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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-05-08 22:44:38 -0700 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-05-08 22:44:38 -0700 |
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diff --git a/78640-h/78640-h.htm b/78640-h/78640-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a229e2f --- /dev/null +++ b/78640-h/78640-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4957 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> + <title> + The opal | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .5em; +} + +hr { + width: 100%; + margin-top: .5em; + margin-bottom: .5em; + clear: both; +} + +/* for double hr use both; ebook compatible */ +hr.t { + width: 100%; + margin-top: .5em; + margin-bottom: 2px; + clear: both; +} +hr.b { + width: 100%; + margin-top: 2px; + margin-bottom: .5em; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%; margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td, +table.autotable th { padding: 0.25em; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +/* right-justify portion of line */ +span.inlinesig { + display:inline-block; + text-align:right; + white-space: nowrap; + float: right; + margin-right: 0em; +} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Transcriber's notes (includes pagebreak before) */ +.transnote {background-color: #EAFEEA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; + page-break-before: always; +} + +.right {text-align: right;} +.right5 {text-align: right; padding-right: 2em;} +.rightb {text-align: right; font-weight: bold;} + + +/* TOC */ +.toc-container { + display: flex; + justify-content: center; +} + + +/* faux-h2 for front matter */ +.front { + font-size: x-large; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +/* faux-h2 centered */ +.fh2 { + display: block; + font-size: x-large; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: left; +} + + +/* misc text formatting */ +.small {font-size: small;} +.xl {font-size: x-large;} + + +/* illustrations */ +.illowp15 {width: 15%; max-width: 7.5em;} +.illowp25 {width: 25%; max-width: 12.5em;} +.illowp30 {width: 30%; max-width: 15em;} +.illowp65 {width: 65%; max-width: 32em;} /* portrait image */ + + + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78640 ***</div> + + + +<p class="front">THE OPAL</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<figure class="figcenter illowp65"> + <img class="w100" src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="The Opal; From a painting by J. H. Gardner-Soper."> + <figcaption> + <p>THE OPAL<br> +<i>From a painting by J. H. Gardner-Soper.</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>THE OPAL</h1> + +<p class="front">A NOVEL</p></div> + +<br><br> +<figure class="figcenter illowp15"> + <img class="w100" src="images/riverside.jpg" alt="Riverside Press logo"> +</figure> + +<br><br> +<p class="center">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN AND<br> +COMPANY THE RIVERSIDE<br> +PRESS CAMBRIDGE 1905</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="small center">COPYRIGHT 1905 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY<br> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PUBLISHED FEBRUARY 1905</p></div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS"> + CONTENTS + </h2> +</div> + +<div class="toc-container"> +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">I</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#Page_1">DRAMATIS PERSONAE</a></td> + <td class="tdr">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">II</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#Page_9">MERELY PLAYERS</a></td> + <td class="tdr">9</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">III</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#Page_40">A THOUSAND WOMEN IN ONE</a></td> + <td class="tdr">40</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">IV</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#Page_63">ONE WOMAN IN A THOUSAND</a></td> + <td class="tdr">63</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">V</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#Page_84">A DIRECTOR OF DESTINIES</a></td> + <td class="tdr">84</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">VI</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#Page_103">A PUPPET IN TRAGEDY</a></td> + <td class="tdr">103</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">VII</td> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#Page_150">THE FULFILLING OF THE LAW</a></td> + <td class="tdr">150</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + + +<p class="front">THE OPAL</p> +</div> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I"> + CHAPTER I<br> DRAMATIS PERSONAE</h2> + + +<p>Mary Elton was a girl whom her +friends called unusual, and her +friends’ friends, peculiar. She was young +enough to be judged leniently by her elders +on the ground of her immaturity, and old +enough to be looked up to by her juniors +as a clever woman whose character was +past the formative period. An undisguised +interest in her own character frequently +laid her open to the charge of egotism, but +she had never been accused of conceit. A +sort of fundamental frankness, combined +with a remarkably clear vision, was the +basis of her nature. Seeing things without +disguise made it possible to speak of things +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>without reserve, and neither timidity nor +politeness ever tempted her to call black +white, or even gray, and a spade was given +no less definite a name when she found it +necessary to refer to that symbol of the +unmentionable.</p> + +<p>Men discovered in Mary Elton certain +masculine characteristics of mind and heart, +an almost grim sense of humor and a readiness +to see the man’s point of view, which, +paradoxically enough, made her the more +feminine, there being no quality regarded +as so essentially womanly as intelligent +sympathy for the superior male, and understanding +of his complexities.</p> + +<p>But, as Mary acknowledged with equal +openness to herself and to her friends, no +man had ever been in love with her. Many +had given her their warmest friendship, and +had confided their affairs of the heart to +her as to one of their own sex, but no one +had ever faintly intimated that marriage +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>could concern her in any more personal way +than as a subject of abstract discussion.</p> + +<p>Among her clear-sighted and warm-hearted +friendships there was none more +sincere than that which bound her with +mutual chains of comprehending sympathy +to Philip Morley. There had always been +good comradeship between them, their +temperaments being sufficiently unlike to +enable them to act and react upon each +other to their common advantage and stimulus. +He confided his small love affairs to +Mary, and she gave them either the sympathy +he craved or the scolding he deserved, +as circumstances seemed to demand.</p> + +<p>To outward view he was tall, with a suggestion +of latent power about him, which +was in singular contrast with the superficial +laziness of his manner. Mary used to tell +him that it was a mere toss-up of chances +whether he became a leader of men or a +follower of women. Certainly hints of both +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>tendencies lurked in his handsome features, +the strength lying in his firm mouth and +decided chin, the sentiment and love of +pleasure looking out from his blue eyes.</p> + +<p>One morning, after a lapse of time longer +than Philip usually allowed to pass without +having seen Mary, he found a bulky envelope +on his office desk, addressed in so +boldly and blatantly masculine a hand that +it instantly proclaimed the writer to be a +woman. He glanced at the pile of letters +it surmounted, with the constitutional indifference +that extended even to his morning +mail; then a slow smile brightened his +features into an expression of half-amused +pleasure.</p> + +<p>“Mary’s screeds generally deserve to be +read first,” he said to himself. “She always +insists that the length of her letters is in +inverse ratio to their importance, by which +token this must be a trifle of exceptional +airiness.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> + +<p>With a slit of his finger he liberated two +closely written sheets of letter-paper and +read as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Philip</span>,—I am sending cards +to the rabble (and notes to the elect) to +bid them come here “very informally”—whatever +that may mean—next +Wednesday afternoon, November twenty-seventh, +to meet Miss Edith Dudley. I am +perfectly aware that every one hates teas, +and I know that nothing less than a personal +appeal eight pages long would bring +you to one, but I do want you to come +and see this holiday novelty that I am +exhibiting for the first time in Boston. +“Who under the sun is Miss Dudley?” +I hear you inquire, “and why did I never +hear of her before?” Because, I reply +sententiously, like all Bostonians, your +knowledge of men and women is limited +to State Street and the Back Bay; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>this lovely creature, who is a sort of step-cousin-in-law +of mine, happens to be +known only in Europe and the southern +and western portions of this continent. +Listen, my children, and you shall hear +why she is what she is. Don’t fancy that +you are beginning a Balzac novel if I go +into her ancestry sufficiently to tell you +that her mother was French, her father +Kentuckian, her education as cosmopolitan +as her inheritances, and her beauty as +bewilderingly elusive as that of the opal +or the rainbow. Her mother died several +years ago, and by some strange inconsistency +of temperament her hot Southern +father must needs marry the cold Northern +cousin of my uncle. (Doesn’t that +sound Ollendorfian?) The alliance instantly +froze him to death; so this lovely +wonderful daughter was left to the mercy +and justice of her stepmother. They went +abroad together and stayed two years, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>now Edith has come to pay me a long +visit on the feeble strength of my relationship +to the second Mrs. Dudley. She +will be in Boston most of the winter, first +with me, and then with the Warners. +You are the only person to whom I have +given a word of preparation as to what to +expect; but you may pass on the information +to those whom it may concern. As +usual, my note has grown into a foreign +letter, the gist of which may be summed +up in the refrain, Come early and avoid +the rush! November 27th. One day +only!! Beauty and the Beast!!!</p> + +<p class="center">Always faithfully your friend,</p> +<p class="right5"><span class="smcap">Mary Elton</span> (the Beast).</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>“How exactly like Mary!” the young +man exclaimed out loud. “Her voice gets +into her letters in the most extraordinary +way, and makes her pen talk instead of +writing. Of course I shall have to go and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>meet this siren who has bewitched the +most clear-sighted of her sex;” and he +jotted down in his note-book the date of +one of the few “teas” he was not glad to +forget.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II"> + CHAPTER II<br> MERELY PLAYERS</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Philip Morley ascended the steps +of Mr. Elton’s house on the afternoon +of the “very informal” reception, at the +psychological moment between the hours +of four and six, when the first reluctant +black-coated figures began to give character +to the steadily flowing stream of +gayly dressed women. Having succeeded +in fighting his way to the door of the +drawing-room, the young man paused a +moment to nerve himself for the plunge +into a noise and heat that seemed almost +tangible. The sharp, shrill voices of women +buzzed in his ears like the trills of persecuting +insects, and high mirthless laughs +cut his nerves like little steel blades.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> + +<p>“This is not civilization, it is barbarism!” +Philip exclaimed to another timid +male explorer into the wilderness of +women. “Talk about giving the franchise +to any class of human beings who take +pleasure in assemblies of this sort! It’s preposterous! +Women may be very charming +individually, but collectively—O +Lord!”</p> + +<p>He looked helplessly into the room to +try and locate his hostess, who would be +sure to straighten him out into his customary +ease of body and mind with a grasp of +her friendly hand.</p> + +<p>“Why are the men so thick in that +corner?” he continued querulously. “Oh, +I see.”</p> + +<p>The crowd had thinned a little at the +entrance to the room, and between eager +faces and nodding heads, Philip Morley +caught sight of a girl standing beside Mary +Elton. Her beauty, her extraordinary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>quality, defied description or comparison. +To say that she was tall, graceful, dignified,—radiant +in coloring and expression,—would +have been to describe half a dozen +other good-looking women in the room. +She positively seemed to radiate light, and +to give a dazzling impression of eternal +youth and of the beauty that is in living, +moving things; not the cold perfection of +a statue, or any work of art, but the vitality +of the work of nature,—the sparkle +of running water, the changing wonder of +a landscape played upon by sun and cloud +and breeze. Her very dress seemed part +of her, and to a man’s ignorant eyes gave +a bewildering impression of misty gray, +toning into a delicate pink that in turn +melted into the color of pale heliotropes, +as it caught different rays of light. Her +own soft yet vivid coloring was opalescent +like her dress, for her hair was of the warm +brown that grows golden in the light, her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>eyes were so clear that they seemed to reflect +blue, green, and gray shadows, and +the delicate color in her cheek came and +went as she talked. Nor was her wonderful +beauty that of line and color only, for +intelligence, sympathy, and humor shone +from her speaking face. Assuredly Mary +Elton’s guest was possessed of the kind of +beauty one reads of in old-fashioned romantic +novels, but with an added touch of +indefinable modernity and subtle mystery. +In contrast, Mary Elton looked plainer +than usual,—which was saying much. She +was so far from good-looking that no one +but herself ever commented on it. Plainness +of feature was simply one of her attributes, +like height in a tower or strength +in a fortress, and invited no comment.</p> + +<p>She caught sight of Philip standing by +the door, and made a humorous face at +him, signifying her own aversion to the +hubbub around. Then she beckoned to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>him, pointed encouragingly at Edith Dudley, +as to a goal that was worth much +pushing and elbowing to attain. When +he was within arm’s length, she held out +her hand.</p> + +<p>“Quick, what do you think of her? +Isn’t she lovely? Isn’t she wonderful? +Shouldn’t you think I was the last person +in the world to get hold of such a drawing +card? Aren’t we splendid foils for each +other? Oughtn’t she to pay me to travel +about with her? Why don’t you say what +you think of her? You’re always so slow, +Philip!”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary, it’s you who are +fast,” he replied laughing. “I am by no +means slow to admire Miss Dudley. She +is certainly stunning, but I am not sure +that I want to meet any one so lovely. +She can’t fail to be a disappointment +with such a face as a handicap to her +brain.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> + +<p>“You just wait. She’s wonderful,” Mary +exclaimed triumphantly. “Stop, look, and +listen, as the railroad warnings say. Don’t +meet her for a little while, but just stand +on the outskirts, and watch her tact and +grace and cleverness. Oh, she’s wonderful!” +Mary repeated. Here Mary’s uncle +came up to give to Philip the official greetings +of a semi-host.</p> + +<p>Mr. Elton was a fair type of the average +business man. His mental horizon +seemed bounded by the wool in which he +dealt, but he was kindly in disposition, and +truly attached to the niece who had lived +with him since she was left an orphan at +twelve years of age. There was no intimacy +between them,—perhaps the difference +in their temperaments had helped to encourage +the girl’s introspection, and forced +her to find her best companionship in herself,—but +there was genuine affection, +even although Mr. Elton might be said to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>have cared for his niece with all his conscience, +rather than with all his heart.</p> + +<p>“Our young friend seems to be meeting +with a fair measure of success,” he +stated, with the precision that characterized +all his trite utterances. “It is not often +that one finds so good an intelligence combined +with so beautiful a face. I was really +surprised at the knowledge she showed of +the way in which a big business,—like +that of wool, for instance,—is conducted. +She seems to be well informed on many +subjects, without being superficial; a rare +quality nowadays.”</p> + +<p>Mary rescued Philip from the wearisome +task of feigning an interest in her +uncle’s dry and woolly comments, by sending +Mr. Elton off to do the polite to a lady +whose deaf smile was the index to her +infirmity. “There, Uncle Charles, do go +and scream at poor Miss Green. She won’t +hear a word you say, but she is touchingly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>grateful if one merely recites the alphabet +to her. Why <i>will</i> deaf people come to +afternoon teas, and why does every one +who isn’t deaf assume that every one else +is? I never heard such a cackling. The +parlor is turned into a barn-yard. Oh, +how do you do, Miss Milton?”</p> + +<p>Mary turned suddenly to greet a new +arrival, who bore the hall-mark of a charitable +spinster, from the neat little white +path that divided an expanse of smoothly +plastered hair, to the broad soles of her sensible +shoes. She was the scion of a family +which had many branches and was less conspicuous +for its manners than its customs.</p> + +<p>She proved her birthright by staring +across her hostess at Miss Dudley for a +moment before answering Mary’s greeting, +and then saying abruptly, “What an +extraordinary-looking young woman to be +a friend of yours! Who is she? Has she +relations in Boston?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> + +<p>“Nothing nearer than myself. But she’s +all right, Miss Milton. I shouldn’t have +asked you to meet her if she hadn’t +been,” Mary suavely declared, with an intentional +humor that missed fire. “You’ll +find she isn’t as frivolous as you think. +She has an extraordinary insight, and will +probably divine by intuition that you are +more interested in the poor than the prosperous, +and she will unquestionably give +you the latest wrinkle in philanthropy. +You just see. Come,” Mary continued, +dragging her elderly victim after her by +one end of her dateless mantilla. “Edith, +I want you to meet Miss Eliza Milton. This, +Miss Milton, is my friend—and cousin by +courtesy—Miss Dudley. Be acquainted, +as they say in the country.”</p> + +<p>Philip saw the girl turn from the young +men surrounding her, and speak to the +unfashionable aristocrat in a low rich tone +that fell soothingly on the ear among the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>sharp staccato waves of sound that filled +the room. The sympathy and kindly human +interest that beamed from the girl’s +face could not be the result of training +alone. Even her double-distilled inheritance +of Southern courtesy and French +grace could not explain a responsiveness +that had no touch of the professional +veneer that glazes eyes and lips into a +perfunctory assumption of interest. Miss +Milton had not been talking to the girl +two minutes before the conversation had +veered from the general to the particular, +and Edith Dudley was giving the charitable +spinster a little account of an experience +she had had among the poor in a +New York college settlement.</p> + +<p>“I am very much interested in sociology,” +Philip was astounded to hear the +young girl glibly declare, “and I’ve +been fortunate enough to have seen a +little of the practical workings of various +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>schemes for the regeneration of mankind.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milton drew herself up with pride +at representing the One Perfectly Organized +Body of Workers on Earth.</p> + +<p>“It is easy to dispose of a large subject +with superficial catch-words,” she +proclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, isn’t it?” Miss Dudley agreed +sympathetically. “Some personal experience, +some knowledge from the inside, +is necessary. I have had a little,—less +than I should like,—but I should be so +grateful to you, Miss Milton, if you would +put me in the way of taking some small +part in the special form of philanthropy +in which you are interested. Of course I +have already read and heard a good deal +about the Associated Charities here in +Boston.”</p> + +<p>“Naturally,” Miss Milton interposed.</p> + +<p>“I am immensely impressed by its aims +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>and accomplishments,” Miss Dudley continued. +“I wonder if I couldn’t do a little +visiting for you while I am in Boston.”</p> + +<p>“We are always glad of intelligent assistance,” +the Philanthropist guardedly +admitted.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about the intelligence,” +the girl said smilingly, “but I speak Italian +fairly well. I believe you always need +some additional visitors in the Italian +quarter, don’t you? I should be so glad +if you would let me practice my Italian +on some transplanted organ-grinders and +fruit-venders.