CHAPTER V
THE next day after lunch Ethel said she was going to walk down toGramercy Park and spend an hour or two with her grandmother, and "Willyou send the carriage for me at five o'clock?" she asked.
"Your father has ordered the carriage to be at the Holland House at fiveo'clock. It can call for you first, and then go to the Holland House.But do not keep your father waiting. If he is not at the entrance giveyour card to the outside porter; he will have it sent up to Fred'sapartments."
"Then father is calling on Fred? What for? Is he sick?"
"Oh, no, business of some kind. I hope you will have a pleasant walk."
"There is no doubt of it."
Indeed, she was radiant with its exhilaration when she reached GramercyPark. As she ran up the steps of the big, old-fashioned house she sawMadam at the window picking up some dropped stitches in her knitting.Madam saw her at the same moment, and the old face and the young faceboth alike kindled with love, as well as with happy anticipation ofcoveted intercourse.
"I am so glad to see you, darling Granny. I could not wait untilto-morrow."
"And why should you, child? I have been watching for you all morning. Iwant to hear about the Denning dinner. I suppose you went?"
"Yes, we went; we had to. Dinners in strange houses are a commoncalamity; I can't expect to be spared what everyone has to endure."
"Don't be affected, Ethel. You like going out to dinner. Of course, youdo! It is only natural, considering."
"I don't, Granny. I like dances and theaters and operas, but I don'tlike dinners. However, the Denning dinner was a grand exception. It gaveme and the others a sensation."
"I expected that."
"It was beautifully ordered. Majordomo Parkinson saw to that. If he hadarranged it for his late employer, the Duke of Richmond, it could nothave been finer. There was not a break anywhere."
"How many were present?"
"Just a dozen."
"Mr. Denning and Bryce, of course. Who were the others?"
"Mr. Stanhope, of course. Granny, he wore his clerical dress. It madehim look so remarkable."
"He did right. A clergyman ought to look different from other men. Ido not believe Basil Stanhope, having assumed the dress of a servant ofGod, would put it off one hour for any social exigency. Why should he?It is a grander attire than any military or naval uniform, and no courtdress is comparable, for it is the court dress of the King of kings."
"All right, dear Granny; you always make things clear to me, yet I meetlots of clergymen in evening dress."
"Then they ought not to be clergymen. They ought not to wear coats inwhich they can hold any kind of opinions. Who was your companion?"
"Jamie Sayer."
"I never heard of the man."
"He is an artist, and is painting Dora's likeness. He is getting on now,but in the past, like all artists, he has suffered a deal."
"God's will be done. Let them suffer. It is good for genius to suffer.Is he in love with you?"
"Gracious, Granny! His head is so full of pictures that no woman couldfind room there, and if one did, the next new picture would crowd herout."
"End that story, it is long enough."
"Do you know Miss Ullman?"
"I have heard of her. Who has not?"
"She has Bryce Denning on trial now. If he marries her I shall pityhim."
"Pity him! Not I, indeed! He would have his just reward. Like to like,and Amen to it."
"Then there was Claudine Jeffrys, looking quite ethereal, but verylovely."
"I know. Her lover was killed in Cuba, and she has been the type offaithful grief ever since. She looks it and dresses it to perfection."
"And feels it?"
"Perhaps she does. I am not skilled in the feelings of pensive,heart-broken maidens. But her case is a very common one. Lovers arenowhere against husbands, yet how many thousands of good women losetheir husbands every year? If they are poor, they have to hide theirgrief and work for them-selves and their families; if they are rich,very few people believe that they are really sorry to be widows. Areany poor creatures more jeered at than widows? No man believes theyare grieving for the loss of their husbands. Then why should they allsympathize with Claudine about the loss of a lover?"
"Perhaps lovers are nicer than husbands."
"Pretty much all alike. I have known a few good husbands. Yourgrandfather was one, your father another. But you have said nothingabout Fred. Did he look handsome? Did he make a sensation? Was he acousin to be proud of?"
