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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1864899 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64242 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64242) 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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- clear: both; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<h1 class="pgx" title="">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Carcellini Emerald with Other Tales, by -Mrs. Burton Harrison</h1> -<p>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 <a -href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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.</p> -<p>Title: The Carcellini Emerald with Other Tales</p> -<p> 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</p> -<p>Author: Mrs. Burton Harrison</p> -<p>Release Date: January 9, 2021 [eBook #64242]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARCELLINI EMERALD WITH OTHER TALES***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4 class="pgx" title="">E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Susan Carr,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (https://www.pgdp.net)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (https://archive.org).</h4> -<h3 class="pgx" title="">This ebook was created in honour of<br /> - Distributed Proofreaders' 20th Anniversary.</h3> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/carcelliniemeral00harriala - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp47" id="cover" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<h1 class="p6"><span class="fs70">The</span><br /> -Carcellini Emerald<br /> -<span class="fs70">With Other Tales</span></h1> - -<div class="figcenter illowe2_1875" id="title-img"> - <img class="w100 p0 pb6" src="images/title-img.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<div class="figcenter illowp59" id="frontis" style="max-width: 49.25em;"> - <img class="w100 p1" src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“MAID? NEVER HAD SUCH A THING IN MY LIFE,” LAUGHED<br /> -CECILY; “AND WHAT WOULD HA’ BEEN THE USE, WHEN MR.<br /> -LENVALE WOULD INSIST ON ESCORTING ME.”</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<div class="bbox"> - -<p class="pfs120">The</p> -<p class="pfs240">Carcellini Emerald</p> -<p class="pfs120">With Other Tales</p> - -<p class="pfs90 p2">BY</p> - -<p class="pfs120">MRS. BURTON HARRISON</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe6_625" id="colophon"> - <img class="w100 p2 pb2" src="images/colophon.jpg" alt="Colophon" /> -</div> - -<p class="pfs100">HERBERT S. STONE AND COMPANY<br /> -CHICAGO AND NEW YORK<br /> -<span class="fs70">MDCCCXCIX</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p class="pfs90 p10">COPYRIGHT 1899 BY<br /> -HERBERT S. STONE & CO.</p> - -<p class="pfs80 p6 pb4">THE PUBLISHERS ACKNOWLEDGE THE COURTESY OF<br /> -THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY (THE SATURDAY<br /> -EVENING POST), MAST, CROWELL AND KIRKPATRICK<br /> -(THE WOMAN’S HOME COMPANION), AND HARPER AND<br /> -BROTHERS, IN ALLOWING THE USE OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table class="autotable fs90" width="90%" summary=""> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr fs70">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">The Carcellini Emerald</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">An Author’s Reading and its Consequences</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Leander of Betsy’s Pride</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">The Three Misses Benedict at Yale</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">A Girl of the Period</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">The Stolen Stradivarius</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Wanted: A Chaperon</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"><span class="fs95">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</span></h2> -</div> - -<table class="autotable fs80" width="90%" summary=""> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr fs80">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlw">“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.”</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#frontis">Frontispiece</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlw">“AN OPPORTUNITY TO DECK OUT HER BOARD WITH AN EFFECT.”</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#facing080">80</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlw">“MR. BLUDGEON HAD BETTER BE READ THAN SEEN.”</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#facing088">88</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlw">“NEED I SAY THAT IT GOES TO MY INMOST—”</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#facing098">98</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlw">THE THREE MISSES BENEDICT AT YALE.</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#facing124">124</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlw">“AND WITH GLOOM IN HIS HEART HE WENT BACK TO HIS LONELY ROOM AND LIFE.”</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#facing154">154</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlw">“RUSSELL REAPPEARED, BRINGING WITH HIM THE SODDEN FORM OF AGNES.”</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#facing162">162</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdlw">“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.”</td> -<td class="tdrb"><a href="#facing288">288</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p class="pfs135 p10 pb10">THE CARCELLINI EMERALD</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[Pg 3]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CARCELLINI_EMERALD">THE CARCELLINI EMERALD</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> -consequences and loyalty of affection that had -marked every kind action of the young man’s -life.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>After the Christmas holidays, which Ash spent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Oh, the tragedy of life when small souls meet -larger ones in everyday friction! Mrs. Oliver and -Charlotte, banded against Tom and Eunice, made<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> -character, means, and position as would anchor -the whole Oliver family away from the quick-sands -of their present uncertainties.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But Eunice, urged to the front by her mother, -who philosophically made up her mind that one, -if not <em>the</em> 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.</p> - -<p>In the tempest that broke over Eunice after -Farnsworth’s departure, Tom learned his sister’s -secret. She came to him, trembling and tearful,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> -nestled in his breast, and told him that for a -year she had considered herself engaged to -Ashton Carmichael.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t tell me he dared approach you after -<em>February</em>!” exclaimed Tom, white to the lips -with anger.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“That <em>is</em> 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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> - -<p>“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 <em>had</em> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>For Eunice, expanding into rare beauty during -her exile from the gay world, had come back to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> -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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“Young lady from the <i>Epoch</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Another reporter!” he exclaimed, petulantly. -“Did I not tell you never to let them wait for -me?”</p> - -<p>“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 -<em>very</em> important, Mr. Carmichael.”</p> - -<p>Smiling at the awe-struck expression of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“You!” he said, in a tone from which all self-complacency -had fled.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I. I was assigned to you, and I had to -come. Until now I have been fortunate in -avoiding such a contingency.”</p> - -<p>“I did not know you were in New York,” he -stammered, to gain time.</p> - -<p>“I got this appointment on the <i>Epoch</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You are looking well,” he said; “your profession -seems to agree with you. I hope you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But I am pressed for time, I tell you!” he -exclaimed, uneasily.</p> - -<p>“It is something in the nature of a warning,” -she said, with a mocking intonation. “But just -as you choose, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Come to my sitting-room on the floor above, -then,” he responded, ungraciously, leading the -way up the stairs.</p> - -<p>The room into which he ushered her was a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span></p> - -<p>Her victim winced, and she saw that he felt -the sting implied.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“The devil he is!” cried Carmichael, much -perturbed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I believe you are in love with that—— monolith!” -said her brother, with an oath.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p> - -<p>Miss Carmichael looked at him with undisturbed -equanimity.