a stop to my boy’s dream of winning her. Now, when God -only knows whether she will be with us in the future, I can say no -more. I think, Hubert--mind, I can’t say I am sure, but I think--she -must have loved you from the first.” - -Russell could not speak. He wrung Benedict’s hand, looking at him -with hollow, haggard eyes. - -“So many people have known for the last two years of my attentions -to Edith Clare, we have been so frequently announced by our friends -to be engaged, that, even before the engagement was a fact, it did -not occur to me that you, though living so far from us, were in -total ignorance of our relations. You can see, Hubert, that Edith -is my other self. My fancy for Agnes grew up with me, but the love -for Edith came with my maturer manhood. Our engagement was announced -only just before we all came off here to visit Mrs. Cartwright, -or I should have written to inform you of it officially and of my -approaching marriage.” - -“There!” exclaimed Russell, who was straining his ears to hear sounds -from the little inner cabin, where Agnes lay under the care of Mrs. -Cartwright and a doctor--found, fortunately, among the campers on the -island. “I am sure I heard her voice.” - -Jack’s sister Lou came out to them, her face beaming with delight. -“She has stirred--has spoken; she breathes easily now,” was what -they heard. “In a little while, the doctor says, she will be herself -again,” Lou tried to add, but was choked by her excitement. - -An hour or two later Russell, who had been invited by their hostess -to go back with them for a little visit to her island villa, sat -beside the lounging-chair of Indian bamboo heaped with rugs and -cushions, in which they had placed Agnes upon deck--clad for the -occasion in things they always carried aboard in a wardrobe assembled -for such emergencies. The yacht was speeding merrily homeward over -a track of westering sunshine. Forest fires upon the small islands -along their route glowed like jewels under canopies of dense, pearly -smoke. In the wake of the boat violet shadows appeared and vanished -into the water. All ahead of the two was bright as the Promised Land. - -What had so long seemed impossible to these lovers had come about in -the simplest fashion. Their hands meeting had conveyed the joy of -each at reunion with the other. A few broken words from Russell told -Agnes that he had no dearer wish than to win her love. And Agnes--Now -she was pouring out to him the confidences of three years past; was -claiming his in return; was hanging upon his words, her face so full -of happiness as to tell its own story. - -“We are all avoiding that part of the deck as if it were a region of -pestilence,” said Lou to her future sister-in-law. “I don’t think I -ever saw such bare-faced love-making in public. I have had to put -up a parasol so as not to see them. As for you and Jack, Edith, you -may step down from your pedestal as fiancés. Although mamma will be -very much taken by surprise to hear that Agnes has come up into these -remote waters to annex a young man from off an island, I think Jack -will induce her to feel resigned. Certainly, Russell is a fine, manly -fellow. From all I can see, I fancy there will soon be only one Miss -Benedict.” - -“And for how long will there be even one?” asked Edith, teasingly. - -Lou blushed, and would not answer. - - - - - A GIRL OF THE PERIOD - - - - - A GIRL OF THE PERIOD - - -A great deal of feeble sympathy was expressed for the Foljambes -when it became known they had lost their money. But regret for -that sort of misfortune to one’s neighbors is always tempered when -they have previously shone before the world as the dispensers of -extravagant hospitality. Thrifty, self-centered people who have been -inconspicuous because of their objection to amusing society at the -expense of their own purses, are apt, under similar circumstances, to -receive much more hearty condolence. The Foljambes, father, mother, -sons, and daughters, invitations to whose parties had been scrambled -for in New York and Newport, during several seasons past, were now -reaping the harvest of over-abundant giving. - -It was generally agreed that Mrs. Foljambe, a weak, silly woman with -a bee in her bonnet for fashionable life, had quite long enough -enjoyed her place in the fierce light that beats upon the throne -of American plutocracy. The father, a clever financier, with the -one social accomplishment of effacing himself when the strain of -recognizing his individuality became too great upon the frequenters -of his house, was dismissed with even scanter consideration. The -sons--one recently started in business, the other but just out of -college--were very little known except to their cronies. The real -stars of the Foljambe family, those whose effulgence or eclipse -was likely to be of consequence in the social firmament, were the -daughters, Lilian and Olive. - -Of Lilian, the elder, it had been customary to say that in a -matrimonial point of view she might be expected to do “anything.” -Beautiful, accomplished, fine of grain, cradled and bred in polished -luxury, she was the traditional princess who could not sleep for -the crumpled roseleaf in her couch of down. Since she had made her -appearance before the world her friends had watched, open-mouthed, -to see who would carry off the prize. Of the half a dozen men -prominently in her train, none could be adjudged exactly fit for her. -“Dancing men and dips”--meaning diplomats--was the way they were -summed up. Of course it was not to be expected that a mere diner-out -and frequenter of cotillons--a man whose boast it was not to have -missed a ball or banquet during the season--could presume to mate -with this very choice specimen of the leading set in Manhattan’s -aristocracy. Lilian Foljambe was destined to high place, name, fame, -and representative position. She was of the stuff--declared some -enthusiasts--of which the wives of our ambassadors to foreign courts -should be made. Though if ever there was a head for which nature -intended a tiara--inherited, not bought--it was Lilian Foljambe’s. - -But Lilian had come to be four-and-twenty--an age in woman when -the insolence of youth must needs begin to curb itself and look -about to reckon the comparative values of its chances for actual -establishment in life, without realizing any of the hopes fixed upon -her. She had, needless to say, her full complement of unemotional -offers from the kind of young men whom she met nightly wearing -evening dress with white waistcoats, who talked afterward at the -club together concerning their ill-luck with her, and wondered “what -the deuce the girl was waitin’ for.” She went abroad year after year -with her family, was presented at various courts, made many titled -acquaintances, was extolled for her good looks, and reputed to have -twice her actual fortune. And still there was no hint of the “great -match,” or of any kind of a match, for the fair Miss Foljambe. - -Olive, on the contrary, with not half Lilian’s beauty or style or -grand air, had at twenty-one her quiver full of admirers who would -have liked to be something more. Olive’s chief possessions were a -brown skin, a pair of laughing hazel eyes, a bewitching mouth and -teeth, plenty of common sense, a merry nature, and a nimble wit. -During her first winter “out” she had announced to her family her -intention to marry Stephen Luttridge, a clever young architect, who -had nothing in particular a year. Mrs. Foljambe--ranking the outcome -of Luttridge’s profession, together with those of art and literature, -as in some way connected with food cooked in chafing-dishes and -a maid-servant receiving cards between thumb and finger--looked -honestly alarmed. She induced her husband to declare that he would -give nothing “down” with either daughter unless she should marry to -please her parents. - -Olive smilingly declared that she could very well afford to wait -until Luttridge should have three thousand a year, at which time she -meant to take the matter into her own hands. Mr. Foljambe, egged on -by his wife, had stipulated that the affair should not be called an -engagement. And Olive had answered, laughing, that she did not care -what they called it, provided no other girl got Stephen Luttridge. - -Now a crash had come. Foljambe’s name, hitherto most familiar to a -set of men who had confidence in his probity and were dazzled by his -schemes, had been seen of late in every newspaper in connection with -the story of his stupendous, over-confident, and rash speculations. -And such a tremendous failure had not been chronicled in years! It -was a curious fact that the men who commented on it said generally, -in conclusion, “If he could only have gone on for one week longer, by -George, he’d have been safe!” - -Foljambe was not afraid to meet his creditors. He had chosen a trusty -and capable friend to be his assignee for their benefit, and was sure -he could more than pay his debts--though his remaining assets were -not all of a kind to be immediately turned into cash, and he could -hardly expect much of a surplus for himself. Indeed, nobody else -expected his assignee to be even able to satisfy the creditors; and -so his credit, even with his friends, was entirely gone. He had given -to his sons good educations with which to fight the world on their -own account--for most young Americans a more fatherly benefaction -than a balance at a bank and leisure to haunt clubs. And they were -manly young fellows. It was, in plain words, his womenkind of whom -Martin Foljambe was afraid. - -His wife, with whom he had begun life in the narrowest fashion--who -had helped herself with both hands to the accretions of his -successful business career--would never, he knew, be able to forgive -the folly of his downfall. With women of her type, to have is to -forget all previous deficiencies, to claim prosperity as a right, to -resent reverses as a personal wrong. Sweet, beautiful Lilian, who was -the poetry of his prosy existence, she would be gentle and forbearing -with him. But Lilian, deprived of her luxuries, was an image he could -not bear to contemplate. He knew her to be so utterly unfitted for -the world of work-a-day. Olive, now, was in some way different. She, -like her sister, had been an extravagant little puss. But Olive had -a way of pulling herself together and facing contingencies that gave -him more hope for her endurance of the change. - -Those were sad days in the great stately house off the Park, and so -well known to the world of fashion, following the Foljambe failure. -The large staff of servants was prompt to desert the sinking ship. -A buxom kitchen-maid officiated over the copper stew-pans of the -departed chef. Mrs. Foljambe, in her bed with nervous prostration, in -charge of a trained nurse, complained that she could not get a cup of -bouillon fit to eat since Lenormand had left. Next the stables were -depopulated. Then the pictures and curios and ceramics were sold at -auction, and the house was offered for sale by the assignee, to whom -everything had been surrendered. As there is always in the great -metropolis some family stepping up to replace one that chances to -step down, the agents effected a prompt “arrangement” by which the -Foljambe mansion, furniture and all, passed into other ownership. - -In less than two months after his misfortune Mr. Foljambe stepped -out alone into the street, and looked back upon a dwelling in which -he had no belongings save a couple of modest trunks and several -portmanteaux to be called for by an expressman later on. - -Who shall say that Martin Foljambe did not feel a lump of bitterness -in his throat as he gave his final instructions to a care-taker and -walked hurriedly away into the avenue whence he could no longer see -his home? It had been at his wife’s instigation that he had built it; -she had devised, superintended, ordered everything on a scale that -outshone most of his predecessors in such constructions in their -neighborhood. The only things she had not concerned herself about -were the bills. Enormous as they were, he had paid them without a -hint to her that she must have been cheated in various quarters. -But it had been many a long year since Mrs. Foljambe had concerned -herself about the sum total of a bill! - -All--all--the fruits of his manhood’s work had been lavished at her -feet, and here, when he was wounded to the quick by the jilt Fortune, -his wife, where was she? Sailing eastward in the best rooms of a -crack ocean liner, in company with her lovely Lilian, without whose -society she had declared it would be impossible to recover the tone -of her shattered nerves! - -It was really the only thing for her to do, so had said Mrs. -Foljambe to her doctor, reminding him of the tremendous help she -had previously derived from certain baths in Germany. The doctor, -wise in his generation and well aware of what was expected of him, -had suavely acquiesced. Mr. Foljambe was informed by his wife that -her sole chance of recovery lay in the jaunt in question--and as to -expense, it was a real economy, he knew. The money she was to have at -her disposal was a sum of a few thousand dollars which had been given -to her years before by her husband--which he had invested for her in -her own name--and which had chanced to have been never as yet spent -by her. So the state-room on the ship had been taken within a day or -two after she had announced to him her intention of going abroad. - -Lilian, clinging to her father’s neck with tears and caresses, -assured him that she did not want to go; that it would be dull as -ditchwater for her, and that she should always be thinking of him -left behind. But Lilian was overpowered, and in due time yielded to -her mother’s decree that her first duty was to her. - -Not so Olive. Without protestation, without gush over her father, she -had calmly said she had no idea of going abroad that summer. With the -help of her friend Luttridge she had picked out a little flat on the -west side of the Park, where there were tree-tops for the trouble of -going to the window and a delightful sense of being out-of-doors. The -sale of her pearl necklace had paid for the furniture. She retained -as cook the kitchen-maid who had been trained under M. Lenormand, and -then, when all was done, announced to her father that they--he, she, -and the brother recently come home from college--were going there to -live, the other brother having resigned his place in New York and -gone to the West to grow up with the country. - -The evening of the day that found Martin Foljambe creeping dejectedly -out of his former mansion, with a heart in his bosom heavy as the -iron that had seared it, brought him uptown to see for the first time -Miss Olive’s new arrangements for his comfort. - -To Martin, past the age for picnics, the whole thing appeared but a -mournful makeshift. But Olive and Luttridge, who came in to dine upon -a grilled fowl and a can of mock-turtle soup, and Tom, the recent -graduate, who was charged by Olive “to help to cheer papa,” laughed -and chaffed and made merry with the glorious unconcern of youth. -After dinner, when the two young men went out into the Park to smoke -their pipes, Olive sat with her father upon a sofa pinched between -two doorways of their narrow sitting-room. - -“And now tell me, papa,” she said with alarming briskness, “just what -I may expect as an allowance to keep house upon.” - -He explained that for the present he would have nothing he could -call his own except the sum the assignee was paying him weekly for -his services in assisting to wind up the assigned estate to the best -possible advantage, and that, even from that, certain amounts would -have to be deducted for use for things other than mere housekeeping. - -“Oh, well,” said she, “we shall be able to live. And do you know, -I already love this. It is like a honeymoon without the bother of -a husband. You will have an excellent draught of air through your -bedroom. I forgot to tell you that I got a note to-day from Mrs. -Louis Rushmore offering me the work on her husband’s notes of that -expedition they made last year to Mexico. Mrs. Rushmore started in -herself to put them in shape for publication, but seems to have got -into a hole. You know, it is to be a sort of ‘In Memoriam’ for Mr. -Rushmore, published on the most lavish scale, with illustrations and -all that. She recalled that when we all met in Mexico Mr. Rushmore -took rather a fancy to me principally because I was the only person -of the party who could read his handwriting. You remember, he got me -to copy out in his note-book certain of his own memoranda that he -couldn’t decipher to save himself?” - -“And how, pray,” said Mr. Foljambe, writhing upon the hard little -sofa Olive and Luttridge had thought so artistic in design, “did Mrs. -Rushmore come to suppose you were in need of employment?” - -“Because, daddy dear, I’ve been foraging around for something to do, -for a month past,” said the girl, frankly. “You know I am nothing if -not up to date. I expected to be somebody’s secretary, thanks to my -good, clear handwriting. But the blessing of Mrs. Rushmore’s work -is that I can do most of it just here, and at the same time ‘boss’ -the maid, who might get tired and bolt if she were left too much to -herself.” - -“Poor Rushmore died just while he was deciding to go into San -Miguel with me,” remarked Mr. Foljambe. “He was one of the careful, -conservative kind--while I--” - -“Don’t be ashamed of your spirit of daring--don’t, papa; you share it -liberally with me!” said Olive, gayly. “I haven’t the vaguest idea of -what San Miguel was or is, but I’m perfectly sure I’d have gone into -it and left Mr. Rushmore trembling on the brink.” - -“It was one of my failures, dear--a mining speculation that promised -everything, and flattened out in a year or two. If I had the money -now that my holdings in that stock represent to me, it wouldn’t -be long before I should be out of this pit, I tell you. Until I -was failing, I hardly counted the cost of it. What it has cost me -amounted to a fortune in itself; and I hold--or rather my assignee -for the benefit of my creditors now holds--a strong majority of the -whole capital stock. But within the last few years there has been no -work done in the mine except what the sale of ore extracted would -pay for--which has not been much--and the stock cannot now be sold -for even a penny a share. Indeed I advised the assignee to-day to -sell the shares to anybody who will offer anything whatever for them, -and to do it quickly, before the chap can change his mind. Olive, -my child, whether you succeed or not in your Rushmore business, I’m -proud of you for taking up the first work that comes to hand. But -there’s one thing I ought to ask--how long is Luttridge going to be -satisfied to do without you?” - -“Of course, papa, he was deadly foolish,” said Olive, crimsoning. “He -wanted to be married right away, and come in here, the saucy fellow. -But I’ve stuck to my ultimatum of last autumn. When he gets enough to -keep us without my being a drag on him, I’ll say ‘yes.’ Just now I -wouldn’t leave you for all the world. Every minute of this day I’ve -been thinking of your getting home and finding everything so nice.” - -Foljambe’s heart reproached him for his contempt of her poor -devisings. He caught his brave little woman in his arms and kissed -her as he had not done in years. - -Olive’s interest in deciphering the Rushmore hieroglyphics grew -with the continuance of her work, which daily opened out into new -channels of discovery and information. Mrs. Rushmore, rejoiced to -find she had not misplaced her confidence in the girl’s ability, went -off to Europe, leaving the whole charge of the book in Miss Olive’s -hands, together with a very liberal sum to be paid her in weekly -installments in remuneration, and the promise of more to follow when -the work should be finished. Foljambe himself, in better health and -spirits for his daughter’s guardian care, found that, on the whole, -his enjoyment of life was rather increased than diminished. His -younger son rejoiced his family by finding employment as secretary to -one of his father’s old friends, who was primarily to take him off -for a summer of travel through the wonders of the far West. Letters -from Mrs. Foljambe, while giving gratifying assurance of her physical -improvement and of the usual impression made by Lilian’s beauty upon -casual grandees, did not now touch a sore spot in Martin’s heart, for -the simple reason that the wound was healing under Olive’s influence. - -Summer came, and Olive, at her desk heaped with dictionaries, -encyclopedias, and works of reference, transferred from Mrs. -Rushmore’s library, had hardly time to wonder if she were herself. -While all the other young women of her acquaintance were preparing -gowns for their holiday campaign, going off to lovely country homes -with keen zest for the outdoor life that had previously been her -greatest joy, or taking wing for Europe, she in her trim cotton gown -sat down by nine o’clock to spend all the morning hours in close -devotion to her task in hand. - -With her mental energies thus healthily astir, her faculties bent -upon elucidating and compiling interesting facts, she was really -happy and at her best. She could truly say that she envied no one in -the world. - -“After all, it’s no more than you, and Stephen Luttridge, and lots -of nice, clever men who deserve just as much of the pleasure of -life as I do, are doing every day,” she said one evening, when her -father told her she was a chip off the old block as far as working -was concerned. “And while you are endowing me with your attributes, -daddy, give me your pluck and--something higher, please. Even if -I weren’t getting paid for it at the best market rates, I’d never -begrudge this summer, that’s brought me to know my own dear father -as he is. Thank goodness, there comes Stephen to take me for a walk. -All this bottled-up energy of mine is fearful if I get no physical -outlet in the day. Daddy, I forgot to tell you, I’ve been brushing -up my Spanish latterly. I’ve had two lessons a week from a cheap and -solemn little don Stephen found for me. So many of my Mexican letters -are in Spanish I found it almost necessary to know their language -better. To-day my little professor made me his farewell, and we had a -conversation in his own tongue that would have startled you--I really -think I talked faster than he did--if not so grammatically.” - -“I don’t doubt it,” replied her father, looking at her admiringly. If -Olive had told him she had taken a prize for an essay in any branch -of science after two months of study he would hardly have doubted her. - -It was harder work when the heat of July struck the city. Olive, -yielding to her father’s solicitation, went off then for a week to -a friend in the country, but came back determined not to try the -experiment again. She was out of all touch with the people she met -at the Claverings’ house party. Kind as they meant to be to her, -she had lost the shibboleth, the habit of thought and speech, that -could make her one of their circle. And if, on her return to town, -thoughts would intrude of wide, smooth-shaven emerald lawns, great -forest trees parting to reveal vistas of hill and lake, flower-beds -blazoning the turf, rides on horseback, days on the golf links, and -long, delightful country walks, she had courage to put them aside. -But all this happened to be at the time of Luttridge’s holiday; when, -seeing how much he needed change from office work, Olive had, in her -own bright, imperious way, insisted that her lover should go off to -the Maine woods for a fortnight’s fishing, without regard to her. -And Stephen, albeit reluctantly, had acquiesced. One morning, as she -sat down to her desk, the ancient Aztecs seemed for a while to be -more than ever distressingly remote and uninteresting; then the maid -came in with a long chapter of complaints about the iniquities of the -janitor and butcher boy. When that was over, Olive’s eye fell upon -her calendar. It was the day when, the year before, the Foljambes -had been giving their great ball at Newport, accounts of which -were cabled over sea, and had filled the atmosphere of the Western -Hemisphere. Of what consequence were the Foljambes now to the world -that had courted them? - -“Evidently,” thought Olive, dashing into her papers, with an heroic -attempt to fix her mind upon them, “it does me no good to go -a-junketing. Between me and my other life a gulf is fixed that I -should be wiser not to attempt to bridge.” - -A ring at the gong-bell of the flat! So sharp a ring as to make her -start like a guilty creature. This interruption brought her to the -discovery that, for the first time since her change of abode and -habit, she had been crying over “things.” Katrina’s arrival with a -dingy card revealed the name of a Mexican, an ex-journalist, employed -by Mrs. Rushmore to make certain researches of which the result was -to be reported to Olive herself. In her capacity of editor, the -latter had already received several communications from this Mr. -Ramirez. - -“But there are two,” whispered Olive, who, from her little study -divided by curtains from their only reception-room, could distinctly -hear voices and footsteps. - -“Yes, m’m; but one of the gentlemen didn’t give a card. He’s a--a -person, m’m--not a caller, and he’s jabbering away for dear life in -French or Eyetalian or Rooshan, or some o’ them desperate tongues, -to the other one, m’m. Shall I say you’ll be out directly, Miss -Foljambe?” - -“Yes, Katrina, and bring me a glass of water,” said Olive, meekly. -She was glad to remain alone for a little while, subduing her -nervous fit, and swabbing the marks of tears around her eyes. In her -present unwonted resentment against existing circumstances she was -even inclined to eschew the ancient Aztecs and the whole splendid -inheritance they have left to posterity in the New World. - -“It is really the heat that has got the better of me,” she thought. -“But how much worse for poor Katrina in that little burning-glass of -a kitchen! I am ashamed of myself. I will, positively, never do so -any more.” - -The voices of her waiting visitors, at first subdued to the ordinary -pitch of a stranger’s tones upon entering an unfamiliar place, here -forced themselves upon her aural consciousness. The men were speaking -in Spanish, and certainly not of the matters Olive was expected to -hold in common interest with Ramirez. - -“It is not the first time, Juan, that you have tempted me with -ventures; and they have always come to nothing. I haven’t the money -to spare, I tell you; and that’s flat.” - -“There is no mistake this time, Ramirez. If I could only make you -believe me! If you do not accept, I go to Señor Mores, who, when he -knows the facts, will take me up quickly. Think of it! A beggarly sum -in hand, we buy out the San Miguel stock from a man who does not know -its value, and our fortunes are made forever.” - -San Miguel stock! In a flash it came to Olive that her father was the -chief owner of San Miguel stock. - -“Why do you think I came to New York?” went on the eager speaker. -“For the pleasure of that long, bone-breaking journey across the -continent, eh? Or to pass a month in this city, where a poor man is -ruined by charges if he demands to eat or drink? Why did I fasten -myself to you to-day, and follow you here, when you showed no desire -for my company? Because I wanted to get ahead of another man who will -arrive to-morrow morning. Am I to fail because you, my oldest friend, -will not help me to raise the money? It is not a ‘fake,’ as you call -it in English. I swear to you that I speak the truth. San Miguel is -up, up--on the top of the wave. In two days the newspapers will have -the news of their rich find. Here is a telegram I received on arrival -at my hotel, a few hours since. The secret was to be kept only till -Latimer, the clever man of their syndicate, should have had time to -reach New York and visit Mr. Foljambe.” - -“Foljambe! Caramba! Hold your tongue!” hissed Ramirez. - -There was a sudden hush. The conversation passed into whispers. -Olive, trembling with excitement, slipped back into her bedroom, put -on her hat, seized gloves and parasol, and darted out to the rear of -the flat to interview Katrina. - -“I cannot receive those men now, Katrina,” said the young lady, -breathlessly. “Give me full time to get out of their way, and -then--but not until they call you--tell them I am not at home.” - -“It’s not sneak-thieves they’d be, Miss Foljambe, and you goin’ to -call up the police?” the maid asked with natural emotion. - -“No, no, Katrina. They will do no harm. But I cannot stop to see -them. It is a matter of important business for me to attend to. -Something I have found out that I must see my father about, without -delay. Mind, you are on no account to give these men, if they ask for -it, Mr. Foljambe’s address downtown.” - -“Trust me, miss,” said the woman, importantly. “They’d never be -gettin’ me to let on where they’d find the master, poor gentleman, -after all the troubles he’s had already.” - -Olive, considering every moment’s delay of the men a clear gain, and -reckless of the evident belief of her honest handmaiden that she -was going to warn her father to flee from the myrmidons of justice, -hurried out of the front door. - -Katrina, anxious to fulfill the trust imposed in her, tarried -inconceivably long; when Ramirez, his patience exhausted, rang -her up for the fourth or fifth time, the woman sauntered into the -room wearing an air of defiance blended with cunning. Between -Ramirez’s scant supply of colloquial English and Katrina’s voluble -mystifications the two men were fairly routed. The Mexican, putting -his papers upon the table, finally beat a retreat. - -But he reckoned without his enemy. - -“Maybe it’s me you think would be serving yer dirty summonses upon -the master!” cried she, as, exploding with wrath, she picked up the -envelope and thrust it back on him. - -“Come away, Ramirez; the creature is certainly mad,” said the other, -nervously. To his mind this delay about trivialities, when he had a -fortune in his grasp, was insanity on Ramirez’s part as well. - - * * * * * - -Fleet of foot and full of courage, Olive sped upon her way. Reaching -the nearest station of the elevated railway she boarded a car and -fell into a seat, looking back in actual fear of finding herself -overtaken by the two Mexicans whom she had eluded. After all, was it -not a will-o’-the-wisp she was pursuing? As it often happened to her -in acting upon impulse, the first cool moment--though that did not -come until the train was well on the way downtown--brought its pangs -of self-distrust. - -But nothing could go wrong about visiting her own dear father and -confiding in him her--A sudden jarring of the wheels upon the rails, -a shock--what was it? Olive, together with the other passengers in -her end of the car, was shot forward violently, all falling in a -heap. Then came a crash, a sound of shivered glass, some screams from -frightened women, and at last a full stop--after which people picked -themselves up and wondered whether or not they were badly hurt. - -Coming around a curve they had run into the rear end of a train -stopped unexpectedly ahead of them because of a breakdown of its -engine. There were no serious bodily injuries, but there was much -agitation and every prospect of a long delay before the track could -be cleared and the train could proceed. Olive, the worse only for a -badly battered hat, a broken sunshade, some damage to her clothes, -and a scratch across her brow, had her hands full for a time with -pacifying other more nervous women and crying children, who could not -be persuaded they were not doomed to fall into the street below. - -When at last she had succeeded in getting to the plank-walk along the -side of the railway track, and had thus, with the assistance of a -train hand, reached the next station, she descended to the level of -Mother Earth with her feelings somewhat dashed. In her forlorn plight -she was not fit to be seen on the streets, and indeed the condition -of her hat was so shocking as to make her hesitate to enter a public -vehicle. There was not a cab in sight, but after a rapid walk to -Broadway she discovered a great wholesale warehouse where, when she -had explained that she had just been in a collision on the railway, -they allowed her to purchase a cheap straw hat that was at least -better than the one she discarded. - -More delays! The cable-car, into which she finally got, ran along -peacefully enough to just below Canal Street, where a block occurred, -necessitating an attempt at possession of her soul in patience until -the moments grew to feel like hours. - -Unable to endure it longer, she sprang to the ground, crossing -through a jam of vehicles to the sidewalk, then stood looking up -and down for a cab. Everybody stared at her, until she was afraid -she might be arrested upon a charge of drunkenness, because of her -excitement and of her battered appearance. - -Her face flamed with heat and exertion. The wound in her forehead -streaked her handkerchief with blood. It was very near mid-day. -Lacking a parasol, the sun’s ardor seemed to her more oppressive than -it had ever been before. And, as ill-luck would have it, the passing -cabs at that hour, in midsummer, and in that portion of the town, -were so few and far between, that not one, not already occupied, came -along until she was ready to cry with anxiety. It was the first time -she had ever been there alone. - -Poor Olive felt her courage oozing out at her finger tips. After all, -would not she be laughed at by her father as a mistaken busybody, -concerning herself with affairs of which she had no knowledge? And as -the sun beat upon a pavement swarming with alien folk who jostled and -stared at her, she almost gave up in despair. - -“You make some mistakes, my impetuous little Olive,” had -Stephen Luttridge said to her a few days before they parted, -“and--perhaps--commit some follies. But your intuitions are the -keenest, your pluck the best, I have ever seen in a woman. And I -promise you now, I am going to stand by them both, so long as we both -shall live.” - -How Olive had glowed with pride at her lover’s eulogy! As it here -came to her memory, she turned bravely around facing the Battery, -and started to walk. - -The pain in her head was growing; she felt a sensation of dizziness. -In all that crowd, pressing her onward or coming to meet her, there -was not a familiar face, or one to whom she could appeal. - -At this moment, a blue-coated officer crossed the line of her -uncertain vision. Olive ran forward, laying her hand upon his arm, -and besought him to get a carriage for her. The man, scrutinizing -her closely, ended--to his eternal credit, be it said--by speaking -civilly. - -“There’s one coming now, Miss, if you think you’d be fit to drive -alone. Perhaps you’d better step into a drug store till your head -cools down a bit.” - -“Oh! no, no. I am all right, officer; I only want to get to my -father’s office, No. -- Wall Street, please. Tell the driver to take -me quickly, and I’ll thank you very, very much.” - -Once inside the friendly hansom, Olive’s courage flowed back in -a full stream. For half a mile or more she lay at ease upon the -cushions, fanned herself, arranged her hat and veil anew, thought of -her father’s kind pity for her mischances, and rejoiced in finding -him--when, presto! the horse was down upon his knees and badly -damaged, the passenger shooting forward, her wrist twisted in the -attempt to prevent herself from falling further. - -A crowd gathered about them. Olive, assisted to alight, protested -that she was not hurt; and a good Samaritan, who saw the girl’s -pallid cheeks, led her into a neighboring doorway, summoning another -cab. - -“You must let me take you to your destination, though,” said the -gentleman who had aided her. “I happen to have daughters of my own -about your age, and should be very sorry to have one of them left to -shift for herself under these circumstances.” - -“It can’t be so very far now to my father’s office in Wall Street,” -replied Olive, suppressing the pain of her injured wrist. “I am -dreadfully anxious to get to my father’s place of business.” - -She mentioned his name, and the gentleman took off his hat--but was -evidently puzzled by her forlorn appearance. - -“I have good reason to know Martin Foljambe,” he said, courteously. -“But for his generous action a few months ago--something he need not -have done, but chose to do--I should have been hard hit. My name is -Whitwell, and I beg you to give yourself no further concern, Miss -Foljambe. I shall surrender you safely to your father’s keeping in a -very little while.” - -“Oh, if it is not too late!” exclaimed she, for the first time losing -her self-control. - -“You are late for luncheon, if that’s what you mean; but I dare say -Mr. Foljambe will look out for you. It is always a treat to my young -women to descend upon me for their mid-day meal, and I am well broken -in to supplying them.” - -When they stopped before the desired building and Olive offered him -her purse to pay the cab, her kind friend declined, of course, to -receive it, but observed that her cheeks had again grown very white. -In crossing the hall to the elevator he made her lean upon his arm, -and as they shot up to the floor upon which Martin Foljambe now -transacted his affairs, in the office of his assignee, her escort -felt that she was trembling painfully. - -“I am growing weaker,” thought poor Olive to herself. “How wretched -to frighten papa like this. Oh, I must not, I will not faint! I will -hold out till I tell him about San Miguel.” - -“Courage, my child,” said Mr. Whitwell. “In one moment you’ll be -there.” - -At the end of a long corridor they saw the names they had come in -search of. - -“He is in, Miss Foljambe,” said the young man to whom she had put the -query, “but I am sorry to say our orders are that Mr. Foljambe is -not to be interrupted. He is receiving some gentlemen on important -business.” - -“Two foreigners?” asked the girl, forcing herself to speak calmly. - -“I think so, Miss Foljambe. I was out at lunch when they called, but -I understood they are Spanish gentlemen, and Mr. Foljambe’s orders -were most explicit that he is not to be disturbed.” - -Olive never knew how her strength held out to march past the -astonished clerk, tap at the door of her father’s room, and follow -this up by entering the forbidden portal. Quite two hours had passed -since she had quitted her home upon her mission of warning. There -had been full time for “Juan” to induce Ramirez to decide upon their -plan of action, find out Mr. Foljambe’s habitat downtown, and proceed -without interruption to the spot. - -As already stated, Foljambe had decided that the mine was worthless, -and had advised his assignee to sell the San Miguel stock at -whatever price it would fetch. When, therefore, the two Mexicans -had appeared--offering for it a merely nominal sum, to be sure, but -accompanying their proposition with the guileless explanation that, -as Juan lived near the mine and had a little money, he was willing -to risk something on the venture of becoming part owner of the -property, though it seemed to be of no real value--Martin considered -himself in luck. He thought that here was a windfall, though -certainly not a large one. - -While Ramirez, interpreting for his friend Juan, was in the very act -of urging an immediate acceptance, so that a matter of so little -importance might be closed without further bother, and while Foljambe -was holding back with an attempt to prove his indifference, making -excuse that the assignee would arrive presently and they could then -decide the matter, Olive had burst into the room. - -“I beg your pardon, papa,” she said, frightened and faltering; “there -has been a little accident, and I must speak to you alone.” - -Foljambe, much startled, put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, -placed her in a chair, and requested his visitors to wait in another -room until the return of the gentleman through whose hands the matter -must pass. As they went out Ramirez darted upon the almost fainting -girl a look of suspicion and resentment. - -“What is it, my dear?” asked the father, anxiously. “What in the -world has brought you down here alone, and in this condition?” - -“Your friend, Mr. Whitwell, papa. He is waiting outside, I think; but -never mind him or my appearance or anything, till I ask you if you -have sold your San Miguel stock.” - -“Good heavens!” cried Martin; “and what do you know, you kitten, -about San Miguel stock?” - -“Only that it’s up--up--on the top of the wave,” she cried, -breathlessly, repeating what Juan had told in her hearing to Ramirez. -“That they have made a rich strike of ore. This man I saw here just -now has crossed the continent at top speed to buy you out; and -another person--somebody called Latimer, who, he says, is the clever -man of the syndicate--will be in New York to-morrow morning for the -same purpose. Oh, papa, if you have sold San Miguel it will break my -heart!” - -“By George, I haven’t; but you were just in time!” cried Foljambe, -greatly excited. “It’s the closest call I ever had in all my business -life. How on earth you found out, Olive, beats me. But if it’s -true--good heavens, child, how did you find it out?” - -“They were at our house this morning--talking together in Spanish,” -she said, her voice beginning to sound to her further and further -away--“and I remembered what you had told me about San Miguel. I -started without waiting a minute to find you, but the elevated train -broke down, and there was a block on the cable cars--it was very -hot--then my hansom horse fell down, and I hurt my wrist--I’m afraid, -papa, it’s beginning to make me feel--a little weak.” - -She could articulate no longer. Her words trailed off into -incoherency. The long strain had been too much for her. For the first -time in her life, Olive fainted dead away. - -Juan and Ramirez knew their game was up--knew it before a message -came to them from the room where Mr. Foljambe was occupied in -restoring his daughter to consciousness, where Mr. Whitwell, summoned -to come in, was explaining the circumstances of his encounter with -the little heroine. - -For the visit and proposition of Mr. Latimer, which occurred the -morning following that of Ramirez and his friend, Mr. Foljambe was -sufficiently prepared. Latimer’s surprise when his offer to buy was -declined outright, as was also his rapid increase of the amount first -suggested as a fair equivalent for worthless stock, all this is -written on the tablets of Martin Foljambe’s memory. He will probably -never cease chuckling over it as a pendant to his daughter’s clever -interference. - -Olive went on with the Rushmore memorial (which in due time appeared -in print, with great credit to the editor) until her father, coming -in one unbearably hot evening, gave her the welcome tidings that San -Miguel had set him on his feet again. - -“We shall be rich again, my girl, thanks to your grit and -common-sense,” he added, bending over the sofa, where she reclined, -rather languid and overdone and trembling with excitement. “And about -the first use I shall make of spare funds will be to set up you and -Stephen. I take it, from what your mother writes, Lilian will marry -that Captain Ramsdell. I don’t care a hang about his being next in -succession to a baronet, but I do like his asking her when he thought -she had lost her money.” - -“The bell!” cried Olive, springing to her feet as the welcome -annunciator sounded. “Glad as I am of your splendid news, papa, I am -gladder still that to-night has brought Stephen back.” - -“I had quite forgotten that little circumstance,” remarked Martin, as -she flew by him like a whirlwind to meet her lover in the hall. - - - - - THE STOLEN STRADIVARIUS - - - - - THE STOLEN STRADIVARIUS - - -In a low chair, drawn up to secure the full light of a Welsbach -burner, a little woman sat darning stockings. Although full forty -years of age, she was astonishingly young and fresh. Her dark hair, -twisted in a shining coil at the back of a small, well-shaped head, -her rosy lips and white teeth, the look of alert interest in her -hazel eyes, the plain but becomingly arranged dress, all suggested -that her present condition of solitude was incidental rather than -habitual. - -The room in which Mrs. Blair’s deft needle repaired the havoc of -stalwart feet in their daily walks to and from the money-getting -haunts of men, was clearly the resort of culture untainted by -vulgarity. On the second floor of a small three-story dwelling in a -street unknown to modern fashion, years of use as a family gathering -place had toned its modest belongings into harmonious attractiveness. -If the furniture was worn, it better accorded with the russet and -dun hues of the old books covering half the walls; and the drawn -curtains of faded crimson stuff did not rebuke the faint odor of -tobacco that lingered in their folds. Above the books hung numerous -good engravings, photographs, and etchings that lifted thought and -piqued imagination with suggestions of the wide world’s beauty and -romantic history. In the most isolated corner a substantial table, -littered with papers, a letter-press, a stray pipe or two, a big -common-sense inkstand and writing pad, with a rack of books of -reference, betrayed the snug harbor of a male brain-worker; while a -stand of blossoming plants in a south window, a tea-table set with -bits of quaint silver, and a couple of becushioned wicker chairs -indicated a woman’s idea of _dulce domum_. - -This room was, in fact, the common property of a busy married pair -and their busy children, who rightly considered their reunions in its -pleasant precincts to be a fair equivalent for other things denied -them by Dame Fortune. - -The house and its furniture, with a small sum of ready money, -had been the portion given to Molly Christian on her marriage, -two-and-twenty years before, with Terence Blair. He was a -good-looking, well-bred, clever Irishman, who, coming over to the -New World to make a living out of journalism, had at once anchored -himself happily by falling in love with and winning the prettiest -and best-balanced girl of his acquaintance in New York. - -Mr. Christian, Molly’s father, after so contributing to his -daughter’s needs, had wisely put what remained of his fortune into an -annuity that supported the amiable but unpractical gentleman until -his death two years before our story opens. This disposition of his -funds had been indorsed by Mr. Christian’s family and friends with -more satisfaction because of his previous persistency of faith in -certain silver and copper mines that had given him every facility for -cultivating the process known as throwing good money after bad. - -Although Molly’s handsome Terence had not, according to her -expectation of him, quite set the world of his craft on fire, he had -made a respectable livelihood; and she and their children adored -him for his sweet, cheery temper and easy-going ways. Late in her -life he had imported to live with them a lively little old Irish -mother--styled by the juniors “Granny”--who proved to be just the -dash of flavor needful to complete their family salad. Petulant, -affectionate, witty, and light-hearted, Granny had bravely helped her -daughter-in-law to bear the increasing burden of domestic life on a -limited income in a community where upon working people there is a -call for every dollar before it is well in hand. - -As the children had grown up, and their varied mental gifts cried -aloud for the best education of the times, Molly had, indeed, had -much ado to make both ends meet. Luckily for her, the strain of -keeping up appearances was not among her trials. - -When the Blairs had married, possessing between them means enough -to give and take the hospitality of that simpler period, they were -a part of the circle that in those days codified the social laws -of the metropolis. Mistress Molly, a whilom belle of her set, did -not lack for attentions, and Terence was popular. But very soon, it -became apparent to the young couple that they were straining overmuch -to keep abreast with people who affected to put aside the hum-drum -ways of their Revolutionary, or Dutch, or Puritan ancestors; that -the growing elaboration of life among their kind must drive the -Blairs either to accept without returning, or not to accept at all. -So Molly let go the threads of gossamer that bound her to her world, -and little by little the Blairs had drifted into insignificance. To -Terence, with his insular density as to the shades of difference -in American society, it had not seemed a mighty matter to give up -Molly’s friends; but she was a woman, and at first it had cost her a -few natural pangs. Now for nearly twenty years she and Terence had -lived their own life, and on the whole had done very well without the -things forsaken. - -How was it, then, that to-night, as the little house-mother sat -at her homely task, her thoughts, roving over the field of her -interests, general and special, had settled with a tinge of -wistfulness upon a very trivial matter? In an evening newspaper she -had chanced to read the account of a ball, given the night before for -the young daughter of one of her friends of early years, when the -_débutante_ had literally walked upon flowers. - -“Lilies of the valley strewing the floor of the alcove where Tilly -Beaumoris stood beside her mother to receive! And for my girl, -to-night of all nights, when she plays her violin before Levitsky, -not so much as a posy to wear in her best frock!” This was the arrow -that pierced Mrs. Molly’s armor! - -Yes, it was Kathleen, bright, radiant Kathleen--her nineteen-year-old -daughter, the sunshine and perfume of their home--who had begun to -disturb the long-standing family peace. - -What Molly had cheerfully accepted for herself, she now, like a true -American parent, began to think might be bettered for Kathleen. - -An hour before, she had seen the child--heaven in her face--set forth -with her father for a musicale in the studio of an artist, who had -promised to fetch there to hear her play the great Herr Levitsky -himself, whose verdict made or marred an aspirant in her field. And -Molly had no sort of doubt as to Kathleen’s rare talent for the -violin. - -The only cloud upon Kathleen’s horizon had been that mamma must stop -behind. - -Molly had pleaded--though Kathleen quite understood it to be a -pious fiction--that she really could not make the effort to go to -Crichton’s musicale; that she was better off at home; that she would -certainly be nervous, and that Kathleen would see it, and fail to -play as well. Kathleen knew--and Molly knew she knew--that the -frugal little lady’s only remaining evening gown was too hopelessly -decrepit to make another appearance in public without the renovation -requiring time and outlay just then impossible to bestow on it. As -for its alternate--the old black satin surviving the days of a fuller -purse--that had “suffered a sea change” into modern conformity with -gores, and gathers, and what not, and was at the moment rippling -sheenfully from Kathleen’s own slender waist, the bodice veiled in -transparent gauze of the same somber hue, through which the girl’s -white throat and splendid shoulders gleamed with a pearly luster. - -What Kathleen had done to bridge over the insincerity of her mother’s -excuses, was to put her strong, round arms about Molly’s neck and -half blind her with enthusiastic kisses. - -Maurice, coming a moment later into the room--Molly’s oldest son, -Maurice, with his six foot one of young manhood set off by cheap -broadcloth, speckless linen, and the ruddy hues of health and -modesty--had repeated Kathleen’s onslaught; and lastly Terence, -always laggard, wearing his high hat of ceremony, and struggling into -his overcoat as he hurried in, had kissed her good-by, and bade her -be of good cheer, since their girl was sure to do them credit. - -Ah, well! What did anything matter so long as she had these? - -No, no, she did not envy her old friend, Lottie Earl, now the -important Mrs. Beaumoris of the society newspapers, or covet ever -so little that lady’s grand establishments in town and country, her -yacht, her travels, and her vogue. It had been only a silly passing -fancy of Molly’s about the waste of all those lilies, because -Kathleen had asked for a few to brighten her gala toilet, and could -not be gratified in view of the winter woolens needed for poor, dear -Jock--who was serenely wearing his last year’s rags in a snow-drift -up at college! - -Then merry Jock passed in review in his mother’s anxious -thoughts--Jock, whom the family were putting through the university -by dint of constant self-denial and petty economy. And then, Maurice, -whose clever drawings were beginning to be sought for by the editors; -his hopes and ambitions, his loving confidence in her, flooded -her heart with tender meditation. Next, Terence had his turn, and -there was a space for Granny. And before all of these images of her -worship, Molly poured a libation of love that made her as happy -as a queen. Gone now were the barbed thoughts of a little while -before. How “they” would laugh at her next day, when she confessed -her feelings as to Mrs. Beaumoris, for to the Blairs most sentiments -were common property. Terence, his eyes full of quizzical enjoyment, -would call her a little socialist. Maurice, throwing back his head in -a jolly laugh, would declare, provided the Blanks gave him Horner’s -new novel to illustrate, Mrs. Beaumoris was welcome to strew forty -thousand lilies upon her daughter’s pathway. Granny would let fly -some cheerful satire, and Kathleen--well, if to-night Levitsky -approved of Kathleen’s playing, after this the girl would be too well -satisfied with her lot in life to bestow even a transient sigh upon -anything lacking! - -As the clock on the mantelshelf chimed eleven Mrs. Blair started in -surprise. Her stockings were all done, and piled beside her in neat -rolls; and still there was time to run over those last proofs of -Terence’s, so that he, poor dear, might get to bed for once in decent -time. - -It was not for the intellectual treat that Molly Blair, her rather -overtasked hazel eyes radiating contentment, next set herself, with -the careful facility of one trained to the work, to read over the -pile of galley slips representing part of her husband’s new book on -the Romance Languages, then running through the press. Truth to tell, -in her zeal of sympathy she almost knew the paragraphs by heart. - -So deeply immersed in her occupation was Mr. Blair’s proofreader, -however, that by and by, although Molly had meant to listen for the -welcome sound, a latch-key was turned in the hall lock below, and she -did not hear it. A moment later, a whirlwind, apparently, bore into -her presence a young creature with the brightest eyes and ripest lips -in the world. - -“Oh! little mother, darling!” cried Kathleen, breathlessly, “how -shall I tell you my good news? It was like a fairy tale; and Maurice -thinks so, too. He’s just as glad as I am, I can see; only we’ve not -had time to talk it over. Well--to begin with--_he_ was there--” - -“Who, Maurice?” asked Molly, happily. - -“No, you teasing mother--Levitsky--and when Mr. Crichton took me up -to introduce me, the hero just glanced me over with his cold blue -eyes, and looked about as much pleased with new company as the real -lion does at the menagerie. Then, I began to play. And what followed -I don’t know--except that the people were as still as mice, and that -I forgot even Levitsky standing there, so tall and weary, between the -folding doors. And then--and then--everybody clapped, and I played -again; and, when I had finished, papa, who was close behind me, took -my violin away. Next Levitsky came straight through the crowd, and -took me by the hand, and said--oh! what _do_ you suppose he said to -your good-for-nothing child? ‘Mademoiselle, you have all the rest, -if only you persevere till you master the technique.’ His eyes were -no longer like steel; they shone on me with the softest, friendliest -gleam. That terrible golden mane of his could never frighten me -again, I think. He was as gentle as you are, mother dear; and there -we stood talking till he left, and papa said I must come away, too.” - -“You will say I was, for once, fit to take care of your treasure, -won’t you, Molly?” supplemented Terence, who had followed the family -swan upstairs. “When you see the state of excitement she is in, you -will agree that if that little head isn’t turned to-night she’ll -indeed be a lucky girl. Levitsky showed pretty plainly that it wasn’t -by any means a thing of every day for him to meet with the likes of -her; and when _he_ roared, of course all the little animals chimed -in. I suppose, there’ll be no living in the house with Kathleen after -this.” - -“Oh, yes! I shall be so good, so amiable, everybody can live at peace -with me,” cried Kathleen, throwing off her fur-trimmed wrap and -revealing her beauty to the eyes that never tired of it. “But here we -are, mother, neglecting a most important duty. In the fullness of his -pride, this heedless daddy of mine has gone and invited two or three -men to come in here presently for supper.” - -“Terence!” said Mrs. Blair, reproachfully. - -“It’s only Malvolio, Molly dear, and little Catullus Clarke--” - -“Such a beautiful new poet, Mr. Clarke is, mother, with night-black, -silky hair and chiseled features--don’t you remember papa’s review -of his book Sunday before last--here it is, this dark-green duck of a -booklet, with every modern idea in the make-up--” - -“But my dears, however will Mr. Catullus Clarke bring himself to -consort with a Welsh rarebit?” interrupted the housekeeper, with some -severity. “And to save my life, that is all I can think of to offer -him.” - -“He’ll tackle it fast enough,” said Terence, comfortably. “But -don’t fash yourself, Molly; there’ll be oysters to stew in the big -chafing-dish. Maurice stopped behind us to fetch them from our old -friend Felsenberg’s, whose place was open and in full blast as we -passed. Come downstairs now, and get things ready in the dining-room, -for it isn’t every day we celebrate our daughter’s first step in the -temple of Fame, I’d have you remember, ma’am.” - -“And, mother,” put in Kathleen, as they adjourned below for action, -“you will never guess whom I met at Crichton’s! Mrs. Beaumoris and -her older daughter, who is a fanatic for music.” - -“Lottie Beaumoris?” said Molly, remembering with a blush her envious -soliloquy of a little while ago. - -“Yes, you know she is by way of being a patroness of talent, and -the daughter is one of the little fishes that swim after Levitsky. -They were amazingly condescending to me, not in the least identifying -your child. Here comes the wonderful part, mother. Mrs. Beaumoris has -engaged me to play at an afternoon party on the 25th, when Levitsky’s -to be the star! I saw in a minute that the master had suggested me, -and felt perfectly overwhelmed with thankfulness. And the price, -mamma--the price I am to be paid is stunning. Perhaps Mrs. Beaumoris -may not think so, for I noticed she hesitated when she offered -it--but she little knew how my spirit bounded at the offer. Let me -whisper, dear; I don’t mean that any one else shall hear.” - -And bending her stately head to the level of Molly’s little pink -ear, she breathed into it a sum which, to the simple notions of -the mother, seemed more than generous, although, as Mrs. Beaumoris -afterward boasted, she was “getting this new girl for half price.” - -“Is Kathleen telling of her latest captive?” said Maurice, arriving -with his can of oysters, to find their little dining-room aglow with -warmth and comfort. - -“Nonsense, Morry,” said his sister. - -“Yes, but it’s true, she has got her net over not only the great -Levitsky, but a man who can help her on tremendously, if he chooses -to. And he does choose apparently, since he asked me when he might -call here--and by the same token, I told him we’d be having a bit of -supper later on, and would be glad to have him drop in.” - -“Morry!” said both women, in a breath. - -“Well, now, mother, isn’t it my business to look after Kathleen’s -musical interests? And didn’t Crichton tell me this fellow was no -end of a swell in musical high society? The first time I noticed him -was in the train of those Beaumoris females, who appealed to him for -everything. But he couldn’t take his eyes off my little sister after -she began to play.” - -“I never even saw him,” exclaimed Kathleen. “Or, stop! could that -have been the beautiful Raphael-faced creature who was standing -between the doors during my first piece?” - -“I suppose _you_ might call him Raphael-faced,” said Maurice, with a -brother’s fine scorn of his sister’s enthusiasm for any man. “But _I_ -looked at him purely in a business light, as an impresario of young -genius. He talked to me some time, and accepted my invitation to drop -in. I don’t know, now that I come to think of it, what there is about -Thorndyke, but it’s something not quite--well, I give it up. Judge -for yourselves when he arrives.” - -And now, all was in readiness for the impromptu feast. On the hob -of the grate fire, a kettle, indispensable to the impending brew -of Terence’s famous punch, simmered assurance of speedy boiling. -Terence--trusting to no one the concoction of a Welsh rarebit, for -which he had won renown at Trinity College, Dublin, now years too -many ago to be mentioned--was already at work over a chafing-dish. -Kathleen, her cheeks crimson, her lips of the true pomegranate tint -parted with delight--a large damask napkin pinned over the front of -her made-over black satin--was peeling a lemon for the punch. In this -branch of culinary service she was admitted to be an adept--so thin, -so even, so unbroken the golden spirals she produced! - -Maurice, perched on the arm of his sister’s chair, fell into lively -whispering--for, to Kathleen, almost before his mother, the boy was -accustomed to carry his hopes and fears. To him also that evening had -fallen a stroke of good fortune. Had not he heard from Mr. Malvolio, -the art-critic of the _Regulator_, that ---- had spoken to him of -putting the illustrations of Horner’s book into the hands of “that -young Blair?” And was not ---- the member of the great publishing -firm most to be relied upon for the distribution of covetable plums? - -Mrs. Blair, glancing back as she went into the pantry to prepare -for her oyster stew, thought the old clock under which her children -sat--whose broad face had looked down for so many years on the -councils of her family--had never seen a fresher, a more winsome -pair, eager to confront the great world on their own account. - -The father, affecting not to be conscious of Morry’s confidence to -Kathleen, recalled the days when he had peeped in on them at early -morning in their nursery, to find both youngsters sitting in the -same crib, with heads together and tongues wagging industriously -over their forecasts for a day, then as wide and broad to them as -was the future now. Neither of his children, Terence decided with -satisfaction, had parted with the simple straightforwardness of that -primal period. - -Mr. Malvolio, whose ring startled Maurice from his perch, and sent -him to open the front door, considered himself well favored in being -admitted to one of Blair’s little off-hand suppers. As the famous -critic and dictator upon matters of pictorial art came into the room, -his pallid, mask-like face, and snaky, black locks disheveled over a -high forehead, suggested rather a ghost at the feast than a would-be -reveler. - -After him presently arrived Mr. Catullus Clarke, whose overcoat and -galoches had but just been deposited in the little hall, when a third -ring made itself audible. - -“That’s Thorndyke, probably,” said Maurice, hastening away--the maid -servants of the Blair household having been long abed and slumbering. - -“Maurice has asked an important stranger to join us,” said Mrs. -Blair, with a little air of apology to Malvolio. - -“Thorndyke--I should think so,” said Malvolio, but interrupted -himself upon the entrance of Kathleen’s “Raphael-faced” young man. - -He had been going to say that Thorndyke was much oftener visible in -houses of the Beaumoris variety than in the haunts of upper Bohemia, -but this struck him as hardly a gracious observation, even among the -easy-going Blairs. - -The first appearance of the musical virtuoso confirmed, in her -mother’s eyes, Kathleen’s description of him. There