"Indeed, Granny, Fred was the whole party. He is not naturally handsome,but he has distinction, and he was well-dressed. And I never heardanyone talk as he did. He told the most delightful stories, he was fullof mimicry and wit, and said things that brought everyone into themerry talk; and I am sure he charmed and astonished the whole party.Mr. Denning asked me quietly afterwards 'what university he was educatedat.' I think he took it all as education, and had some wild ideas offinishing Bryce in a similar manner."
Madam was radiant. "I told you so," she said proudly. "The Mostyns haveintellect as well as land. There are no stupid Mostyns. I hope you askedhim to play. I think his way of handling a piano would have taught thema few things Russians and Poles know nothing about. Poor things! How canthey have any feelings left?"
"There was no piano in the room, Granny, and the company separated verysoon after dinner."
"Somehow you ought to have managed it, Ethel." Then with a touch ofanxiety, "I hope all this cleverness was natural--I mean, I hope itwasn't champagne. You know, Ethel, we think as we drink, and Fred isn'tused to those frisky wines. Mostyn cellars are full of old sherry andclaret, and Fred's father was always against frothing, sparkling wines."
"Granny, it was all Fred. Wine had nothing to do with it, but a certainwoman had; in fact, she was the inspirer, and Fred fell fifty fathomsdeep in love with her the very moment she entered the room. He heardnot, felt not, thought not, so struck with love was he. Ruth got himto a window for a few moments and so hid his emotion until he could gethimself together."
"Oh, what a tale! What a cobweb tale! I don't believe a word of it," andshe laughed merrily.
"'Tis true as gospel, Granny."
"Name her, then. Who was the woman?"
"Dora."
"It is beyond belief, above belief, out of all reason. It cannot be,and it shall not be, and if you are making up a story to tease me, EthelRawdon----"
"Grandmother, let me tell you just how it came about. We were all in theroom waiting for Dora, and she suddenly entered. She was dressed in softamber silk from head to feet; diamonds were in her black hair, and onthe bands across her shoulders, on her corsage, on her belt, her hands,and even her slippers. Under the electric lights she looked as if shewas in a golden aura, scintillating with stars. She took Fred's breathaway. He was talking to Ruth, and he could not finish the word he wassaying. Ruth thought he was going to faint----"
"Don't tell me such nonsense."
"Well, grandmother, this nonsense is truth. As I said before, Ruthtook him aside until he got control of himself; then, as he was Dora'sescort, he had to go to her. Ruth introduced them, and as she raised hersoft, black eyes to his, and put her hand on his arm, something happenedagain, but this time it was like possession. He was the courtier in amoment, his eyes flashed back her glances, he gave her smile for smile,and then when they were seated side by side he became inspired andtalked as I have told you. It is the truth, grandmother."
"Well, there are many different kinds of fools, but Fred Mostyn is theworst I ever heard tell of. Does he not know that the girl is engaged?"
"Knows it as well as I do."
"None of our family were ever fools before, and I hope Fred will comeround quickly. Do you think Dora noticed the impression she made?"
"Yes, Aunt Ruth noticed Dora; and Ruth says Dora 'turned the arrow inthe heart wound' all the evening."
"What rubbish you are talking! Say in good English what you mean."
&nbs
p; "She tried every moment they, were together to make him more and morein love with her."
"What is her intention? A girl doesn't carry on that way for nothing."
"I do not know. Dora has got beyond me lately. And, grandmother, Iam not troubling about the event as it regards Dora or Fred or BasilStanhope, but as it regards Ethel."
"What have you to do with it?"
"That is just what I want to have clearly understood. Aunt Ruth told methat father and you would be disappointed if I did not marry Fred."
"Well?"
"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I never shall marry Fred Mostyn.Never!"
"I rather think you will have to settle that question with your father,Ethel."
"No. I have settled it with myself. The man has given to Dora all thelove that he has to give. I will have a man's whole heart, and notfragments and finger-ends of it."
"To be sure, that is right. But I can't say much, Ethel, when I onlyknow one side of the case, can I? I must wait and hear what Fred hasto say. But I like your spirit and your way of bringing what is wrongstraight up to question. You are a bit Yorkshire yet, whatever you thinkgets quick to your tongue, and then out it comes. Good girl, your heartis on your lips."
They talked the afternoon away on this subject, but Madam's last wordswere not only advisory, they were in a great measure sympathetic. "Bestraight with yourself, Ethel," she said, "then Fred Mostyn can do as helikes; you will be all right."