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milton acquiesced, with a slightly +distrustful manner, in a suggestion that +seemed to her as surprising as if a butterfly +had suddenly offered to lead the strenuous +life of a bee. Her frankly expressed +astonishment was broken in upon by the +introduction of a clerical young man, +whose studiedly sympathetic smile seemed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>to preach the duty of cheerfulness to a +quite professional extent, and whose air +of worldly ease was the logical sequence +to his ministerial waistcoat.</p> + +<p>“Ah, this does make me feel at home!” +Miss Dudley exclaimed, with a cordial +grasp of the ineffective white hand extended +to meet hers. “I never expected +to see anything so anomalous as a clergyman +of the Church of England in Mary +Elton’s drawing-room. I haven’t dared to +breathe my sympathy for anything so +conservative as—as you, in this hot-bed, +no, cold-bed of radicalism.”</p> + +<p>“There are a few of us left, Miss Dudley, +a few of us left,” he replied, with the +easy reiteration of the obvious in which +his calling had perfected him. He grasped +an imaginary surplice with two delicate +fingers. “May I hope that you will persuade +Miss Elton to bring you to St. +Matthew’s next Sunday, and see for yourself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>that Unitarians and Christian Scientists +do not yet control all Boston,—not +quite all of this fair city?” he eloquently +preached.</p> + +<p>“Of course I’ll come, but my cousin +won’t come with me. I feel sure that she +secretly goes to some hall where Emerson +is the Deity worshiped, although she pretends +not to go anywhere. She is much +too unconventional to attend any church +that preaches legitimate doctrine, but I’ll +come alone.”</p> + +<p>The little clergyman beamed unctuously, +and expressed the belief that he should +draw fresh inspiration from the sight of +Miss Dudley in his congregation.</p> + +<p>“I really long to confess myself a miserable +sinner,” the girl went on, with the +blending of seriousness and lightness that +is the ambition and admiration of young +society clergymen. “These sincere, self-respecting +Bostonians refuse to ‘cringe to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>the Almighty,’ as Mary calls it. They think +on the whole they’re a pretty virtuous set +of people, but for my own part I never feel +so good as when I say I’m bad, so I’m +coming to confess with the other sinners +in your congregation next Sunday.”</p> + +<p>The young divine was reluctantly hurried +by, his impressionable heart stirred +by a remembered vision of a serious and +spiritual face that had contradicted the +lightness of the spoken words. By this time, +one of the former satellites that had revolved +about the new planet drifted again +into the orbit of her smile. His coldly critical +and clever face was stamped with the +lines of fastidious modernity.</p> + +<p>“What an anachronism is presented +by the sight of a parson at Miss Elton’s +reception!” he commented, smiling somewhat +sneeringly at the cordial shoulders +of the clergyman that were writhing, +with ostentatious sympathy, over an old +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>lady’s confessions of rheumatism. “I am +sure you agree with me, Miss Dudley, that +the Church in America to-day is merely +a picturesque ruin,—the only ruin in this +terribly new land,—that we value merely +for its traditions and associations. There +is no longer such a thing as living faith. +Occasionally we think we have found it +again, but when we turn the electric light +of modern science on its poor groping +shape, we discover only the ghost of something +that once lived ages ago.”</p> + +<p>Miss Dudley smiled with sad understanding. +“You are right, of course. But I +believe in ghosts, and that’s all right, isn’t +it, as long as I don’t mistake them for their +living counterparts? I know that faith is +dead,—I mean the real vital faith that +made martyrs of people,—but I like to +play it’s alive. I really care for the forms +of religion,—for its picturesqueness, its +traditions; and therefore I prefer the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>Catholic Church to the Protestant. I like +to recall my early associations with what +my mother taught me, by going to church +and getting into rather a slushy state of +virtuous emotion, but as for a real reasoning +belief”—</p> + +<p>She gave a little shrug,—the national +gesture of her mother’s race,—and suddenly +her eyes were veiled by a mist of +sadness. “Don’t let’s be serious at an afternoon +tea!” she exclaimed. “I should like +to talk to you about all kinds of things sometime, +Mr. Marston. I’m sure we should +agree about a great many of them. You +are cynical outside, and I am cynical inside. +I have to drug myself with all these +‘frivolous little anodynes that deaden suffering,’ +in order not to lose my grip on +life.” She signified the pleasure-seekers +around her with a wave of the large bouquet +of sweet peas that seemed part of her.</p> + +<p>Philip Morley, still an eye and ear witness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>to Miss Dudley’s variations, gave a +curious little grunt of mystification, not +untinged with contempt, but he drew +a little nearer to the enigma, to hear +what further contradictions she would +reveal.</p> + +<p>A young Harvard student lounged up +to Miss Dudley’s side, with overacted ease, +and continued a conversation that had evidently +been interrupted. “Then you will +really dance the cotillon with me next +Thursday night? You won’t forget?” he +asked, impaling her eyes with a gaze of +boyish admiration.</p> + +<p>“Forget?” she laughed, clasping her +hands with mock intensity. “I am not +likely to forget what I enjoy more than +anything in the world, dancing with a good +partner,—for I know you dance well; I +saw you last night.”</p> + +<p>“What flowers do you care for? What +color are you going to wear?” he asked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>with the blasé manner of an experienced +society man.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I care for all flowers; I shall +wear all colors,” she cried lightly; but +then added, “you will please me best, Mr. +Warren, by not sending me any flowers at +all. It is one of my very few principles, +not to let college men send me flowers. +There are so many things they must want +to get that will last so much longer. Please +don’t send me any; I really mean it. Come +and take me to walk some afternoon instead. +Show me Bunker Hill Monument, +and teach me some local history.”</p> + +<p>Her frank kindliness, just tinged with +coquetry, was what the boy most wanted. +“If you won’t let me give you flowers, you +might give me one,” he said, stretching +out his hand toward the variegated sweet +peas that lay in the bend of her arm. She +gave him a blossom, with a pretty little +foreign gesture. “There. Now we won’t +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>either of us forget our engagement for next +Thursday,” she said in her softly Southern +speech, and then turned with a radiant +smile to bid good-by to a gray-haired lady, +whose hand she held in both hers. “It has +been worth my coming to Boston to hear +what you have told me of my mother,” +she said gently, her eyes softening with +impulsive tears. “Each person who knew +her contributes something to my own +memory of her. It is like a mosaic,—my +thought of her,—all made up of little +stones of memory pieced together by different +hands. <i>Wasn’t</i> she beautiful, Mrs. +Warner? Wasn’t she like a creature of +another species beside the rest of the +world?”</p> + +<p>“She was, indeed, my dear, and you are +like her,” the lady replied gently.</p> + +<p>“It is so good of you to have asked me +to stay with you, before seeing me,” the +girl went on, “and still kinder now that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>you have seen me. I shall love to come +when Mary is tired of me.”</p> + +<p>“That means I must wait a long time,” +Mrs. Warner said, as she pressed her hand +for farewell.</p> + +<p>“Will you please take these flowers?” +the girl cried impulsively. “Sweet peas +were Mamma’s favorite flowers. They will +thank you better than I can,” and with the +grace of perfect unconsciousness, she put +the big bunch of fragrant blossoms into the +old lady’s hands.</p> + +<p>Philip Morley turned to Mary Elton, +who was vigorously denouncing afternoon +teas to an amused clump of her guests. +“Will you introduce me to Miss Dudley?” +he asked rather formally. “You know I +haven’t met her yet.”</p> + +<p>“You’re no better than an eavesdropper!” +she declared. Then, “You are sure +you want to meet her?” she asked earnestly, +looking at him with the boyish +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>straightforwardness that some men found +disconcerting.</p> + +<p>“Naturally. What am I here for except +to meet Miss Dudley from four to six?” +he expostulated. “From the droppings +that have fallen off the eaves into my ears +I gather that Miss Dudley is all things not +only to all men, but to all women, boys, +and clergymen as well. I don’t wonder +she enslaves every one, with her combination +of extraordinary beauty and flattering +sympathy with the point of view of +the person she happens to be talking to.”</p> + +<p>“But it isn’t that she’s nothing,” Mary +insisted, “she’s <i>everything</i>. She’s not a +chameleon that sits on a piece of blue +paper and turns to indigo,—she’s an +opal: she’s blue and red and green and +yellow, and good and bad and sweet +and sarcastic and religious and skeptical +and frivolous and serious! Come on and +be introduced.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span></p> + +<p>He followed her obediently, but Mary +had no time to mention his name, for Miss +Dudley met his look with one of recognition. +As Philip Morley came under the +direct personal fire of her compelling personality, +he felt the overwhelming rush of +admiring excitement that one feels in seeing +and hearing the swift flight of a sky-rocket +in one’s immediate vicinity. The +comparison flashed upon him in a moment. +She was like a wonderful firework. He +was constrained to admire, with quickened +pulses, the upward rush, the downward +flight, the shower of many-colored stars. +Would he later see the stick fall to the +earth?</p> + +<p>“You are going to be Mr. Morley,—isn’t +he, Mary?” the girl said, holding +out a frankly cordial hand. “You see I +have made Mary give me biographical +sketches of all her particular friends, and +her descriptions of you have been so vivid +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>that you might just as well have your +name scrawled over your face.”</p> + +<p>“I must plead guilty of being myself,” +Philip assented. “It would be quite impossible +to escape detection when Mary’s +vigorous language has been employed on +one’s behalf. You, also, Miss Dudley, have +been duly catalogued. Perhaps you do not +know that you have been called an opal.”</p> + +<p>“Opals crumble away to nothing; they +are short-lived and rather sensational,” the +girl answered. “Mary, there, is like a +pearl,—staunch and unchangeable.”</p> + +<p>“I’m a black pearl, then,” Mary replied +grimly. “They are fortunately very rare, +and so ugly that they are considered beautiful +by some. I myself would as soon +have a boot-button set in a ring as a black +pearl. If a thing is ugly inherently, its +cost cannot make it valuable to me.” A +note of bitterness was stinging her voice, +but she cast it out with her customary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>tone of light banter. “At least I am grateful +for not being called a moss-agate, +Edith. Isn’t it just like me to have +that for my so-called ‘birthday stone’? +Good-by,—there’s Miss Grantley. I’d +forgotten I’d asked her. She’s anti-all-existing +conditions. Anti-vivisectionist, anti-vaccinationist, +anti-imperialist, anti-everything. +But of course you’ll cater to all her +aspirations towards reform, Edith. Miss +Dudley is a born caterer,” Mary threw +back at Philip, as she left them, to resume +her irksome duties as hostess.</p> + +<p>“I suppose ‘caterer,’ in Mary’s sense, +and ‘opal’ mean much the same, don’t +they?” asked Philip. “It is most refreshing +to find anything so acquiescent as +either name implies.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I can be like an opal, +for it is my favorite stone, and my own +character is the kind I most detest,” Miss +Dudley said simply. “Mary Elton is the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>type of person for whom I have the most +genuine admiration. She is splendid. Her +strength and clear-sightedness and absolute +sincerity and certainty of conviction +are wonderful. If I were a man,—the +kind of man I’d like to be, not the kind I +should be,—I should strain every nerve +to win that woman, and if I failed, +why, I’d at least be thankful I hadn’t +succeeded in winning any one less unusual.”</p> + +<p>Miss Dudley spoke with such simple sincerity +that Philip Morley’s heart warmed +to her. “Mary is indeed refreshing, and +astonishingly satisfactory as a friend,” he +heartily agreed. “One misses neither men +nor women when one is with her. I confess +I am too selfish to wish that you were +a man, for if Mary married I should feel +that I had lost my best friend.”</p> + +<p>For an instant Edith Dudley looked +into the young man’s eyes with a glance +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>of eager scrutiny, but all she saw there +was half-indifferent amusement.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I exaggerate Mary’s remarkable +qualities,” she said quietly. “She is +cast for so much better and bigger a part +on the world’s stage than I, and acts it so +much better, that I suppose I think of her +with something of the same feeling with +which a performer in private theatricals +regards Bernhardt or Duse.”</p> + +<p>“I should have fancied you were a better +actress than Mary,” Philip commented.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am not speaking of consciously +adopting a rôle and playing it consistently,” +Miss Dudley explained. “I was +merely speaking—tritely enough—of +acting in the sense of living. ‘All the +world’s a stage,’ you know, ‘and all the +men and women merely players.’” She +spoke with the slightest touch of scorn +for his literalness. “At all events,” she +went on, “I thank whatever gods there +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>be that I am still capable of feeling enthusiasm +for people. You are, perhaps, +lazily thanking the same indefinite deities +for never being carried off your feet.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I am, if a strong enough person +comes along,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“Is it irrelevant to own myself the +weakest of my sex?” the girl asked with +a challenging smile.</p> + +<p>“Not unless it is impertinent in me to +hope I may have the opportunity of proving +you otherwise. I have been listening +to you talking to these people. You are +not weak; you are daring, as only a person +well armed can be.”</p> + +<p>For a second she looked at him beseechingly. +“I hope that you will sometime +understand Mary, and will never +understand me,” she said with strange seriousness.</p> + +<p>“I already do one, and I intend to do +the other,” he insisted, with his pleasant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>personal smile. “I am hoping to see you +often while you are in Boston, Miss Dudley. +I am almost like one of the family +in this house, you know.”</p> + +<p>The girl was prevented from answering +by the introduction of another young +collegian by her recent sophomoric conquest.</p> + +<p>“Where do you come from, Miss Dudley?” +was his correct opening, in the tone +of a player of twenty questions.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am like George Macdonald’s +baby,” she smiled, shaking off her serious +mood with a dismissing nod to Philip; “I +come ‘out of the Everywhere into the +Here!’”</p> + +<p>Philip turned away, his brows knitting +with mystification. He was curiously interested +by the dazzling inconsistencies +and overwhelming beauty of the strange +girl who had spoken to him of Mary Elton +with an inexplicable emotion. He must +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>see her again, and often. She was a riddle +worth pondering over.</p> + +<p>He stopped in his flight to the door to +say good-by to his hostess. There was in +her eyes a strange look, almost of physical +suffering, that he had noticed more than +once lately, and her expressive ugliness +seemed more than usually pathetic under +its veil of humor.</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you think of her?” +she said, with strangely vibrating intensity.</p> + +<p>Her small eyes seemed to swim in +unshed tears for a moment, and she bit +her under lip viciously in self-scorn as she +waited for his answer. He looked over +her head, and for a moment did not reply.</p> + +<p>Since speaking to the beautiful Miss +Dudley, since her eyes had looked into his,—not +boldly, not flirtatiously, but with a +special intimacy and understanding,—Philip +had felt almost as though he were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>under a hypnotic influence. Even to Mary +he could not reply seriously, as to what he +thought of her friend, for, if he spoke truthfully, +his sentiments would sound exaggerated; +so he spoke with exaggeration, and +trusted that his words had the ring of +truth.</p> + +<p>“My dear Mary,” he said, laughing as +he shook her hand, “she is a thousand +women in one; but you are what is far +more satisfactory, one woman in a thousand.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III"> + CHAPTER III<br> A THOUSAND WOMEN IN ONE + </h2> +</div> + + +<p>Philip Morley’s imagination was not +in the habit of being appealed to by +individuals, so often as his mind and heart. +But that he had plenty of imagination, +waiting for the human touch, was proved +by its response to all that was beautiful in +literature, music, and the other arts. Perhaps +the fault lay in an absence of the kindred +quality in most of the people of his +intimate acquaintance, for his particular +circle was Bostonian in the narrowest limitations, +as well as the broadest boundaries, +of that indefinable term, and imagination +was not the salient quality possessed by the +inhabitants of his world.</p> + +<p>During his first glimpse of Edith Dudley, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>she had warmed his imagination, and after +his second and third interviews she had +fairly set it on fire. Her beauty changed +but never decreased, and her sympathetic +nature, with its wonderful responsiveness +to each mood of her companion, was rendered +the more fascinating to Philip by +an inexplicable drawing back of her real +self into its shell, when he probed for a +deeper knowledge.</p> + +<p>He had formed the habit of dropping in +for a frequent cup of tea at the Eltons’, +and though Mary at first made a congenial +third in the conversations with her two +friends, she gradually made excuses either +for coming home late or going upstairs to +rest.</p> + +<p>Repose had not, until recently, figured +on Mary Elton’s daily programme, but she +had looked ill all through the autumn, and +though she resented any inquiries, and +snubbed all attempts to discover her malady, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>it was evident that physically she was +not herself. She begged Philip to take her +place in showing her guest the sights of +Boston, and thus it happened that he became +the envy of all his friends, by his +constant attendance at the side of the beautiful +girl who not only trod with him the +conventional paths of the Back Bay, but +explored the remoter ways of more unfashionable +quarters.</p> + +<p>There were soon plenty of other men +who talked with her and walked with her, +who danced with her and flirted with her. +She began to identify herself with the life +of the people around her, and to interest +herself in whatever most absorbed her new +friends.</p> + +<p>She took an active part in various +church clubs and organizations, under the +guidance of her clerical conquest; she delighted +her collegiate admirers by going +with them to theatres and variety shows,—displaying +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>all the unsophisticated enthusiasm +of a child,—and she converted +Miss Milton to a belief in the sincerity of +butterflies by keeping a weekly appointment +with five poor families in the North +End. But in spite of these side-tracks for +her interests and energies, it soon became +evident to all that Philip Morley had +appropriated the largest share of her time +and thoughts for himself.</p> + +<p>Between the girl and Philip, Mary Elton +was a frequent and absorbing subject of +conversation, and whenever she was mentioned, +Philip received the same impression +of repressed feeling in his companion’s +voice and manner.</p> + +<p>“I have never felt about any one as I +feel about her,” Edith said to him one +day. “You can’t understand what I mean. +She knows me thoroughly, and when one’s +character is very weak, and yet one is +loved by a person of strength,—of one’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>own sex,—it somehow gives one hope to +keep up the fight.”</p> + +<p>This interesting stage of unformulated +sentiments between Edith Dudley and +Philip Morley was broken in upon by the +unexpected arrival in Boston of an old +friend of Edith’s from Baltimore,—a man +whose manners soon made it evident to +shrewd observers that he was a rejected +lover, as well as an accepted friend. His +appearance suggested the villain in a +modern melodrama, and one almost expected +to hear gallery hisses arise from +protesting Philistines when he appeared. +He was dark, handsome, scrupulously polite, +suspiciously unvillainous.</p> + +<p>But from the moment Grant Lorimer +appeared on the scene, Edith Dudley +seemed to lose her poise and happy ease +of manner. It was as if he exerted an +influence which she could not resist, yet +to which she did not wish to yield herself. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>Mary at once christened him Dr. Fell, for +obvious reasons, and he seemed to justify +the title if not the name, for he had seen +her only once for a few moments, when he +said to Edith, “Your friend Miss Elton is +a very sick woman. I don’t mean nervous +prostration and that sort of thing, but +something really vital. I’ve been in hospitals. +I know the signs.” Edith gave a +cry of real pain.