was an expression -singularly unworldly and winning about his fair, handsome face. -In his hand he bore a cluster of rare white orchids, fringed with -maiden hair fern--“a real Beaumoris bouquet,” said proud Molly to -herself--which, with an almost reverential air, upon being presented -to that young lady by her brother, he offered to Kathleen. - -This act of public tribute from an oracle of such repute in the world -where she aspired to shine filled the girl with tremulous delight. -It also disposed her to think more than kindly of the giver. But -Thorndyke did not follow up his advantage by pressing himself upon -her further notice. He talked in turn with Terence Blair, Mrs. Blair, -and Malvolio; tasted and praised Molly’s oysters, declined Terence’s -punch, and settled down in a corner to await further developments. - -At this point of the proceedings still another ring was heard--brisk, -fearless, insistent, the sort of ring Jack might have caused to -resound through the Giant’s castle. - -“Who can that be?” asked Mrs. Blair. Terence, to whom she addressed -herself, did not reply in words, but, with a sly smile twinkling -about his eyes and lips, referred her to Kathleen. - -Kathleen, engaged in conversation with Mr. Malvolio, whose quaint -drolleries of speech gave her continual pleasure, turned around with -a movement half impatient, half resigned. - -“Ask Morry,” she said. But Maurice, quite under the spell of Mr. -Thorndyke, was listening with delight to that gentleman’s discourse -upon some theme evidently kindling to the imagination. - -“Morry _would_ invite him, mother,” the girl went on, with a trifle -of petulance in her voice. “It is only just Colin.” - - - - - II - -“Only just Colin!” Behold a youth, tall, heavily built, powerful, his -head leaning a little forward from the shoulders, his brown, healthy -face adorned with the expression of good will toward mankind that, -after all, is the one unfading charm of the human countenance. It -was because of his trust in things that Colin never felt abashed, -greeting the great and the lowly alike with honest good-fellowship. -Although in the eyes of a critical woman of the world his person -might have been found lacking in certain exterior signs deemed by -her class indispensable, his looks and manner when he came into a -room carried with them irresistible attraction. An ex-hero of the -university, where Maurice had been his devoted chum and follower, the -echo of Colin’s achievements in athletics had not yet died out in the -two years since he had graduated. Take Jock Blair, for example, at -present a junior under the wing of the same alma mater, and seat him -at table in Colin’s company; a babbling and confident young fellow -enough in ordinary society, Jock would be stricken dumb and reverent -in the presence of this composite Napoleon and Wellington. - -Now a hard worker in his first year at the law, not even those -outsiders, chill of blood, who affect to contemn the practice of -manly sports among healthy young collegians, could have found ground -for a charge against Colin that he was subordinating brain to muscle. -Under his new teaching, he had done more than well. To the physical -animation acquired in college he had many times given thanks for -helping him to endure this later life, in which a walk uptown after -working hours was the chief outlet for his tremendous energy of body. - -When we have said additionally that Colin was of a very short purse, -and had no backing of family in New York--seeing that his relatives -were unimportant residents of a small Western town--that he was -hopelessly in love with Kathleen Blair, and that at college he had -been dubbed Colin chiefly because his real name was John Walter -Mackintosh, the tale is told. - -Knowing that his charmer was that night to undergo the ordeal of -proving her quality as a violinist before the supreme Herr Levitsky, -our young man had moved heaven and earth to get an invitation to -Crichton’s musicale; having succeeded in which, he had passed through -a tumult of emotions regarding a proper appearance for the occasion. - -Maurice, sharing his confidence, had lent sage advice. Colin, who -perhaps for no other reason would have taken on himself a debt, had -secured upon the installment plan of payment a new suit of evening -clothes, the genial sartor who provided them supplying, out of the -fullness of his sympathy, facings for the coat of a better quality -of silk than was nominated in the bond. At the instigation also -of the more knowing Maurice, the aspirant had next repaired to a -much advertised “Fire Sale” of “Gents’ Furnishings,” where he had -laid in a dozen white linen ties, “imperceptibly damaged,” and six -hemstitched pocket handkerchiefs. This done, there was yet a mighty -obstacle to overcome. For two interminable days Colin had not seen -his way clear to the possession of a pair of patent leather shoes. -Over and again he had surveyed wistfully his rough ordinary footwear, -and reluctantly decided that it would not do. The jest of the -bootmaker to whom he had ventured a remonstrance as to the high price -of his wares, that it “took extra leather to cover some men’s feet,” -was iron entering Colin’s soul. - -At this critical juncture, somebody had been called in haste from -the law office claiming the services of Mr. Mackintosh, to draw up -an old woman’s death-bed will. To Colin had been assigned the task, -and also, to his eternal gratitude, the small fee resulting. The -speed made by him uptown that day after office hours, to reach the -bootmaker before his shop should be closed, recalled to our hero -some of his efforts at sprinting between hoarsely cheering crowds of -college sympathizers. - -Two minutes after he was invested in all his hardly-won integuments, -Colin had forgotten them. He had long been planning how to present -Kathleen with some flowers to wear at the musicale. Knowing her -favorites, he had purchased a sheaf of those “naiad-like lilies of -the vale, whom youth makes so fair, and passion so pale,” at a cost -that would deprive him of luncheon money for some days; then, with a -strong desire to see her pleasure in them, had walked around to the -Blair’s house carrying the gift in person. - -On the doorstep his courage had failed. Kathleen, sternly intent on -checking his too rapid advance, might, and no doubt would, decline -his offering. So rather miserably, the big young man had turned -around again and marched away with his pasteboard box. At the corner, -he bethought him of a recent speech of hers--that “better than -anything but music,” she loved flowers. This renewed his prowess. -Again he stormed the lady’s portal, and again fell away, discouraged, -in apprehension of her frown. The scrutiny of a passing policeman -served to weaken his last remnant of resolution. - -The lilies, returning with him to his lodging, were, with continuing -uncertainty, carried on to Crichton’s studio. There Mr. Mackintosh, -proving to be the first arrival, had judged it best to remain -secluded in the cloak-room, until a number of men, passing in, gave -him countenance to enter the scene of entertainment. His vague plan -of contriving to intercept Kathleen on her arrival, and putting the -flowers in Morry’s hands, with the request that she should wear -them, had now vanished into thin air. He wished at last he had never -burdened himself with the confounded things. - -What Colin felt while Kathleen had witched her audience with youth -and loveliness and talent may be divined by the reader. Perhaps by -ruffling the leaves of the book of Memory, some chronicle may still -be found there, uneffaced, to suggest the proud tingling in the young -man’s veins! The little lock of darkest hair, that while she wielded -the bow had the habit of breaking cover and falling down upon a fine -jetty eyebrow, the rich flush in her cheek swept by the lashes of -down-dropping eyes, the noble unconsciousness of her face and figure, -thrilled him with a more passionate resolve than ever to win her for -his own. - -When she had finished playing, and the crowd thronged about her to -indorse the master’s verdict, Colin had kept aloof. He did not want -to spoil the hour by commonplace; and indeed his heart was too full -for utterance. Maurice, just then running upon him in the throng, had -bidden his friend to supper. Colin, fed with new hope, had returned -again to the dressing-room, intending to take a walk until it should -be time to present himself at the Blairs’. Between two men talking -over the performance of the evening as they lighted their cigars, -he heard Kathleen discussed in terms that he considered daringly -impertinent. Although the phrases used were chiefly those of custom -upon the appearance of a new performer in her field, one of the men -lent to them an emphasis so offensive that Colin had much ado to -restrain himself from flying at the offender and choking him backward -into a pile of hats. - -Tempted to leave his now oppressive offering for beauty’s shrine in -Crichton’s fireplace, he took up again his box of flowers and went -out into the night. How far he wandered through the chill, deserted -streets in the effort to make time pass ere he thought it proper to -appear before his goddess, Colin did not realize. When he could bear -no longer not seeing her, he had rung Mr. Blair’s door-bell; but when -he was asked into the supper room, where they were all assembled, the -spurned and imprisoned lilies were tucked away on the lower shelf of -the hat-rack, behind the galoches of Mr. Catullus Clarke. - -“And where will you sit, Mr. Mackintosh?” asked Mrs. Blair, holding -out a kind hand of welcome to her new guest, who accordingly dropped -into the chair nearest her own. - -Colin could hardly speak. In the stranger guest, ensconced in -intimate conversation with Maurice, he recognized one of the men he -had desired to knock down in the dressing-room at Crichton’s! - -“Now, we may notice in Clarke’s poems,” Mr. Malvolio was saying with -wicked relish, “what Emerson once remarked about Oxford. ‘Nothing new -or true, and no matter.’” - -“I do not pretend to solve my own problems, my dear fellow,” returned -the poet, languidly, as he lay back at ease in a large arm-chair, -surveying his patent-leather toes; “I only state them to average -intelligence, and then pray for the interposition of the Power that -brought speech out of Balaam’s ass to give understanding to some of -my readers.” - -“Indeed, yours is the dearest little book we have had this month, -Mr. Clarke,” exclaimed Kathleen; “and your poster is the wildest and -weirdest in my collection.” - -“Then I have not printed in vain, Miss Blair,” answered the bardling, -looking at her with admiring eyes. In reality he was entirely happy. - -It was only being overlooked that ever caused Catullus pain. - -“Gather your roses, while you may, Clarke,” resumed Malvolio, -cheerfully. “Presently the twentieth century will throw upon you -mysterious folk a searchlight in which even you will stand revealed, -and then your occupation will be gone. You owe Blair a debt of -gratitude, by the way, for slating you so discreetly a couple of -weeks ago. It’s immensely clever how he manages to let his authors -think the failure to appreciate lies in him only, and that the -world at large is ablaze over their productions. Now, in that thing -about you, for instance, the readers of book reviews--I wonder who -they are?--must have thought Blair a schoolboy who had accidentally -tangled an Olympic deity in the tail of his kite. It was only after -they had paid one fifty for the volume, I dare say, that they found -out the truth.” - -“Don’t spoil my wife’s supper by talking shop over it,” said Terence -reprovingly. “To come here for the purpose of discussing modern -literature--” - -“You flatter Clarke,” interrupted Malvolio. - -“Is hardly my idea of entertainment. You might as well invite a -letter-carrier to take a walk for pleasure.” - -“Or ask Malvolio to talk about Monet--” said Clarke. - -“Who has seen ‘Heart of Topaz’?” asked Terence of his guests. - -“I, says the fly, with my little eye,” answered Malvolio. “It is a -pretty peep-show; but she is only Mrs. Tanqueray done into Japanese. -If we are to have that lady at all on our stage, let her come in the -strong, original guise of Pinero’s heroine. Although you, my dear -Miss Blair, must stay away when she appears--” - -“Now _I_ protest,” said Mrs. Blair. “But at this rate, we shall never -find a subject of conversation upon which we agree.” - -“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Malvolio, whose glass Terence had just -filled with a steaming golden mixture of innocent appearance. - -“There is one, and that one uppermost in all our minds, yet deepest -in our hearts--” - -“Hear, hear!” murmured Mr. Clarke. - -“I need not,” went on the speaker, arising and holding his glass -in his right hand, while upon his saturnine countenance gleamed an -attempt at angelic amiability, “say many words to emphasize the -pleasure Miss Blair’s triumph has given to-night to her hearers. Up -to the present time, I must confess, I have known the young lady -chiefly in her capacity of sub-critic to her father. On various -occasions like the present, I have profited by her opinions upon the -topics of the hour; and I can truly say: ‘Now, by the salt wave of -the Mediterranean, a sweet touch, a quick venue of wit; snip, snap, -quick, and home; it rejoiceth my intellect: true wit.’ But to-night -she has soared into a region whither I may not follow her, save -with the reverential eyes of an earth-bound loiterer; she has been -accepted among the musical elect, and henceforward I can only offer -my homage from below. Tho’ such as it is--the tribute of enchanted -ignorance--it is hers most heartily; and I ask you all to join with -me in drinking the health of the ‘Woman who has won!’” - -“The woman who has won!” repeated Thorndyke, significantly, in -Kathleen’s ear. He had crossed over for the first time to be near -her, and his gaze was radiant. - -“Now, why couldn’t I say some of those fine-sounding things?” -poor Colin was grumbling inwardly, as he saw Kathleen break into -well-pleased smiles and bend blushing in the direction of her -extoller. “Old Malvolio has no business to take this on himself, -considering he’s no more musical sense than a turnip. That’s my -trouble, after all. I can’t keep up with the phrase-makers in their -eternal patter. And that man she is talking to her now! How am I to -tell Morry or her father the way I heard him speak of her a while -ago? How did he get here, anyway? Anybody can get in with Kathleen -better than I, it seems. If she’d give me only one of the sweet looks -she wastes upon all these literary freaks”--such, we grieve to say, -was the classification made by Mr. Mackintosh of the rank and file of -the Blairs’ associates--“I’d--” - -His meditations were cut short by Kathleen herself, who, supple as a -snake, had glided unnoticed to his elbow. - -“You are the only one among us who has a long face,” she said to him, -softly, while across and around the table now resounded a fusillade -of merry sayings and laughter. “Is it because you disapprove of my -playing in public?” - -“Disapprove of you? Oh! good gracious, no!” he answered, -incoherently. “I am proud to the core of my heart. But that doesn’t -mean I like to think of you on a platform. It makes me wretched, -and that’s the honest truth. You ought to be shut in from vulgar -gazers in a little world of your own; and the question of dirty money -oughtn’t to enter into your art.” - -“Perhaps not,” said the more practical Kathleen; “but, after all, -‘dirty money’ puts the hallmark upon accomplishment. And as to the -vulgar gazers and hearers, they light the torch of genius. When I -was last at the opera, in those good seats in the parquet Mr. Toner -sent papa, I watched the artists closely, and saw that every one of -them was working with all his or her might to do the best possible; -and whenever there came a burst of real applause--not that little -rainfall of claps one hears from the gallery alone, but the kind that -comes, quick as near-by thunder after lightning, from the body of the -house--the ease and spontaneity of the performance was increased. -The very muscles of their bodies seem to feel the tension, and their -faces to grow more luminous.” - -“That may be true,” said poor Colin, who was again out of his depth; -“but somehow, I don’t fancy you among them. I had rather see you in -the boxes with those nice girls who sit up by their mammas, and have -fellows dropping in to call on them.” - -“Please don’t!” cried she, with unaffected earnestness. “I can’t -imagine any life that would suit me less than theirs. Sometimes, on -a winter’s night when daddy and I hurry by them in the lobby, on -our way to catch a cable car to get home in, I think maybe I might -enjoy wearing one of their long fluffy white wraps like plumage--that -look like seraphs’ overcoats--and having a footman in a fur cape -to call my carriage. But really, I don’t want riches or fashion; -I want opportunity only, and travel, and all the music I can get, -and flowers like those orchids, and a new evening frock--and such -nice things as Mr. Thorndyke has been saying to me about my touch, -and--and to see my parents take a little rest from work. But that’s -what I talk about to Morry, not to you. When his ship and mine come -in, you’ll see what we shall do with our cargoes.” - -Thus it was always. While she filled every chink and cranny of -Colin’s dreams of the future, he had no part in hers. Swallowing his -pain, he tried to find something to say to her about his pleasure in -her success. He dared not venture in this place to criticise their -new guest. - -“Oh! thank you,” she said, studying his appearance, apparently for -the first time. “And to return the compliment, I ought to tell you -that you look--really very nice.” - -“Morry put me up to it,” he said, glowing with pleasure. “We had a -council over my old evening rig that had been through three years of -the University before it came to New York; and he decided I could no -longer pass muster.” - -“Yes, I like you in these clothes,” she said, critically. “But I -think--though I’m not certain--your collar should not turn down so -low--and I’m quite sure your hair is too long.” - -“Really?” he exclaimed, smiling ecstatically. It was so precious to -have her speak to him in this proprietary way, even though he knew, -too well, alas! that she was inspired by less than the interest of -a sister. He would have been thankful, indeed, to have a part of -Maurice’s share in her regard. - -“Yes, really,” she said. “But for those minor points, I believe you -are smart enough to appear in the gilded halls of Mrs. Beaumoris, -where, by the way, I am to make my début on the twenty-fifth as a -paid performer.” - -“You! oh, no!” he exclaimed, impetuously, his brown face reddening. - -“And why not, pray?” she answered, proudly resentful of his protest. -“What has become of your theories about the dignity of honest toil?” - -“It’s not that--only--it is a chariot of fire that is coming to -snatch you away from me,” he said, simply, and in spite of herself -Kathleen was touched. - -Colin, seeing his advantage, tried to follow it up. But it is the -misfortune of those in his peculiar state, that the very force of -their desire to be agreeable to the beloved object defeats their -chances of success. He could find nothing appropriate to say, and -felt as he looked--large, lumbering, disconsolate. - -No wonder Kathleen flitted away from him to laugh and chaff lightly -with the others. Even little Catullus, with his poses and bushy hair -and solemn fripperies, made the time pass for her more trippingly -than did Morry’s friend. - -Terence, however, in his element as a host, presiding with rare grace -and tact over their frugal feast, understood better than any one the -art of amalgamating divers elements in a party. To their number was -presently added Duval of the _Clarion_, who had just been writing his -critique of the last new play at the ---- Theater, that would help to -form opinion on the subject next morning at many breakfast tables. -Talk took itself wings, and soon was stirring with mirthful impulse. - -Then Terence, who possessed a tenor voice that might have coined -ducats for his family where his pen won them a bare livelihood, -sang some of his Irish melodies--not Tom Moore’s only, but Lover’s, -and the like. Gazing for an inspiration at his pretty Kathleen, he -trolled out the delicious by-gone serenade that carried his wife back -many a long year, and brought to her eyes the tears of tenderest -sentiment. - - “Oh! Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, - All lonely waiting here for you, - When the stars above are brightly shining - Because they’ve nothing else to do? - - “The flowers late were open keeping, - To try a rival blush with you; - But their Mother Nature set them sleeping, - With their rosy faces washed in dew. - - “The wicked watch dog loud is growling; - He takes me for a thief, you see; - He knows I’d steal you, Molly darling, - And then transported I should be. - - “Oh! Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, - All lonely waiting here for you, - When the stars above are brightly shining, - Because they’ve nothing else to do?” - -Of all Mr. Blair’s listeners the only one who wore an expression -not in sympathy with the pretty tuneful old song was Catullus; and -even he, sitting in a Yellow Book attitude, exhibited the grace of -magnanimous forbearance. So rapt were the others in the charm of -listening, they paid no heed to “a new step on the floor” of the -adjoining room. It was a pattering little step, much as if a mouse -was scuttling through the house; and at once the door opened, and -in came a tiny, bright-eyed old lady, fully dressed and wide-awake, -although her cap was a tiny bit askew. - -“Granny!” cried her family in a voice. - -“You didn’t think, Terry, my boy, that I could stop upstairs in -bed, and hear you sing the old songs down below,” answered Granny, -unabashed. - -“You’re like the ‘good ould Oirish gintlemen, all of the oulden -toime,’ Granny,” said Maurice, bringing forward her especial chair. -“Don’t you remember how he was supposed to be defunct, and his -friends were ‘waking’ him, and the candles were lighted around his -bed? The corpse stood all the rest, but when the whisky corks began -to pop, he just sprang up and shouted, ‘Whoop! Murther! d’ye think -I’ll be lying here dead, when such good stuff as that is flying -around my head?’” - -“For shame, saucy boy,” said Granny, giving her pet a little tap -upon his hand that still clasped hers. “No supper, thanks; I couldn’t -survive it, really; and not a wee drop of the punch, even. Just go on -with your nonsense, good people, and let me listen. But first come -here, Kathleen, child, and tell me how you stood your trial.” - -“Let me settle your dear old cap, then,” replied Kathleen, proceeding -to put her offer into execution. “It’s all right about me, Granny; -I’m a gold mine, as you’ll say when you know what Mrs. Beaumoris -is going to pay me for playing at her party. And as to what Herr -Levitsky said, that will keep for to-morrow. Now, papa, we want -‘Widow Malone,’ as only you can sing it.” - -“And afterward,” added Thorndyke, with effusion uncommon in that -measured personage, “Miss Blair will surely not refuse to give us a -taste of her quality on the violin.” - -Therefore, in due course, Miss Blair, standing under the old clock, -lifted her fiddle-bow, and lo! the air about them thrilled with -exquisite sound. What she chose first to reproduce was the quaint -German Christmas hymn, “Joseph, lieber, Joseph, mein,” written by -Calvisius five hundred years before. Then without warning she broke -into Granny’s favorite Irish jig, playing it with such resistless -vim and merriment that every foot in the room began involuntarily to -keep time, and every face wreathed itself into a smile. As quickly -again the measure changed, and now Kathleen was back in Crichton’s -studio, and her hour of triumph was lived again. - -“You are a real witch,” said Colin, finding himself near her after -this. “You have got all these people crazy about you. While you -played, I was wondering if you’ll ever be satisfied with any one man -for an audience.” - -He turned, annoyed. There, behind him, stood Mr. Thorndyke, silent, -inscrutable. - -“Indeed, and I will!” Kathleen said, merrily. - -“And what must he be or do to deserve it?” - -“Be?” exclaimed the girl. “Like the donkey, all ears. And do? Give me -a Stradivarius!” - -A little later, when the company broke up and the guests went their -several ways, Mackintosh, espying his forgotten flowers, had no -longer the impulse to offer them to Kathleen. The events of the -evening and the attentions of Thorndyke had made her recede further -than ever from his reach. - -“Will you ask your mother to have these lilies?” he said, awkwardly -thrusting the box upon Maurice in the hall, and hurrying out of the -house. - -When Colin reached the spot he by courtesy called home he let himself -in with a latch-key at a mean-looking door, and climbed three -flights of stairs to his den. This was not exactly the traditional -hall-bedroom of the struggling clerk, but a variant, in the shape -of a middle room, lighted and aired by a small skylight in the roof -only. In other respects it was as cheerless as a ragged carpet, lame -furniture, and mismatched crockery could make it; but Colin thought -little of personal comfort, and the gloom of his meditation as he -threw himself upon a creaking chair beside his iron bed was not due -to the young man’s meager surroundings. For almost the first time in -his life, he felt a sense of impotency in meeting the future in fair -fight; and his ordinary trustful spirit rebelled against thus leaving -his affairs to “lie on the knees of the gods!” - -“Give her a Stradivarius!” he said aloud, bitterly. And, somehow, -with the phrase mingled a haunting thought of the man with the angel -face, who had in Colin’s hearing spoken words concerning Kathleen -that were not in the least angelic. - - - - - III - -The words, “Give her a Stradivarius,” had hardly been spoken aloud by -young Mackintosh when he was surprised by a knocking upon the board -partition dividing his attic room from the one adjoining it. After a -pause, during which he listened, the knocking was renewed. - -Colin, remembering that his neighbor was an infirm and melancholy -looking old fellow, whom he sometimes met wearily climbing the stairs -with a loaf of bread and a brown paper bag of comestibles hugged to -his breast, fancied himself called upon for help. He had but just -removed his coat and, putting it on, hastily ran out into the entry, -and tapped at the door of the next room. - -A feeble voice called to him to come in. The interior resembled -Colin’s own in lack of comfort. A gas-jet was burning, which -revealed, lying dressed upon the bed close to the partition wall, -the man he had often seen--gentle-faced, though hollow-eyed, and -evidently racked by some chronic malady. - -“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Colin’s neighbor, “but I must -have been dreaming. I awoke suddenly, believing I heard some one -distinctly say, ‘Give her a Stradivarius!’ And so I knocked on the -wall, the way I used to call my nephew when he lived with me.” - -“I did say those words,” answered Colin, blushing. “I was thinking -aloud.” - -“I beg pardon again, sir,” said the man, sitting up on the bed with -an eager expression. “This is a coincidence I think you will agree -is remarkable. I had fallen asleep thinking of a Stradivarius. I -was dreaming of it. In fact, I rarely think of anything else, in -these days. For to have owned something that in my present poverty -would have been a little fortune, and to have had it stolen from me -by my--Good God! I can’t speak of him. It’s too base for words. Mr. -Mackintosh, I’m ashamed of myself. You see, I know your name. Mine is -Rupert Thorndyke.” - -“That seems somehow familiar,” said Colin, racking his brain to -recall where he had heard the two names combined. - -“No doubt, like most of us working folks, you read about the doings -of the fine people who constitute high society in this town. Well, -among them you have often seen that name. The other Rupert Thorndyke -is as young and pushing and successful as I am old and timid and -collapsed. He is away up among the tiptops, Mr. Mackintosh--dines -and wines with the millionaires, and gives parties at his own rooms. -I eat bread and ham out of a paper bag upon yonder table, and am -thankful when I can afford a bottle of beer or Rhine wine to wash -it down. But he’s of my own blood. My brother’s son, and my only -living relative--named for me, to my sorrow. When his father was in -business with me in musical instruments at--Broadway I was the senior -partner, and we prospered for many years. Then my brother got into -speculations, and I had to make good the money he lost. Rupert, who -was a clever dog, had been sent by me to the University. Well, my -brother died of a broken heart; and Rupert came to live with me for -a while. Got me to send him to Europe once or twice, which I could -ill afford to do. He was such a handsome fellow, had such a winning -way with him, one could refuse him nothing. Then some of his former -classmates at college voted him into a fashionable club. I paid the -entrance fee and dues, keeping my homely self out of sight of his -grand companions. Mr. Mackintosh, you will wonder at my want of -self-control. But you’re a gentleman, and have got a heart, too--I -can see it. I’ve often wanted to make your acquaintance.” - -“Go on, if it relieves you, Mr. Thorndyke,” said the young man, -dropping upon a chair beside the bed. - -“Then you will honor me by drinking a glass of claret,” said the -other, arising with some difficulty from his recumbent position. “I -am rather stiff with rheumatic pains, as you see. I lay down here -before dinner to rest a while, and must have slept till now. Pray -share my good luck. My employer--for I am serving where I once ruled, -Mr. Mackintosh--gave me a bottle of Pontet Canet in honor of his -birthday.” - -“I have just supped, thank you,” said Colin, unwilling to hurt him by -refusal. “But I’ll have a glass of wine with you with pleasure.” - -The old man, shuffling about, produced glasses and a bottle, together -with a Bologna sausage and some biscuits. As he sat munching and -sipping opposite Colin at table, his dull eyes brightened with the -feast. - -“Good stuff, this,” he went on. “I’ll warrant the great Mr. Rupert -Thorndyke has no more relish for his supper with the rich and -exclusive Mrs. Beaumoris after the theater to-night! My employer -gives me his morning paper when he has done with it, Mr. Mackintosh, -and I bring it home, and under this gas-jet read the fashionable -intelligence. I always know what’s going on in society. Look at this -old ledger; I have cut out and pasted in it all that is said about -my namesake--where he goes, and what he does. Rupert is a musical -virtuoso--hand in glove with all the artists, who sing and play at -his rooms for nothing. The fine ladies attend, too, and admire the -beautiful upholstery and decorations that I paid for when I was -flush. Rupert has a collection of musical instruments, ‘small but -unrivaled,’ so the papers say. Mr. Mackintosh, I’d give a year of -my life to look over that collection and make sure of my--my--lost -Stradivarius.” - -“Do you mean to say--” began Colin, indignantly. - -“When I failed in business I had saved that violin to be sold only in -case of dire emergency. Rupert, better than another, knew its value. -He always coveted it, but though I had squeezed myself dry to supply -him, I would not give this up. For a long time, I should tell you, I -kept on terms with my nephew. I never obtruded myself, but I saw him -from time to time, taking a fool’s pride in the grand gentleman I had -created.” - -His head drooped forward. He seemed lost in reverie. Colin, who had -begun this adventure with indifference, felt his suspicions awaken -and grow keen with the man’s story. - -“A pride I am afraid your nephew did not appreciate, Mr. Thorndyke,” -said the young man finally, to arouse him. - -“Eh! Oh! of course not,” exclaimed the instrument-maker, coming out -of his trance. “I was thinking of what a handsome fellow Rupert is. -His eyes are so blue, his smile so open, his manner so winning, no -one under God’s heaven would take him to be a--oh! _is_ he that? Has -my brother’s boy fallen so low? He might have turned on the hand that -fed and reared him; he might have shaken me off because I am poor and -commonplace and rusty; but I can’t believe--yet what must I believe? -Listen, Mr. Mackintosh, to the proofs. After my failure, as I said, I -had put away my precious Stradivarius in its case, in a trunk in the -one room I kept--better than this, but still, one room only. I had -to go over to Philadelphia, once, to see a man from whom I hoped to -collect a few hundreds owing me. I came back rejoiced because I had -got nearly the whole sum. The maid at the boarding-house said nobody -had called or asked for me in my absence. I went straight to the -trunk, and opened it to put away my cash. I found the violin-case -empty--the treasure gone! Just as I was about to give the alarm to -the house, I saw on the floor under the edge of the trunk, this--” - -He took from his pocket an unset scarabeus, jade-green in hue, that -might have been worn in a man’s ring or pin. - -“It was his. I had often seen him wear it in a scarf. He had showed -it to me on his first return from Cairo. How could I alarm the -boarding-house, or set the police upon the track of Rupert? Rupert -a th-- Oh, no! I won’t say the word! Not till it’s proved will I -call him so. I found traces of wax on my latch-key of the house -door, that I had been in the habit of throwing, with my other keys, -on the dressing-table every night. Rupert had recently sent a man -there with a note enclosing me a present of twenty-five dollars. -While I wrote the answer the man must have taken the impression of -my keys. Mr. Mackintosh, I had mistrusted that gift of money, though -I kept it to pay my way to Philadelphia, and my board. Although I -had given Rupert all, it was the first he had given me. I returned -it to him the day after my discovery of the loss, with two lines, -“Take your money, and give me back my Stradivarius.” He answered in -such a brutal tone it makes me sick to think of it, disclaiming all -knowledge of my Stradivarius. I burnt his letter, but these words are -sunk into my heart, ‘From this time forth I refuse to see or to speak -to one who has done me this foul wrong.’ That was two years ago, Mr. -Mackintosh--two years ago. I have not prospered since; I am living -on a pittance of pay because the times are hard, and my employer -has nothing like the business _we_ used to have. Are you cold, sir? -If so, I can light the gas-stove. I keep it for _very_ cold weather -generally. My nephew, as I said, has gone to a play to-night, to see -Sara Bernhardt, with a party invited by Mrs. Beaumoris. His friends -are very exclusive, and he is a great favorite--or perhaps it was -last night he went to the theater; I am losing my memory, you see.” - -“How does he continue to cut such a dash without fortune?” asked -Colin, anxious to satisfy himself without exciting the poor old -fellow’s suspicion. - -“Nobody knows exactly. He was always lucky in speculation, and very -daring. I gave him money to start with--all I could spare--and he -went on and on. Yes, he must have a good purse to live as he does. I -don’t envy Rupert; but oh! if I had the courage to go to-night and -try to get into his rooms--to say I am his uncle and could wait till -he came in--and then search there, and find out--” - -“Perhaps he has sold the Stradivarius,” said Colin. - -“Oh, don’t say that, Mr. Mackintosh. I hope against hope that he’s -keeping it as the gem of his collection--that I may one day look at -it again. I’d know it in a hundred. There is a tiny vein of color -in the wood, that looks like a hand with an outstretched finger, on -the right side, near the bridge of the instrument. Enough for any -one--for you, for instance, who know nothing of violins, to identify -it by. But I’d know my beauty, as far as I could see her!” - -As he filled a cracked glass with grape-juice for the third time and -tossed it off, Colin saw that unusual treat had affected his poor old -brain. - -“_In vino veritas_, Mr. Mackintosh,” he resumed, smiling wistfully. -“I’ve told you my story as it hasn’t passed my lips since I got my -death wound. You go into society, don’t you? I judge from this,” -touching the sleeve of Colin’s evening coat. - -“To a very limited degree,” said Mackintosh, feeling much abashed. - -“Because, I thought if you do, it might come in your way to help me.” -But in the act of making this suggestion the instrument-maker forgot -what he had begun to say. He wandered, grew drowsy; and Colin, soon -aiding him to bed, left him there sound asleep. - -The pathos of this incident dwelt with Mackintosh for days. He longed -to tell Kathleen, whose interest, he knew, would be keenly aroused -in view of the object of the old artisan’s mania. But in one way or -another Colin failed to see any of the Blair family. He continued to -meet Thorndyke on the stairs, and to exchange greetings with him. -There was, however, no repetition of the first attempt at confidence. -Thorndyke, as if aware that he had betrayed too much, looked shy of -further converse with his stalwart and friendly young neighbor. Colin -had almost begun to think the whole story a dream. - -At last, when the need to look upon Kathleen’s bright face became -overpowering, Colin turned, late one afternoon, through a softly -falling veil of snow in the direction of the Blairs’ house. As he -shook off the feathered flakes upon their door mat, he pleased -himself by believing he would be asked to walk at once into the cosy -intimacy of the family room, where at that hour Kathleen and her -mother were wont to meet for tea. - -Kathleen would be wearing her gown of brown serge, with the slashes -of crimson, that so well became her glowing brunette beauty--looking -like the genius of home! Mrs. Blair would put away her galley slips -and blue pencil, and come over to the tea-table beside the coal -fire. Both of these gentle creatures would turn upon him the gaze of -friendliest interest. - -Colin’s gateway of hope, in the shape of Mr. Blair’s front door, -moved inward. Behind it stood an elderly woman, endeavoring to -dry her parboiled hands upon a checked apron before receiving the -visitor’s card between thumb and finger. - -“Yes, sir, gone out; both Miss Kathleen and the madam,” she said, -with bursting pride. “It was in a cab that I fetched meself from -the stable. Some kind of a grand music party, where our young lady -was goin’ to play, sir; and they’d not be out of it till after six. -No. 6--Fifth Avenue, sir, they told the coachman. Perhaps you’d be -knowin’ the house, Mr. Mackintosh?” - -Colin, blessing his stupidity in forgetting that this was Kathleen’s -important twenty-fifth, retraced his steps. Down fell his air-castle -of a quiet hour with her. Vanished his fond imagining of some token -from her of sweet half-hidden regret that they had been so long -apart. With cruel clearness of sight he beheld the true ambition -of her life. By the time he should have taken a slow step higher -in his profession, Kathleen would have soared into an empyrean, -whither he could not follow. Henceforward a fret and fever for public -approbation would possess her young being; she would be forever -unfitted to plod through life at a poor man’s side--and, spite of his -great love, Colin had no mind to be the appendage of a successful -public favorite. - -Doggedly, obstinately, the young fellow tramped far uptown, welcoming -the sting of wind and snow in his face. Near the confines of the Park -he found himself, his bare hands in the pockets of his overcoat, his -face reddened with cold, his jaw set, his eyes heavy, brought to a -halt before the house indicated to him by the Blair’s voluble maid. - -There could be no doubt that a festivity was in progress behind the -brick and marble front here presented to the avenue. Over a carpet -running out to the curbstone, guests were passing to and from their -carriages, beneath the shelter of an awning lighted by pendent -lanterns. Spite of the snow, the aperture on either side the tunnel -of striped canvas was blocked, not only by footmen comfortably humped -in mountains of black fur, but by the lookers-on, who seem to be -never tired of this common phase of a city’s pleasuring. - -Colin, on the outer edge of one flank of the vagrant army, stood for -a while, governed by some impulse he could not have explained. Among -his comrades were one or two women and children, miserably clad, -content to stand gaping at the show. Colin, to all appearance one of -their class, excited no surprise, except that a tawdry girl wearing -an old feather boa coquettishly around her throat asked him with some -vexation not to go crowding other folks out of the places they had -got before he came. - -A lady effecting her exit from the house, was met by a young man -who had just jumped out of a hansom, whom she greeted in accents -maternally affectionate. - -“So late, Mr. Thorndyke?” she said, in staccato reproach. “It’s -almost over now, and Levitsky will play no more. But Anatolia is just -about to sing her last. Nothing would tempt me to leave, but that -Nita, poor girl, is at home with a bad throat.” - -“It’s a success, then?” said (ignoring Nita) the young man, at whom -Colin Mackintosh gazed eagerly, seeking to be convinced of his -identity with the thief of the Stradivarius. - -He was handsome, golden-haired, open-faced, smiling. What a brave -nephew for the old neighbor on the attic landing! But Colin did not -know his Christian name, and that-- - -“Ha, Rupert,” said a man, coming out. “Why are you behind time? -There’s a new girl playing on the violin that I know will please your -fastidious fancy.” - -The lady’s trim little brougham now stopping the way, the two young -men aided her footman to introduce her goodly bulk within its open -door. At this achievement, the group around the awning uttered an -“A--a--h!” of satisfaction, and the carriage drove away. - -“Any new violinist that is worth the asking you may count upon at -my party on Wednesday night,” said Thorndyke, carelessly. “And as I -know the young person in question fairly well, I have little doubt of -getting her to do what I wish. If you are _épris_, Clarkson, drop in -and I’ll give you a chance at her.” - -“All right, old chap, good-by.” - -As the two men separated, Colin clenched his fists. - - * * * * * - -None too soon for Kathleen’s eager ambition had arrived the day of -her appearance before an audience that would make or mar her hope of -establishing herself as a performer, at semi-private concerts. - -Punctual to the hour appointed by her patroness, the rusty cab, that -in the eyes of the Blairs’ maid servant had conferred style