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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 <em>they</em> -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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>II</h3> -</div> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Carmichael was accustomed to be deputy sovereign -in many fine houses. But he had never -felt as grateful for the privilege as now. His<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>He started guiltily; but it was only Mrs. Ellison’s -sleek butler asking at his elbow if all was -to the dictator’s fancy.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Anstey, who lived to dress, fluttered with -excitement at this compliment. It was unlooked -for from Carmichael, who, until now, had snubbed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“You <em>are</em> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <em>has</em> she got against you, Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -Carmichael? I never in all my days saw such a -full-fledged specimen of the cut direct!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <em>some</em> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> -restrained expressions of admiration from the -men, followed the beautiful well of green fire in -its progress.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“There, Gertrude, take the tempter!” concluded -Mrs. Anstey, plucking the ring from her -hand and extending it with affected resignation.</p> - -<p>“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;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -from burning that had come under his experience.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Don’t give any sign,” she whispered, “but -tell me what I am to do. I have lost the Carcellini -emerald.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -every one has gone, unless you prefer to look -first and tell her afterward.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no; I dare not! I <em>must</em> tell her at -once!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“The Carcellini emerald!” repeated Farnsworth, -who, between vexation at his wife’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> -unaccountable departure and stupefaction at his -cousin’s speech, did not know where to find himself. -“Is it possible you intrusted it to Gertrude?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Cousin Arden, I’m almost crazy!” cried -the girl. “I can find no trace of it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span></p> - -<p>In broken words she narrated the circumstances -of the ring’s disappearance.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span></p> - -<p>“Were there any servants behind or near you -at the time, Miss Ellison?” said the quiet man -in morning clothes.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“But you <em>are</em> sure about the position of the -ring as you leaned forward beneath the candle?” -went on the same unemotional voice.</p> - -<p>“Perfectly,” said Gertrude, with emphasis. -“In that I cannot be mistaken.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I had rather lose it,” interrupted Mrs. Ellison, -tearfully, “than suspect one of my guests.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>About a fortnight after the disappearance of -the jewel, a newspaper not averse to the elaboration -of savory personalities concerning the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>III</h3> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“I am still far too wretched and broken up to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -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 <em>can’t</em> they -let the whole affair alone? It is <em>my</em> 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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>Eunice sprang upon her feet. She had solved<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A servant, coming noiselessly into the room, -presented at her side a little tray containing a -card.</p> - -<p>“But I told you I am not receiving, Jasper,” -she said, without offering to take up the card.</p> - -<p>“The gentleman said it is about a matter of -business, madam, and that he will detain you a -few moments only.”</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>Here, in her house! He had ventured to cross<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -her threshold! It must indeed be a matter of -importance that had nerved him to come here!</p> - -<p>“Say I shall be down at once, Jasper.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Something of this was apparent in her beautiful -face, in her erect head, her eyes sparkling -with indignation.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She inclined her head with cold disdain, still -standing before him.</p> - -<p>“I put out of the question everything that -relates to our own two selves—though if you -knew all the story of that year—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span></p> - -<p>“You asked to see me on business, I understood,” -she interrupted, as if he had come to -peddle his wares in her drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Carmichael blushed crimson. The sting of -her manner was intolerable.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Then it <em>is</em> your work! I thought so,” she -said, cutting him short. “May I ask why you -presume to come to me?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span></p> - -<p>“You are indeed implacable,” he muttered.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You will remember, Jasper, and tell the -others to remember, that I am never at home to -Mr. Ashton Carmichael again.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span></p> - -<p>“What can you have done to him, Arden, dear, -besides scowling most unbecomingly whenever -he has been near?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Arden! What <em>do</em> you mean? It isn’t possible -you think—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At the clubs that night, and in many homes -next day, it seemed that people had, simultaneously -and without apparent new provocation,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span></p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Oliver! I must speak to you, too. -Don’t you remember Alice Carmichael?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“No, no!” she exclaimed, woefully, compressing -her lips to keep back the tears evoked by his -apparition. “This is a moment snatched from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -It is a relief to think that anybody cares. -Now I shall go, please—not to keep you and Mr. -Farnsworth longer.”</p> - -<p>Farnsworth, a sheaf of typed sheets in his -hand, came forward to join them upon the hearth-rug.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The young journalist crimsoned to the roots -of her hair.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IV</h3> -</div> - -<p>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 <i>Epoch</i>, -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>So Ashton thought, but with a difference!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p> - -<p>When Lance understood the case he hastened -with almost pathetic eagerness to bring his finished -material and lay it in her hands.</p> - -<p>“Is this little all I can do for you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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 <em>she</em> left me, and I see no more -of you!”</p> - -<p>“There <em>is</em> 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?”</p> - -<p>Lance brightened.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -have him, because he’s a sure thing. Will -you prefer to go with me or to meet me -there?”</p> - -<p>“I shall be there at a quarter before six,” -Alice had said, drawing a long breath.</p> - -<p>She found Lance sitting in the hall.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He would resent her intrusion angrily, of -course; but that would be nothing in comparison<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -with his wrath when he should know for what -she came.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -How induce Ashton to confess his crime unless -he were sure he was found out?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Six o’clock! He could not be long now.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -it lasted, would he venture to dispose of the -Carcellini emerald!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“For <em>her</em> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Out of the confusion of this receptacle she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span></p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>And thus he had used his chance! The flaring -radiance of the jewel seemed to taunt her -anguish.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -carry the jewel to Mr. Farnsworth or Tom -Oliver if she could not reach its owner.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Returning presently he told her that all was -over. Ashton had died without coming back to -consciousness.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -for advice from Tom concerning it, but could -not bring herself to speak the words that would -incriminate the dead.