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t say so! You don’t know +what it would mean to me,” was her first +selfish word. “It would be like taking a +crutch away from a feeble old woman, to +snatch Mary out of my life. You know +what I am, Grant; you and she alone in +the world understand my weakness.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and we both love you,” he stated +firmly.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t say so,” she shuddered.</p> + +<p>A few days after this the two girls were +in Mary’s room one morning, engaged in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>various jobs of leisurely domesticity, such +as mending stockings, polishing finger +nails, and running ribbons into sundry +lace-trimmed garments. The conditions +seemed to invite confidence, and Mary +accepted the invitation by saying suddenly, +“Edith, forgive my impertinence, +put it down to my being physically upset, +if you wish—but which do you mean +to marry, Grant Lorimer or Philip Morley?”</p> + +<p>The girl flushed. “And must I marry +one?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I think you will have to. You see I +know you.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do you care for me?” +Edith asked impulsively. “Why do you, +who are all strength and conviction, care +for a blank like me?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” Mary confessed. “I +suppose it’s because you’re so extraordinarily +pretty; and then you’re clever, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>too, and most good-looking women are +fools.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not a fool,” Edith acknowledged, +“but then I’m not anything.”</p> + +<p>“I know it, and it’s really refreshing +in these over-strenuous days to find some +one with no character at all. Excuse my +frankness,—I love you just the same, +Edith; that’s the funny part of it,—but +it has only lately begun to dawn on me +that you really might be said not to exist +at all, unless there is some one with you +to bring out some response, and then you +are vivid as a rainbow. You are like that +hero in Henry James’s story,—do you +remember? They suddenly found that he +simply melted into thin air, unless there +was some other intelligence in the room +to play upon his.”</p> + +<p>Edith’s eyes grew blank and expressionless. +“Yes, I am like that,” she said in a +dull monotone. “I have been brought up +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>from the cradle to produce an effect. My +mother and my father bent all their efforts +to make me into what they wished me to +become. All my natural passions were +curbed, all my impulses checked. I was +not created by God, like other people,—I +was manufactured by my parents. I am +like one of those toys labeled ‘made in +Germany.’”</p> + +<p>“But it takes a long time to find you +out,” Mary protested. “You’re a wonderfully +good imitation of a human being. +You don’t seem a bit mechanical.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I have been well educated,” Edith +acknowledged, dispassionately. “When I +am with people, I do not merely reflect +their ideas, I can furnish others in the +same line, only not in opposition. I have +some intelligence, but I have no character, +no beliefs, no convictions.”</p> + +<p>“It is very strange,” Mary mused. “Are +you happy?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span></p> + +<p>“Happy? No, I don’t think so, nor +unhappy. I like to be with you. You +have so much character and force that it +is almost infectious. But I like any one +I am with. If a strong will is brought to +bear on mine, it can control me utterly. +I am not bad by nature, any more than I +am good. I am simply what the other person +wants me to be. It is my misfortune, +Mary; not my fault, but my curse—the +curse of my inheritance, my bringing up. +I am not deliberately a turncoat, a caterer, +as you called me once to Mr. Morley. I +am simply a cipher, waiting for a definite +figure to stand in front of me, and give +me meaning.” The girl was pathetic in +her unavailing self-knowledge.</p> + +<p>“You would interest the psychologists,” +Mary said. “You are a living example of +the power of suggestion.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Edith continued earnestly, “I +seem to have no Ego. There are hundreds +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>of different individualities shut up inside +me, waiting to pop out as they are wanted, +yet none of them is <i>me</i>,—there is no real +<i>me</i>. If I am suddenly asked, by a person I +have never seen, what I think on a certain +subject, I can’t answer till I feel what the +other person’s point of view is, and then I +express it as well as I can.”</p> + +<p>“You’re like a prism, waiting for the +sun of outside personality to shine on +you and scatter your colors. Well, I go +back to my first question,” Mary insisted; +“which of them do you intend +to marry?”</p> + +<p>“How can you ask? I suppose whichever +has the stronger will,—unless some +outside influence or event is stronger +than either,” the girl confessed hopelessly. +“Mary, I tried—I mean I tried to try—not +to let Philip Morley fall in love with +me. But I couldn’t make the effort. I +hoped that you would. You and he should +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>have belonged to each other,—but you +threw us together. I was utterly powerless +and weak,—he is attracted by a +pretty face and by a character that he +can mould and influence. Mary, why did +you not keep him for yourself? It would +have been better for all.”</p> + +<p>Mary rose to her feet and stamped. +“<i>Me?</i> What are you thinking of, Edith +Dudley? Any man—even the most sensible +man—would rather marry a pretty +fool than an ugly and embittered jade +like me. Not that you are a fool, you +poor dear lovely nonentity, you! You are +as clever and intelligent as you are fascinating; +and I truly believe that you—a +non-existent being almost—will bring +more happiness to a self-reliant man like +Philip than any of the strong-minded +women he might marry. The whole question +comes down to one of love. He loves +you; he does not love—us.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, why doesn’t he <i>feel</i> what you +are, Mary!” her friend exclaimed. But +this was not a subject on which Mary +cared to expand, although she always rose +to the bait of her own character as a subject +for discussion.</p> + +<p>“I am likable, but not at all lovable,” +she explained, with her relentless self-analysis. +“There is no charm or illusion +about me. Besides, look at my face!”</p> + +<p>Edith Dudley did look at her friend’s +small green eyes, indefinite hair and complexion, +and too definite nose and mouth; +but, with her never-failing desire to say +the kindly thing, replied, “Some day +some one will care tremendously for you. +All men don’t fall in love with wax dolls. +Besides, you are”—</p> + +<p>“Now, my dear Edith, don’t tell me +that I am interesting-looking, or have a +sweet face! That is always the final insult +of beauty to ugliness. I know perfectly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>well that I am extremely plain. +I am not in the least self-deceived.”</p> + +<p>“But there are so many more attractive +qualities than mere flesh and blood +good looks,” the beauty tritely suggested.</p> + +<p>“Are there? Well, I would give every +virtue I possess in exchange for that mere +physical beauty you carry so lightly,” +Mary exclaimed, with a bitter little laugh. +“People who are good-looking and charming +ought to find it easy to be amiable and +sweet. They are born in harmony with +the world. Every one is predisposed in +their favor from the start, while we ugly +people can hope to call forth no more +flattering sentiment than a half-contemptuous +pity.”</p> + +<p>“What extreme statements you do +make, Mary!” interposed Edith Dudley. +“I don’t know any one who has more +friends than you. What do they care +whether you have a Grecian nose or not?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p> + +<p>“They don’t care,—that’s the pity of +it,—and they think I don’t care either. +By some strange system of reasoning they +imagine that because my hair is straight +and thin I must find it easy to tell the +truth; and they fondly believe that because +my mouth is large, I must enjoy +visiting in the slums. People associate +certain physical attributes with certain +mental qualities; but all I can say is, that +in my own case my character and my +features are in constant warfare.”</p> + +<p>Edith, having no comforting rejoinder +ready, merely looked distressed, and Mary +continued:—</p> + +<p>“Of course I know that Charity, with +a very big C, is the generally accepted +refuge of the plain,—and I am expected +to enjoy philanthropy more than frivolity, +and to prefer committee meetings to dancing +parties,—but the truth is, my soul +or spirit or whatever you choose to call +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>the thing that makes me <i>me</i>, and not +somebody else, is not ugly at all. It +enjoys the pleasant and prosperous side +of life; it would like to have admiration +and love affairs and all the agreeable +things that you attractive people are born +to as your natural inheritance. But fortunately +I have a saving leaven of common +sense and humor, which prevent my +reaching out my skinny arms to grasp +at blessings that are not meant for me. +Sooner or later, I suppose, I must accept +my inevitable destiny of philanthropist, +but incidentally I shall turn into an embittered, +caustic old maid, unless an early +death cuts me down in my prime. Then, +my dear, you would find that I had given +promise of being ‘a noble woman.’ Premature +death is the only artistic end for +souls and faces that are uncongenially +yoked together.”</p> + +<p>Mary had worked herself into the state +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>of rebellion that always followed any reference +to her personal appearance.</p> + +<p>“Do let’s change the subject,” she said, +abruptly. “Let’s talk about you again. +One thing I don’t understand is why you +haven’t succumbed before this, and married +some of the men who must have been +crazy to get you. If you are a mere pipe +for fortune’s finger to touch what stop she +pleases, why haven’t you yielded to the +persuasions of some of your suitors?”</p> + +<p>“Because,” Edith explained with simple +straightforwardness, “there has always +been a stronger will brought to bear on +me, before I could yield. My father was +very ambitious for me, and he was a man +of intense feelings. He always took me +away before things reached a climax, and +then some other man would come along, +and he would feel more strongly than the +last; and so it went, my father’s will controlling +me more completely than that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>of any lover. Besides,” she explained ingenuously, +“Grant Lorimer is the only one +that knows I have no character. The +others all thought me very strong; but +they were mostly foreigners, and abroad, +you know, the parents have so much more +control over a girl. Mary,” she cried suddenly, +“I am really afraid of Grant! +Sooner or later he vows I must be his, +and if that is to be, it’s better sooner +than later, for later I may be married to +some one else.”</p> + +<p>“Have you no will at all?” exclaimed +Mary, passionately and with a touch of +scorn.</p> + +<p>“Absolutely none,” Edith acknowledged +sadly; “only the will to acquiesce in the +strongest influence that touches me. My +one safety from Grant Lorimer is to have +Philip Morley show more strength of will, +and make me marry him, yet I know I +shouldn’t make him happy long. I can’t +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>love any one, Mary. I feel everything a +little, but nothing much. I can’t even cry, +though I can shed tears. I would give all +my good looks, that you admire so unduly, +to be capable of feeling as strongly about +<i>anything</i> as you do about—your nose, +for instance.”</p> + +<p>“Well, there seems to be no satisfying +us, does there?” Mary commented with a +short, cynical laugh. “My only hope is +that I shan’t live to see the people I care +most for—myself among them, of course—made +unhappy. I can’t help feeling that +if you married Philip Morley, the strength +of his love would create a soul and heart +in you, and if you once had the spirit of +life and feeling breathed into you, you +would be the most perfect wife a man +could dream of possessing.”</p> + +<p>Mary closed her eyes a moment, and a +spasm of pain passed over her face. +“Heaven keep me from ever witnessing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>that happiness!” she groaned, too indistinctly +for Edith to hear the words. Suddenly +her tone changed abruptly, and she +straightened herself up. “Edith, I may +as well tell you that I’ve got something +pretty serious the matter with me. I’ve +suspected it for some time, but I only found +out yesterday.”</p> + +<p>Edith gave a sharp “Oh!” of sympathy. +“Tell me, dear,” she said softly.</p> + +<p>“No, that’s just what I don’t mean to +do,—at any rate not yet. I do hate this +modern fashion of having one’s insides the +subject of general conversation. It positively +makes me blush, when I stop to +think how much I know about the organs +of people with whom I am scarcely on bowing +terms. I did hope I could escape this +fad of being operated on; it’s worse than +bridge whist.”</p> + +<p>That Mary was not in a mood for sympathy +was very evident, and her friend’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>genius for tact led her to do the right thing +in replying, “You may trust me, Mary, to +say nothing about your illness to any one +till you wish me to, and you’ll please me +immensely by letting me do anything I can +to make the next few weeks easier.” This +unemotional little speech was followed by +a matter-of-fact kiss deposited on Mary’s +sallow cheek, after which Edith obeyed her +friend’s unspoken wish, and left her alone.</p> + +<p>During the week that followed this conversation, +Grant Lorimer’s attentions to +Edith redoubled in violence. It was unfortunate +that Philip Morley should have +selected this period of emotional storm and +stress to declare his love and humbly ask +for its reward. Edith Dudley’s will was +temporarily dominated and controlled by +that of her Southern lover, and to Philip’s +pleadings she could only dumbly shake her +head, and whisper painfully, “I can’t, I +can’t.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + +<p>What she would have liked to say was, +“Wait a week till Grant Lorimer goes +away, as he has to do for a time, and then +try again;” but instead of that her refusal +had the sound of finality to Philip’s inexperienced +ears.</p> + +<p>The combination of Philip’s strong and +genuine love, and Mary’s strong and genuine +hate of Grant Lorimer, availed to +keep the girl from actually yielding to the +persuasions of the man who knew her weakness; +but though the combined pressure of +wills was sufficient to prevent her accepting +one lover, it was not sufficient to +keep her from refusing the other. Thus an +equal balance was temporarily maintained.</p> + +<p>At this crisis in her love affairs Edith +was invited to go with a party to the White +Mountains for a week, and though she regretted +leaving Mary in her poor state of +health, the will of the invalid was so much +stronger than hers, that she found herself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>constrained to accept. Mary had grasped +the situation pretty correctly, and she +rightly guessed that the best thing for all +was her guest’s absence for a time. Fortunately +Grant Lorimer’s mother was ill +enough to demand his presence in Baltimore, +and home he was obliged to go, with +his campaign of conquest unaccomplished.</p> + +<p>Left to herself, Mary breathed a sigh of +stoicism rather than resignation, gave up +her fight with appearances, and acknowledged +herself to be really ill.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV"> + CHAPTER IV<br> ONE WOMAN IN A THOUSAND</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Mary Elton lay on the couch in +her room, thinking of the last words +the doctor had said. He had been perfectly +honest with her, partly because she +was morally strong and desired absolute +frankness, partly because there was no +one else to whom he could speak, except +her self-absorbed uncle, and Mary had +taken charge of her own case from the +first, and sworn the doctor to secrecy.</p> + +<p>The next day she was to be taken to the +hospital, and there an operation was to be +performed, which would be a matter of life +or death,—probably of death. It was her +only chance of life, but it was one chance +out of a hundred. This she had made the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>doctor tell her, and this was the thought +she faced alone, lying in the winter twilight, +her mood well suited to the season +and the hour that most suggest death.</p> + +<p>Mary had prepared herself for the news +that the chances were against her,—had +expected and had almost hoped for it. +Without being morbid in temperament, +she had a deep strain of melancholy in her +nature, and though she possessed rather +a spasmodic fund of animal spirits and a +keen power of enjoyment, she was no lover +of life, in the deepest sense. She feared +what she herself might become, and dread +of her future too frequently poisoned her +enjoyment of the present.</p> + +<p>She lay silent in the dusk for an hour, +thinking, thinking, screwing her courage +to the sticking-place in a decision she had +just formed. She rang the bell, which +was close to the head of her couch, and, +when the maid came, Mary asked to have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>the curtains drawn and the gas lighted. +“And, Jennie,” she added, as the girl was +about to leave the room, “if Mr. Morley +comes to inquire after me to-night, I wish +to see him. You may ask him to come up +here.”</p> + +<p>“Up to your room, Miss?” queried the +girl, in dignified surprise.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded Miss Elton, shortly, +“and when my uncle comes in I should +like to speak to him.”</p> + +<p>That afternoon the uncle and niece had +a long talk together; and after the interview +was over, Mr. Elton’s voice was +husky with unaccustomed emotion. Not +all the wool in the market could soften +the blow that his brother’s only child, and +his own companion of so many years, +might leave him forever.</p> + +<p>Mary had said as little as she could +about the probable failure of the operation, +but a few plans had to be made, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>her uncle had been astonished at the coolness +and self-control with which she had +spoken of her own death. He thought she +seemed much older than twenty-five.</p> + +<p>As Mr. Elton went out of the room, she +called after him, “By the way, if Philip +Morley comes to ask after me to-night, I +am going to see him; so don’t be surprised +if you find him making himself at +home to the extent of coming upstairs.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, my dear; I know you and +Philip are great friends. It is quite natural +that you should want to say good-by +to him. I suppose you may be away from +us a fortnight or more.”</p> + +<p>“Probably more, the doctor thinks,” +Mary replied, laughing; “but I want to +see Philip in any case.”</p> + +<p>That evening Mary looked more animated +and stronger than she had for days. +A faint color had brightened her sallow +cheeks, and excitement burned in her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>eyes. When a knock came at her door, +and Philip Morley tiptoed in, he uttered +an exclamation of pleasure at seeing her +look so well. He drew a chair up beside +her sofa, and extended his long legs with +a sigh of comfort.</p> + +<p>“We’ll be having you about again in +a week,” he said, with his sympathetic +smile. “I’ve missed our friendly disputes +awfully. Since you’ve been ill, I can’t +get any one else to fight with me, and +it kills all ambition when one isn’t opposed; +so you must hurry and get well.”</p> + +<p>Mary pulled with nervous fingers at the +fringe of the shawl that covered her.</p> + +<p>“Philip, it seems absurd, but I’m not +going to get well. You’ll have to find +some one else to fight with you.”</p> + +<p>The young man started, and looked +at her quickly. “What do you mean, +Mary?” he cried. “Don’t joke about +such things.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m not joking. I am going to the +hospital to-morrow, where the surgeons +will do what they can to save my life; but +they say there is very little chance of my +recovery. I <i>know</i> that I shan’t live, and +that is why I wanted to see you to-night. +<i>Don’t, don’t</i> look like that,—as if you +cared,—or I shall cry; and I don’t want +to be a baby.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him piteously, but would +not let him speak.</p> + +<p>“There is something I want to tell you, +Philip. No, I don’t <i>want</i> to tell it to you, +but I want you to know it before I die. +Doesn’t it seem ridiculous for me to talk +of dying! But I’m not going to try to +harrow your feelings like that horrid little +May Queen, though I confess the dramatic +side of the situation does appeal to my imagination, +and I am secretly longing for a +band to strike up some dirge outside.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you’re just trying to frighten +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>me,” said Philip. “If you really thought +you were going to die, you wouldn’t +joke about it like this.”</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t I? Well, I always said you +didn’t know me. Never mind. It certainly +would be just like me to live, as an anticlimax, +after getting off my last speeches—but +for once, I really think I shall do +the right thing.”