upon -their dwelling by pulling up in front of it, had deposited at the -Beaumoris portal the young violinist and her mother. - -In a wide hall, beneath orange trees ranged against tapestries of -great age and fabulous value, they were received by two automata -in claret and silver livery, whose mission on gala days it was to -forever point out to guests the way toward distant cloak-rooms. The -fiddle-case, no less than the hesitating manner of their entry, -betraying our ladies to these potentates, they were hurried with -scant courtesy upstairs, and bidden to wait in the morning-room until -the pleasure of the mistress concerning them should be ascertained. - -Kathleen saw the flush on her mother’s cheek at the moment when Molly -caught the gleam in her child’s eye. - -“Don’t mind, darling.” - -“It’s a mistake, of course, dearest,” were spoken simultaneously. -Thereupon the two grasped hands for a little reassuring squeeze, and -looked around them comforted. - -Neither had seen anything comparable to this boudoir, its fantastic -furnishings gathered from every quarter of the globe, its floor -strewn with skins and rugs soft as velvet, its litter of costly -curios, and cushions heaped upon gilded couches. Kathleen, getting -up to pace the room with a free, impatient step, paused oftenest -before the clusters of long-stemmed roses that hung their royal -heads over the rim of tall crystal vases, and the gems of pictures -upon the satin background of the walls. Then standing amazed by the -writing-table, with its fittings and toys of beaten silver, she -whispered, merrily: - -“What a contrast to our war-worn old writing things at home. Upon -this blotter one could only write invitations to a Vere de Vere.” - -She was interrupted by a Frenchwoman, whose entry, with the glib -assurance that Madame would see them shortly, conveyed more of -comradeship than of respect. - -There was a long wait. Kathleen, wearied of her splendid prison, -employed her time by falling upon a novel, of whose contents she -possessed herself after the rapid fashion of the reader accustomed to -absorb new books. - -Mrs. Blair took up no volume. In silence she sat thinking of the days -when she and Lottie Earl, now the owner of this stately domicile, -had been schoolmates and bosom friends. To shut her eyes to the -Beaumoris luxury was to conjure up Lottie’s early home in Clinton -Place, whither Molly had often repaired by invitation to spend -Saturdays. The sad-colored walls hung with dreary landscapes in oil, -upon which no eye was ever seen to cast a fleeting glance; the carpet -and curtains flowered garishly, the basement dining-room, the little -girls exchanging vows of friendship! - -A more tender memory was that of the day when Lottie’s mother had -died. Was it not Molly for whom they had sent to soothe and console -the terrified child? Molly’s faithful breast upon which Lottie that -night had sobbed herself to sleep? - -The door again opened. This time it was Mrs. Beaumoris in person, -attired for the reception of her guests--Mrs. Beaumoris, perplexed, -annoyed, an open letter in her hand. It was an easier matter for this -lady to recognize fresh, bright-eyed Molly Christian, who, under the -impulse of fond retrospect, now sprang up to greet her, than for -Molly to identify her old playmate in this faded woman, with the pale -hair elaborately crimped, the cold, restless blue eyes--the prim, -unsmiling mouth! - -Mrs. Blair’s affectionate words died upon her lips. She faltered, -blushed, and drew back with a pang at the plain indication that her -surprise was as unwelcome as it was ill-timed. - -“You--you--are Miss Blair’s mother?” said Mrs. Beaumoris, in tones -she could not make other than thin and chill. “Why was I not told of -this before?” - -“Because--because,” began Molly, and emotion overpowered her, cutting -short her speech. - -“My mother thought it could naturally make no difference whose child -you had hired to play before your guests,” said Kathleen, sweeping -grandly into the breach. “But we are quite ready to go away now, if -the arrangement does not please you.” - -“Of course not,” exclaimed their hostess, recovering herself. “You -will excuse me if I am a little upset, when I tell you that not -fifteen minutes ago I received this letter from Madame Claudia’s -manager, saying the tiresome creature has a cold and can’t sing this -afternoon. All I could do was to send off my maid in a cab, offering -Claudia’s terms to Anatolia, who’ll come, I’m pretty sure, if for -nothing but a chance to supplant Claudia. Anatolia can’t stand being -last year’s favorite, and really she sang adorably in Faust last -week, when Claudia was ill, don’t you think so--or did you not chance -to hear her? If she comes, she’ll be here for the end of the first -half of the programme. Your daughter will play just before her--and -will no doubt have encores. Levitsky says everything that is nice of -you, Miss--er--you have no professional name, I believe?” - -“My name is Kathleen Blair,” said the girl, carrying her head -high. Into her heart, for the first time in her life, entered the -wandering demon of revenge. She longed to be in a position to return -impertinence! - -Kathleen’s second number upon the programme of Mrs. Beaumoris’s -concert left no doubt of her success. Levitsky himself had conducted -her before the audience. Madame Anatolia had coquettishly (in view of -the audience) presented the girl with her corsage bouquet of violets. -As Kathleen retired again into the little room serving as a harbor -for the performers, the musical Miss Beaumoris (who kept outsiders -from intruding there), looking very sour, asked Miss Blair to allow -Mr. Rupert Thorndyke to compliment her upon her achievement. - -Kathleen possessed just enough of the spice of Mother Eve to see that -this courtesy on the part of Miss Beaumoris had been wrung from her -by the newcomer. Madame Anatolia, whom Mr. Thorndyke saluted with -an air of cordial intimacy, leaned over and whispered in the young -girl’s ear: - -“Take care how you enjoy the dangerous delight of his company in -_this_ house. They consider him their own particular property.” - -Molly Blair, standing guard over her beautiful and successful child, -could not understand the reckless toss of Kathleen’s head, the -defiance of her curled lip. - -“That lends zest!” Kathleen answered to Anatolia, who smiled. The -prima donna, knowing the world as she did, had no objection to enjoy -a small comedy behind the scenes. Nor was she disappointed. Rupert -Thorndyke, with an air of entire unconsciousness, refrained from -again turning toward the musical Miss Beaumoris. With his handsome -head bent over the newly risen star, he exerted all his powers of -fascination. He was no longer the cool, indifferent person who had -dropped in at the Blair’s little supper. Kathleen, excited, inclined -to accept him at his face value as a favored frequenter of the -Beaumoris’s house, and finding herself not a little under the spell -of his charm of manner and sympathy of taste, enjoyed retaining him. -Until the time Mrs. and Miss Blair left the Beaumoris’s house he -was in close attendance at their side. And when they parted he had -obtained Mrs. Blair’s rather dazzled permission to call upon them -the next day. - -Thorndyke, meaning to put these ladies in their carriage, was -recalled on the portal by the imperious Miss Beaumoris, who had, she -said, to consult him about a protégé of hers she desired to launch at -his musicale on Wednesday. - -“Until to-morrow, then,” said Rupert Thorndyke, regretfully turning -back. - -“Mother, he is absolutely beautiful!” said Kathleen, with a girl’s -ecstasy, as they went down to stand on the sodden carpet waiting for -their cab to come up. “I think he must be some prince in disguise, or -something! Such a noble air, such aristocratic features! And better -than all, mummy dearest, he has confided to me that he gives music -parties at his rooms, and we’re asked to the next one, on Wednesday.” - -“I suppose it is all right,” said Molly. “Or, of course, the -Beaumorises would not be having him.” - -“They can’t always get him, as you saw,” said Kathleen, laughing. “I -hope it was not wicked to be as glad as I was when I saw their two -cross faces while he talked so long to me. But never mind the man, -mother. There is a joy still greater in store for me. He says if I’ll -play for him on Wednesday, I may handle his Stradivarius!” - -The cab that had brought Miss Blair to the scene of her triumphs was -not forthcoming. The hoarse calls for it up and down the line were -unavailing. - -“It’s but a step to the street-car, mother, if we run for it,” cried -Kathleen, gayly, peering into the half-darkness at the open side of -the awning. - -“I will take you home, if you don’t mind,” said a voice out of the -crowd, and Colin edged his way toward them! - -Colin was cold and out of humor. But he had lingered on, and this was -his reward. - -“How delightful to see you!” exclaimed his lady-love, heartily, and -was indorsed by her mamma. “So strange you should be passing just at -this minute! It will be ever so much nicer having you, of course. Now -let us run, and jam ourselves into the next car.” - -Mrs. Blair being seated with the violin-case on her lap, the two -young people stood side by side in the crowded aisle of a Madison -Avenue car going downtown. Colin heard from his eager comrade the -full account of her exhilarating afternoon. It made him sad, even -while his generous heart rejoiced in her rejoicing, to see that she -was already embarked with sails filled and pennons flying upon the -broad sea that would separate them. And he wondered she said nothing -about the person whose name excited his keenest curiosity. - -Perhaps Kathleen felt guilty of having hailed rather too gladly Mr. -Rupert Thorndyke’s distinguished homage. But even Madame Anatolia had -told her that his verdict was of importance in the musical world. - -“We all bow to him,” had said the good-natured donna; “and he is -badly spoiled, of course. Don’t let your feelings get involved, like -that poor, ugly Miss Beaumoris. Thorndyke is a mystery--and, I’m -afraid, _volage_!” - -Kathleen had laughed! She had no fear for herself. - - * * * * * - -“And you are to keep on with this kind of thing?” now said Colin, -discontentedly. - -“Of course!” exclaimed she. “Two ladies have already booked my humble -services; although one of them _did_ say, in excuse for herself, that -anything Mrs. Beaumoris started is sure to run on for a while.” - -“I shall never hear you perform,” he went on. “So I’ll try to forget -it. If I had my way, I’d carry you off to a cloud-castle and keep you -shut in from all these insolent people.” - -“But you can’t, Master Colin, so be satisfied,” said she, coloring a -little at the fervor he could not exclude from his tones. “And as to -hearing me, you shall have an opportunity without delay. Let us see -if you are so eager to accept it.” - -“I will go wherever you bid me,” he replied, more and more under the -charm of her close vicinity. - -“Promise.” - -“I promise.” - -“How one’s eloquence is jolted out of one by this!” she said, as they -swung around the curve into the tunnel. “Well, here is your chance. -Next week we are invited to a very exclusive musicale. Levitsky’s -to be there, and Anatolia--and I’m to play (think of it, Colin!) on -a Stradivarius! Wait, don’t interrupt me. We were asked to bring my -father, or brother, as our escort, and neither papa, nor Morry can -get off, I know. Papa has a club meeting, and Morry’s slaving, day -and night, to finish ----’s illustrations. So, if you’ll take us to -the party, we’ll be only too much obliged.” - -“I will, of course. But tell me--it is a matter of the deepest -interest--who is to furnish your Stradivarius?” - -“It belongs to the gentleman who is to give the party, and Madame -Anatolia says his rooms and collection of musical instruments are -‘things to be seen.’ He is one of the favorites of fortune, and is -coming to call on us in form to-morrow--and his name is--Rupert -Thorndyke!” - -“I thought so,” said Colin, turning pale with excitement, and perhaps -a little jealousy. - -“What, you, too, know about the wonderful Mr. Thorndyke? Oh! but, -of course, I remember, you met him at supper at our house when he -brought me those white orchids, and you gave mamma some lilies. -Don’t you think his face is like one of the angels in the photograph -over papa’s chair in the library? Now, don’t laugh--it is, exactly. -Mr. Thorndyke isn’t in the least my idea of a man of fashion. He is -almost artless--and his eyes are _so_ blue. Colin, what in the world -is the matter with you?” - -“I do know something of your Mr. Rupert Thorndyke,” said the young -man, his face darkening. “But I shan’t tell you yet. It is borne in -upon me that a better occasion will come. And if you really accept -my escort, I shall accompany you with pleasure to this gentleman’s -party. A poor outsider, more or less, cannot spoil his harmonious -entertainment.” - - * * * * * - -Kathleen, wondering at all this, reached home, the ladies bidding -Colin good-by upon their doorstep. That evening, when Malvolio -dropped in to see Terence Blair, the news of Kathleen’s advance up -the ladder of fame was communicated to him. - -“Sure and Kathleen’s the boldest little girl,” commented Granny. -“It’s my belief she’d have no fear to be called on to play before the -President himself.” - -“I know little about Rupert Thorndyke,” said Terence; “but there’s -no doubt he will have only the best talent in his sling. But you, -Malvolio, who know everything--” - -“Excepting the reason for Catullus Clarke,” interpolated the art -critic. - -“--should be able to define for us the place of our new patron in the -arts.” - -Malvolio shrugged, tossing his snaky locks to one side of his high, -white forehead. - -“Rupert Thorndyke’s secret will never be fathomed until they dissect -him,” he said; “and then in the core of his heart will be found the -one word ‘Self.’ He is a monumental egoist, in the guise of a seraph. -He is brilliant and treacherous, unstable as water, holding no -convictions long enough to make anything he says or does of lasting -value. I am certain that he is half-educated, half-baked in all -respects. I believe most of his ‘experiences’ of life to be clever -adaptations from things other people have done, or told, or printed. -But he is vastly good company, and I’d be deuced glad if he were -coming to dine with me to-morrow. As to his status, he is apparently -well off--has one foot in Bohemia, the other in society--and comes -from nobody knows where. Lastly, we are informed that he might marry -the oldest Miss Beaumoris, and does not aspire to do so!” - -The blushes dyed Kathleen’s cheeks at the confirmation of Colin’s -warning. - -“Then you think, Mr. Malvolio, our girl had better not be seen at his -party?” said Mrs. Blair, anxiously. - -“My _dear_ madame! On the contrary. I should like amazingly to be -seen there myself. It is sure to be a rare treat to eye and ear. -The women will be of the highest world only. The men judiciously -combined. But I have always had an idea that Thorndyke will some day -come a cropper. I feel like that fellow that followed the menagerie -around in order to be there the day the lion-tamer should get eaten -by the lions. The day the accident occurred was the one he was kept -away. I have a conviction I shan’t see Thorndyke’s discomfiture--but -I could wish that, to round out my theory of him, the fates might -accord to me this privilege.” - -Kathleen, who would not have admitted to her mother even, the thrill -of excitement she had been in since receiving the first fruits of -Thorndyke’s homage, went to bed that night, feeling chastened in her -pride. With her last waking thoughts of the irresistible Thorndyke, -blended the image of loyal Colin, whom, after consultation with -their maid-servant, she now knew to have been waiting outside Mrs. -Beaumoris’s awning for her in the falling snow. - -Molly Blair, too, following a long talk with her husband, that freed -her fond heart of its weight of pride in and anxiety for Kathleen, -went to sleep happy. With so many loving souls around her, Terence -had said, Kathleen would be well guarded, and such a fine nature as -their girl’s was not to be spoiled in an hour or a year by flattery. -And Molly’s last thoughts that night were of pity for poor Lottie -Beaumoris. The afternoon of sitting out the concert, listening to the -chatter of Lottie’s friends, had thrown broad light upon a career the -newspapers had made to seem so dazzling. Lottie, weighed down with -petty cares, a target for petty malice, was in her fine home not so -well off as Molly in her little threadbare house, full to the eaves -with ardent workers, living for each other and for the best that was -in them. Kathleen’s début had taught her mother this! - - * * * * * - -Carefully assuming his recently acquired evening clothes, and taking -heed, we may be sure, of the hints dropped by Kathleen on the -occasion of his former appearance in this conventional attire, Mr. -Colin Mackintosh stood prepared for what to him was to be a great -occasion. - -Before setting out to the Blairs’ house he went to his neighbor’s -door and knocked. He knew that he should find Mr. Thorndyke sitting -doubled up over his newspaper, under the gas-jet; but to-night the -old man’s face looked more pinched and wan than usual, his breath -came shorter, the newspaper lay unread across his knees. - -“I’m afraid you’re ill,” said Colin, kindly. - -Hardly a day had passed since their first talk that he had not -extended to the friendless old fellow some word or look of sympathy; -and Thorndyke, although Colin did not know it, had conceived for him -in turn an almost paternal tenderness. In the utter loneliness of -his life the instrument-maker yearned for something to link him with -the world of everyday affection. Colin’s active step upon the stairs -had come to be music to his ear--Colin’s greeting a solace eagerly -awaited. - -“Not ill, my dear boy; only a little down to-night. I begin to feel -the climb up these long flights. And so you are going off into some -gay scene, where people will be chatting and laughing? I don’t envy -you, for it’s getting on to ten o’clock, and after that hour I can -hardly keep awake in these days. There’s a long paragraph--nearly -half a column--in the paper about an affair that is to occur in my -nephew’s rooms to-night. I think I could tell you everybody that’s -expected there. There’s a young violinist--a Miss Blair--who has -made a hit recently--and some famous professionals. Mr. Mackintosh, -I ought to tell you, too, that since I let out that secret that’s -corroding me I have felt much ashamed. There was only this excuse for -it--a very little drink affects me, and I had already had a glass of -beer on my way home. The claret finished me. It did not confuse my -brain, but just loosed my tongue. What I told you was true, but it -should have gone with me to my grave.” - -“You need never fear my making use of it unfairly,” said Colin, -pityingly. The meek submission of the man was sadder than his -outburst of wrath had been. - -“I know I can trust you. I wish it were in my power to do something -for you, Mr. Mackintosh. If I die soon, you will have given me the -last gleams of pleasure in a disappointed life. I wish I could help -you in return.” - -“You can to-night,” said Colin; “if you do not mind lending me, for -a purpose of my own, the fine scarabeus you showed me. It shall be -returned to you without fail to-morrow.” - -“Willingly, dear boy, willingly,” said the old man, fumbling in his -waistcoat pocket and bringing out the sacred beetle wrapped in a bit -of tissue paper. “When I die I should like you to have this to keep, -and any other little thing I have. There are a few good books, and--” - -“My dear friend, you depress me,” said Colin, taking the scarabeus, -and shaking hands with the lender. - -“Do I? It never occurs to me to think of my death as _sad_,” said -Thorndyke, simply. - -“Suppose,” said Colin, abruptly, “you had to wish for the thing that -would please you most--what would it be?” - -“A sight of my Stradivarius!” exclaimed the instrument-maker, his -dull eye kindling with fond hope. “Mr. Mackintosh, something in -your face--it can’t be you have heard--no, I’m a madman to dream of -it--but it almost looked for a minute as if you have good news.” - -“I may be wrong, and I may be disappointed,” said Mackintosh, with -an air of quiet conviction, nevertheless. “But I have an idea I’m on -the track of your lost treasure. If I succeed in tracing it, I shall -be more than glad. If I fail, you will be no worse off than before. -Good night. Sleep well, and awake in better heart for the morrow. -But before I go,--upon second thoughts,--I wish you would give me a -written order for your Stradivarius.” - -After Colin left his room old Thorndyke abandoned himself to almost -childish glee. Next, for a while, he paced the floor, then, sinking -fatigued into his chair, meditated long. - -It was twelve o’clock when he started up again, and taking the pencil -with which he had scrawled and signed the order Colin desired, wrote -some lines upon a paper torn from a memorandum book. Putting these -upon the table, old Rupert Thorndyke went peacefully to bed. - -At the same moment Rupert Thorndyke the younger was presiding over -the entertainment at his rooms, for which fine ladies had been -for some time struggling to get cards of invitation. The host’s -vogue, grace, and tact had been at no time more conspicuous. The -affair, pronounced