She accepted the counsel with a kiss, and then drove to the HollandHouse for her father. He was not waiting, as Ruth had supposed he wouldbe, but then she was five minutes too soon. She sent up her card, andthen let her eyes fall upon a wretched beggar man who was trying to playa violin, but was unable by reason of hunger and cold. He looked as ifhe was dying, and she was moved with a great pity, and longed for herfather to come and give some help. While she was anxiously watching, ayoung man was also struck with the suffering on the violinist's face.He spoke a few words to him, and taking the violin, drew from it suchstrains of melody, that in a few moments a crowd had gathered within thehotel and before it. First there was silence, then a shout of delight;and when it ceased the player's voice thrilled every heart to passionatepatriotism, as he sang with magnificent power and feeling--
There is not a spot on this wide-peopled earth So dear to our heart as the Land of our Birth, etc.
A tumult of hearty applause followed, and then he cried, "Gentlemen,this old man fought for the land of our birth. He is dying of hunger,"and into the old man's hat he dropped a bill and then handed it round tomillionaire and workingman alike. Ethel's purse was in her hand. Ashe passed along the curb at which her carriage stood, he looked ather eager face, and with a smile held out the battered hat. She, alsosmiling, dropped her purse into it. In a few moments the hat was nearlyfull; the old man and the money were confided to the care of an hotelofficer, the stream of traffic and pleasure went on its usual way, andthe musician disappeared.
All that evening the conversation turned constantly to this event.Mostyn was sure he was a member of some operatic troupe. "Voices ofsuch rare compass and exceptional training were not to be found amongnon-professional people," he said, and Judge Rawdon was of his opinion.
"His voice will haunt me for many days," he said. "Those two lines, forinstance--
'Tis the home of our childhood, that beautiful spot Which memory retains when all else is forgot.
The melody was wonderful. I wish we could find out where he is singing.His voice, as I said, haunts my ear."
Ethel might have made the same remark, but she was silent. She hadnoticed the musician more closely than her father or Fred Mostyn, andwhen Ruth Bayard asked her if his personality was interesting, she wasable to give a very clear description of the man.
"I do not believe he is a professional singer; he is too young," sheanswered. "I should think he was about twenty-five years old, tall,slender, and alert. He was fashionably dressed, as if he had been, orwas going, to an afternoon reception. Above all things, I should say hewas a gentleman."
Oh, why are our hearts so accessible to our eyes? Only a smiling glancehad passed between Ethel and the Unknown, yet his image was prisonedbehind the bars of her eyelids. On this day of days she had met Love onthe crowded street, and he had
"But touched his lute wherein was audible The certain secret thing he had to tell; Only their mirrored eyes met silently";
and a sweet trouble, a restless, pleasing curiosity, had filled herconsciousness. Who was he? Where had he gone to? When should they meetagain? Ah, she understood now how Emmeline Labiche had felt constrainedto seek her lover from the snows of Canada to the moss-veiled oaks ofLouisiana.
But her joyous, hopeful soul could not think of love and disappointmentat the same moment. "I have seen him, and I shall see him again. We metby appointment. Destiny introduced us. Neither of us will forget, andsomewhere, some day, I shall be waiting, and he will come."
Thus this daughter of sunshine and hope answered herself; and why not?All good things come to those who can wait in sweet tranquillity forthem, and seldom does Fortune fail to bring love and heart's-ease uponthe changeful stream of changeful days to those who trust her for them.
On the following morning, when the two girls entered the parlor, theyfound the Judge smoking there. He had already breakfasted, and lookedover the three or four newspapers whose opinions he thought worthy ofhis consideration. They were lying in a state of confusion at his side,and Ethel glanced at them curiously.
"Did any of the papers speak of the singing before the Holland House?"she asked.
"Yes. I think reporters must be ubiquitous. All my papers had some sortof a notice of the affair."
"What do they say?"
"One gave the bare circumstances of the case; another indulged in whatwas supposed to be humorous description; a third thought it might havebeen the result of a bet or dare; a fourth was of the opinion thatconspiracy between the old beggar and the young man was not unlikely,and credited the exhibition as a cleverly original way of obtainingmoney. But all agreed in believing the singer to be a member of someopera company now in the city."