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The restoration to its owner of the great Carcellini -emerald—without the ring—is well known<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -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.</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> - -<p class="pfs135 p10 pb10">AN AUTHOR’S READING AND ITS CONSEQUENCES</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="AN_AUTHORS_READING_AND">AN AUTHOR’S READING AND -ITS CONSEQUENCES</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="r10" /> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> -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, -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fin de siècle</i>, that would carry Sutphen again -up on the wave of novelty.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> -with Mrs. Grindstone, “to show her that when -called upon for independent action, we can be -her equals in success.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Just so,” said Mrs. Grindstone, fairly slapping -her last label into place.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp84" id="facing080" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100 p1" src="images/facing080.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“AN OPPORTUNITY TO DECK OUT HER BOARD WITH AN EFFECT.”</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> - -<p>“You don’t say so?” interpolated Mrs. Grindstone -with housekeeperish relish.</p> - -<p>“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!’”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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 <em>him</em>, 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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span></p> - -<p>“That’s it,” said Miss Cornelia. “We are -as dull as ditchwater in Sutphen—unless Annetta -stirs us up,” she added, reluctantly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span></p> - -<p>“Precisely,” observed Mrs. Stratton calmly; -“so I made up my mind to get him—and I did!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“Such assurance!” said both satellites internally. -But they only murmured, “Splendid!” -“Just like you, Annetta,” and the like.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“And what will the lecture be about?” ventured -Cornelia, more than anything else to cover -her own pique.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -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 <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">compotier</i> -of floating island; cakes, big and little. No -lobster <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">farcie</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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 <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">restaurateur</i>, her eyes had sparkled -at the discovery in the rear of his premises of an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -entire service of “onion pattern” Meissen—or -at least a good imitation of that desired original.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp43" id="facing088" style="max-width: 35.9375em;"> - <img class="w100 p1" src="images/facing088.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“MR. BLUDGEON HAD BETTER BE READ THAN SEEN.”</div> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -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 <em>her</em>) would prevent her from -being present.</p> - -<p>“‘A positively raging headache,’ she says,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -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 <em>me</em>, -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.”</p> - -<p>Curiosity among Miss Bennett’s <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">invités</i> 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, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">mirabile dictu!</i> 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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -white wine; but now he bestowed upon the listening -public his first connected utterance:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -of her personality—so she went up to her bedroom -and had a hearty, nervous cry.</p> - -<p>In the Lyceum Hall that afternoon, where the -literary club met at 4 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> 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.</p> - -<p>“Seems to me you’ve ‘picked up’ since lunch -time,” observed that lady, in her customary -muffled tones.</p> - -<p>“I <em>do</em> 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.”</p> - -<p>“Six courses—three wines—the whole thing -served by Simonson—couldn’t have been better -done,” answered Mrs. Grindstone, lightly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p> - -<p>“Simonson?” The shot had gone home.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry to say,” explained Mrs. Stratton<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t she splendid?” whispered Cornelia. “No -such dressing has ever been seen in Sutphen, in -my time.”</p> - -<p>“If I didn’t feel sure Mr. Bludgeon would -think it overdone,” said Annetta, shrugging.</p> - -<p>But she was herself impressed, and greatly. -The revolt of Cornelia and Mrs. Grindstone from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -her rule; their blossoming forth with all this -magnificence of a day; the fact that they would -henceforth stand side by side with <em>her</em> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -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—”</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="facing098" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100 p1" src="images/facing098.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“NEED I SAY THAT IT GOES TO MY INMOST—”</div> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Some time after Mr. Bludgeon’s visit to Sutphen -had begun to pass into tradition, poor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> -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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mrs. Grindstone is now the President of the -Sutphen Literary Club—<em>vice</em> Mrs. Chauncey Stratton -resigned and gone abroad. Miss Bennett is -still the Secretary. Mr. Grindstone’s gas bills -remain reasonably low.</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span></p> - -<p class="pfs135 p10 pb10">LEANDER OF BETSY’S PRIDE</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LEANDER_OF_BETSYS_PRIDE">LEANDER OF BETSY’S PRIDE</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span> -University boat-races than in musty discussions -and wrangles about the right of men to hold their -brother men enslaved.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“We have stagnated since you left,” said -Louisa Stapleton of New York. “While Eunice<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -filled up her note-book with yarns of your skirmishing, -there has been nothing for the rest of -us to do.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Only one newcomer,” said Eunice, making -place for him on a rusty sofa.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Old Dick started irrepressibly.</p> - -<p>“He—you met—oh, impossible! Gad, I believe -I’m possessed by one idea. A foreigner, -you say—traveling with his wife?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>A burst of laughter followed this narration.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No, no; something real. A war story,” said -young Harry Lemist, who had a thirst for active -movement and little imagination.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span></p> - -<p>“How awfully jolly,” exclaimed Louisa Stapleton, -pulling out the fringe of curls upon her -forehead.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Not old enough by half,” exclaimed -Blanche, pouting.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.’</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“His master’s friend—intimate! Oh, infamous! -I would have starved first!” cried out -Eunice, a red spot glowing in either cheek.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -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.’</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -planter on his travels, encumbered with a tipsy -ruffian he was glad to dispose of cheap.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And Johns? What became of him?” asked -the hearers in concert.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Is all that true?” asked Eunice Hall, who -had listened in breathless interest.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Now we are coming to the real thing!” exclaimed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -light-hearted Blanche, clapping her -hands gleefully.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious!” cried Eunice, sitting bolt -upright, and fixing upon old Dick a fascinated -gaze.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What did you do? What did he do?” queried -the listeners in unison.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Frankly speaking,” said the hero of many -fights with flesh and blood, “<em>I</em> pulled the clothes -over my head. <em>He</em> executed the usual ‘vanishing -act.’ When I looked again he was gone.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -The only occupant of the room beside myself -was a rat that seemed to be dragging my boot -across the boards of the floor.”</p> - -<p>“Was the window open?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Naturally, since you dreamed it,” said Mr. -Harry Lemist, convincingly.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> -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—‘<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Sic -semper tyrannis</i>’ 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.”</p> - -<p>Eunice Hall, self-contained little being that -she was, gave at this a galvanic start.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“By George—then it <em>was</em> Leander!” cried the -General, springing to his feet.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> -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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pfs135 p10 pb10">THE THREE MISSES BENEDICT AT YALE</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_THREE_MISSES_BENEDICT">THE THREE MISSES BENEDICT -AT YALE</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp89" id="facing124" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/facing124.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">THE THREE MISSES BENEDICT AT YALE.</div> -</div> - -<p>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 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> 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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -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 <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">esprit de corps</i> and a brave desire -to keep up the credit of their town.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The vast inclosure of the armory was lined to -its arched roof with breadths of semi-transparent -stuff, alternatively pale lavender and yellow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>The wide, crash-covered floor, soon covered -with whirling figures, became a dazzling kaleidoscope.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Satisfied? Indeed I am! It is a perfectly -enchanting scene,” said the biased critic. “And -your decorations are really admirable. I never<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -older than Margaret, whom he had his own private -reasons for not allowing to get far out of his -sight or thoughts.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>One person only had shared in his secret, and -he a classmate bound to Jack by the most intimate<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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 <em>I</em> am dying to know -him. Do fetch him here <em>now</em>, and introduce him, -there’s a dear. Only give me half a chance and -I can make him forget Agnes, I’ll promise you.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Is <em>that</em> Russell?” said the three women in -concert. To them he had long been a household -word.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and he came here to please me, dear old -chap. The trouble is, I don’t know whether<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -he’ll have the courage to follow it up by being -presented to you.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>II</h3> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You know I am a recluse,” said Russell, -coloring.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -by a long shot, but nice manners and intelligent. -Decidedly, Benedict’s party has lent luster -to the week.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Russell, my sisters, my cousin—all Miss<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> -Benedicts; so you will have no trouble in knowing -how to address them.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I am not detaining you?” he asked, nervously.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I hope they will not revive him,” said Russell, -yielding for once to the temptation of the -hour.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span></p> - -<p>Back of the committee box was a little room -set apart for wraps and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-têtes</i>, into which -he had the hardihood to invite his companion to -retire, hoping thus to seclude her from the observation -of her tardy dancer.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> -A tremor of admiration, of preference for his -society, ran through her veins. She asked -herself timorously what <em>should</em> she do if she never -met him again; why fate had been so long in -granting to her this experience of delight!</p> - -<p>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 <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i>. -Russell hardly believed his good fortune when -she said, in a vexed aside:</p> - -<p>“There, now, they have spoiled the best of -the evening for me. I am sure we shall have no -other chance to talk.”</p> - -<p>“You are going to-morrow?” he murmured, -trying to seem indifferent.</p> - -<p>“Yes, at eleven. I am so sorry,” she answered -in the same vein of restrained feeling.</p> - -<p>“I <em>must</em> see you once more,” he said, briefly—then -drew within himself, frightened at his own -audacity.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“You took to them, then? My people, I mean.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span></p> - -<p>“I should say I did. They are all delightful, -and your sister, Jack, is—well—”</p> - -<p>“Which sister?” interrogated his friend, merrily.</p> - -<p>“I actually do not know,” said Russell, shame-facedly. -“But she wears blue and has a wreath -of white roses.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Agnes? Which is she?” answered Russell, -confusedly, conscious that he had given thought -only to the companion of his talk in the committee-room.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He was torn away by an imperative demand -for the floor manager, and Russell felt relieved.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>When Russell appeared at the carriage door -to aid Jack in putting his family into their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -vehicle, a faint blush came into the clear pale -cheeks of his companion in the talk of a few -hours before.</p> - -<p>“Might I—would you take a little stroll with -me before you leave?” he ventured, with throbbing -heart, to ask her.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow? I mean, to-day?” she queried, -a little confused.</p> - -<p>“Yes; you see it is my only chance.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span></p> - -<p>“Why, man, are you made of iron and whale-bone -that you show not a sign of somnolence?” -asked Jack.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No such good luck. I have seen but one -dame I should care to squire, and she—well—” -and Russell sighed genuinely.</p> - -<p>“A confession?” exclaimed Jack, gleefully. -“But it’s never too late to mend, so go ahead.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>They kept pace together without speaking,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> -until they reached the landing where Jack turned -in at his door, Russell ascending higher.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“Agnes?” repeated Russell, almost in a whisper.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Agnes,” repeated Russell, mechanically, as -he crept up his flight of stairs and went into his -room.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>III</h3> -</div> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> -She would bear her punishment in silence, -and tell nobody—Jack, least of all.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No-o,” whispered Agnes, blushing and hesitating.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> -dreadful, and that Jack has simply brought everybody -to forget it and to treat Russell as if it had -never been.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Lou, you mustn’t. Jack and I are nothing -but cousins—<em>dear</em> cousins,” said Agnes, imploringly.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Benedict, looking across Margaret, here -hushed their whispers. The exercises were -already under way.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -that no favor to the individual can simulate. -Louder and longer than any other present applauded -honest Jack Benedict, who knew himself -outdone.</p> - -<p>“Why, mother, that is not like you,” said Jack -that evening, when he went to take supper with -his family at their hotel.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I know it, Jack darling. But it’s because -you are so much more to us than any Mr. Russell.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“He can’t be captured, I’m afraid. He is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The latter pair talked long and easily together, -of the interests shared by them through relationship -and intimacy of habit. It was only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Don’t Jack; there’s a dear boy,” she said, -coaxingly. “If you only knew how nice you can -be when you are sensible.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp46" id="facing154" style="max-width: 38.8125em;"> - <img class="w100 p1" src="images/facing154.