the best of its kind, was about to pass into the -chronicle of jaded pleasure-seekers as an eminent success. The turn -of Kathleen, who had played once upon her own violin, had now come -around again upon the programme. Mr. Malvolio--who, after all, _was_ -there--had just sauntered up to whisper in her ear: - -“They say he is going to let you try his Stradivarius. The rest of -the women are green with jealousy at this mark of favor. No one has -touched it heretofore.” - -“If Mrs. Blair will allow her daughter to come with me into the -little room where I keep my treasure--” Thorndyke was saying to -her mother, who, with Colin behind her, stood guard over her young -violinist. - -“Certainly. Go with her, Colin, please, and see that her head is not -quite turned by these honors,” said the unconscious Molly. - -Colin needed no further impetus. In spite of a cloud passing over the -face of their handsome host, the stalwart fellow placed himself at -Kathleen’s side and accompanied them. - -A room of small dimensions, but with solid doors, bolted as well as -locked. On the walls, in glass cases with a background of crimson -velvet, a small but exquisite assemblage of what might be called the -bric-à-brac of musical instruments. Violins were there, but Colin’s -eye sought in vain for one bearing the mark of a tiny hand with an -outstretched finger. - -“What a delightful nook!” cried Kathleen. “How I wish there were time -to look over its wonders leisurely.” - -“Some day--any day that you so ordain,” said the virtuoso. “I and -mine are at your command always.” - -Colin, seeing Thorndyke’s face transfigured with delight in the -girl’s youth and beauty, raged inwardly. He recalled the value he had -heard him put upon all women, Kathleen in particular. Strong as a -lion to defend her, it was hard for the young fellow to now contain -himself until he had wrought out his plan to avenge the sins of this -Rupert Thorndyke against the one he had left in a shabby tenement. - -He had no idea how he meant to bring about the conviction of this -man’s wrong-doing, or to seek for the restoration of the other’s -stolen property. But whatever he did, Colin meant that it should be -short, sharp, and decisive! - -At last chance favored him. His heart beat hard as he followed -Kathleen and Thorndyke from object to object of the priceless array. - -“I fear we should not keep all those people waiting for us longer--” -said the host finally. - -“And I am palpitating with impatience to see your chief treasure,” -cried Kathleen. - -“I have made a little shrine for it,” went on Thorndyke, stooping -to unlock a cupboard in the wall. A second inner door of polished -mahogany yielded to a key carried on the owner’s person. Within an -air-tight receptacle lay a violin-case, covered with rare leather -fantastically wrought in gold. - -“Take and open it,” said Thorndyke, conveying this to a nest in -Kathleen’s soft bare arms. “You are the first woman that I have -entrusted with my beauty.” - -“My beauty!” Old Thorndyke’s very phrase! Colin, the blood rushing -to his brain with excitement and indignation, looked on eagerly as -the instrument was taken from its case. There, in the exact spot -indicated by its rightful owner, was a tiny shadow in the wood -resembling a hand with an outstretched finger! - -“The desire of my life is accomplished,” said Kathleen, lifting the -violin to her shoulder and letting the bow glide over the strings. - -The sound that answered was like the wail of a reproach. - -“It has been waiting all this time for you!” said Thorndyke, with -tender emphasis, regardless of their hearer. He, like Kathleen, -seemed to be under a sort of spell. - -“Since when, may I ask?” interrupted Colin, quietly. - -Thorndyke turned and looked at him in cold distaste. - -“Since the creation of the instrument, no doubt. Certainly since it -came to me by inheritance.” - -“By inheritance?” said the younger man, with deliberate doubt in his -intonation. “I think, Mr. Thorndyke, that your uncle, who bears the -same name as yourself, would give a different version of the way you -acquired this costly possession.” - -Thorndyke started violently. - -“Do you mean to insult me?” he said in almost a whisper, guilt -written in his face. - -Kathleen, spell-bound by Colin’s stern looks, held the violin -breathlessly. - -“I mean, Mr. Thorndyke, to make absolutely no fuss in this very -unpleasant matter. But I mean also to make it perfectly plain to -you that I know all about this Stradivarius with the mark of a hand -pointing. I am informed when and how it was taken out of your uncle -Thorndyke’s trunk in his boarding-house. And if you will give it up -to him quietly, I shall not say another word to any one concerning -it.” - -“An ingenious method to possess yourself of a valuable piece of -property,” sneered Thorndyke, now livid with fear and rage. - -“I have this to offer in exchange,” said Colin, controlling himself -perfectly, as he took out the scarabeus and held it, together with -the old man’s written order for the violin, for the inspection of the -thief. - -“My dear Colin,” exclaimed Kathleen, greatly distressed and mortified -at the scene. “You must take me back to my mother. I insist--” - -“Just as soon as Mr. Thorndyke gives a definite answer to my -proposition,” said Colin, fearlessly. - -Thorndyke breathed hard. His eyes flashed with a vengeful luster. -He tried to speak, and could not. Then, looking furtively about -the room, and seeming to grow smaller in the action, he took the -Stradivarius from Kathleen, put it in an old and shabby case, and -replacing the empty ornamental cover in the secret chamber, shut and -locked this receptacle with elaboration. With a supreme effort, he -recovered his usual manner. - -“You will give this to my uncle, with my compliments,” he said -lightly, putting the precious violin in Colin’s hands and reclaiming -the scarabeus. “And you might say from me, that although I know the -old boy is as mad as a March hare, I don’t like to thwart his dear -old fancy. I was about indeed, to inform him, through my lawyer, -that a sum of money coming out of an old investment of his and my -father’s, has been divided, and his share placed to his credit in the ----- bank. A thousand a year only, but enough to keep him in comfort -in the lunatic asylum, where I feel sure he will bring up.” - -Kathleen, although he had avoided and ignored her in the matter, -had not waited for this ending. With crimson cheeks and in great -agitation, she had slipped out to rejoin her mother. A few moments -later heard their host, standing before his guests, offer a graceful -explanation that the condition of his Stradivarius would prevent Miss -Blair from to-night awakening its hidden melodies. - -Colin, clasping the recovered treasure like the anchor of hope, was -in the lobby awaiting the ladies when they presently hurried out. On -the drive home he told them in simple but eloquent language the full -history of his old neighbor and the stolen violin. - -When he had finished, Molly was crying quietly. Kathleen’s eyes -flashed upon him such approval as he had never seen in them before. - -“I could _love_ you for what you’ve done for that poor old man, -Colin,” she cried, with Irish impulse, and stopped, blushing. “But I -don’t understand why Thorndyke made such a poor fight.” - -“It was ‘coward conscience,’” said Colin. “For if I read him right, -he would cut off his right hand to avoid exposure or fiasco before -such people as were there to-night.” - - * * * * * - -“I could love you,” rang joyously in Colin’s ears as he ran up his -own steps, carrying the violin. When he reached Thorndyke’s room, -late as it was, he could not resist trying to get speech with his -friend. His light tap bringing no answer, he opened the door and went -in. The light over the transom showed him the old man lying in his -bed. Leaving the Stradivarius upon the table, Colin stole away. - -The next day the people of the house found the old instrument-maker -sitting in his chair, a happy smile upon his face, the violin clasped -in his arms. He had been dead some hours, and on his table lay a -penciled will, bequeathing all that he died possessed of, “without -reserve,” to his “beloved young friend, John Walter Mackintosh.” - - * * * * * - -Thus, in due time, and to the enormous surprise of everybody -concerned, Kathleen came into possession, not only of her coveted -Stradivarius, but of a husband, with an income small but growing and -sufficient to enable him to withdraw his wife from public appearance -as a paid performer. Upon the authority of Mr. Rupert Thorndyke, who -lives and flourishes like the green bay-tree, this is said to be a -serious loss to the world of music, but Kathleen does not mind. - -Malvolio still thinks the fall of Rupert Thorndyke is to come! - - - - - WANTED: A CHAPERON - - - - - WANTED: A CHAPERON - - -Gwendolyn West sat alone in profound meditation upon her future. She -was the childless young widow of a naval officer, whom she had lost -after six months of married life and two years of separation during -his absence on official duty in foreign waters. - -For three years she had mourned her lieutenant dutifully. No crêpe -had ever exceeded Gwendolyn’s in depth and plenitude. At the end -of that time her free-spoken friend, Kate Payne--who had politely -encouraged her illusion that the marriage was not a mistake--had -told her she was tired of seeing her look like the German nursery -picture of Slovenly Peter after he was fished out of the forbidden -inkstand. Gwendolyn had laughed--and the deed was done. She had -now emerged into alleviated grays and hopeful lilacs. Mrs. Payne, -nodding approval, said she had never seen such a creature for making -her clothes look stylish; and Gwendolyn, in return, owned that the -materials cost nothing and were made up by a little woman “by the -day.” - -“All the same, you look solvent, prosperous, up-to-date. What can -woman ask more?” said Kate. - -“Ask? My dear Kate, you have no idea how hard put to it I am to -make ends meet. I am so poor it is a scandal. If my Aunt Althea had -not invested her money in this flat, when the house was going up, -and left it to me in her will, I should be living in one room of a -boarding-house, with a folding-bed. As it is, I ought to let the flat -and eke out my ridiculous little income with the proceeds. If I were -abroad I might live on it almost in comfort.” - -“Nobody understands living abroad better than you do.” - -“Of course, since from nineteen to twenty-four I knocked about there -with Aunt Althea. But my difficulty, absurd though it may seem for a -woman of almost thirty, is that I look hardly old enough to live as a -solitary female in the places I know best on the other side. In New -York I am panoplied with respectability.” - -[Illustration: “MY DEAR KATE, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HARD PUT TO IT I -AM TO MAKE ENDS MEET. I AM SO POOR IT IS A SCANDAL.”] - -“And boredom,” supplemented the frank Mrs. Payne. “It is no fun to -live here on the outside of things, where one has been used to -the inside. The truth is, you ought to have had a girl--not a boy, -who would have been a handful, and most probably a pickle--but -a nice little golden-haired angel, with short skirts and long, -black-stockinged legs, whom you would have made a vision of -picturesqueness in dress.” - -“Let us talk of what I have,” said Mrs. West, with a sigh. - -“It has just occurred to me that you would make a capital chaperon -for some breezy young woman of large means, scant culture, and -consuming ambition to see the world. You have position, manners, -morals beyond question, and would be a perfect teacher of how to dot -one’s i’s in good society.” - -“What servitude!” exclaimed her friend, shuddering. “I detest breezy -people who are uncertain of themselves. And there is nothing so -delusive as temper. She might make my life a burden. How mortifying, -too, to have to conduct her along the primrose paths of society in my -own town! I should live over a volcano, never knowing when she would -break forth.” - -“Take her traveling,” went on Madame. - -“That is better,” said Gwendolyn. “But suppose she fell ill, or -flirted, or defied me, away off there. She would be sure to do all -three.” - -“I should do nothing without being well paid for it. With a full -purse you can accomplish wonders.” - -“It would be such a relief to spend six months or a year free from -looking over that hateful butcher’s book. Although I know that I and -my two maids eat nothing, our bills are awful, and I can’t pretend -to read butchers’ handwriting, can you? ‘3 cucks, 0.90’; that’s what -I labored over for a whole morning, after I had ordered a miserable -little cucumber to be cut up with my fish.” - -“I am afraid the queen of your kitchen is a wiser potentate than you -credit her with being. But, my dear, I have an inspiration. Yesterday -I got a circular from a new ‘Bureau of Information Concerning Women’s -Needs.’ It is intended to bring together refined and cultivated -employers and employés, and to make a specialty of companions, -chaperons, and governesses. Suppose I inquire--I know the woman at -the head; she will take pains to oblige me--and see if she has any -applications from young persons who have left school and desire to be -‘finished’ in the broadest sense--” - -“Kate, Kate, you frighten me. You are such a steam engine in -accomplishing what you set out to do I should be afraid to go out -to walk this afternoon lest I should come in to find my treasure -installed here in permanence.” - -“You need not take her unless everything suits. I really believe such -a girl would rouse you up, give you a new motive in life, and end by -being a blessing in disguise--” - -“Very much disguised,” remarked Gwendolyn, ruefully. - -“It is now late February. You could sail in March by the Southern -route to Genoa, and spend the spring in Italy.” - -Gwendolyn flushed and sat bolt upright. Her soul was pierced by the -chant of nightingales in the Cascine woods; of the singers upon the -star gondola by moonlight on the Grand Canal; of the Amalfi boatmen -resting upon their oars! How well she would know where to go, and how -to enjoy the best of everything. She had been starving for beauty for -four years! - -“Let me--let me have time to think,” she said finally, with a sort of -gasp. - -“You poor victim, you have a most pathetic air,” answered Mrs. Payne, -getting up to go, and kissing her. “Of course, you must think over -it. Let me know to-night; and to-morrow morning, bright and early, I -will order the brougham and set forth upon my quest.” - -A paid conductor and chaperon! Out of the mists of recollection -loomed up before Gwendolyn a time, when sitting with her aunt and -her husband in the dining-room of a great hotel in Amsterdam, she -had seen the entry of a hot, red-faced lady, preceding a string of -girls of assorted sizes, and marshaling them at table. Their party -was completed by one lean, henpecked little boy, presumably the -conductor’s son, obtaining free of expense educational glimpses into -the vistas of old-world life. - -From that day on Gwendolyn had continued to meet them during their -stay--fortunately brief--in the great Dutch town. One of the girls -had taken a fancy to Mrs. West, and whenever they came together in -galleries and the like annexed herself to Gwendolyn, asking flat -questions upon art, and detailing her grievances against the head -of their party. Mrs. Batt was selfish; she had not fulfilled her -promises to them; she hurried them through things they wanted to see; -and lingered in places where the fare was good and cheap, in order to -feed up her little boy. - -And Mrs. Batt, in turn, running upon Gwendolyn in a corridor upstairs -at their hotel, told her it was a dog’s life she was leading, pulled -around by these capricious girls, who didn’t know what they wanted, -and were forever having headaches and tiffs with each other, and -taking offense about nothing, or else entering into conversations -with strange men and thinking it clever. But for the advantage to her -dear, fatherless child Mrs. Batt could wish herself back again in -peace at New Corinth, Kansas, whence they had all set forth in May. - -Recalling all this, Gwendolyn drew a long breath of dismay. Then the -maid came in with a sheaf of household bills and the announcement -that she and the cook had determined to leave when the month should -be up. An organ-grinder in the street outside began to play: - - “O! bella Napoli! - O! dolce Napoli!” - -The sunshine that streamed through the panes of her south windows -was full of suggestions of purple seas, overarched by an azure dome, -beneath which roses bloomed along the shore, and jasmine and orange -flowers distilled their richest perfume. Oh! to be in the South--far -from the sound of trolley cars and all the tokens of a city’s -overcrowded life that, day or night, can never be hushed! - -If she had something of her very own--some hearthside idol to go -and come in her little home, she would be more than content to stay -there. - -Then Gwendolyn subjected herself to a secret crucial test. She opened -a case of photographs--a receptacle made of old brocade, broidered -with silver thread, that she had picked up in the Palais Royal in -1893--and extracted one of its portraits. This was an up-to-date -affair, executed by a New York photographer of note. It represented a -man of five-and-thirty, good looking, amiable, and weak. - -She looked at it long and studiously. A line dashed off at her -writing-table, a call for a messenger, a few hours’ delay, and he -would be with her. The very next day she might announce to all -interested her engagement to marry Mr. Ernest Blythe. As Mrs. Blythe, -provided she could maintain a sufficient interest in yachting and its -devotees, no injunction would be laid upon her habits or inclination. -Blythe was rich, easy-going to a ridiculous degree, as much in love -with her as his capacity would admit, and was hers to take or leave. - -But--Gwendolyn glanced up at an enlarged photograph of the late -Lieutenant West, hanging in an ebony frame above that very -writing-table, as if to control its output of chirographical -amenities. - -Her survey was not reassuring. “Oh! never, never again!” she murmured -audibly. It is only once in a long while that women really speak to -themselves aloud, and that is when they want a witness to some vow of -a peculiarly binding character. - -She took Mr. Blythe with hastening finger tips and drove him in at -the very bottom of the pack. It would be a long time before she could -take him out again. - -Then something possessed her to go into a dark closet and hunt -around upon its seldom-visited shelves to find a very old album -of photographs, dating back before her travels in Europe with her -nomadic Aunt Althea had weaned her from thoughts of home. - -She was eighteen then, and was making a visit to the wife of a -professor in a university town, where most of these treasures of -pictorial art had been accumulated. What faded old things they were, -chiefly of undergraduates wearing queer collars and scarfs, with -coats that did not fit and hair that was much too long! She had some -difficulty in finding the particular cabinet photograph she sought, -but it appeared at last, looking straight at her with the fearless -gaze of handsome eyes that had once held over hers unwonted power. - -“Ten--more, nearly eleven--years ago,” she mused. “He wore his hair -like the sweep of a mahogany banister, poor dear; but _that was_ a -man.” - -John Rufus Atwell was his rather uninteresting name. He was a young -widower of twenty-six when he came back to take a post-graduate -course at ---- from his home in a Western town, where he had left -his child with its mother’s people. None of his surroundings or -antecedents had appealed in the least to the æsthetic and superfine -side of pretty Miss Gwendolyn. But he had fallen in love with her, -just like half a dozen more of the youngsters. She had tried to treat -him just like them--and had failed. He had given her a first lesson -in virile resistance to the exactions of coquettish femininity. - -They had parted, though she had always remembered him with -something of tender regret. But still the thing would have been -impossible--quite impossible! What had become of him since she had -not the vaguest idea. - -That evening a little note went to Mrs. Payne authorizing her to find -out for her friend some one who wanted an unexceptionable chaperon. - -Mrs. Payne had good reason to think that industrious intervention in -a friend’s affairs is sometimes approved by the Fates. The principal -of the new “Bureau of Information Concerning Women’s Needs” expanded -with satisfaction on hearing of her errand. - -It so happened that one of the earliest applications that had come -to them was from a family in a Western State who desired to send -their daughter abroad under competent care. She had looked into their -references--although that was scarcely needful when it was understood -that the father was the distinguished statesman, Honorable John -Mordaunt, Senator from ----, whose name was in every newspaper one -took up. - -Mrs. Payne, reserving her decision as to this proof of infallible -respectability, was pleased to be interested in the matter. She next -read Mr. Mordaunt’s letter to the principal, and put it down even -better pleased. - -“That is nicely expressed,” she said, after scrutinizing every point. -“For a wonder, it is not typed. He seems to be very much in earnest. -And his ideas about--her--remuneration are certainly most