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t be the right thing, Mary; +don’t talk so. I <i>hate</i> to hear you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is the right thing, Philip, I’m +perfectly sure of it. Now don’t keep interrupting +me. I want to talk, as usual, and +you are just here as audience. Now listen. +I am perfectly serious when I say that the +best thing I can do is to die. If I lived, I +should become more and more hard and +snappish and unreconciled to my lot every +year. Handsome people say it is easy for +ugly ones to be good because they have no +temptations, but I know that it is a thousand +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>times harder to keep your temper +sweet, and your spirit unruffled, with eyes +and nose and mouth like mine, than—like +yours, for instance. There is the first compliment +I’ve ever paid you.”</p> + +<p>Philip made a futile attempt to interrupt +her flow of words, but she frowned +him into silence and continued, “The +trouble is, I am not good enough to be +ugly. If I lived, I should have to turn into +a woman with a mission,—a temperance +lecturer or an anti-vivisectionist or something; +and though I should look the part, +I couldn’t act it. But if I die comparatively +young, my bad qualities won’t have +time to mature (or rather to decay), and +perhaps half a dozen people will be able to +squeeze out a few perfunctory tears at my +funeral.”</p> + +<p>Through the veil of her levity, Philip +could detect grim Truth looking him in +the face, and his eyes fell before hers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> + +<p>“You’re only joking, of course,” he +maintained insincerely.</p> + +<p>“No, no. I am altogether serious now, +Philip. I can’t joke about it any more. +Promise to feel badly about me for a little +while,” Mary cried, with sudden wistfulness.</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t be for a little while only, +Mary,” the young man said, laying his +hand on hers. “It would make a difference +to me all through my life. But, Mary, this +won’t happen. You’re morbid and unnatural +to-night. You have the making of one +of the finest women in the world. You +know I’ve always said so, and you must +live to acknowledge that I was right. Besides, +I can’t possibly get on without you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, you can; yes, you can!” she +moaned, dropping the mock-heroic tone +she had assumed at first. “Listen, Philip, +I am going to tell you something which +proves me to be unfeminine, unwomanly, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>and altogether shameless, but when I’m +dead perhaps you’ll be glad to remember. +Now don’t look at me, Philip, or I can’t +say what I want to. Let me look at your +nice straight profile, and then perhaps I +can talk.”</p> + +<p>She laughed in her old way, and made +him turn his face toward the fire.</p> + +<p>“Now don’t move, don’t speak,” she +said, “till I have finished, and then I can +tell whether you think me altogether contemptible. +Philip,” she continued, with a +queer catch in her voice, “I have loved +you for two years! There, I’ve said it, +I’ve said it,” she exclaimed, wildly. “No, +don’t try to speak, don’t look at me. Now +you know whether I am going to die or +not. Do you think wild horses would drag +such a confession from me if I didn’t <i>know</i> +I was speaking from the edge of the +grave?”</p> + +<p>Philip had instinctively turned to look +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>at her with bewilderment in his eyes, but +if he felt doubts of her seriousness or of +her sanity, they were driven away by the +sight of her earnest and intense face. He +gave a short, sudden groan, and dropped +his forehead into his hand.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t feel too badly about +this,” she went on with calmness. “I +know that you are as much in love with +Edith Dudley as you can be with any one. +It is because I know of your love for her, +that I am able to talk to you like this. +She may have refused you once; I suspect +that she has, but that’s only because that +wretched Dr. Fell came along and hypnotized +her. If you love her enough, she +will care for you in time, and you will be +happy, but—oh, Philip, she will not love +you as <i>I</i> have loved you; she will not +make you happier than <i>I</i> could have made +you, if I had been beautiful and graceful +and gentle and sweet as she is!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> + +<p>There was a ring of something that had +never been heard in Mary’s voice before, +as she gave herself up to the bitterness of +longing and regret that filled her heart.</p> + +<p>“People talk of the power of affection +to work changes in character,” she continued +more quietly, “and that is another +reason why I have chosen to tell you of +my love. Philip, I don’t know whether I +love you because I believe in you, or believe +in you because I love you. My love +and my belief are all tangled up together, +so that I can’t tell which is cause and +which is effect. You could be anything +you want to be,—but I am so afraid +you won’t want! Oh, I do wish that my +love could be some little incentive to +make you do and be all that you might +if you only would! It seems as if it ought +to be of <i>some</i> value,—a love like mine. +There ought to be <i>some</i> result from such +a strong emotion. It would be so ridiculously +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>easy for me to die, or live, or anything, +if only your happiness, and success +in the highest sense, could result from it! +Of course it isn’t easy for me to say all +this, though I seem to have got wound +up to it somehow. I suppose I am fearfully +lacking in a proper modesty of sex,—but +this is my death-bed (figuratively +speaking), and after all we are just two +human souls, aren’t we?”</p> + +<p>“You are the sincerest, truest woman +in the world!” cried Philip, turning towards +her and seizing both her hands. +“What does the purely conventional modesty +you feel you have offended against +matter, in comparison with a courage like +yours?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear! If only my friends could +have heard me making an unprovoked +declaration of love!” cried Mary, laughing, +with a sudden instinct of incongruous +amusement. “They all think I’m a perfect +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>old cynic, with no germ of romance +or sentiment about me. Well, that’s what +I should have grown to be, if I had lived. +You see I already speak of myself in the +past tense. Be thankful, Philip, that I +have escaped the fate of becoming an unloved, +unloving old woman, with bitterness +and regret in her heart. You have +shown me what life must be to people who +have love. It’s the only permanent possession. +But if I had to choose between +the two, I would rather feel love than inspire +it,—and this isn’t sour grapes +either. Of course the perfect thing has to +be reciprocal. And now about you, Philip. +I am sure that Edith will come to care +about you some day; but when you’re +happy and prosperous, don’t forget that +you must be something more, that you +are worth something better, that you owe +it to yourself, and to Edith,—and to me. +And now there is just one more thing that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>I want to say. If I <i>should</i> live,—I <i>can’t</i> +and I <i>shan’t</i>, but if I <i>should</i>,—you must +let the memory of all that I have said be +absolutely blotted out. I shall have killed +our friendship to-night. However, all this +is nothing, because I know that I shan’t +live, and on the whole I’m not sorry. +Please tell me honestly whether you despise +me for my weakness, or whether”—</p> + +<p>“Despise you, Mary!” cried Philip. +“I can’t possibly tell you what your brave, +true words have meant to me.” His voice +was choked with mingled emotion and embarrassment. +“What you have said has +meant more to me than anything else ever +can. I feel somehow full of humility, and +yet full of pride. What have I been or +done, to win the love of a woman like you? +Where have my senses been, not to give +you some better return than my best +friendship for a love like yours!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, my dear Philip,” said Mary, half +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>laughing and half crying, “you <i>couldn’t</i> +have loved me, no matter how hard you +tried. No man could. You see I am so +dreadfully ugly. I should hate myself if +I were a man,—in fact, I do as it is.”</p> + +<p>“You’re perfectly absurd about your +looks, Mary. Why do you persist in exaggerating +the importance of beauty? +You have been a constant delight and +refreshment to every one you know. As +for me, I don’t believe I amount to much +anyway; but if I ever turn out anything +at all, it will be because of what you have +been brave and honest enough to tell me +to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, it won’t,” said Mary, smiling +and shaking her head. “If you do turn +out to be anything more than a successful +business man (which I sometimes doubt), +it will be because of the love of a much +sweeter and better woman than I. You +see this humility on my part is really my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>most alarming symptom, and must mean +approaching death.”</p> + +<p>She was her old self again for the moment, +half mocking and half sad.</p> + +<p>“Mary,” said Philip suddenly, “I don’t +believe I shall ever <i>like</i> any one half so +much as I do you. Love is different; it is +outside our control, I suppose, but liking +is somehow founded on fact,—it’s more +deliberate.”</p> + +<p>“Are you trying to make out that +friendship is more flattering than love?” +Mary interrupted. “Perhaps you’re +right. I dare say it’s more natural that +you should like me than that I should +love you,—however, go on.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t altogether easy to go on, in +the midst of your interruptions,” said +Philip, laughing nervously, “and everything +I say sounds artificial, when I only +mean to be straightforward. What I want +you to understand is that whether you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>die or whether you live, or whatever happens +to either of us, our friendship is +something permanent. Even if we have +to meet as strangers after to-night, the +real You and the real I will be friends +just the same. I wish I could make you +realize all that it means to me to be told +what you have told me to-night. It will +give me new courage and new self-respect, +and I thank you with all my heart.”</p> + +<p>In answer to the look in his face, Mary’s +eyes filled with sudden tears.</p> + +<p>“Now don’t let’s be theatrical, Philip,” +Mary laughed in order not to cry. “I’m +afraid I’ve made things horrid for you. +It’s my fault. I ought to have been contented +with playing the rôle I am suited +for. The trouble is I have been cast for +low comedy, and I insist on playing high +tragedy. With my make-up I ought to be +content with playing the fool, yet here I +am striving to blend pathos and tragedy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>behind the mask of Harlequin. Now Edith +Dudley can play <i>any</i> part well. Her life +is a series of wonderful impersonations, +and her face adapts itself to the part she +plays. Don’t make the mistake, Philip, +of thinking you can walk through your +part of innocuous-young-man-about-town +without exerting yourself to <i>act</i>. I am +enough of a fatalist to believe that we +can’t alter the text of the drama of life; +but I do believe that the seriousness of +our impersonation is as important in result +as the words we are set down to speak, +and our acting is within our own control, +even if our actions are not.”</p> + +<p>“If life is a play it’s a mighty badly +written one, and I’ve made an awful botch +of my part. I don’t know the text, Mary, +and I need your promptings.” Philip +looked at her with the look she used to +call his “dumb animal expression.”</p> + +<p>“Life is just a tragi-comedy, that’s all. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>When we’re not shrieking with pain, +we’re shrieking with laughter. Now go, +dear,” she said brokenly. “I don’t think +I can stand it another minute. This has +not been easy for either of us. I won’t +try to say anything else except good-by. +Don’t ever forget that I am thankful +to have known and to have loved you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mary, Mary!” he cried, impotently. +Then, realizing the futility of language +to express all that he felt, he quietly +stooped and kissed her. “Good-by,” +he said very softly. Then he went out +and closed the door. She held her breath +till the sound of his footsteps had died +away; then she burst into hysterical sobs.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>A week later Edith Dudley was admitted +to a room in the hospital, where a +white form lay in a white bed. She went +softly up to the figure, and kissed its pale +face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> + +<p>“Dear Mary! So the operation was a +success,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“No!” replied the figure, opening its +eyes with sudden energy. “It was a failure. +I am going to get well.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V"> + CHAPTER V<br> A DIRECTOR OF DESTINIES</h2> +</div> + + +<p>When Mary Elton was able to be out +and about once more, she seemed +to have undergone what she herself termed +“a change of heart, from bad to worse.”</p> + +<p>“A peep inside Death’s door would +soften and chasten most people,” she told +her bewildered uncle, “but on me it has +had just the opposite effect. I suppose it’s +because I made all my plans for a death-bed +repentance, and now that the Devil is +well, the devil a nun is she. I always did +hate to have my calculations upset, and +this recovery is too much of a surprise for +an old maid to adjust herself to all of a +sudden.”</p> + +<p>But if the physical shock of a serious +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>operation was hard to recover from, the +mental torment caused by the recollection +of her confession to Philip Morley was a +thousand times more difficult to endure. +She knew that the thought of it would +poison her whole life. It had been hard +enough before to bear the anguish of a +kind of love known only to deep and undemonstrative +natures, a love doomed to +remain unrequited, but now added to +biting sorrow was the sting of shame +and humiliation that Philip should have +heard from her own lips of her love for +him.</p> + +<p>“I might have known I shouldn’t die,” +Mary berated herself fiercely. “The Fates +have too much sense of humor to lose the +joke of my recovery. Well, Destiny has +beaten me again; but my will is not defeated, +and though I can’t die, I shall at +least go abroad. When bad Americans can’t +die, they go to Paris. Uncle Charles shall +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>take me if the eloquence of one risen from +the bed can move him to action.”</p> + +<p>On Edith Dudley’s return from the +mountains she had gone directly to Mrs. +Warner’s, feeling that her visit to the Eltons +had better be shortened, in view of +Mary’s unexpected illness. She came to +see Mary every few days, and their friendship +continued the same, although Mary +detected a subtle change in Edith, the clue +to which lay in the circumstance that +Philip’s name had not once been mentioned +between them.</p> + +<p>Mary’s clear vision and quick mind had +jumped to a conclusion which made even +the most tactful interference seem an impertinence, +and yet she felt that she held, +in a way, the reins of her two friends’ destinies. +She herself had seen Philip only in +the most casual way, but she was not so +utterly self-absorbed as to be blind to the +difficulties and painfulness of his situation, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>which she interpreted thus: knowing, as +he did, that she (Mary) was in love with +him, he had determined not to persist in +his courtship of her friend, who had already +refused him. He was not so stupid as to +greet Mary’s recovery with a proposal of +marriage, but she knew him well enough +to suspect the line of conduct he meant to +pursue. Having accepted Edith’s refusal +as final, he would, after she had left the +house, resume his friendly visits to Mary, +then slowly,—very slowly,—he would +show her that not her declaration of love, +but her own fine qualities, had magically +touched his heart, transforming friendship +into a more vital emotion.</p> + +<p>And, after all, Mary asked herself, might +not the result bring happiness to both? +Once married to him, Mary would <i>make</i> +him love her, for he would know by the +revelations of daily life the depth and +strength of her affection. She knew that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>no one else could make the man of him that +she would make. All the latent sweetness +of her nature, all the buried wealths of tenderness +and unselfishness would blossom +under his hand. Each would be the best +for each, and yet—he did not love her.</p> + +<p>Mary’s qualities, good and bad, were +vigorous. Capable of two extremes of conduct, +she recognized the situation as demanding +a great act of heroism, or an +equally large act of selfishness. In the +wakeful hours of many nights, her conflicting +emotions met and fought bloody battles, +till the final victory was won. Her +irrevocable decision was made. She dispatched +two notes, one to Edith Dudley, +asking her to come and see her at four +o’clock the next afternoon, the other to +Philip Morley, summoning him half an +hour later.</p> + +<p>Mary never indulged in the tentative +tactics known as beating about the bush. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>Edith and she had hardly exchanged greetings +when Mary made a bold attack. +“Edith Dudley, now that your old Dr. Fell +is out of the way, should you accept Philip +Morley, if he proposed again?”</p> + +<p>Poor Edith looked vainly about for escape +from the revolver of truth with which +her friend was holding her up. The sight +of her gave Mary a curiously complex emotion, +in which scorn, admiration, pity, and +wonder were blended. How was it possible +that this beautiful, clever creature, who +was neither good nor bad, and who was to +all outside influences as the weathercock +to the breeze, could yet subdue criticism +to a blind acceptance of her with all her +weakness and weaknesses, and her irresistible +charm?</p> + +<p>“If Philip Morley should ask me now, I +should accept him,” she said, her luminous +eyes shining like mirrors of truth. “But +it will be better for him if he does not ask +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>me again.” Then, with a passionate gesture +unusual to her, “Mary, Mary, don’t +desert me! Don’t go back on me ever,—whatever +happens!” she cried earnestly. +“Let me feel that you are always here, +firm and sure, a rock for me to cling to,—poor +helpless seaweed that I am,—when +the waves get too strong for me. No one +else has ever made me feel as you do—that +perhaps I have a soul and a will somewhere. +I am generally conscious only of +being <i>nothing</i>; a Laodicean, from whom +the power to feel hot and cold and love and +hate have been squeezed out by early +training. I should like to be the wife for +Philip. Perhaps, if he is strong enough, he +can make something out of me; or if he +is weak enough, he may never find me out. +But I think he is neither. He is simply +human. He loves me a great deal. I feel +it even when I am away from him, and I +don’t with every one,” she naïvely added.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> + +<p>“I am quite aware of his affection,” +Mary acquiesced grimly. “Let’s talk of +something else,—me, for instance. One +reason why I wanted you to come and see +me this afternoon, is to tell you that I have +at last succeeded in persuading Uncle +Charles to take a holiday. He and I are +going abroad next month, to be gone a year. +Isn’t that splendid? You know how I’ve +always wanted to see Paris and London, +and this means Italy and Egypt added. +Don’t you congratulate me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mary, I do, I do!” cried Edith, +instantly radiant with sympathy. “And I +congratulate Europe! Won’t you say nice, +funny, original things about everything, +and make the antiquities feel that they’ve +never been appreciated before? And, oh +Mary, how you’ll <i>hate</i> the traveling +Americans,—and the traveling English, +and worst of all the traveling Germans!”</p> + +<p>Her voice rose in a crescendo of amused +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>horror. Philip was forgotten, she herself +was forgotten,—she was living only in +Mary’s prospective travels.</p> + +<p>They talked for some time, till presently +the door-bell rang, and Mary jumped up +saying, “I don’t want to see any one,—I’ll +just tell the maid,” and with that she +slipped out of the room.</p> + +<p>At the head of the stairs she met Philip +Morley. He had not been in the house +since the night before she went to the hospital, +and for a moment the recollection of +their talk that evening gripped them both +by the throat. Then the girl recovered +herself, and she smiled courageously. “Go +in there. Tell her she’s <i>got</i> to marry you,—don’t +ask her whether she will or not,” +she said rather incoherently, then turned +and dashed upstairs, and Philip heard her +chamber door slam after her.</p> + +<p>Feeling as if he were a puppet to which +Mary held the string, he obediently went +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>into the room she had just quitted. Edith +Dudley stood by the mantelpiece, lightly +touching a bunch of pink and white roses +in an iridescent vase—suggestive of herself +as was everything delicately lovely +and changing. To Philip her beauty was +so overwhelming that even his love seemed +a sacrilege, yet the rush of warm emotion +which filled him at the sight of her—even +if unreciprocated—was something for +which a man would give all other bliss. +She was dressed in gray, except for a touch +of blended colors in her hat and at her +throat,—her “trade-mark,” she called +this opal touch in which her nature seemed +to express itself. She was waiting for the +intruder to be dismissed, and for Mary’s +return, and a sunny smile warmed her +face as the door opened and Philip entered. +She was not disconcerted, but she instantly +realized that she was the victim of a plot. +“How do you do, Mr. Morley! This is just +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>where we first met, isn’t it? Did Mary +send for you, too, to tell you her great +news? Where is she?”