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“AND WITH GLOOM IN HIS HEART HE WENT BACK TO HIS -LONELY ROOM AND LIFE.”</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span></p> - -<p>“Then you care for some one else?” Jack was -saying in a fierce undertone.</p> - -<p>“Jack—don’t, please!” murmured she, tears -welling into her eyes.</p> - -<p>“But I must know,” he went on, hardly aware -of his own insistence.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said at last, never so faintly. -“But he does not care for me.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>And with gloom in his heart he went back into -his lonely room and life.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>IV</h3> -</div> - -<p>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 -<ins class="corr" id="tn156" title="Transcriber’s Note—“upon which the three Misses Bendict” changed to “upon which the three Misses Benedict”.">upon which the three Misses Benedict</ins> -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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“A camp of men! Horrid things! Why did -they choose our island!” cried Lou Benedict, -pouting.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Hubert Russell!” exclaimed Benedict, joyfully, -as he identified among them his old friend. -“Who would have dreamed of our meeting here?”</p> - -<p>Greetings and introductions followed, and from -this point no expression was heard from the girls -of disapproval of “those horrid men.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Jack blushed as he prepared to obey the -chaperon’s behest.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Russell’s heart gave a despairing leap.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> -“Wasn’t it to be expected?” he said, smiling -also.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I knew they were not fishing; she’s too tender-hearted -by far,” exclaimed Jack, with a lover’s pride.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Can they swim?” asked Russell, quickening -his stroke.</p> - -<p>“Yes, both of them, if they are not caught -below,” answered Benedict, hoarsely.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -spot whence Edith Clare called out to him to -save her. “Coming, my darling; have no fear,” -Jack answered her, tenderly.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="facing162" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100 p1" src="images/facing162.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“RUSSELL REAPPEARED, BRINGING WITH HIM THE SODDEN FORM OF AGNES.”</div> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -I can’t say I am sure, but I think—she -must have loved you from the first.”</p> - -<p>Russell could not speak. He wrung Benedict’s -hand, looking at him with hollow, haggard -eyes.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -heard. “In a little while, the doctor says, she -will be herself again,” Lou tried to add, but was -choked by her excitement.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And for how long will there be even one?” -asked Edith, teasingly.</p> - -<p>Lou blushed, and would not answer.</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span></p> - -<p class="pfs135 p10 pb10">A GIRL OF THE PERIOD</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_GIRL_OF_THE_PERIOD">A GIRL OF THE PERIOD</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> -of the “great match,” or of any kind of a match, -for the fair Miss Foljambe.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> -And Olive had answered, laughing, that -she did not care what they called it, provided no -other girl got Stephen Luttridge.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> -York and gone to the West to grow up with the -country.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“And now tell me, papa,” she said with alarming -briskness, “just what I may expect as an -allowance to keep house upon.”</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> -even from that, certain amounts would have to -be deducted for use for things other than mere -housekeeping.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Summer came, and Olive, at her desk heaped -with dictionaries, encyclopedias, and works of -reference, transferred from Mrs. Rushmore’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span></p> - -<p>San Miguel stock! In a flash it came to Olive -that her father was the chief owner of San Miguel -stock.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Foljambe! Caramba! Hold your tongue!” -hissed Ramirez.</p> - -<p>There was a sudden hush. The conversation -passed into whispers. Olive, trembling with -excitement, slipped back into her bedroom, put<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> -on her hat, seized gloves and parasol, and darted -out to the rear of the flat to interview Katrina.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“It’s not sneak-thieves they’d be, Miss Foljambe, -and you goin’ to call up the police?” the -maid asked with natural emotion.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Katrina, anxious to fulfill the trust imposed in -her, tarried inconceivably long; when Ramirez,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>But he reckoned without his enemy.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span> -the train was well on the way downtown—brought -its pangs of self-distrust.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When at last she had succeeded in getting to -the plank-walk along the side of the railway<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Her face flamed with heat and exertion. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>How Olive had glowed with pride at her lover’s -eulogy! As it here came to her memory, she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span> -turned bravely around facing the Battery, and -started to walk.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> -badly damaged, the passenger shooting forward, -her wrist twisted in the attempt to prevent herself -from falling further.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She mentioned his name, and the gentleman -took off his hat—but was evidently puzzled by -her forlorn appearance.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> -safely to your father’s keeping in a very little -while.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if it is not too late!” exclaimed she, for -the first time losing her self-control.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Courage, my child,” said Mr. Whitwell. -“In one moment you’ll be there.”</p> - -<p>At the end of a long corridor they saw the -names they had come in search of.</p> - -<p>“He is in, Miss Foljambe,” said the young -man to whom she had put the query, “but I am<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -sorry to say our orders are that Mr. Foljambe is -not to be interrupted. He is receiving some -gentlemen on important business.”</p> - -<p>“Two foreigners?” asked the girl, forcing herself -to speak calmly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, papa,” she said, frightened -and faltering; “there has been a little -accident, and I must speak to you alone.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What is it, my dear?” asked the father, -anxiously. “What in the world has brought -you down here alone, and in this condition?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens!” cried Martin; “and what do -you know, you kitten, about San Miguel stock?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Olive went on with the Rushmore memorial<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> -(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.</p> - -<p>“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, <ins class="corr" id="tn201" title="Transcriber’s Note—“from what your mother writes, Lillian” changed to “from what your mother writes, Lilian”.">from what your mother writes, Lilian</ins> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I had quite forgotten that little circumstance,” -remarked Martin, as she flew by him -like a whirlwind to meet her lover in the hall.</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pfs135 p10 pb10">THE STOLEN STRADIVARIUS</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STOLEN_STRADIVARIUS">THE STOLEN STRADIVARIUS</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -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 -<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">dulce domum</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span> -happily by falling in love with and winning the -prettiest and best-balanced girl of his acquaintance -in New York.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> -income in a community where upon working people -there is a call for every dollar before it is -well in hand.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">débutante</i> had literally walked -upon flowers.</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>What Molly had cheerfully accepted for herself,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -she now, like a true American parent, began -to think might be bettered for Kathleen.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The only cloud upon Kathleen’s horizon had -been that mamma must stop behind.