Ethel was indignant. "It was neither 'bet' nor 'dare' nor 'conspiracy,'"she said. "I saw the singer as he came walking rapidly down the avenue,and he looked as happy and careless as a boy whistling on a countrylane. When his eyes fell on the old man he hesitated, just a moment,and then spoke to him. I am sure they were absolute strangers to eachother."
"But how can you be sure of a thing like that, Ethel?"
"I don't know 'how,' Ruth, but all the same, I am sure. And as for itbeing a new way of begging, that is not correct. Not many years ago, oneof the De Reszke brothers led a crippled soldier into a Paris cafe, andsang the starving man into comfort in twenty minutes."
"And the angelic Parepa Rosa did as much for a Mexican woman, whom shefound in the depths of sorrow and poverty--brought her lifelong comfortwith a couple of her songs. Is it not likely, then, that the gallantknight of the Holland House is really a member of some opera company,that he knew of these examples and followed them?"
"It is not unlikely, Ruth, yet I do not believe that is theexplanation."
"Well," said the Judge, throwing his cigarette into the fire, "if thesinger had never heard of De Reszke and Parepa Rosa, we may suppose hima gentleman of such culture as to be familiar with the exquisite Greeklegend of Phoebus Apollo--that story would be sufficient to inspire anyman with his voice. Do you know it?"
Both girls answered with an enthusiastic entreaty for its recital, andthe Judge went to the library and returned with a queer-looking littlebook, bound in marbled paper.
"It was my father's copy," he said, "an Oxford edition." And he turnedthe leaves with loving carefulness until he came to the incident. Thenbeing a fine reader, the words fell from his lips in a stately measurebetter than music:
"After Troy fell there came to Argos a scarred soldier seeking alms.Not deigning to beg, he played upon a lyre; b
ut the handling of arms hadrobbed him of his youthful power, and he stood by the portico hour afterhour, and no one dropped him a lepton. Weary, hungry and thirsty, heleaned in despair against a pillar. A youth came to him and asked, 'Whynot play on, Akeratos?' And Akeratos meekly answered, 'I am no longerskilled.' 'Then,' said the stranger, 'hire me thy lyre; here is adidrachmon. I will play, and thou shalt hold out thy cap and be dumb.'So the stranger took the lyre and swept the strings, and men heard,as it were, the clashing of swords. And he sang the fall of Troy--howHector perished, slain by Achilles, the rush of chariots, the ring ofhoofs, the roar of flames--and as he sang the people stopped to listen,breathless and eager, with rapt, attentive ear. And when the singerceased the soldier's cap was filled with coins, and the people beggedfor yet another song. Then he sang of Venus, till all men's hearts weresoftly stirred, and the air was purple and misty and full of the scentof roses. And in their joy men cast before Akeratos not coins only, butsilver bracelets and rings, and gems and ornaments of gold, until theheap had to its utmost grown, making Akeratos rich in all men's sight.Then suddenly the singer stood in a blaze of light, and the men of Argossaw their god of song, Phoebus Apollo, rise in glory to the skies."
The girls were delighted; the Judge pleased both with his own renderingof the legend and the manifest appreciation with which it had beenreceived. For a moment or two all felt the exquisite touch of theantique world, and Ethel said, in a tone of longing,
"I wish that I had been a Greek and lived in Argos."
"You would not have liked it as well as being an American and living inNew York," said her father.
"And you would have been a pagan," added Ruth.
"They were such lovely pagans, Ruth, and they dreamed such beautifuldreams of life. Leave the book with me, father; I will take good care ofit."
Then the Judge gave her the book, and with a sigh looked into the modernstreet. "I ought to be down at Bowling Green instead of readingGreek stories to you girls," he said rather brusquely. "I have a veryimportant railway case on my mind, and Phoebus Apollo has nothing todo with it. Good morning. And, Ethel, do not deify the singer on theavenue. He will not turn out, like the singer by the portico, to be agod; be sure of that."
The door closed before she could answer, and both women remained silenta few minutes. Then Ethel went to the window, and Ruth asked if she wasgoing to Dora's.