</p> + +<p>“She went upstairs,” Philip said stupidly, +still dazed by the part he was expected +by Mary to play in the scene she +had arranged.</p> + +<p>Miss Dudley sat down and motioned to +a sofa with her muff. “We are evidently +expected to entertain each other,” she went +on lightly, “and I’m going to punish Mary +for her rudeness in deserting us, by telling +you her secret. She’s going abroad with +her uncle for a year.”</p> + +<p>Philip’s handsome face was working with +emotion like that of a girl. “It’s no use,” +he burst out, hypnotized by her mere +presence, and paying no attention to her +words, “I didn’t mean to ask you again; +I know it’s useless, you wonderful, beautiful +creature,—you could marry any one +in the whole world; but I’ve got to go +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>away somewhere—anywhere—unless +you can care a little for me. I’m too unspeakably +wretched! You don’t know what +it is,—this feeling I have about you. I +didn’t know there were such feelings in +the world, myself.” He saw her eyes looking +towards him, softened with affection, +and he jumped to his feet. He rushed to +her, and grasped her hand. “Edith, you’ve +<i>got</i> to marry me!” he cried, the gentleman +for once lost in the man. “You’ve +<i>got</i> to. I shan’t take no, again. I am mad +with love for you, or I shouldn’t ask you +this, here in this house. You don’t know +what I’ve been through. I didn’t mean +to do this again. I tried not to. It’s Mary’s +fault. Edith, I love you with all there is in +me of good or bad, and my love demands +a return!” His gaze pierced her.</p> + +<p>Her face cleared into an expression of +exquisite happiness. Oh, the peace of being +told to do something so easy! She showed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>no instinct of the flirt, who likes to torture +her prey. With childlike confidence she +gave him both her hands, and her eyes +spoke as eloquently as her lips. “Philip, I +will love you. I will be to you as good a +wife as I can be, if you are <i>sure, sure</i> +you want me. There were reasons why I +could not say yes, the last time you asked +me. Now I <i>can</i> say it, indeed I <i>must</i> say +it.”</p> + +<p>Philip was too dazed with surprise and +joy to do anything but foolishly kiss her +hands. In a moment he burst out, “It’s +no use. I can’t believe it. Tell me again. +Are we really to be always together, you +and I, after a little while?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I hope not always,” the girl expostulated. +“Married people who never get +away from each other grow frightfully uninteresting. +Listen, Philip,” and she laid a +shy finger against his mouth. “This is all +Mary’s doing. If we are unhappy it will +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>be her fault. If we are happy it is her we +must thank. She made this match.”</p> + +<p>“God bless her!” cried Philip fervently, +but with a spasm of pain crossing his bliss.</p> + +<p>Then a sudden seriousness clouded +Edith’s sunshine also. “Philip, I want to +tell you something. You won’t believe me, +but I shall tell you just the same. <i>I am +nothing</i>, do you understand? The reason +people like me—when they do—is because +most people like themselves, and I +am rather a flattering mirror, that is all.”</p> + +<p>“Then I must be an arch-egotist,” Philip +interrupted her.</p> + +<p>“You are. Your affection for me proves +the extent of your self-love.” She spoke +with surprising gravity. “You see, Philip, +I was brought up to seem, not to be, and +my education was extraordinarily successful. +I lost my life in childhood.”</p> + +<p>The young man threw back his boyish +head and laughed. “Yes, you look as if +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>you were not alive!” he cried. “You, +whose every nerve and fibre are instinct +with life. You are the epitome of sensation. +You respond to every slightest emotion, +to every touch of feeling. I would +believe anything else you tell me, but not +that you are unfeeling and dull of sensation. +You are anything but a Belle Dame +Sans Merci.”</p> + +<p>“Not sans merci alone,” she said sadly, +“but sans <i>every</i>thing, like Shakespeare’s +old man. I have warned you, you see. +I have strength enough for that, because I +know in my heart that it will make no +difference to you, as you won’t believe +me; but I haven’t the strength to refuse +you, Philip. I will marry you as soon as +you want.”</p> + +<p>Her personal charm surrounded him +like a vapor, and obscured all else. Like +two happy children they sat side by side, +making plans for the future. All that she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>stipulated was, that she should be married +from her stepmother’s house in Kentucky, +and that she should have time to +get a few clothes.</p> + +<p>“Please always have the rainbow motif +in all your dresses,” Philip said, pointing +to the opal hues at her neck. “It matches +your temperament. I remember when I +first saw you here in that wonderful, +changing, pinky-grayish-heliotrope, crapy +thing. You seemed to me like a woman +that Hawthorne would have rejoiced in +describing, with your dress the symbol of +your nature. Then there is one more +thing, dear, I want to ask. Will you let +me give you an opal for an engagement +ring? It is what I should like best, if you +are not superstitious. It is my favorite +stone, and I think you said it was yours. +You are <i>my</i> opal, you know, and I should +like you to have one, beautiful as yourself, +with a heart of fire.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> + +<p>She laughed gayly. “Philip, you are +waxing poetic! Of course I’m not superstitious. +We defy augury. I will have +nothing but an opal. It is alive, though it +is not as permanent as I should like the +symbol of our love to be. Philip,” she +said, a trembling wistfulness in her voice, +“you know opals crumble and fall to +pieces, and there is no mending them,—they +just disappear, and their beauty is +gone. Are you sure you want <i>your</i> opal +for better or worse?”</p> + +<p>“I am quite sure,” he said decisively. +“And your opal shall be set in diamonds, +to keep it from crumbling and guard its +beauty.”</p> + +<p>“And so shall yours, Philip, for when +I am married to you your opal will be +truly set in strong and precious stones, +to defend it from its own weakness.” +Her little Frenchily sentimental speech +did not sound artificial, as with the naturalness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>of a trustful child she lifted her +face to his.</p> + +<p>Upstairs a very different drama was +in progress. Mary Elton was pacing her +room, with hands clenched and brows knit. +Now that her self-appointed rôle of fairy +godmother was played, she not only wondered +how she had found strength to go +through with it, but scolded herself for +having been sensational. “After all, it +was none of my business,” she told herself. +“I wish I hadn’t interfered. If I +had let things alone, Philip might have +come back to me of his own free will, +and Edith would have married some one +else who would have made her just as +happy.”</p> + +<p>At the end of half an hour she opened +her door and listened. She heard the murmur +of low voices, and once Philip’s laugh +rang out,—confident, happy, proud.</p> + +<p>With a sob between clenched teeth, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>Mary closed her door again, and seated herself +in front of her mirror. She watched +the cynical, scornful face before her contort +itself into lines of bitterness and grief. +Relentlessly she stared at the slowly puffing +eyelids, the quavering mouth. Never +had she looked less attractive, less romantic.</p> + +<p>“A picture of unrequited love,—realistic +school,” she announced mockingly, +for her own amusement. And as a watery +smile intruded upon the grimness of the +tragic mask at which she gazed, Mary +found herself wondering, irrelevantly, +whether Edith Dudley looked pretty when +she cried.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI"> + CHAPTER VI<br> A PUPPET IN TRAGEDY + </h2> +</div> + + +<p>When Mary’s year of foreign travel +was over she found herself so completely +unprepared for the flatness of life +at home, that she shipped her uncle off for +Boston, and decided to remain abroad another +year. She had made many delightful +acquaintances during her travels, and +had found it easy to map out twelve more +months of traveling, visiting, “stopping +over,” and “settling down.”</p> + +<p>When she considered the loneliness and +helplessness of her uncle’s returning to an +unkept house, she felt the sense of guilt +that accompanies an act of unaccustomed +selfishness, but a poor relation had been +invoked from the shades of the “unexhausted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>West,” and Cousin Rebecca had +gladly consented to supply creature comforts +to Mr. Elton till Mary’s return. “I +know I’m selfish,” Mary acquiesced to her +accusing conscience, “but I can’t go home +and see Philip and Edith yet” (they had +been married a month after she left Boston),—“I’m +too battered and bruised. +My scars must heal, and my wounds grow +callous before I can see their happiness. +If I had died Uncle Charles would have got +on somehow, and this will only be a year +of desertion, and perhaps it will be the +only vacation in my life.” So she quieted +her qualms, and persisted, as usual, in the +line of conduct she had laid out for herself.</p> + +<p>The second year passed as delightfully +as the first, and Mary finally turned her +back on the land that had fulfilled her desires +and satisfied her senses, with a devout +feeling of thankfulness that Europe still +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>existed as a memory and a hope, even +though it was rapidly fading from her +natural vision. On the steamer that was +bearing her too rapidly towards her undesired +home, she found various acquaintances, +among others an old school friend, +Helen White, who was returning from a +six weeks’ tour in France. She was familiar +with Mary’s immediate circle in Boston, +and able to give her much news and +gossip that had failed to be recorded in +letters from home. Naturally one of Mary’s +first inquiries was in regard to the Morleys. +How are they getting on together, +and in society, and with the world? Mary +had had frequent letters from Edith, full +of her own peculiar aroma, containing +amusing and shrewd observations on the +people that formed the background to her +new life, speaking often of Philip and his +interests with affectionate understanding, +but always ending with an appeal to “come +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>home soon to the person who needed her +most.” At the mention of Edith Morley’s +name, Helen White’s rather inanimate face +woke up. “She is a wonderful success in +Boston!” she exclaimed. “There is not a +more popular woman in society. Every one +wants her all the time. She seems to be +equally sought after by the smart and the +stupid sets, and by all the unlabeled people +in between. I declare Philip Morley is a +lucky man!”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he’s as much pleased with +Edith as the rest of the world is,” suggested +Mary, as a “leader.”</p> + +<p>“How could he be otherwise? She is +always perfectly lovely with him, and evidently +doesn’t cross his wishes in the least +particular. She is a model wife, and I must +say—nice as Philip is—I think she deserves +some one a little more—more—well, +interesting and unusual and stimulating.” +Mary grunted: “H’m. Well, if +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>Edith is satisfied, I suppose <i>we</i> must be. +What effect has marriage had upon +Philip?”</p> + +<p>“Between ourselves, I don’t think he has +developed and broadened as much as you +would expect,” said Miss White, with her +confidential manner. “He is a little disappointing. +He never seems to arrive anywhere, +and at thirty-eight one expects a +man to be something more than promising.”</p> + +<p>Mary’s heart gave a protesting throb +that was a physical pain. She had dreaded +to hear exactly what her unsuspecting +friend had told her without knowing it,—that +Philip had found Edith out, and that +his nature, in order to expand to its potential +capacities, demanded outside stimulus,—opposition +even, and that it had met +nothing but enervating echo and reflection.</p> + +<p>When Mary was alone her eyes filled +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>with tears of self-reproach and suffering. +“It was all my fault,” she accused herself, +in her exaggerated consciousness of +disaster. “I was fool enough to think that +the hardest thing to do must be the right +thing. The punishment for stupidity is +harder to bear than the punishment for +sin,—and it ought to be. The wages of +folly is remorse, and that’s a good deal +worse than death,” she added, with her +usual impersonal relentlessness.</p> + +<p>During the thoughtful hours of the next +few monotonous days, while Mary’s impatient +eyes questioned the horizon line—that +symbol of symmetry—for something +visible beyond, she tried to persuade herself +that she had been over-subtle in her +interpretation of Helen White’s indifference +towards Philip, and enthusiasm for +Edith. Certainly no hint of an unhappy +marriage had been put into the words, +although it had been taken out of them. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>But she must possess her soul in patience; +she should know enough soon.</p> + +<p>She knew two days after her arrival, +when she and her uncle went to dine at +the Morleys’. Edith was dazzlingly unchanged. +Her embrace of Mary was the +spontaneous hug of a child, who abandons +itself to the present emotion. “You dear +old thing!” she exclaimed. “You’ve got +a French dress and an English accent, but +I know you’re the same old sixpence +underneath.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’m the same old nickel,—put +me into American money, please,—for I +never was a better Yankee than under +this foreign veneer. The accent and the +dress both come off, you know,—I only +wear them on formal occasions. Hello, +Philip!” she broke off suddenly, as he ran +downstairs with unwonted speed to greet +her. “Well, here we are again,” she rattled +on. “Let’s be rude and all stare at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>each other, and then be polite and say we +all look younger and more beautiful than +we did two years ago.” Her unflinching +gaze met Philip’s,—met it, passed it by, +and penetrated to his inner self that lay +hidden behind the lazily drooping eyes +and the sensitive disillusioned mouth. He +looked older, and, if wisdom implies a shattering +of youthful ideals, wiser as well. +His appearance was by no means unhappy, +but his contentment showed too much of +resignation, and Mary would have been +more pleased to detect a gleam of divine +discontent, kindling ambition into action. +The pleasant and affectionate smile with +which he turned toward his wife had in it +the hint of almost pitying tenderness with +which a grown person regards a child.</p> + +<p>“Well, Edith, what can we say about +Mary that she won’t consider fulsome flattery?” +he asked. “You are much cleverer +than I. Put my feelings into words.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> + +<p>The girl turned her face—not towards +the object of this discussion, but to her +husband, as though to read his thoughts; +then she slipped her hand through Mary’s +arm and said, “You look just the way the +real Mary Elton was always meant to look,—not +sad but serious, not scoffing at +life, but amused by it. You look like an +embodiment of strength and sympathy, +such as it rests weary eyes to look upon. +And besides, Europe—or something—has +put a funny little look of sweetness +into your face that didn’t use to”—She +was interrupted by Mary’s suddenly +winding her feather boa around her mouth. +“Keep still!” she commanded, with her +old-time vigor. “I won’t be insulted. +<i>Sweet</i>, indeed! Edith, you look thoroughly +sour and bitter. You are a peculiarly ugly +and disagreeable looking woman. Philip +looks meek and henpecked, and as for +poor old Uncle Charles,”—pulling her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>beaming uncle under the electric light,—“he +has grown ten years younger since +losing his business manager, and being +allowed to shift for himself. Come and +show me the house,” she went on, leading +the way to the parlor with Edith trotting +at her heels like a happy dog. “I haven’t +seen your wedding presents yet. Oh, +there’s the lamp I gave you, and a very +decent looking one it is, too. Lamps can +be so perfectly terrible when they really +make an effort to be ornamental that I +try to be guided by their purely utilitarian +functions in selecting them. Oh, and +there’s the portrait! How I have wanted +to see it! I assure you its praises have +echoed through Europe?” She paused in +front of a picture that would have attracted +the attention of any human creature, +no matter how ignorant, no matter +how wise. It did not need the signature +of the greatest living portrait painter to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>proclaim it as one of the modern masterpieces +of the world.</p> + +<p>It was Edith’s self—or selves, to be +strictly accurate. She was standing with +suddenly arrested movement, as though +she had started to step out of the frame, a +living woman, and then had quickly decided +to remain a painted mystery. Firelight +played on the rainbow-tinted satins +which draped the exquisite figure, and a +gleam from a hidden light brightened the +gold-streaked hair. The background was +a softly blended tapestry, and the general +color scheme justified the name of “The +Opal” left on it from a recent exhibition. +But the woman’s face! In that lay the +miracle of the painter’s genius, for never +surely was such a marvelous blending of +qualities,—such a symphony of harmonies +in which discords had their place.</p> + +<p>Mary sucked in her breath with the +“Oh!” of complete satisfaction. “He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>will be an old master a few hundred +years hence,” she said, “and Edith will +be the Mona Lisa of future generations. +You have lived sufficiently,” she went on, +addressing the portrait’s original, half-banteringly; +“you may as well go upstairs +and die this minute. Your destiny +is completed. To have inspired such a +work as that means genius in the subject +as well as in the painter.”</p> + +<p>“It has been too funny to hear different +people’s comments on it,” Edith said. +“When it was first exhibited I put on +three veils so as not to be recognized; +and then I had the greatest fun listening +to the criticisms of friends and strangers. +I heard one lady say, ‘<i>There</i> is a person +capable of any crime!’ Another said, +‘She should have been painted as a +Madonna. I have never seen such goodness +in any human countenance.’ A man +whom I did not know said, ‘There is the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>only face I have ever seen which expresses +Browning’s line, “There’s a +woman like a dew-drop, she’s so purer +than the purest.”’ And a horrid man +whom I <i>do</i> know, said,—excuse my repeating +such a remark,—‘What an extraordinary +likeness of Mrs. Morley! She +looks like a nun turned demi-mondaine!’”</p> + +<p>“What do you think of it, Philip,” +asked Mary, while Mr. Elton was dryly +commenting, “I consider it the portrait +of a most intelligent woman.”</p> + +<p>Philip looked from the portrait to Mary, +with his quiet smile. “When you ask me +that, it is like asking what I think of +Edith,” he explained. “It has all her +moods and all her phases. It shows what +she may be, no less than what she has +been. It is endlessly suggestive and fascinating.”</p> + +<p>“I was almost afraid to be painted by +such a mind-reader,” Edith confessed, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>“but I needn’t have been alarmed. If +one has no mind it can’t be read; and it +seems to me he has painted nothing. +Every one reads something different into +it, but the variations are in them, not in +me. That is where the painter’s skill +comes in. As I look at it myself, it is a +mirror’s likeness of a dead face; yet every +one else speaks of its marvelous vitality.”</p> + +<p>“It is well named,” Mary said softly. +“Such changing living beauty belongs +only to the opal.”</p> + +<p>“And to Edith Morley,” put in Mr. +Elton, with a courtly bow.</p> + +<p>Dinner was announced, and Edith insisted +that the survey of her possessions +must be postponed or the soup would grow +cold. During the first part of the meal +Mary did most of the talking. “What is +the use of being a Ulysses,” she protested, +“if one can’t recite one’s Odyssey to bored +Penelopes? I can see you all gaping internally, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>but you’ve got to listen to me +for a while, and then I’ll give you a +chance.” She regaled them with anecdotes +of American human nature as revealed +on foreign soil, and seemed her old +merry self; but while her tongue wagged +fast and gayly, her brain was working in +opposition to her words. “There’s an +immense change in him below the surface,” +she said to herself, and the sense +of it caused a sudden contraction of the +brow which her laughing listeners did not +comprehend. “Now <i>you</i> talk,” she said +abruptly. “What’s become of the Reverend +Sylvester Rogers? How did Milly +Lambert’s marriage turn out? Where is +Marion Meridith? And what happened to +Jack Hudson?”