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Ah, well! What did anything matter so long -as she had these?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Oh! little mother, darling!” cried Kathleen,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> -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—<em>he</em> was there—”</p> - -<p>“Who, Maurice?” asked Molly, happily.</p> - -<p>“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 <em>do</em> 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;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> -and there we stood talking till he left, and papa -said I must come away, too.”</p> - -<p>“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 -<em>he</em> roared, of course all the little animals chimed -in. I suppose, there’ll be no living in the house -with Kathleen after this.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Terence!” said Mrs. Blair, reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“It’s only Malvolio, Molly dear, and little -Catullus Clarke—”</p> - -<p>“Such a beautiful new poet, Mr. Clarke is, -mother, with night-black, silky hair and chiseled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Lottie Beaumoris?” said Molly, remembering -with a blush her envious soliloquy of a little -while ago.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you know she is by way of being a patroness<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, Morry,” said his sister.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but it’s true, she has got her net over -not only the great Levitsky, but a man who can<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Morry!” said both women, in a breath.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose <em>you</em> might call him Raphael-faced,” -said Maurice, with a brother’s fine scorn of his -sister’s enthusiasm for any man. “But <em>I</em> -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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span></p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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 <cite>Regulator</cite>, 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?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>After him presently arrived Mr. Catullus<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span> -Clarke, whose overcoat and galoches had but -just been deposited in the little hall, when a -third ring made itself audible.</p> - -<p>“That’s Thorndyke, probably,” said Maurice, -hastening away—the maid servants of the Blair -household having been long abed and slumbering.</p> - -<p>“Maurice has asked an important stranger to -join us,” said Mrs. Blair, with a little air of -apology to Malvolio.</p> - -<p>“Thorndyke—I should think so,” said Malvolio, -but interrupted himself upon the entrance -of Kathleen’s “Raphael-faced” young man.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ask Morry,” she said. But Maurice, quite -under the spell of Mr. Thorndyke, was listening -with delight to that gentleman’s discourse upon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> -some theme evidently kindling to the imagination.</p> - -<p>“Morry <em>would</em> invite him, mother,” the girl -went on, with a trifle of petulance in her voice. -“It is only just Colin.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>II</h3> -</div> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span> -in the presence of this composite Napoleon and -Wellington.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> -tumult of emotions regarding a proper appearance -for the occasion.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>At this critical juncture, somebody had been -called in haste from the law office claiming the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> -“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“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.’”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Then I have not printed in vain, Miss Blair,” -answered the bardling, looking at her with -admiring eyes. In reality he was entirely happy.</p> - -<p>It was only being overlooked that ever caused -Catullus pain.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span> -It was only after they had paid one fifty for -the volume, I dare say, that they found out the -truth.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“You flatter Clarke,” interrupted Malvolio.</p> - -<p>“Is hardly my idea of entertainment. You -might as well invite a letter-carrier to take a -walk for pleasure.”</p> - -<p>“Or ask Malvolio to talk about Monet—” said -Clarke.</p> - -<p>“Who has seen ‘Heart of Topaz’?” asked Terence -of his guests.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Now <em>I</em> protest,” said Mrs. Blair. “But at this -rate, we shall never find a subject of conversation -upon which we agree.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Malvolio, -whose glass Terence had just filled with a steaming -golden mixture of innocent appearance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span></p> - -<p>“There is one, and that one uppermost in all -our minds, yet deepest in our hearts—”</p> - -<p>“Hear, hear!” murmured Mr. Clarke.</p> - -<p>“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!’”</p> - -<p>“The woman who has won!” repeated Thorndyke, -significantly, in Kathleen’s ear. He had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> -crossed over for the first time to be near her, -and his gaze was radiant.</p> - -<p>“Now, why couldn’t I say some of those fine-sounding -things?” poor Colin was <ins class="corr" id="tn234" title="Transcriber’s Note—“grumbling inwardly, as he saw Kathleeen” changed to “grumbling inwardly, as he saw Kathleen”.">grumbling inwardly, as he saw Kathleen</ins> -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—”</p> - -<p>His meditations were cut short by Kathleen -herself, who, supple as a snake, had glided -unnoticed to his elbow.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> -you in the boxes with those nice girls who sit up -by their mammas, and have fellows dropping in -to call on them.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You! oh, no!” he exclaimed, impetuously, -his brown face reddening.</p> - -<p>“And why not, pray?” she answered, proudly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span> -resentful of his protest. “What has become -of your theories about the dignity of honest -toil?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <cite>Clarion</cite>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span> -took itself wings, and soon was stirring with -mirthful impulse.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">“Oh! Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">All lonely waiting here for you,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When the stars above are brightly shining</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Because they’ve nothing else to do?</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">“The flowers late were open keeping,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To try a rival blush with you;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But their Mother Nature set them sleeping,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With their rosy faces washed in dew.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">“The wicked watch dog loud is growling;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">He takes me for a thief, you see;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He knows I’d steal you, Molly darling,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And then transported I should be.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">“Oh! Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">All lonely waiting here for you,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When the stars above are brightly shining,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Because they’ve nothing else to do?”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Of all Mr. Blair’s listeners the only one who -wore an expression not in sympathy with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Granny!” cried her family in a voice.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?’”</p> - -<p>“For shame, saucy boy,” said Granny, giving<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He turned, annoyed. There, behind him, -stood Mr. Thorndyke, silent, inscrutable.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, and I will!” Kathleen said, merrily.</p> - -<p>“And what must he be or do to deserve it?”</p> - -<p>“Be?” exclaimed the girl. “Like the donkey, -all ears. And do? Give me a Stradivarius!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span></p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>III</h3> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I did say those words,” answered Colin, -blushing. “I was thinking aloud.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“That seems somehow familiar,” said Colin, -racking his brain to recall where he had heard -the two names combined.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> -got a heart, too—I can see it. I’ve often wanted -to make your acquaintance.”