"Yes," was the answer, but without interest.
"You are tired with all this shopping and worry?"
"It is not only that I am tired, I am troubled about Fred Mostyn."
"Why?"
"I do not know why. It is only a vague unrest as yet. But one thing Iknow, I shall oppose anything like Fred making himself intimate withDora."
"I think you will do wisely in that."
But in a week Ethel realized that in opposing a lover like Fred Mostynshe had a task beyond her ability. Fred had nothing to do as importantin his opinion as the cultivation of his friendship with Dora Denning.He called it "friendship," but this misnomer deceived no one, not evenDora. And when Dora encouraged his attentions, how was Ethel to preventthem without some explanation which would give a sort of reality to whatwas as yet a nameless suspicion?
Yet every day the familiarity increased. He seemed to divine theirengagements. If they went to their jeweler's, or to a bazaar, he wassure to stroll in after them. When they came out of the milliner's ormodiste's, Fred was waiting. "He had secured a table at Sherry's; he hadordered lunch, and all was ready." It was too great an effort to resisthis entreaty. Perhaps no one wished to do so. The girls were utterlytired and hungry, and the thought of one of Fred's lunches was verypleasant. Even if Basil Stanhope was with them, it appeared to be allthe better. Fred always included Dora's lover with a charming courtesy;and, indeed, at such hours, was in his most delightful mood. Stanhopeappeared to inspire him. His mentality when the clergyman was presenttook possession of every incident that came and went, and clothed itin wit and pleasantry. Dora's plighted lover honestly thought Dora'sundeclared lover the cleverest and most delightful of men. And he had noopportunity of noting, as Ethel did, the difference in Fred's attitudewhen he was not present. Then Mostyn's merry mood became sentimental,and his words were charged with soft meanings and looks of adoration,and every tone and every movement made to express far more than thetongue would have dared to utter.
As this flirtation progressed--for on Dora's part it was only vanity andflirtation--Ethel grew more and more uneasy. She almost wished for sometrifling overt act which would give her an excuse for warning Dora; andone day, after three weeks of such philandering, the opportunity came.
"I think you permit Fred Mostyn to take too much liberty with you,Dora," she said as soon as they were in Dora's parlor, and as she spokeshe threw off her coat in a temper which effectively emphasized thewords.
"I have been expecting this ill-nature, Ethel. You were cross all thetime we were at lunch. You spoiled all our pleasure Pray, what have Ibeen doing wrong with Fred Mostyn?"
"It was Fred who did wrong. His compliments to you were outrageous.He has no right to say such things, and you have no right to listen tothem."
"I am not to blame if he compliments me instead of you. He was simplypolite, but then it was to the wrong person."
"Of course it was. Such politeness he had no right to offer you."
"It would have been quite proper if offered you, I suppose?"
"It would not. It would have been a great impertinence. I have givenhim neither claim nor privilege to address me as 'My lovely Ethel!' Hecalled you many times 'My lovely Dora!' You are not his lovely Dora.When he put on your coat, he drew you closer than was proper; and I sawhim take your hand and hold it in a clasp--not necessary."
"Why do you listen and watch? It is vulgar. You told me so yourself. AndI am lovely. Basil says that as well as Fred. Do you want a man to lieand say I am ugly?"
"You are fencing the real question. He had no business to use the word'my.' You are engaged to Basil Stanhope, not to Fred Mostyn."
"I am Basil's lovely fiancee; I am Fred's lovely friend."
"Oh! I hope Fred understands the difference."
"Of course he does. Some people are always thinking evil."
"I was thinking of Mr. Stanhope's rights."
"Thank you, Ethel; but I can take care of Mr. Stanhope's rights withoutyour assistance. If you had said you were thinking of Ethel Rawdon'srights you would have been nearer the truth."