</p> + +<p>“Let’s see,” pondered Edith. “Mr. +Rogers had a call to Kansas City—also +incidentally to marry an heiress. Milly +Lambert succeeded in getting a divorce +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>from her wretched husband, though she +knew exactly what he was when she married +him; Marion Meridith is just the +same nice girl that she always was,—too +good for any of the men who want to +marry her; and Jack Hudson,—well, +they say he and his wife want to be separated, +but they can’t seem to convince the +lawyers that there’s any occasion for it.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think of divorce?” questioned +Mr. Elton of Edith. It was the kind +of direct inquiry she never liked, for no +suggestion of the questioner’s opinion was +evident, and his face had about as much +expression as a brick house in a block. +Edith glanced tentatively at her husband +and Mary, but they offered her no assistance, +so she said lightly, “What do I think +of divorce? Why, I never think of it. I +don’t have to, you see.”</p> + +<p>Mary brought her fist down on the table +with one of her unregenerate gestures. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>“It is one of the greatest crimes of the +day,” she exclaimed, “the attitude of Public +Opinion on Divorce! I believe some +of the churches are trying to do what they +can to frown upon it, but till some fixed +law is made which applies in every State +in the Union, people will get divorced +almost as fast as they get married. The +trouble is, each couple fancies its own case +unique, and women particularly seem to be +incapable of giving up their own selfish +happiness for the good of humanity or the +community.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose you’d ever marry a +divorced man, Mary,” Edith suggested, +and the others all laughed at her characteristically +feminine way of turning an +abstract argument into a personal question.</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose I should,” Mary replied +bluntly. “Nor do I suppose I’d marry +a man who was not divorced,—nor do I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>think I shall ever be the cause of divorce +in others. The opinion of an old maid like +me is utterly worthless, of course, and I +suppose ‘sour grapes’ would be the motive +attributed to me by any one who knew +my views. It is the pretty and foolish +young married women who ought to be +converted. I’m ashamed of Milly Lambert.”</p> + +<p>The intolerant Mary was speaking, but +Edith brought back the new incarnation +by introducing the subject of Sydney +Eaton’s interest in politics. This gave +Mary the chance to find out whether +Philip still continued to identify himself +with the Municipal Improvement Society +and the Civic Club, and the various other +reforming bodies in which he had formerly +been an active member. Her evident +interest in the subject loosened +Philip’s tongue, and he began to talk as +well as to listen. This was just what Mary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>had wanted,—to find out whether the +new Philip had what was best in the old, +and skillfully she cast her line, the hook +hidden in good conversational bait.</p> + +<p>Mr. Elton unconsciously assisted, by +judicious flourishes of the landing net, in +the form of questions demanding answers, +and statements requiring contradiction. +Mary’s smile was that of the successful +fisherman when Philip laid down his knife +and fork and began to talk. His subject +interested him, and Mary’s questions and +arguments stimulated him. He threw back +his head, and indifference and acquiescence +shook off him like drops of water. His +eyes lighted with the old fire of enthusiasm, +and his voice vibrated with earnestness. +A flush of almost triumphant success +was reflected in Mary’s face. Edith may +have lulled Philip’s spirit to sleep, but she +had not killed it. As for Edith herself, she +regarded her husband’s transformation +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>with undisguised pleasure. “Now I see +what you’ve been wanting these last two +years, Philip!” she exclaimed, smiling +joyously from him to her friend. “It’s +just been Mary! It’s good to see you like +your old self. Perhaps if I could only learn +to quarrel and argue with you it would +goad you into going into politics, as your +friends want you to. What you need is a +little opposition.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll get enough of that if he goes +into politics with his present ideas of reform,” +Mr. Elton chuckled. But Philip did +not seem to heed the comments that were +flying round his head. He looked at Mary +and talked on, his mind quickened by her +interested questions, his intelligence freed +by finding its fellow. Edith leaned back in +her chair and gave the satisfied sigh of a +surfeited child. There was not the smallest +tinge of jealousy or of envy in the delight +she took in the pleasure of Philip and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>Mary in being together again. Her nature +was light but not petty, and small thoughts +were as alien to her as big ones.</p> + +<p>When dinner was over, Edith took possession +of her friend and carried her off to +the other room, calling back, “Now please +smoke very long cigars, and pretend you +have a great deal to say to each other. +Mary and I are going to have a heart to +heart talk, and we don’t wish to be disturbed +by mere men.”</p> + +<p>As Edith stood in the firelight, Mary +felt the rush of irresistible admiration that +her presence always excited. In all the +galleries of Europe, Mary’s eyes had rested +on no more beautiful picture than this +wonderful woman, dressed in soft shades +of varying yellows that seemed to match +their golden gleams with her sunshiny +hair. Her engagement ring—Philip’s opal—flashed +its sympathetic response to +every hue of her gown and every variation +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>of light, while a necklace of the same stones—his +wedding gift—flashed fire, like a +setting of colored lights encircling her exquisite +head.</p> + +<p>“Now let’s talk, just the way we used +to,” she said, settling herself in a corner of +the big sofa, “which means that I will lay +bare a few hearts and brains and things, +and you will dissect them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, produce your material,” Mary +commanded; “the surgeon’s knife is +ready.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a splendid name for you!” +Edith broke in. “It just came to me this +minute. You’re the Critic on the Heart! +You do so love to analyze emotions and +criticise impulses.”</p> + +<p>Mary rewarded her friend’s bestowal of +the title by flinging a sofa cushion at her, +which Edith instantly tucked away behind +her shoulders, saying, “My back thanks +you,” and leaned forward, looking like a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>lovely daffodil in a calyx of green pillows.</p> + +<p>“<i>You</i> have no heart for me to criticise,” +Mary said rather scornfully, “and my own +is a fossil. I am not a geologist, so I don’t +understand it. Produce another.”</p> + +<p>“Philip’s!” Edith replied so promptly +that Mary started.</p> + +<p>“Thanks. I’d rather not,” she said +shortly. “I know nothing of it, and a +man’s wife would surely not wish to discuss +him in any private or personal way, +even with his best friend—and hers.”</p> + +<p>“Now, Mary, you know it’s perfectly +ridiculous to talk that way to me,” Edith +expostulated. “My marriage is your doing. +You can’t dismiss it that way with +a grandiloquent generality. You’ve got +to take the consequences of your own +acts.”</p> + +<p>“And what are the consequences?” +Mary forced herself to ask in a light tone +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>which she felt would not fit the relentlessly +frank attitude of the young wife.</p> + +<p>“Unhappiness on his side, indifference +on mine,” was the laconic answer, that drew +from Mary a sharp cry of “<i>Don’t</i>, Edith! +Don’t say such a thing—in such a way. +What are you made of!”</p> + +<p>“Sugar and spice and all that’s nice,” +the girl sang gayly. “You always knew +that was all I was made of, but you thought +the power of my husband’s love would +convert sugar and spice into heart and soul. +I regret to say the strength of Philip’s love +was not sufficient to perform that miracle,” +she added, with an unusual touch of bitterness. +But she instantly laughed it away. +“I knew you’d see that Philip had found +me out,” she said. “But he’s wonderfully +good to me, he never shows that he is +disappointed,—but—you know I <i>have</i> +intuition, Mary, if I haven’t anything else,—and +I knew that he had ceased loving +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>me before we had been married a year. +Of course that means that I am adrift +again,” and she sighed resignedly.</p> + +<p>Rage surged in Mary’s breast, rage +against herself and Edith, and a rush of +suffocating pity for Philip. But her anger, +as usual, had to stand aside for admiration +and amazement at Edith’s next words.</p> + +<p>“It was so fine in Philip,” the girl said +slowly, her rich voice vibrating with feeling, +“it was so much nobler of him to +cease loving me when he found I was—nothing. +Most men would have kept +on caring for me. I was always good to +him, always sympathetic and affectionate; +I did everything he wanted me to, and, as +you see,” she added naïvely, “I have not +lost my looks nor grown stupid. How +many men would feel a lack in such a +wife? I have been the envy of débutantes +and matrons, the admired and adored of +men, yet Philip has proved his fineness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>by ceasing to love me. His nature is high +enough to demand its equal.”</p> + +<p>“You are making him out as much of +a prig as Tennyson’s King Arthur,” Mary +expostulated, but Edith’s childlike laugh +interrupted her. “Oh, no! Philip has far +too much humor and sense to wave his +hands over me, saying, ‘Lo, I forgive thee, +even as eternal God forgives.’ Under such +provocation I should feel tempted to elope +with the nearest Launcelot. No, the good +part of Philip is that no one but you and +I knows that he is a bitterly disappointed +man. <i>I</i> know it because I myself am his +disappointment, and you know it because”—</p> + +<p>“Oh, I <i>don’t</i> know it!” Mary hastily +interposed. “I’m sure he seems quite +happy. You have too much intuition. +You exaggerate. You may not be just +what Philip thought you, but who is what +any one thinks them? Besides, if he craves +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>something different, you are surely adaptable +enough to give what he wants.”</p> + +<p>“No, Mary,” Edith said sadly, “I cannot +give leadership, advice, stimulus, incentive. +I can give only responsive qualities, +as you know. And there is danger ahead, +Mary, danger for me as well as for him.” +Restlessly she rose from her cushioned +corner and walked up and down. “Do you +still care for me, Mary?” she demanded +earnestly. “I mean enough to make a +fight for me? Can you exert a strong +enough influence to overthrow a determined +will pulling against yours?”</p> + +<p>Mary did not trust herself to meet the +appealing and appalling clearness of the +eyes waiting to disarm her. She was disgusted +with the girl’s egotism, angry with +the weakness that had disillusioned Philip. +She cared too much for the man to feel +pity for the woman. “I am afraid I am +beginning to lose patience with a clear-sightedness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>as unavailing as yours,” she +said, rather coldly. “If you and Philip +are unhappy, I am more so, for I have an +added sense of responsibility for your disappointment. +I confess I do not feel like +entering a tug of war for the prize of +your soul. Where everything seems to +the onlooker to be peaceful and serene, +such strenuousness strikes me as being +inappropriate.”</p> + +<p>Edith drew back a little, as if her +friend’s sarcasm had hit her lightly in the +face.</p> + +<p>“I have been dreadfully selfish,” she +acquiesced with Mary’s thought. “I am +going to try never to talk to you about +myself again. I think you will make it +easy for me to keep that resolution.”</p> + +<p>Instantly Mary’s impulsive heart smote +her. “Edith, forgive me!” she cried. “I +spoke thoughtlessly.”</p> + +<p>Edith was by her side at once, radiant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>and fascinating. “Forgive you? My dear +old Mary, that word must never pass between +us. I’ll try to be more what you +would wish,—but I want to say one +thing.” Her fingers twined together nervously. +“I think—if I had had—a child—everything +might have been different.”</p> + +<p>“I have so hoped that you would,” +Mary murmured, with the half-abashed embarrassment +shown by the unmarried when +referring to the subject that is outside of +their personal experience or prospects.</p> + +<p>“I feel that I shall never have children,” +Edith said quietly, “and I am +sorry for Philip as well as myself. He +must turn to his work and I to”—</p> + +<p>“Mr. Grant Lorimer,” said the maid’s +voice at the door. Mary started as if the +little white-capped servant had fired a pistol +at her. But Edith was halfway across +the room, shaking hands with Mary’s old +enemy and crying out, “You have spoiled +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>everything, Grant! Miss Elton and I were +having the first talk we’ve had for two +years, and I hadn’t got round to telling +her that you are in Boston again. See +how surprised she looks!”</p> + +<p>Mary tried to assume a cordiality she +did not feel. “How do you do, Mr. Lorimer? +Yes, I am surprised to find any one +drifting back to Boston who does not belong +here.”</p> + +<p>If there were a dash of venom in her +words he did not swallow it. He made a +profound bow as he seated himself beside +her. “I feel that I do in a measure belong +here,” he said quietly. “Mrs. Morley always +gives me a sense of being at home, +and perhaps an old friend like myself +brings with him a little different feeling +of old times than comes with new acquaintances, +no matter how congenial.” Their +foils crossed in their opening greetings, as +never failed to happen when these combatants +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>met. Edith rushed in to separate +them. “I’m going to treat you like the +old friend you are, Grant,” she struck in, +“and send you into the dining-room to have +a cigar and some coffee with Philip and +Mr. Elton. Then Mary and I can finish our +feminine confidences and you will have all +the charm of novelty when you return with +the others fifteen minutes later. I know +Philip wants to talk to you about stocks, +and I hate the sound of the word. Run +along like a good boy.” Her voice had the +affectionate cadence of a mother giving +wheedling advice to her child. Mary’s suspicious +brain wondered what was Edith’s +motive in thus summarily dismissing her +friend. Was it merely that the electric +sparks of discord were disagreeable to one +who loved harmony? was it because Edith +wished to speak to him alone, and could +do it better when her husband was in the +room to absorb Mary’s attention? or was it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>because she did not wish Mary to find out +from her Southern admirer how constant +had been their companionship of late? In +another minute Mary was blaming herself +for attributing false motives, for as Grant +Lorimer left the room in obsequious obedience +to his queen’s command Edith threw +her arms around Mary, exclaiming, “I +couldn’t have any one come between us +this first night. I want to be with you +alone. Talk to me, dear. Tell me all about +you, what you’ve thought and felt and +experienced these two years. I’m sick of +myself. I want to get close, close in touch +with you to-night. You always help me +so much;” and Edith cuddled up to her +austere and angular friend like a tired +child. Mary never forgave herself for her +next words. She gave a little hard laugh +and said, “I’ll talk to you as much as you +please about what I have seen, heard, and +done, but I have happily outgrown the days +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>of immodest exposure of heart and mind +and spirit. If you are catering to what you +think I want to talk about, you are making +a mistake. I don’t wish to talk about +either myself or yourself. Let’s compromise +on Italy.”</p> + +<p>A queer, quiet smile crept into the corners +of Edith’s lips, and she gave a little +shrug, her frivolous submission to Fate. +“Kismet. So be it,” she said lightly, drawing +her hand out of Mary’s arm but still +smiling with perfect amiability. “Italy is +the subject of all others to be discussed by +friends who have been separated two years. +I hope you enjoyed Giorgione’s ‘Concert’ +as much as I did, and felt like slapping +the insipid faces of Carlo Dolce’s +Madonnas!”</p> + +<p>When the men came in a little later, +the girls were discussing the relative merits +of Perugino and Lippo Lippi with the +passionate interest frequently reserved for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>post-prandial confidences concerning the +advantages of rival schools of underwear.</p> + +<p>Mr. Elton and Grant Lorimer took instant +possession of their hostess, who was +laughingly accused by Lorimer of “showing +off” about Italian art.</p> + +<p>“What a wonderful memory Edith +has!” Mary exclaimed to Philip, as he +drew a chair up to the corner of her sofa. +“It doesn’t seem fair for one person to +have so much. All the fairies were present +at her christening.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she is wonderfully endowed,” +Philip acquiesced. “A good memory +knows what to forget as well as what to remember,” +he added, and suddenly Mary’s +mind flew back to their last interview +alone together, when she had poured out +the story of her love for him. She flushed +scarlet at the thought, and an intolerable +sense of embarrassment and shame flooded +her. They talked of impersonal things, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>and no outsider would have been conscious +of effort or strain; but while Mary +was talking she was telling herself that +their intercourse could never be natural +or agreeable. Their past yawned between +them,—a past too vital to be bridged +with the commonplace,—while they chatted +of friends, and things that had happened +to people in whom they were both +interested. Mary found herself watching +Philip’s face with all her old affection +and belief, but with an added ache of +sorrow, not for herself but for him. “If +he had only been happy I could have +borne my own unhappiness,” she groaned +inwardly, “but he is a disappointed man. +He was once something, he could have +been anything, and now he will be nothing.” +Involuntarily she turned towards +the cause of his failure. Edith, with her +customary skill, was mixing oil and water +in the persons of her two guests. Mary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>remarked on it to Philip, and then, adding +abruptly, “A little vinegar has a wonderfully +ameliorating effect on two alien +liquids; I am going to supply it,” impulsively, +almost to the point of rudeness, she +quitted her seat and joined the group at +the other side of the room. Edith instantly +beckoned to Philip to come and sit by her +side.</p> + +<p>“This is a great deal cosier,” she said +comfortably. “There are too few of us to +divide into groups. Mary is a wise woman +to encourage us to hang together, isn’t +she, Philip?” She smiled up at her husband’s +rather baffled face with her winning +air of confidence, but his answering +smile touched his mouth alone, leaving his +eyes unresponding. Mary instantly began +firing questions at Lorimer, which he, +bewildered, answered with the brevity of +surprise.</p> + +<p>“Are you to be long in Boston?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p> + +<p>“Why, really I don’t know. My plans +are quite uncertain.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been here much during the +last two years?”</p> + +<p>“No. At least only recently. My business +demands occasional visits to other +cities.”</p> + +<p>“Where did you spend last summer?”</p> + +<p>“At Northeast Harbor.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, how pleasant for you to be near +the Morleys!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed, delightful.” And so it +went.</p> + +<p>Finally Mary rose to her feet, weighted +down by a confused sense of failure, +misunderstanding, and disappointment. +“Come, Uncle Charles, you must take me +home,” she said. “I’m not as young as +you, and half past ten is the middle of my +night. I haven’t my land legs or my land +brain yet, and I feel a little watery at +both extremities,” she explained to Edith.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> + +<p>“You must look in to-morrow or the +next day and see that all goes well in my +absence,” Philip said, as he unfolded Mary’s +wrap. “I have to run on to New York +for a few days on business, and Edith will +think it a good exchange if you will take +my place.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, why don’t you take her with +you!” Mary cried impulsively. He turned +towards his wife, saying, “Well, Edith, +what do you say,—will you come with +me?”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course, if you want me,” she +replied instantly.</p> + +<p>“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” +he said. “Good-night, Mary. It is like old +times to have you back again. We’ve +missed you tremendously. Good-night, Mr. +Elton. I congratulate you on your return +to slavery.”</p> + +<p>Grant Lorimer stood beside the handsome +couple, bowing with scrupulous politeness. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>He looked mysteriously dark and +enigmatic in the half light. Mary turned +as she went down the steps, fascinated by +the picture that Edith made, as she stood +between the two men, gleaming like a +tongue of flame in her shimmering yellows. +Somehow at that moment her radiant +beauty stamped itself on Mary’s consciousness +more forcibly than ever before. +“Good-night, Mary,” called Edith for the +last time. “Philip isn’t going to take me +to New York. I know him! Don’t desert +me. Remember I shall be all alone. +I shall depend on you. Don’t forget me.” +Her voice vibrated with a tone of earnestness +out of keeping with her words, but +her pretty inconsequent little laugh trilled +out. Mary saw Philip still standing by the +open door, as Grant Lorimer turned towards +Edith with one of his compelling +glances and followed her into the parlor. +Then a sudden gust of wind slammed the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>door, and the vision went out like the +picture on a magic lantern slide.