</p> - -<p>“Go on, if it relieves you, Mr. Thorndyke,” -said the young man, dropping upon a chair -beside the bed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say—” began Colin, indignantly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>His head drooped forward. He seemed lost<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span> -in reverie. Colin, who had begun this adventure -with indifference, felt his suspicions awaken -and grow keen with the man’s story.</p> - -<p>“A pride I am afraid your nephew did not -appreciate, Mr. Thorndyke,” said the young -man finally, to arouse him.</p> - -<p>“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! <em>is</em> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>He took from his pocket an unset scarabeus, -jade-green in hue, that might have been worn -in a man’s ring or pin.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> -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 <em>we</em> used to -have. Are you cold, sir? If so, I can light the -gas-stove. I keep it for <em>very</em> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> -and could wait till he came in—and then search -there, and find out—”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he has sold the Stradivarius,” said -Colin.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">In vino veritas</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>“To a very limited degree,” said Mackintosh, -feeling much abashed.</p> - -<p>“Because, I thought if you do, it might come -in your way to help me.” But in the act of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Kathleen would be wearing her gown of brown<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> -of black fur, but by the lookers-on, who seem to -be never tired of this common phase of a city’s -pleasuring.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span></p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">épris</i>, Clarkson, drop in and I’ll -give you a chance at her.”</p> - -<p>“All right, old chap, good-by.”</p> - -<p>As the two men separated, Colin clenched his -fists.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> -establishing herself as a performer, at semi-private -concerts.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Kathleen saw the flush on her mother’s cheek -at the moment when Molly caught the gleam in -her child’s eye.</p> - -<p>“Don’t mind, darling.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blair’s affectionate words died upon her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Because—because,” began Molly, and emotion -overpowered her, cutting short her speech.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span> -leaned over and whispered in the young -girl’s ear:</p> - -<p>“Take care how you enjoy the dangerous delight -of his company in <em>this</em> house. They consider -him their own particular property.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span> -Blair’s rather dazzled permission to call upon -them the next day.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Until to-morrow, then,” said Rupert Thorndyke, -regretfully turning back.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose it is all right,” said Molly. “Or, -of course, the Beaumorises would not be having -him.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I will take you home, if you don’t mind,” -said a voice out of the crowd, and Colin edged -his way toward them!</p> - -<p>Colin was cold and out of humor. But he had -lingered on, and this was his reward.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> -would separate them. And he wondered she -said nothing about the person whose name -excited his keenest curiosity.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">volage</i>!”</p> - -<p>Kathleen had laughed! She had no fear for -herself.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“And you are to keep on with this kind of -thing?” now said Colin, discontentedly.</p> - -<p>“Of course!” exclaimed she. “Two ladies have -already booked my humble services; although -one of them <em>did</em> say, in excuse for herself, that -anything Mrs. Beaumoris started is sure to -run on for a while.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But you can’t, Master Colin, so be satisfied,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“I will go wherever you bid me,” he replied, -more and more under the charm of her close -vicinity.</p> - -<p>“Promise.”</p> - -<p>“I promise.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I will, of course. But tell me—it is a matter -of the deepest interest—who is to furnish your -Stradivarius?”</p> - -<p>“It belongs to the gentleman who is to give -the party, and Madame Anatolia says his rooms<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>“I thought so,” said Colin, turning pale with -excitement, and perhaps a little jealousy.</p> - -<p>“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 <em>so</em> blue. Colin, what in -the world is the matter with you?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Kathleen, wondering at all this, reached -home, the ladies bidding Colin good-by upon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Excepting the reason for Catullus Clarke,” -interpolated the art critic.</p> - -<p>“—should be able to define for us the place of -our new patron in the arts.”</p> - -<p>Malvolio shrugged, tossing his snaky locks to -one side of his high, white forehead.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>The blushes dyed Kathleen’s cheeks at the -confirmation of Colin’s warning.</p> - -<p>“Then you think, Mr. Malvolio, our girl had -better not be seen at his party?” said Mrs. Blair, -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“My <em>dear</em> 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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span> -for the best that was in them. Kathleen’s -début had taught her mother this!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid you’re ill,” said Colin, kindly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I know I can trust you. I wish it were in my -power to do something for you, Mr. Mackintosh.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“My dear friend, you depress me,” said Colin, -taking the scarabeus, and shaking hands with the -lender.</p> - -<p>“Do I? It never occurs to me to think of my -death as <em>sad</em>,” said Thorndyke, simply.</p> - -<p>“Suppose,” said Colin, abruptly, “you had to -wish for the thing that would please you most—what -would it be?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I may be wrong, and I may be disappointed,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span> -upon her own violin, had now come around again -upon the programme. Mr. Malvolio—who, after -all, <em>was</em> there—had just sauntered up to whisper -in her ear:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Certainly. Go with her, Colin, please, and -see that her head is not quite turned by these -honors,” said the unconscious Molly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span></p> - -<p>“What a delightful nook!” cried Kathleen. -“How I wish there were time to look over its -wonders leisurely.”</p> - -<p>“Some day—any day that you so ordain,” said -the virtuoso. “I and mine are at your command -always.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>At last chance favored him. His heart beat -hard as he followed Kathleen and Thorndyke -from object to object of the priceless array.</p> - -<p>“I fear we should not keep all those people -waiting for us longer—” said the host finally.</p> - -<p>“And I am palpitating with impatience to see -your chief treasure,” cried Kathleen.</p> - -<p>“I have made a little shrine for it,” went on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>“The desire of my life is accomplished,” said -Kathleen, lifting the violin to her shoulder and -letting the bow glide over the strings.</p> - -<p>The sound that answered was like the wail of -a reproach.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Since when, may I ask?” interrupted Colin, -quietly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span></p> - -<p>Thorndyke turned and looked at him in cold -distaste.</p> - -<p>“Since the creation of the instrument, no -doubt. Certainly since it came to me by inheritance.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Thorndyke started violently.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to insult me?” he said in almost -a whisper, guilt written in his face.</p> - -<p>Kathleen, spell-bound by Colin’s stern looks, -held the violin breathlessly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“An ingenious method to possess yourself of -a valuable piece of property,” sneered Thorndyke, -now livid with fear and rage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“My dear Colin,” exclaimed Kathleen, greatly -distressed and mortified at the scene. “You -must take me back to my mother. I insist—”</p> - -<p>“Just as soon as Mr. Thorndyke gives a definite -answer to my proposition,” said Colin, fearlessly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When he had finished, Molly was crying quietly. -Kathleen’s eyes flashed upon him such approval -as he had never seen in them before.</p> - -<p>“I could <em>love</em> you for what you’ve done for -that poor old man, Colin,” she cried, with Irish -impulse, and stopped, blushing. “But I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span> -understand why Thorndyke made such a poor -fight.