liberal. -Says nothing about the mother--a cipher, probably. Girl too young to -be kept in Washington. I hope,” she continued with sudden animation, -“she is sound and strong, and has had everything.” - -“Had everything, Mrs. Payne?” - -“Measles and whooping-cough--and her first love affair.” - -“I believe you will find my clients unexceptionable,” said the -principal, who was not fond of jesting upon serious subjects. - -“But they really must send her photograph,” Mrs. Payne exclaimed as -she rose, eager to convey the result of her interview to Gwendolyn. -“And I think you may safely write to Mr. Mordaunt that if everything -goes well he may count upon Mrs. Spencer West.” - -“Mrs. Spencer West!” cried the principal, who, it will be recalled, -was a reader of current prints. “Why, she is one of the most -fashionable ladies in New York.” - -“Was. But her being so long in mourning has shut her in, and it is -desired by her friends to rouse her from--ahem--her grief,” went on -Mrs. Payne nimbly. “We think she should have an object. You see, now, -Mrs. Smith, how careful we should be to make no mistakes.” - -“It is our aim to intermediate between only the most refined and -cultivated principals,” replied Mrs. Smith, with a high-toned sniff. - -“And it is understood that the matter is _strictly_ confidential.” - -“That, Madame, is the very foundation-stone of our enterprise.” - -“Good morning, then. Perhaps, not to lose time, you might write at -once to Mr. Mordaunt.” - -Whatever the principal of the B. I. W. N. wrote, it brought a quick -response. Mr. Mordaunt was much gratified by her efforts in his -behalf, begged to inclose a photograph of his daughter, and would be -in New York on Sunday for the purpose of settling preliminaries with -Mrs. Spencer West. - -“He is terribly business-like,” said Gwendolyn, discontentedly. “But, -dear me! the girl _is_ pretty.” - -“‘Pretty’ is tame,” said Mrs. Payne, taking the picture from her -friend. “She is beautiful, in a rather common way. Ugh! That frock -cut half high, the hair done in a horn behind and stuck through with -a dreadful ornamental pin! You should go to Paris, my dear, and put -her in Pacquin’s hands. But how very mature she looks for seventeen. -She is like one of our girls in her third season.” - -“You can see ‘local belle’ written all over her. And those chains and -rings and pins!” said fastidious Gwendolyn. “Oh! I could never do it -in New York. And now to brace myself for that dreaded meeting with -the fond papa!” - -It was not written on the cards that the meeting in question should -take place. Gwendolyn, through nervousness and a heavy cold combined, -was in bed with a neuralgic headache when he came. She could hear -from where she lay the clear, resonant tones, the masterful tread of -the Senator, which seemed to fill up the spaces of her toy abode. -She actually turned with her face to the wall, and stopped her ears -with her fingers to avoid hearing more of him. Mrs. Payne scolded her -afterward for her nonsense. - -“I feel better satisfied, now I have seen him,” said Kate. “There -is something in him--I can’t express it--that inspires confidence. -He tells me the girl is motherless, and has been much indulged by -her grandparents and relatives. He has been so busy with his affairs -that he has seen comparatively little of her. She is affectionate -and truthful, easy to lead, and hard to drive. She has never known -anything but East Ephesus in her native State. She will come to you -direct, and you ought to sail as early as you can.” - -Gwendolyn sat up in bed. Her headache was nearly gone. A desperate -resolve to do the thing thoroughly, if at all, had come into her -brain. - - - - - PART II - -A few days later Mrs. West stood in the crowd on the platform at -Jersey City awaiting a train from the West, and holding in her hand -a handkerchief of azure silk, of which the duplicate was to be waved -by her arriving charge. Her heart beat with an excitement it had not -known for long. - -She had not many moments of uncertainty. Even without the blue banner -that bore down upon her in the hands of the prettiest creature in the -throng, she would have recognized the original of the picture. - -Miss Cecily Mordaunt, beaming with complacency, was attended by a -man--gaunt, middle-aged, uncouth, with every sign of adoration of his -companion written upon his countenance. - -“You--you have got your maid?” asked Gwendolyn, peering about in -search of that natural protector. - -“Maid? Never had such a thing in my life,” laughed Cecily. “And what -would ha’ been the use, when Mr. Lenvale would insist upon escorting -me every step of the way. We stopped in Chicago two hours, and took -a hack and drove round to see the sights. I never was so surprised to -see any one as Mr. Lenvale. He stole a march on the others, and sat -in the smoking car, and came in to join me when East Ephesus was well -out of sight. It almost seemed as if I had to have him, to carry all -that truck.” - -“That truck” was an assortment of faded flowers, bonbons, boxes, and -baskets of fruit--with railway reading enough to stock a stall. - -“They kept bringing it until the train moved off. Papa made me -promise none of them should come along, but I couldn’t help Mr. -Lenvale, could I, now?” - -“I have a carriage waiting on the other side of the ferry. We shall -ask Mr. Lenvale to put your belongings into that, and then we shall -not trouble him further,” said Gwendolyn, in her soft, articulate -voice. Poor Lenvale, although she smiled kindly, saw that his doom -was sealed. - -“He’s a fright, isn’t he?” said heartless Cecily as they drove away -uptown. “I’m really tired to death of him; but it wouldn’t do exactly -to let him know. When I saw you holding that blue handkerchief my -heart was in my mouth with surprise. You look about as old as I am, -or a very little older. ‘Thank goodness she’s young and pretty, and -how well her clothes fit!’ I said to Mr. Lenvale. When papa told me -about you I cried for twenty-four hours without stopping, and all the -girls came round to sympathize. I supposed you were a prim old party, -with a whalebone back. Look here, now. Would you mind my kissing you?” - -A week later they sailed for Genoa. Gwendolyn had engaged to -attend them a courier-maid, certified against sea-sickness, and as -possessing phenomenal accomplishments in the science of hotel bills -and tips. - -Senator Mordaunt, just then held in the vise of an important -committee of inquiry over which he presided, had agreed to run -over on a night train, breakfast with his daughter, see her off on -the steamer, then hurry back to Washington. But at breakfast time -arrived, instead of the Senator, a telegram, at sight of which Cecily -first stamped her foot, then cried. - -“I knew it! I have always had telegrams when I wanted my father -most,” she said between her sobs. “He can’t get off, so sends me his -blessing, and his compliments to you. Who wants to be blessed by -telegraph?” - -She was such a big, healthy, buoyant, fun-making being it was -impossible to think of her as one who could suffer seriously or long, -but Mrs. West saw that she loved her father, and that during a day -or two of the voyage she lamented for him in silence. - -It was rough off the coast, the skies dull, the company depressed. -Gwendolyn lay most of this time in her berth, committing Cecily to -the care of the courier-maid, and feeling too reckless of outer -things even to read the letter from Washington marked “private and -confidential” that had come aboard by special delivery as the ship -was about to leave the dock. She had seen that it was from Mordaunt, -and was full of injunctions about his daughter. It would keep. - -On the afternoon of the third day out, the skies had cleared, -sunshine fell warm and bright across the decks, there was a faint, -sweet, far-away promise of spring in the light and steady breeze. -The cabin passengers, to a man, woman, and child, felt its reviving -influence. Creeping up on deck, Gwendolyn nestled into her chair, -looked lazily across the rail, and bethought her of her letter. - -After she had finished it she sat wondering. For the first time she -realized the magnitude of her task. This was the cry of a strong -man’s heart for the right guidance and protection of his only child. -Too late had come to him consciousness of the fact that Cecily had -been left to environments that had done her mischief. She had been -on the verge of running away to marry a Mr. Parker Moffat, a crack -baseball player, a young man encouraged by her silly, sentimental -aunt. - -The one worth talking about among her admirers--who made her the -acknowledged sovereign of hearts in East Ephesus--had been flouted -by her so successfully that it was hardly likely Angus McCrea would -ever present himself to Mrs. West’s notice. Should he do so, he was -the sole representative of her ‘home guard’ whom Mordaunt would be -willing for Cecily to receive. Any overture from Moffat Mrs. West -must incontinently quash. - -And he is my “obliged and faithful J. Mordaunt,” quoth Gwendolyn. -“Well, I feel as if I had brought an explosive machine on board. I am -afraid my charge is nothing more or less than an incorrigible flirt.” - -The rest of the voyage proved this indubitably. From the captain, -who had her seated at table at his left hand, to the officers, great -and petty, the deck stewards, the sailors with swabs, and the little -cabin boys, every male thing belonging to the good ship was at Miss -Mordaunt’s beck and call. - -The unmarried men among the passengers--including a missionary going -out to Asia Minor, a German Baron, a magnate of Wall Street nursing -a weak lung, a silk merchant from lower Broadway, two artists, and a -popular young author--surrounded her chair, like a swarm of bees. The -married men did the same whenever they were released from supervision -by their wives; but it was a remarkably tranquil voyage, and the -women were ordinarily all on deck. - -Gwendolyn’s sense of propriety suffered under such fierce publicity. -Miss Mordaunt’s sayings and doings were bandied everywhere. The -people aboard who were previously known to Mrs. West set afloat the -story that her comet was a cousin or niece going to join her family. -Most of these good folk thought it would be a happy day for Mrs. West -when she could surrender her charge and fold her hands in repose. - -Vigilance--perpetual vigilance--was evidently to be the price of -Gwendolyn’s peace. The overwhelming spirits, the reckless sayings, -the audacious doings of Cecily began at breakfast time and ended not -till Gwendolyn forced her to go below at bedtime. And the distressing -part of it was that the chaperon found herself, too, laughing at the -girl’s nonsense--giggling helplessly, irrepressibly. Cecily affected -her like champagne or St. Moritz air. - -At Gibraltar Miss Mordaunt said she was going to cable to her papa. -When they were off again in the Mediterranean she threw her arms -around Gwendolyn’s neck and admitted that she had cabled to some one -else besides papa. No coaxings could induce her to say more than -this, and Gwendolyn felt uncomfortable. At Genoa the girl received -two cable messages, sent in care of the captain of the ship, who -delivered them to her with massive gallantry. - -From that moment it seemed that Cecily’s spirit of mischief had -broken loose worse than before. Mrs. West and the courier-maid, both -of them secretly devoted to her, were kept forever on the alert to -watch her vagaries. Upon the tourist track of Europe she left behind -her a corruscating trail of anecdotes. - -As the summer progressed Gwendolyn resigned herself to being a marked -woman, as the guardian of the most original young person who had -appeared in the best-known haunts in a generation. It was marvelous -to see how Cecily’s slang, loud speaking and dressing, and petty -offenses against good breeding had dropped away from her. The outer -shell of her became conventional, but that was all. - - * * * * * - -When the handsome and well-born Marquis de San Miniato followed them -to Luzerne, and asked Mrs. West for the hand of her charming charge -in marriage, Gwendolyn felt herself pulled up as with too hard a curb. - -“Of course you will not consider him,” she said, much more confused -than was the heroine of the hour. - -“I _was_ thinking a little of getting married in Italy in the fall,” -answered Miss Mordaunt, pensively. “A wedding would be so sweet in -that lovely old Duomo at Florence. And I couldn’t have it in the -Duomo unless I married a Catholic, I suppose.” - -“Cecily!” - -“Gwen, dear, you can’t do it. You haven’t the cut of a chaperon’s -jib. Why, San Miniato took us first for a pair of schoolgirls, and -Mimms for our governess. You’re a failure, and I’m a terror; but we -_have_ had a good time, haven’t we?” - -“Cecily, your father--I have an idea he would dislike this more than -anything you could do. Don’t, don’t answer Miniato now. Let me tell -him to go to America and see your papa. That is the only decent thing -to do.” - -“The others--all but one--asked _me_ first,” said Cecily, dimpling. -“But it’s a shame to tease you, poor, dear little soul. Send Miniato -packing, if you like. I don’t generally--right away. I keep them on -as friends, like poor Mr. Lenvale, till I can’t stand them a minute -longer. Anyhow, old Miniato’s a goose to think I’d marry out of my -own country and live away from papa.” - -Gwendolyn had the tact to say nothing. In a moment Cecily began again. - -“You’ve been so awfully good to me, Gwenny. If I had had a mother, -I’d have wanted her to be like you. But my mother died when I was -born, and I had no one but an aunt and grandmother, who--papa, -couldn’t get along with them, and I don’t blame him. He has been -awfully generous--but kept away. You know he has made money himself, -but he inherited a lot from his mother’s brother on condition he’d -change his name. The Mordaunts were an older family than the Atwells, -and my uncle didn’t want them to die out--” - -“Atwell! It can’t be possible!” cried Gwendolyn, “John Rufus Atwell?” - -“Yes, that was his full name. Did you ever know him?” - -“Once, long ago,” said Gwendolyn, in a maze of astonishment. - -“I want to tell you a secret--if you won’t ask me a single question -in return,” went on the girl, filled with her own affairs. “Although -not to San Miniato, I am really going to be married. I’ve left my -heart, my real heart, at home, with the best fellow in the world. -When I got to Gibraltar I kept a promise I’d made to him, and cabled -out that he might come to us in September. By the time we get to -Paris he’ll be there, and then, Gwenny, then--oh! You’ll be a jolly, -easy-going chaperon, and I the happiest girl in the world. Now -I’m off to take Mimms for a perfectly horrid little walk, to see -Thorwaldsen’s Lion. If I ever get home to blessed East Ephesus I’ll -walk out by myself after dark, see if I don’t.” - -Gwendolyn’s face, when she was left alone with these surprising -revelations, was very pale. After deliberation she took out a cable -code Mr. Mordaunt had sent her for exigencies, and patched together -words conveying the following message: - - “Fear daughter’s intention to marry. Had better come at once. Meet - us Paris. Will watch faithfully till then.” - - * * * * * - -They had found refuge from observation in a quiet and cozy little -hotel just out of the Champs Élysées. For some days following their -arrival in Paris Cecily had been under a spell of gentleness. She did -not again allude to her hopes and prospects, and Gwendolyn, trusting -the matter had blown by, said nothing, but never left her side. -Cecily did not know that her father was expected. It had been agreed -between Mordaunt and his daughter’s chaperon to give his visit the -air of a happy afterthought. - -When the day came that should bring relief to the citadel, Gwendolyn -breathed a long sigh. Soon after their early breakfast, Cecily asked -for the company of Mimms to make some purchases at the Bon Marché. -She had equipped herself so charmingly, her face and person breathed -such radiancy of good health and happiness, that Gwendolyn could not -resist giving the child a parting squeeze and kiss. - -“I shall wait for you to go in to the second breakfast, dear,” she -said, affectionately. - -“Ah, Gwen, how I love you!” cried the girl with a sudden burst. -“Never be angry with me; I was not brought up like other girls.” - -She was gone. The little open cab containing her and the grim Miss -Mimms rattled down the stony street to the Elysian Fields. Gwendolyn -sighed. - -“She has tangled herself in my heart-strings, certainly. I could not -bear her to think me treacherous. But my first duty was to _him_.” - -As the hours passed she grew fidgety, rearranged the ornaments, the -flowers, the books, in their pretty salon--ran to the window to look -at many cabs, and when at last the one arrived that contained John -Mordaunt, was quite unaware of it. - -He was treading on the heels of the garçon who came up to announce -him--in her presence before she realized it. - -“I knew you long ago through Mrs. Payne; but you could not be -supposed to identify me,” he said, with strong feeling, as he took -her hand. “You have not changed in the least. And to think that all -these years I could not find out whom you had married.” - -Gwendolyn blushed deeply, and drew her hand from his. - -“It was so good of you to relieve my anxiety about our girl,” she -answered. “Now I begin to think she said it to frighten me.” - -“No matter, since I am here. But where is she--my darling torment?” - -Gwendolyn explained. - -“Then sit down and let us learn each other all over again,” said this -taking-for-granted Senator. - -Gwendolyn did not know why she obeyed; the moments flew, she telling, -he listening, and vice versa. They were rudely interrupted by the -bursting open of the door and the entrance of Miss Mimms, aghast. - -“Oh! sir! Oh! m’m,” she cried, breathless. “I’ve lost her. For the -last hour I’ve been sitting in the waiting-room at the Bon Marché, as -she bid me, and she’s never come back. And at last a little boy came -and put this note in my hand for Mrs. West, and told me the young -lady said I was to go along home to the hotel.” - - “My own Gwenny, forgive me,” ran the note. “I couldn’t bear to meet - him in a horrid, ordinary way. We are off on top a tram to take - our luncheon at Versailles, and by five o’clock, I’ll be back and - introduce him to you in proper fashion.” - -“If it’s that scoundrel Moffat, he’ll never bring her back,” shouted -John Mordaunt. “He well knows she has a fortune from her uncle -coming to her on her marriage with no matter whom. He’ll get her -off somewhere and manage to have a ceremony performed before he is -interrupted. He--” - -“I believe in Cecily,” said Gwendolyn, quietly. “Let us, you and I, -Mr. Mordaunt, go directly in pursuit of them. Cecily is foolish, -reckless, but she would never give you--and me--that pain.” - -“Then it is you who have made her know herself! God bless you,” said -the agitated man. “Ah! Gwendolyn, why did I not have you from the -first?” - - * * * * * - -Miss Mimms afterward averred that you might have knocked her down -with a feather when, that afternoon, the whole party of four came -driving up to the door of the hotel. (Miss M. had spent most of her -day suspended like a banner for royalty out of the windows of the -first floor.) He, the young lady’s papa--looking like a general or a -judge, she couldn’t exactly say which, but as fine a show of a man as -she wished ever to see; Mrs. West, so happy and smiling, just like a -little girl that has got a present she’d been crying for; and Miss -Mordaunt--well, nobody could beat her for looks and pretty ways. At -the very top of the steps didn’t she seize Mimms and hug her, and -introduce her to “Mr. Angus McCrea, the young man that ran away with -me this morning, and that’s going to be my husband”? - -For Mr. Angus McCrea it was who had wooed Cecily’s roving heart into -his safe-keeping--a fine, manly young fellow, to whom even John -Mordaunt, the discourager of sons-in-law, could not take exception. - -“And at any rate,” whispered saucy Cecily, “it’s easy to see they -were old sweethearts, Gwen and papa. They are so taken up with each -other, Angus, you and I might give them a lesson in self-control.” - - PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY - AND SONS COMPANY AT THE - LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL. - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - - The List of Illustrations at the beginning of the book was created - by the transcriber. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation such as “whale-bone”/“whalebone” - have been maintained. - - Minor punctuation and spelling errors have been silently corrected - and, except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the - text, especially in dialogue, and inconsistent or archaic usage, - have been retained. - - Page 156: “upon which the three Misses Bendict” changed to “upon - which the three Misses Benedict”. - - Page 201: “from what your mother writes, Lillian” changed to “from - what your mother writes, Lilian”. - - Page 234: “grumbling inwardly, as he saw Kathleeen” changed to - “grumbling inwardly, as he saw Kathleen”. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARCELLINI EMERALD WITH OTHER -TALES*** - - -******* This file should be named 64242-0.txt or 64242-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/4/2/4/64242 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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