"Dora, I will not listen----"
"Oh, you shall listen to me! I know that you expected Fred to fall inlove with you, but if he did not like to do so, am I to blame?" Ethelwas resuming her coat at this point in the conversation, and Doraunderstood the proud silence with which the act was being accomplished.Then a score of good reasons for preventing such a definite quarrelflashed through her selfish little mind, and she threw her arms aroundEthel and begged a thousand pardons for her rudeness. And Ethel hadalso reasons for avoiding dissension at this time. A break in theirfriendship now would bring Dora forward to explain, and Dora had awonderful cleverness in presenting her own side of any question. Ethelshrunk from her innuendoes concerning Fred, and she knew that Basilwould be made to consider her a meddling, jealous girl who willingly sawevil in Dora's guileless enjoyment of a clever man's company.
To be misunderstood, to be blamed and pitied, to be made a pedestalfor Dora's superiority, was a situation not to be contemplated. It wasbetter to look over Dora's rudeness in the flush of Dora's pretendedsorrow for it. So they forgave each other, or said they did, andthen Dora explained herself. She declared that she had not the leastintention of any wrong. "You see, Ethel, what a fool the man is aboutme. Somebody says we ought to treat a fool according to his folly. Thatis all I was doing. I am sure Basil is so far above Fred Mostyn that Icould never put them in comparison--and Basil knows it. He trusts me."
"Very well, Dora. If Basil knows it, and trusts you, I have no more tosay. I am now sorry I named the subject."
; "Never mind, we will forget that it was named. The fact is, Ethel, Iwant all the fun I can get now. When I am Basil's wife I shall have tobe very sedate, and of course not even pretend to know if any other manadmires me. Little lunches with Fred, theater and opera parties, andeven dances will be over for me. Oh, dear, how much I am giving up forBasil! And sometimes I think he never realizes how dreadful it must befor me."
"You will have your lover all the time then. Surely his constantcompanionship will atone for all you relinquish."
"Take off your coat and hat, Ethel, and sit down comfortably. I don'tknow about Basil's constant companionship. Tete-a-tetes are tiresomeaffairs sometimes."
"Yes," replied Ethel, as she half-reluctantly removed her coat, "theywere a bore undoubtedly even in Paradise. I wonder if Eve was tired ofAdam's conversation, and if that made her listen to--the other party."
"I am so glad you mentioned that circumstance, Ethel. I shall rememberit. Some day, no doubt, I shall have to remind Basil of the failure ofAdam to satisfy Eve's idea of perfect companionship." And Dora put herpretty, jeweled hands up to her ears and laughed a low, musical laughwith a childish note of malice running through it.
This pseudo-reconciliation was not conducive to pleasant intercourse.After a short delay Ethel made an excuse for an early departure, andDora accepted it without her usual remonstrance. The day had been oneof continual friction, and Dora's irritable pettishness hard to bear,because it had now lost that childish unreason which had alwaysinduced Ethel's patience, for Dora had lately put away all her ignorantimmaturities. She had become a person of importance, and had realizedthe fact. The young ladies of St. Jude's had made a pet of their reveredrector's love, and the elder ladies had also shown a marked interest inher. The Dennings' fine house was now talked about and visited. Men ofhigh financial power respected Mr. Dan Denning, and advised the socialrecognition of his family; and Mrs. Denning was not now found moreeccentric than many other of the new rich, who had been tolerated inthe ranks of the older plutocrats. Even Bryce had made the standinghe desired. He was seen with the richest and idlest young men, and wasinvited to the best houses. Those fashionable women who had marriageabledaughters considered him not ineligible, and men temporarilyhampered for cash knew that they could find smiling assistance for aconsideration at Bryce's little office on William Street.
These and other points of reflection troubled Ethel, and she wasglad the long trial was nearing its end, for she knew quite well thedisagreement of that evening had done no good. Dora would certainlyrepeat their conversation, in her own way of interpreting it, to bothBasil Stanhope and Fred Mostyn. More than likely both Bryce and Mrs.Denning would also hear how her innocent kindness had been misconstrued;and in each case she could imagine the conversation that took place, andthe subsequent bestowal of pitying, scornful or angry feeling that wouldinsensibly find its way to her consciousness without any bird of the airto carry it.