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Thus, in due time, and to the enormous surprise -of everybody concerned, Kathleen came -into possession, not only of her coveted Stradivarius,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Malvolio still thinks the fall of Rupert Thorndyke -is to come!</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pfs135 p10 pb10">WANTED: A CHAPERON</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="WANTED_A_CHAPERON">WANTED: A CHAPERON</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span> -return, owned that the materials cost nothing -and were made up by a little woman “by the -day.”</p> - -<p>“All the same, you look solvent, prosperous, -up-to-date. What can woman ask more?” said -Kate.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Nobody understands living abroad better -than you do.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp55" id="facing288" style="max-width: 46.125em;"> - <img class="w100 p1" src="images/facing288.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“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.”</div> -</div> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Let us talk of what I have,” said Mrs. West, -with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Take her traveling,” went on Madame.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span></p> - -<p>“I should do nothing without being well paid -for it. With a full purse you can accomplish -wonders.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span> -this afternoon lest I should come in to find my -treasure installed here in permanence.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Very much disguised,” remarked Gwendolyn, -ruefully.</p> - -<p>“It is now late February. You could sail in -March by the Southern route to Genoa, and -spend the spring in Italy.”</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“Let me—let me have time to think,” she said -finally, with a sort of gasp.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>A paid conductor and chaperon! Out of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indentq">“O! bella Napoli!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O! dolce Napoli!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Her survey was not reassuring. “Oh! never, -never again!” she murmured audibly. It is only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ten—more, nearly eleven—years ago,” she -mused. “He wore his hair like the sweep of a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span> -mahogany banister, poor dear; but <em>that was</em> -a man.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>That evening a little note went to Mrs. Payne -authorizing her to find out for her friend some -one who wanted an unexceptionable chaperon.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span> -Women’s Needs” expanded with satisfaction -on hearing of her errand.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Had everything, Mrs. Payne?”</p> - -<p>“Measles and whooping-cough—and her first -love affair.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span></p> - -<p>“I believe you will find my clients unexceptionable,” -said the principal, who was not fond -of jesting upon serious subjects.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“It is our aim to intermediate between only -the most refined and cultivated principals,” replied -Mrs. Smith, with a high-toned sniff.</p> - -<p>“And it is understood that the matter is <em>strictly</em> -confidential.”</p> - -<p>“That, Madame, is the very foundation-stone -of our enterprise.”</p> - -<p>“Good morning, then. Perhaps, not to lose -time, you might write at once to Mr. Mordaunt.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“He is terribly business-like,” said Gwendolyn, -discontentedly. “But, dear me! the girl -<em>is</em> pretty.”</p> - -<p>“‘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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[300]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[301]</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>PART II</h3> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You—you have got your maid?” asked -Gwendolyn, peering about in search of that -natural protector.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[302]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“That truck” was an assortment of faded -flowers, bonbons, boxes, and baskets of fruit—with -railway reading enough to stock a stall.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[303]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[304]</span> -that during a day or two of the voyage she -lamented for him in silence.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[305]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The unmarried men among the passengers—including -a missionary going out to Asia Minor,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[306]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>At Gibraltar Miss Mordaunt said she was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[307]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When the handsome and well-born Marquis de -San Miniato followed them to Luzerne, and asked<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[308]</span> -Mrs. West for the hand of her charming charge -in marriage, Gwendolyn felt herself pulled up as -with too hard a curb.</p> - -<p>“Of course you will not consider him,” she -said, much more confused than was the heroine -of the hour.</p> - -<p>“I <em>was</em> 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.”</p> - -<p>“Cecily!”</p> - -<p>“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 <em>have</em> had a good time, haven’t -we?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“The others—all but one—asked <em>me</em> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[309]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>Gwendolyn had the tact to say nothing. In a -moment Cecily began again.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Atwell! It can’t be possible!” cried Gwendolyn, -“John Rufus Atwell?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that was his full name. Did you ever -know him?”</p> - -<p>“Once, long ago,” said Gwendolyn, in a maze -of astonishment.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[310]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Fear daughter’s intention to marry. Had better come -at once. Meet us Paris. Will watch faithfully till then.”</p></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_311"></a>[311]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I shall wait for you to go in to the second -breakfast, dear,” she said, affectionately.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“She has tangled herself in my heart-strings, -certainly. I could not bear her to think me -treacherous. But my first duty was to <em>him</em>.”</p> - -<p>As the hours passed she grew fidgety, rearranged -the ornaments, the flowers, the books, in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_312"></a>[312]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>He was treading on the heels of the garçon -who came up to announce him—in her presence -before she realized it.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Gwendolyn blushed deeply, and drew her hand -from his.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No matter, since I am here. But where is -she—my darling torment?”</p> - -<p>Gwendolyn explained.</p> - -<p>“Then sit down and let us learn each other all -over again,” said this taking-for-granted Senator.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_313"></a>[313]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“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.”</p></div> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_314"></a>[314]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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”?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk pb6" /> - -<div class="bboxy"> -<p class="noindent">PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY<br /> -AND SONS COMPANY AT THE<br /> -LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk p6" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="center bold">Transcriber’s Note</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The List of Illustrations at the beginning of the book was created by the -transcriber.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation such as “whale-bone”/“whalebone” -have been maintained.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -</div> - -<ol> -<li><a href="#tn156">Page 156</a>: “upon which the three Misses Bendict” changed to “upon which the three Misses Benedict”.</li> - -<li><a href="#tn201">Page 201</a>: “from what your mother writes, Lillian” changed to “from what your mother writes, Lilian”.</li> - -<li><a href="#tn234">Page 234</a>: “grumbling inwardly, as he saw Kathleeen” changed to “grumbling inwardly, as he saw Kathleen”.</li> - -</ol> -</div> - -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARCELLINI EMERALD WITH OTHER TALES***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 64242-h.htm or 64242-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/4/2/4/64242">http://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/2/4/64242</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>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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