</p> + +<p>Mary spent the next few hours between +the nightmares of waking and sleeping. +As usual, she alternately blamed and justified +herself for her repellent attitude towards +Edith’s confidences and confessions. +“If I am a critic on the heart, there is no +heart for which I feel greater scorn than +my own,” she told herself bitterly. “I +don’t know that it’s any better to have a +bad heart than none at all. I am blaming +Edith for what she can’t help; she was +made by her parents and I by myself.” +She tossed restlessly on her pillows, jerking +impatiently at the blankets. “It’s only +the sight of Philip and the thought of him +that make me so unjustly angry with poor +Edith. If she had married a man whom I +could regard simply as her husband, my +sympathies would be hers along with my +affection and my grudging admiration; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>but she has taken the will power out of +Philip Morley,—she is making him into +a mere drifting will-less creature like herself, +and I <i>can’t</i> forgive her when I care so +much for him. Oh, how absurd,—how +<i>wrong</i> it is for me to love him as I do!” +Warm tears fell on her pillow, and she +turned it over angrily. She tried to look +at facts without blinking, and she saw the +shadow of something unavoidable darkening +the radiance of Edith. “It’s that +wretched cad of a Dr. Fell,” she told herself. +“He has too much influence over +her. I must exert mine in opposition.” +Then she drifted into unrestful sleep, +clenching her fist at the powers of darkness, +vowing that she should save Edith +yet, and murmuring “I was ever a +fighter,” as her imaginings changed to +dreams.</p> + +<p>The next day Mary was busied with her +unpacking till late afternoon, when she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>took a breathing space and went to see +Edith. The maid told her she had gone +out ten minutes before, and that Mr. Morley +had gone to New York that morning. +Mary left a message of regret which she +genuinely felt, and then made a long +détour to get home, that she might fill +her lungs with fresh air before again attacking +the problem of sorting and distributing +her spoils of travel.</p> + +<p>When she got back she was disappointed +to hear that Edith had been to see her, +and had waited half an hour in vain for +her return. “I wish I had thought to +leave word for her to come to dinner to-night. +It must be lonely for her with +Philip away,” Mary reproved herself, and +several times in the course of the evening +she exclaimed irrelevantly to her uncle, +“I wish Edith were here!” The next +morning Mary made amends to her own +conscience by going early to the Morleys +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>to try and persuade Edith to come back +with her to spend the day. The maid recognized +the visitor of the afternoon before +and asked her to step in. “Mrs. Morley +left a letter for you,” she explained. “Mr. +Morley sent for her to join him in New +York last night, and Mr. Lorimer saw her +off on the midnight train. He told me +about it while she was packing up her +things.”</p> + +<p>Mary’s legs shook under her and she +felt herself grow pale and cold. What did +it mean? Was Philip ill? Was Grant +Lorimer?—Tremblingly she opened +the envelope. Between the closely written +pages another note fell out addressed +simply “To Philip.” Mary’s mind stopped +thinking, her heart seemed to cease beating. +Automatically she turned the enclosed +envelope face down on her knee, +and said to the maid in a voice which was +not her own, “Very well. You needn’t +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>wait. I will read Mrs. Morley’s letter +here.” It ran as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mary</span>,—I am writing this while +Grant Lorimer is waiting for me to go +away with him. This is not a letter of +justification but of explanation. I <i>can’t +help it</i>, Mary, believe me, <i>I can’t help</i> +what I am doing. It had to be. It isn’t +that I love him. Don’t think I am just +vulgarly bad. It is simply that he loves +me more than Philip, more than you, I +am afraid, and that he has strength to +make me do what he wants. Don’t fancy +that I do not think of Philip,—of the disgrace—the +humiliation—the bitter grief +and shame I am bringing him. But I cannot +act otherwise. Perhaps if you came +in at this moment and defied the man +downstairs and carried me off with you, +the battle would be won, for you know +your influence over me is hardly less hypnotic +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>than his. Don’t ever blame yourself, +dear old Mary, for not having understood +a little better what I was going through. +It is part of the tragedy that you could not +believe in such—weakness—as mine. +Help Philip to understand that I have +never been anything but a puppet,—an +irresponsible toy with tangled strings +pulled by many hands. I must write a +few words to Philip, and you must try to +make him understand that there are some +events in life that are <i>inevitable</i>. I am not +carried away by passion,—I am not unhappy +with Philip. I shall not be happy +with the other man. I am simply doing +what I must do. Believe that, if you can, +and be good to Philip always, Mary, for +my sake,—it is my last request. I know +that you will love me in spite of all I have +done and been, just as I shall always love +you because you are your own fine free +self. And sometime, perhaps, I shall come +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>back, and then I know you will take me +in.</p> + +<p class="right5"> + <span class="smcap">Edith.</span> +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Mechanically Mary folded up the letter. +Her strained eyes looked like those of a +person in a trance. There was no look +of comprehension in her face. She laid +Philip’s note on the table, propping it up +frivolously against a little match safe in +the form of a red imp. Then she walked +to the window and looked out at the +passers-by. “How badly that woman’s +skirt hangs!” she inwardly commented +with the only part of her mind that was +not dead. After a few moments she shivered +and glanced at Edith’s letter, which +her frozen fingers grasped. “I must go +before the maid returns,” she muttered +vaguely, feeling as if a body she had murdered +lay by her side and would be discovered. +She turned towards the door. +“Philip must not be told like that!” she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>exclaimed angrily as she caught sight of +the letter she had arranged for him, and +she crumpled it into her pocket, with +trembling hands. Edith’s portrait smiled +at her with bewitching candor. “There’s +a woman like a dew-drop, she’s so purer +than the purest,” Mary murmured. Then +a muffled cry of acute comprehension broke +from her tightened throat. “Edith, forgive +me!” she cried wildly. “Oh, my God, how +shall I tell Philip!” She bent her abashed +head, that she might not meet the generous +smile of her sinning friend, and when +she crept home, hugging her terrible secret +to her heart, she looked like a guilty soul +fleeing from justice.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII"> + CHAPTER VII<br> THE FULFILLING OF THE LAW</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Three years had passed since Boston +society was shaken to its depths by +hearing of the elopement of one of its +adored and admired favorites. Most people +were left frankly baffled by the shock, and +could offer neither excuse nor explanation. +Mrs. Philip Morley was universally loved, +and her husband was universally liked and +respected, yet this inexplicable thing had +happened,—and society slowly got on its +feet again, dazed by the blow it had received, +rubbed its bewildered eyes, and +continued to love the wife and like the +husband. Of course there were the inevitable +few who “always suspected something +queer about the girl.” Miss Milton +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>expressed surprise only that Mrs. Morley +had not disgraced herself and her poor +husband sooner. “I have often noticed,” +she proclaimed solemnly, “that girls who +have not been brought up in Boston are +very apt to do something queer sooner or +later. That young woman had too good +manners. She was unlike Boston people. +I always knew she’d drag the Morley name +in the mud.” The only people who did not +discuss and wonder and exclaim were the +two most interested,—Philip Morley and +Mary Elton. After the long interview in +which he was told the truth, Edith’s name +was never mentioned between them. Philip +had understood his wife, and did not need +Mary’s assurances that Edith had not an +evil trait in her nature. “Don’t I know +that?” he had said, his tense face drawn +with suffering. “The poor child was not +like a human being, for all her lovable +human qualities. She was like some wonderful +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>and mysterious force of nature,—electricity, +or the rushing torrent,—waiting +for the hand of man to control and +make the best use of it. Perhaps it was +my fault that I did not know how to handle +such a strange and subtle element.”</p> + +<p>“It was her parents’ fault that they +made her what she was!” Mary cried, with +an angry sob accentuating her scorn. “I +am sure that she started life a human child +like the rest of us, only with more goodness +and sweetness and beauty than is the +lot of most,—and what did that Southern +father and Catholic mother do to her, but +divest her of her individuality, tear out her +soul and make her over again, a mechanical +doll to obey the strongest will! She +is not responsible for her acts. I can only +thank Fortune, that having been deprived +of the possibility of doing and thinking for +herself, the power of suffering keenly and +feeling deeply was taken from her also.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, what will be her end!” Philip had +groaned, covering his eyes from the mental +picture they had conjured out of his +imagination.</p> + +<p>“I suppose—for her sake—you will +divorce her,” Mary said, with evident disgust. +“That hound will think he is showing +Southern chivalry by marrying her. +From my point of view it doesn’t matter +one iota whether she is divorced or not,—whether +she is his wife or his mistress. It +is all the same. She doesn’t want to be +either.”</p> + +<p>Philip pushed back his chair abruptly. +“If you ever hear anything from Edith, +or about her, please let me know, Mary. +My life is broken in two, but that is not +so bad as the feeling that I unconsciously +broke hers. I did not understand—I loved +her so tremendously at first,—and then, +slowly, it came to me that there was nothing +to love—nothing to hate.” His voice +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>dropped. “It—it was terrible! Poor, radiant, +beautiful Edith! My poor ill-omened +opal! What a life,—Heavens, what a life!—and +perhaps my fault.”</p> + +<p>Mary stood beside him, calm and white. +“No, Philip, mine. I brought you together. +I encouraged your marriage; and, +worse than all, I refused to give help and +sympathy when it would have saved her +life. I have been wicked and stupid, and +I deserve to suffer as I <i>shall</i> suffer. Oh, I +shall, never fear.” Her mouth quavered, +but she bit her lips into subjection again. +“I had more power over Edith than any +other living creature; and I was selfish +and blind and did not use it for her good. +I shall be remorseful all my life; but +some day she will come back,—it will be +to me that she will come,—and then you’ll +see whether I’ll help her!” There was +courage in her voice, but hopelessness in +her eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p> + +<p>Philip had gone his way, and taken up +his ruined life and tried to piece it together +again. He faced the world, in silence but +in strength, and the dignity of his life +and the strenuousness of his work silenced +alike whispers of gossip and whines of +pity. He saw few people outside of his +business, his politics, his family, and his +one perfectly understanding friend. From +her he received the old incentive to being +and doing which he had thought was lost +to him forever, and their friendship was +too true and close to be heedful of the +censures of Mrs. Grundy,—whose home +is in Boston, though she sometimes goes +away to pay visits.</p> + +<p>Mary, meanwhile, was taking a sardonic +satisfaction in what she called “fulfilling +her destiny.” She became absorbed in +charities and immersed in good works; +clubs, classes, and committees took most +of her time; and in becoming the chief +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>manager of a vacation house for over-worked +shop-girls, Mary declared she had +attained her apotheosis.</p> + +<p>She had heard once of Edith from a +Boston friend who proved her right to be +popularly considered a Bohemian by living +in Charles Street, whence all but she +had fled. This dauntless soul had gone +to Italy soon after Edith’s disappearance, +and had one day found herself in a small +shop in Florence trying to make the man +understand that she wished to buy a pair +of smoked glasses, when who should come +in but Edith Morley. “For a moment,” +she wrote, “I stopped thinking, and in +that moment I rushed up to the dear +creature and kissed her, just from pure +nervousness! She didn’t seem a bit surprised, +nor a bit disconcerted. She was +the perfect lady she always was,—and, +if anything, prettier than ever. She asked +with absolute naturalness about every one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>in Boston,—you particularly,—and might +have been traveling with Cook for a chaperone, +if it hadn’t been for one thing. +She didn’t ask me to call on her, and +when she walked out of the shop with her +goddess step, that worm of a Lorimer +crawled out of a crack in the pavement +and joined her.”</p> + +<p>A condensed version of this meeting +was sent by Mary to Philip; but, true to +the vows in their first interview, Edith’s +name was not spoken between them.</p> + +<p>So the first three years of Edith’s absence +passed. One afternoon in January, +Mary was sitting alone by the library fire. +When her face was in repose it showed +lines of grief and hopelessness sad to see +in a woman of thirty. The mask of cheerfulness +and courage with which she faced +and deceived the unthinking portion of +her world, was laid aside when she looked +boldly into the past and future, as she was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>doing now. A blazing fire images sad pictures, +even though its snaps and crackles +are cheerful, and its warmth and light +comforting. Mary’s meditations were interrupted +by the entrance of Philip Morley, +cold and brisk from a quick walk.</p> + +<p>“You’re just the excuse I wanted for a +cup of tea,” she said, as she rang the bell. +“I am feeling frightfully guilty over my +failure to be at a committee meeting this +afternoon, and I really hadn’t the face +to reward myself with refreshments; but +the case is different now. You look half +frozen, and politeness demands that I share +your tea.” He settled himself the other +side of the fire, and waited silently till the +tea was made and the servant had gone. +Then he said abruptly,—</p> + +<p>“Why do you go in for so many charities, +Mary? Do they really interest you, +or do you drug yourself with activities +merely to kill thought? You used to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>laugh so at the strenuousness of charity +workers, yet here you are one yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I laugh at myself,” Mary exclaimed +bitterly. “Between ourselves, +most of my good works bore me to death; +but unfortunately I have a pretty good +head for organizing,—so having failed in +everything else, I naturally wish to do +something I can succeed in.”</p> + +<p>“In what have you failed, Mary?”</p> + +<p>“In the greatest vocation there is in +life,—in friendship.” Her face—with its +disguise still thrown aside—retained its +look of hopeless tragedy, and her straight +brows almost met.</p> + +<p>“You must not say that!” Philip cried. +“It is morbid and untrue. If it had not +been for you I should have sunk to earth +under my burdens, but I scorned to be a +coward where a woman could show me +such an example of courage.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t, Philip,—don’t, don’t!” Mary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>cried weakly. “I don’t deserve it. You +make me feel dreadfully.”</p> + +<p>But Philip had risen, and stood in front +of her, decided and relentless.</p> + +<p>“Mary, five years ago you made me +listen to you without interruption. Now +you must do the same for me. The time +has come when I have got to speak.”</p> + +<p>She looked up at him, dreading and beseeching, +but his expression of determination +conquered hers of appeal.</p> + +<p>“Mary, five years ago you told me +something that has affected my whole life +and my whole character more than you +can know, more than I myself realized at +first. I would to Heaven you could tell +me the same thing now, since I was blind +fool enough then not to be able to say to +you what I cannot help saying now.”</p> + +<p>She put out her hands in dumb protest, +but he paid no heed.</p> + +<p>“Mary, I love you with all my heart and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>all my strength, and you must and shall +learn to say over again to me now what +you were brave enough to tell me once +before. I have loved you, consciously and +completely, for nearly three years, but I +could not speak before. I know now that +I have loved you always, but without realizing +it. You are my second self,—no, +my first self, my better self. Whatever I +have done, whatever I may become, is +<i>yours</i>, <i>yours</i> utterly. I have no thoughts +that are not due to you, no wishes, no +ambitions that are not yours. When I +was almost crushed to earth, and seemed +to have lost the power not only to do, but +to feel, it was your strength, the power of +your principle that gave me a new start. +Oh, Mary! The joy of finding a rudder +when I was adrift! The satisfaction of +being steered by conviction, instead of +blown by every wind! It is to you I owe +everything.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> + +<p>Mary looked up at him with trembling +lips, the light of happiness transfiguring +her face into the semblance of real beauty.</p> + +<p>“Are you speaking the truth?” she +whispered. “You are not saying this because +of—of what I told you five years +ago?”</p> + +<p>The childlike appeal in her face made +him kneel by her side and put a protecting +arm around the self-reliant back that had +never yet bent under its burdens.</p> + +<p>“Mary, my dearest,” he whispered +gently, “my whole life shall prove that +we were made for one another from the +beginning. Perhaps we shall realize it all +the more for the suffering we have shared +in the past. We shall begin our lives over +again side by side, happy and rich in accomplishment, +if you can give me back a +little of the love I give to you.”</p> + +<p>Mary closed her eyes for a second, as if +to nerve herself for her reply. Then she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>rose, and clasped her hands behind her. +“Philip, I should like to make you realize, +if it won’t make you unhappy in the +future, how my love for you has simply +saved my life. It has been my absorbing +passion, my dream, yet my one reality. I +haven’t dared to think you cared for me—in +the same way I have cared for you. +It is incredible. I’m so ugly, you know,” +and she laughed as she had done five years +before. Then she looked at him with the +motherly protection he loved. “You <i>dear</i> +boy,” she went on, “you dear blessed old +Philip! You’ve given me enough happiness +now to last me the rest of my life. +It’s like an inexhaustible deposit in a +bank,—the sense of your love. I shall +keep drawing cheques on it,—and then +perhaps some morning I’ll hear that I’ve +overdrawn my account, and that I’m bankrupt.”</p> + +<p>“There’ll always be plenty more, dear,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>Philip said tenderly. “My heart is wholly +yours, and I never realized before what a +large heart I had!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but <i>I</i> knew!” Mary exclaimed, +laughing happily. Then she grew suddenly +serious. “Philip, I’ve got to hurt +you—I’ve got to seem Quixotic and unreasonable, +but after a while you’ll understand +and forgive, and perhaps even thank +me.” She looked at him squarely but +gently. “I have loved you since I knew +what it meant to love any one, and I shall +keep on loving you till my teeth drop out +and my hair turns gray. I do believe, now +for the first time—that you care for me, +and the thought makes me inexpressibly +happy, but I can <i>never</i>, <i>never</i> marry you.”</p> + +<p>Long experience had taught Philip not +to exclaim at Mary’s vehement statements, +so he said quietly, “I thought you were +above conventional scruples. Besides, a +legal divorce makes re-marriage with the—the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>one who has not broken any vows, +entirely lawful and proper.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am not afraid of doing anything +unlawful!” Mary cried, “and certainly I +should be doing quite the conventional +and usual thing in marrying a divorcé +who is above reproach morally. I am not +posing as a model for others. I am not +laying down laws for society. I merely +say that you are asking me to do something +from which my whole moral nature +shrinks as an act of selfishness and disloyalty, +although the impulsive natural <i>me</i> +longs to jump into your arms and remain +there always, without fear or reproach.”