She felt, too, that reprisals of any kind were out of the question. Theywere not only impolitic, they were difficult. Her father had an aversionto Dora, and was likely to seize the first opportunity for requestingEthel to drop the girl's acquaintance. Ruth also had urged her towithdraw from any active part in the wedding, strengthening her advicewith the assurance that when a friendship began to decline it ought tobe abandoned at once. There was only her grandmother to go to, and atfirst she did not find her at all interested in the trouble. She hadjust had a dispute with her milkman, was inclined to give him all hersuspicions and all her angry words--"an impertinent, cheating creature,"she said; and then Ethel had to hear the history of the month's creamand of the milkman's extortion, with the old lady's characteristicdeclaration:
"I told him plain what I thought of his ways, but I paid him every centI owed him. Thank God, I am not unreasonable!"
Neither was she unreasonable when Ethel finally got her to listen to herown serious grievance with Dora.
"If you will have a woman for a friend, Ethel, you must put up withwomanly ways; and it is best to keep your mouth shut concerning suchways. I hate to see you whimpering and whining about wrongs you havebeen cordially inviting for weeks and months and years."
"Grandmother!"
"Yes, you have been sowing thorns for yourself, and then you go unshodover them. I mean that Dora has this fine clergyman, and Fred Mostyn,and her brother, and mother, and father all on her side; all of themsure that Dora can do no wrong, all of them sure that Ethel, poor girl,must be mistaken, or prudish, or jealous, or envious."
"Oh, grandmother, you are too cruel."
"Why didn't you have a few friends on your own side?"
"Father and Ruth never liked Dora. And Fred--I told you how Fred actedas soon as he saw her!"
"There was Royal Wheelock, James Clifton, or that handsome Dick Potter.Why didn't you ask them to join you at your lunches and dances? Youought to have pillared your own side. A girl without her beaux is alwayson the wrong side if the girl with beaux is against her."
"It was the great time of Dora's life. I wished her to have all theglory of it."
"All her own share--that was right. All of your share, also--that was aswrong as it could be."
"Clifton is yachting, Royal and I had a little misunderstanding, andDick Potter is too effusive."
"But Dick's effusiveness would have been a good thing for Fred'seffusiveness. Two men can't go on a complimentary ran-tan at the sametable. They freeze one another out. That goes without saying. But Dora'sindiscretions are none of your business while she is under her father'sroof; and I don't know if she hadn't a friend in the world, if theywould be your business. I have always been against people trying to dothe work of THEM that are above us. We are told THEY seek and THEYsave, and it's likely they will look after Dora in spite of her being sounknowing of herself as to marry a priest in a surplice, when a fool inmotley would have been more like the thing."
"I don't want to quarrel with Dora. After all, I like her. We have beenfriends a long time."
"Well, then, don't make an enemy of her. One hundred friends are too fewagainst one enemy. One hundred friends will wish you well, and one enemywill DO you ill. God love you, child! Take the world as you find it.Only God can make it any better. When is this blessed wedding to comeoff?"
"In two weeks. You got cards, did you not?"
"I believe I did. They don't matter. Let Dora and her flirtations alone,unless you set your own against them. Like cures like. If the priestsees nothing wrong----"
"He thinks all she does is perfect."
"I dare say. Priests are a soft lot, they'll believe anything. He'slove-blind at present. Some day, like the prophet of Pethor, [1] he willget his eyes opened. As for Fred Mostyn, I shall have a good deal to sayabout him by and by, so I'll say nothing now."
[Footnote 1: One of the Hebrew prophets.]
"You promised, grandmother, not to talk to me any more about Fred."
"It was a very inconsiderate promise, a very irrational promise! I amsorry I made it--and I don't intend to keep it."
"Well, it takes two to hold a conversation, grandmother."
"To be sure it does. But if I talk to you, I hope to goodness you willhave the decency to answer me. I wouldn't believe anything different."And she looked into Ethel's face with such a smiling confidence in hergood will and obedience, that Ethel could only laugh and give her twentykisses as she stood up to put on her hat and coat.
"You always get your way, Granny," she said; and the old lady, as shewalked with her to the door, answered, "I have had my way for nearlyeighty years, dearie, and I've found it a very good way. I'm not likelyto change it now."
"And none of us want you to change it, dear. Granny's way is always awise way." And she kissed her again ere she ran down the steps to hercarriage. Yet as the old lady stepped slowly back to the parlor, shemuttered, "Fred Mostyn is a fool! If he had any sense when he leftEngland, he has lost it since he came here."
Of course nothing good came of this irritable interference. Meddlingwith
the conscience of another person is a delicate and difficultaffair, and Ruth had already warned Ethel of its certain futility. Butthe days were rapidly wearing away to the great day, for which somany other days had been wasted in fatiguing worry, and incredibleextravagance of health and temper and money--and after it? There wouldcertainly be a break in associations. Temptation would be removed, andBasil Stanhope, relieved for a time from all the duties of his office,would have continual opportunities for making eternally secure theaffection of the woman he had chosen.
It was to be a white wedding, and for twenty hours previous to itscelebration it seemed as if all the florists in New York were at work inthe Denning house and in St. Jude's church. The sacred place was radiantwith white lilies. White lilies everywhere; and the perfume would havebeen overpowering, had not the weather been so exquisite that openwindows were possible and even pleasant. To the softest strains of musicDora entered leaning on her father's arm and her beauty and splendorevoked from the crowd present an involuntary, simultaneous stir ofwonder and delight. She had hesitated many days between the simplicityof white chiffon and lilies of the valley, and the magnificence ofbrocaded satin in which a glittering thread of silver was interwoven.The satin had won the day, and the sunshine fell upon its beauty, asshe knelt at the altar, like sunshine falling upon snow. It shoneand gleamed and glistened as if it were an angel's robe; and thisscintillating effect was much increased by the sparkling of the diamondsin her hair, and at her throat and waist and hands and feet. Nor washer brilliant youth affected by the overshadowing tulle usually sounbecoming. It veiled her from head to feet, and was held in place bya diamond coronal. All her eight maids, though lovely girls, looked wanand of the earth beside her. For her sake they had been content withthe simplicity of chiffon and white lace hats, and she stood among themlustrous as some angelic being. Stanhope was entranced by her beauty,and no one on this day wondered at his infatuation or thought remarkablethe ecstasy of reverent rapture with which he received the hand of hisbride. His sense of the gift was ravishing. She was now his love, hiswife forever, and when Ethel slipped forward to part and throw backwardthe concealing veil, he very gently restrained her, and with his ownhands uncovered the blushing beauty, and kissed her there at the altar.Then amid a murmur and stir of delighted sympathy he took his wife uponhis arm, and turned with her to the life they were to face together.
Two hours later all was a past dream. Bride and bridegroom had slippedquietly away, and the wedding guests had arrived at that rather noisyindifference which presages the end of an entertainment. Then flushedand tired with hurrying congratulations and good wishes that stumbledover each other, carriage after carriage departed; and Ethel and hercompanions went to Dora's parlor to rest awhile and discuss the event ofthe day. But Dora's parlor was in a state of confusion. It had, too, anair of loss, and felt like a gilded cage from which the bird had flown.They looked dismally at its discomfort and went downstairs. Men wereremoving the faded flowers or sitting at the abandoned table eatingand drinking. Everywhere there was disorder and waste, and from theservants' quarter came a noisy sense of riotous feasting.
"Where is Mrs. Denning?" Ethel asked a footman who was gatheringtogether the silver with the easy unconcern of a man whose ideas wererosy with champagne. He looked up with a provoking familiarity at thequestion, and sputtered out, "She's lying down crying and making a fuss.Miss Day is with her, soothing of her."
"Let us go home," said Ethel.
And so, weary with pleasure, and heart-heavy with feelings that had nolonger any reason to exist, pale with fatigue, untidy with crush, theirpretty white gowns sullied and passe, each went her way; in every hearta wonder whether the few hilarious hours of strange emotions were worthall they claimed as their right and due.
Ruth had gone home earlier, and Ethel found her resting in her room. "Iam worn out, Ruth," was her first remark. "I am going to bed for threeor four days. It was a dreadful ordeal."
"One to which you may have to submit."
"Certainly not. My marriage will be a religious ceremony, with half adozen of my nearest relatives as witnesses."
"I noticed Fred slip away before Dora went. He looked ill."
"I dare say he is ill--and no wonder. Good night, Ruth. I am going tosleep. Tell father all about the wedding. I don't want to hear it namedagain--not as long as I live."
The Man Between: An International Romance Page 5