</p> + +<p>“Then follow your impulse, Mary,” he +begged passionately. “Your heart is leading +you right this time, your conscience +has become morbid and diseased. There +is not a living soul who could blame you +for taking and giving the happiness we +have both so nearly missed. Prove yourself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>a woman, dearest, not a thinking +machine. Love is a matter of feeling, not +of cold analysis. Forget that you are a +Bostonian, and for once follow your inclinations, +which are true and right.” He +held out his arms, but Mary only shook +her head dumbly, and her dry lips formed +the words “I can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you don’t really know what love +is!” Philip cried cruelly, striding over to +the fireplace and turning his back on +Mary’s quivering look of appeal.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes I do. Love is the fulfilling of +the law, Philip,” she almost whispered. +“St. Paul was not a Bostonian, he was a +man of the world and he knew what he +was talking about. Oh, don’t you suppose +I realize that any definition of love sounds +sententious and unfeeling!” she interrupted +herself stormily. “But by <i>law</i> I +don’t mean anything legal. I merely mean +that the only love worth giving is the fulfilling +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>of one’s own law of life, and if I +married you I should be false to myself +and treacherous to Edith. Try to understand +me, Philip. Don’t make things +harder than they <i>must</i> be.”</p> + +<p>She sank wearily into a chair, and obedient +to her mood, he took his old place +on the other side of the fire.</p> + +<p>“If things were different, Philip, I would +rather be your wife than anything else +in the world,” she continued. “So far as +we two are concerned, I should be glad +to live with you on any terms, legal or illegal,—but +you see the pity of it is there +never <i>are</i> only two persons concerned. +If I married you, I should be doing just +what I blame others for doing,—regarding +my case as exceptional and making +excuses for what should not be excused. +If I married you, I should not blame any +of the working girls I try to help and influence, +for doing what would be the equivalent +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>of such an act in their own class. +My deed would give the lie to my words. +It seems to me that mistakes should be as +punishable as sins, and we ought to be +just as unable to escape from their consequences. +You committed the great error +of marrying Edith Dudley. I made the +greater one of encouraging you, and we +must both pay the price of that error.”</p> + +<p>“We have paid it,” he broke in vehemently. +“We have paid it with bitterness +and sorrow. It is unjust for the consequences +of a mistake to be everlasting.”</p> + +<p>“Philip, the consequences of a mistake +<i>would</i> be everlasting if I married you. I +could not look at Edith’s picture, I could +not even in imagination meet her loving +smile and think, ‘She will come home some +day and turn to me for help, and I shall +be in her home, married to her husband, +and shall have to close her own door in +her face.’ When friends should turn to me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>with raised eyebrows and with the unspoken +comment, ‘I thought you did not +believe in divorced people marrying again,’ +I <i>could</i> not be untruthful enough to say, +‘but my case is different. This is a moral +marriage.’ Dear Philip, it is harder than +you know to say all this—caring for you +as I do. I feel like a drunkard delivering +a temperance lecture. I long so to +be completely yours, yet I know so well +we should neither of us be happy in so +selfish a union.”</p> + +<p>“Mary, you are wrong,—your ideas +are twisted; trust your heart, and your +judgment will follow.”</p> + +<p>“No. You are wrong, dear,” and she +shook her head sadly. “You cannot escape +from your marriage with Edith. It is part +of your life, and by ignoring it you cannot +forget it. I am bound by every tie of +loyalty and remorse to remain true to her. +I must be ready when she comes back.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>“But who knows that she will ever +come back?” Philip burst out. “Her +husband is with her. You are sacrificing +your life to a fanatical delusion. And even +if you can stand this dreadful dead life +you are leading, what will become of me?”</p> + +<p>Mary smiled and stretched out her hand +to him. “You used to admire my clear-sightedness +and to think I could see into +the future as well as interpret the present. +Let me be Cassandra for a minute.” She +tightened her grasp on his, and met his +gaze with a courageous smile.</p> + +<p>“I see you at first rebellious, then submissive, +and finally triumphing with me +in the sense that we care enough for each +other to sacrifice our selfish selves to the +highest truth in each other. You will care +enough for me to be strong and vigorous +in action. The conviction that you are +doing what is right will be a living help +and support, and you will make me prouder +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>than ever of loving you,—proudest of +all in being loved by you.” Her voice +lowered. “I see our poor Edith drifting,—drifting,—tired +of life,—her husband +tiring of her, till some day she becomes +conscious of my thoughts and wishes pulling +and tugging her towards me; and +then she will come back to me, and I +shall try to make up to her for her ruined +life, and I shall then at last feel worthy +to be loved by you. As for me myself”—Mary +suddenly dropped her head +in her hands and burst into the uncontrolled +sobs of a child. “Here I am talking +like a dried-up old prig, when my +heart is just bursting, and I can’t silence +the voice inside that cries out for the +right to love and be loved! Oh, my dearest,—it +has been so many, many years!”</p> + +<p>Philip’s arms were around her, and she +clung to him with the desperation of one +who feels the waves closing over her. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>“This is the last time,—the <i>only</i> time,” +she whispered. “To-morrow we shall play +our parts as usual. We shall face the footlights, +and we shall forget that we have +been behind the scenes. And perhaps, +after we are dead, we may be able to wash +off the paint and powder,” she added, +trying to smile underneath her tears.</p> + +<p>“Is this really your final answer?” +Philip asked, his eyes and saddened lips +giving eloquence to his few words.</p> + +<p>“It must be, dear. You will come to +see that it is the only end. It could have +been different, but it is too late. ‘It once +might have been, once only.’”</p> + +<p>Philip’s arms dropped to his side with a +gesture of finality, as he said quietly, “I +believe in you so absolutely that I may +come to believe that you are right in this +as in all else. If that time ever arrives, I +will come back and take what strength and +comfort I can from your friendship, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>you may trust me never again to open the +chapter you are now closing. If I do not +return, it will be because I am too weak +to trust myself,” and he turned away.</p> + +<p>“You must learn to have the courage +of my convictions,” Mary said, with a trembling +smile, “for I am a coward, though +confident,—and you are brave, though +unconvinced.” She held out her hand. +“Au revoir. You will return, my friend. +I hope it too much not to believe it.” He +left the room, not trusting himself to +speak again. She kept her control till she +heard the front door close. Then she +clenched her teeth with angry grief. “If +I am doomed to act a part all my life, it +shall be a melodramatic part for once!”</p> + +<p>She took from her desk a photograph +of Edith, and gazed passionately at the +passionless face. The girl’s thoughtful eyes +were shaded by a large white hat; a soft +feather boa fell back from her bare neck, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>on which lay Philip’s opal necklace. Suddenly +Mary tore the picture across and +flung it into the blaze. “You have ruined +my life!” she ranted wildly, and flung +herself on the sofa prepared to weep her +heart out. But the doorbell rang, inopportunely +enough, and by the time the +maid came upstairs her mistress was idly +poking at a piece of charred paper in the +fireplace.</p> + +<p>“It’s a lady from the Associated Charities +wants to know if she can speak to +you a minute about Mrs. O’Connell,” the +maid said tentatively.</p> + +<p>Mary gave her hair a quick smoothing +with her hand and shook herself into +shape like a dog. Then she faced the +footlights once more. “Show her up,” +she said, rather wearily.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center small">The Riverside Press<br> +<i>Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.</i><br> +<i>Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.</i></p></div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<figure class="figcenter illowp30"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure> + + + +<p class="xl"><i>The following pages are devoted +to notices of some recent successful +fiction published by Houghton, +Mifflin & Company.</i></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<p class="fh2">The<br>AFFAIR AT THE INN</p></div> +<hr> +<p class="rightb"> + By KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN<br> + MARY FINDLATER<br> + JANE FINDLATER<br> + ALLAN McAULEY +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<p>“An international comedy unfolded with a charm +that is undeniable and irresistible. Each author’s +account sparkles with conversations and forms a +unique narrative.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Wiggin’s portrayal of the alternate words of +the fun-loving but sympathetic American girl is a +strong bit of character writing which is deeply human.</p> + +<p>“It is a story unique in its construction, amusing in its +situations, of easy and natural progression and sustaining +one’s interest from page to page.”</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Boston Herald.</i></p> +<hr> +<p>Illustrated in tint by <span class="smcap">Martin Justice</span></p> + +<p class="right">12mo, $1.25</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<table class="autotable center"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">HOUGHTON,<br>MIFFLIN<br>& COMPANY</td> + <td class="tdc"><figure class="figcenter illowp25"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure></td> + <td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>AND<br>NEW YORK</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<p class="fh2">REBECCA<br>of SUNNYBROOK FARM</p></div> +<hr> +<p class="rightb"> + By KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + + +<p>“Of all the children of Mrs. Wiggin’s brain, the most +laughable and the most lovable is Rebecca.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Life, N. Y.</i> +</p> + +<p>“Rebecca creeps right into one’s affections and stays +there.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Philadelphia Item.</i> +</p> + +<p>“A character that is irresistible in her quaint, humorous +originality.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Cleveland Leader.</i> +</p> + +<p>“Rebecca is as refreshing as a draught of spring +water.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Los Angeles Times.</i> +</p> + +<p>“Rebecca has come to stay with one for all time, and +delight one perpetually, like Marjorie Fleming.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Literary World, Boston.</i> +</p> +<hr> +<p>With decorative cover</p> + +<p class="right"> + 12mo, $1.25 +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<table class="autotable center"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">HOUGHTON,<br>MIFFLIN<br>& COMPANY</td> + <td class="tdc"><figure class="figcenter illowp25"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure></td> + <td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>AND<br>NEW YORK</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<p class="fh2">THE REAPER</p></div> +<hr> +<p class="rightb"> + By EDITH RICKERT +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + + +<p>“So impressive are Miss Rickert’s accounts of the +Shetland character, so vivid her pictures of their +alternating happy and sordid lives, so faithful her +study of the racial and personal influences that move +them, that we may accept <i>The Reaper</i> as one of the +notable books of the season. It is something more +than fiction—it gives a realistic, poetic, imaginative +view of a wonderful and curious people.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Boston Transcript.</i> +</p> + +<p>“A powerful story, fresh, vivid, and of unusual character +and tone.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i> +</p> +<hr> +<p class="right"> + Crown 8vo, $1.50 +</p> + +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<table class="autotable center"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">HOUGHTON,<br>MIFFLIN<br>& COMPANY</td> + <td class="tdc"><figure class="figcenter illowp25"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure></td> + <td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>AND<br>NEW YORK</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<p class="fh2">BIDDY’S EPISODES</p></div> +<hr> +<p class="rightb"> + By Mrs. A. D. T. WHITNEY +</p> + +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<p>“It is full of life, full of fun, full of glisten, and +distinctly up to date. The character of the story is +well expressed by the title; it is a record of the sayings +and doings of a very unconventional but very +original young woman as given by Joanna Gainsworth, +who is not only an old maid, but an old maid who +glories in it. Then there is the most interesting episode +which can enter into a young woman’s life, her +courtship and marriage. The book is as bright as a +dollar fresh from the mint.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Boston Transcript.</i> +</p> + +<p>“The story is sweet-spirited, bright, wholesome, interesting.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i> +</p> +<hr> +<p class="right"> + 12mo, $1.50. +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<table class="autotable center"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">HOUGHTON,<br>MIFFLIN<br>& COMPANY</td> + <td class="tdc"><figure class="figcenter illowp25"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure></td> + <td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>AND<br>NEW YORK</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<p class="fh2">The<br>PRIVATE TUTOR</p></div> +<hr> +<p class="rightb"> + By GAMALIEL BRADFORD, Jr. +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<p>The love story of an Italian countess and a +wealthy young American “cub.” An amusing +comedy.</p> + +<p>“It is a readable, pleasant story, sprinkled with criticism +of art and bright conversation, and bound to hold +the interest of the reader.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Chicago Eve. Post.</i> +</p> + +<p>“It narrates directly, and with just enough philosophical +reflection to show the author’s personal touch and +feeling, the experiences of a party of Americans visiting +and living in Rome.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Boston Transcript.</i> +</p> + +<p>“A book which has the distinction of intellectuality.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>St. Louis Globe-Democrat.</i> +</p> +<hr> +<p class="right"> + Crown 8vo, $1.50 +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<table class="autotable center"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">HOUGHTON,<br>MIFFLIN<br>& COMPANY</td> + <td class="tdc"><figure class="figcenter illowp25"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure></td> + <td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>AND<br>NEW YORK</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<p class="fh2">DAPHNE<br>An Autumn Pastoral</p></div> +<hr> +<p class="rightb"> + By MARGARET SHERWOOD +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + + +<p>“In <i>Daphne</i> we have a most delightfully refreshing +story. In addition to a charming love-story of a young +Italian for an American girl, Miss Sherwood has given +us some rare descriptions of Italian peasant scenes, +and some graphic pictures of Italian woods, mountains, +and sunsets.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Review of Reviews.</i> +</p> + +<p>“The story of their love is simply and sweetly told, +and with so exquisite a feeling and so masterly a touch +that the story takes place in one’s mind beside the +little classics that he loves.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Indianapolis Sentinel.</i> +</p> +<hr> +<p>Attractively bound</p> + +<p class="right"> + 12mo, $1.00 +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<table class="autotable center"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">HOUGHTON,<br>MIFFLIN<br>& COMPANY</td> + <td class="tdc"><figure class="figcenter illowp25"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure></td> + <td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>AND<br>NEW YORK</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<p class="fh2">JOHN PERCYFIELD</p></div> +<hr> +<p class="rightb"> + By C. HANFORD HENDERSON +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + + +<p>“<i>John Percyfield</i> is twisted of a double thread—delightful, +wise, sunshiny talks on the lines laid +down by the Autocrat, and an autobiographical love +story. It is full of wisdom and of beauty, of delicate +delineation, and of inspiring sentiment.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>New York Times.</i> +</p> + +<p>“Its merits will rank it among the few sterling +books of the day.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Boston Transcript.</i> +</p> + +<p>“A book of rare charm and unusual character ... +fresh and sweet in tone and admirably written +throughout.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>The Outlook, New York.</i> +</p> +<hr> +<p class="right"> + Crown 8vo, gilt top, $1.50. +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<table class="autotable center"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">HOUGHTON,<br>MIFFLIN<br>& COMPANY</td> + <td class="tdc"><figure class="figcenter illowp25"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure></td> + <td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>AND<br>NEW YORK</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<p class="fh2">A<br>COUNTRY INTERLUDE</p></div> +<hr> +<p class="rightb"> + By HILDEGARDE HAWTHORNE +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + + +<p>“The love story of a girl who learns through a summer +in the country that life offers more than mere +material comforts; as represented by a lover who can +give social position and luxury of surroundings.... +Miss Hawthorne manages her material with skill, and +writes with charm and conviction of the beauties of +nature.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>The Outlook, New York.</i> +</p> + +<p>“<i>A Country Interlude</i> is equal to any of the many +stories put forth by her famous grandfather’s prentice +hand.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Boston Transcript.</i> +</p> + +<p>“A charming little volume filled to the brim with +happiness.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Chicago Evening Post.</i> +</p> +<hr> +<p class="right"> + With decorative cover. 12mo, $1.25. +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<table class="autotable center"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">HOUGHTON,<br>MIFFLIN<br>& COMPANY</td> + <td class="tdc"><figure class="figcenter illowp25"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure></td> + <td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>AND<br>NEW YORK</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> +<p class="fh2">HEROES of the STORM</p></div> +<hr> +<p class="rightb"> + By WILLIAM D. O’CONNOR +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + + +<p>Wonderfully graphic accounts of the +most famous rescues from shipwreck by the +crews of the U. S. Life-Saving Service. O’Connor +was a master in writing of the sea and its perils.</p> + +<p>“That his style was strong and smooth is shown by +these descriptions of wrecks which undoubtedly are +correct in every detail. The unflagging zeal and +striking heroism of the life savers clearly is demonstrated, +and a new emphasis is given to the perils of +life on the ocean wave.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + <i>Boston Transcript.</i> +</p> +<hr> + +<p> + With introduction by Superintendent <span class="smcap">S. I. Kimball</span> <span class="inlinesig">12mo, $1.50</span> +</p> +<hr class="t"><hr class="b"> + +<table class="autotable center"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">HOUGHTON,<br>MIFFLIN<br>& COMPANY</td> + <td class="tdc"><figure class="figcenter illowp25"> + <img class="w100" src="images/toutbien.jpg" alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN"> +</figure></td> + <td class="tdc">BOSTON<br>AND<br>NEW YORK</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes"> + Transcriber’s Notes + </h2> +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 1.0em;">Contractions written as two words have been joined into one.</span><br> + <span style="margin-left: 1.0em;">Inconsistent hyphenation has been retained.</span> +</p> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78640 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78640-h/images/cover.jpg b/78640-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a8876b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/78640-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78640-h/images/frontis.jpg b/78640-h/images/frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..29c2096 --- /dev/null +++ b/78640-h/images/frontis.jpg diff --git a/78640-h/images/riverside.jpg b/78640-h/images/riverside.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca12b65 --- /dev/null +++ b/78640-h/images/riverside.jpg diff --git a/78640-h/images/toutbien.jpg b/78640-h/images/toutbien.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c9f3342 --- /dev/null +++ b/78640-h/images/toutbien.jpg |
