The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him

by Paul Leicester Ford

  CHAPTER LXI.

  LEONORE'S THEORY.

  And how well had that "talk-it-over" group at the end of Peterswedding-day grasped his character? How clearly do we ever gain aninsight into the feelings and motives which induce conduct even in thosewhom we best know and love? Each had found something in Peter that noother had discovered. We speak of rose-colored glasses, and Shakespearewrote, "All things are yellow to a jaundiced eye." When we take a bit ofblue glass, and place it with yellow, it becomes green. When we put itwith red, it becomes purple. Yet blue it is all the time. Is not eachperson responsible for the tint he seems to produce in others? Can weever learn that the thing is blue, and that the green or purple aspectis only the tinge which we ourselves help to give? Can we ever learnthat we love and are loved entirely as we give ourselves colors whichmay harmonize with those about us? That love, wins love; kindness,kindness; hate, hate. That just such elements as we give to theindividual, the individual gives back to us? That the sides we show arethe sides seen by the world. There were people who could truly believethat Peter was a ward boss; a frequenter of saloons; a drunkard; a liar;a swearer; a murderer, in intention, if not in act; a profligate; and acompromiser of many of his own strongest principles. Yet there werepeople who could, say other things of him.

  But more important than the opinion of Peter's friends, and of theworld, was the opinion of Peter's wife. Was she right in her theory thatshe was the only one who understood him? Or had she, as he had oncedone, reared an ideal, and given that ideal the love which she supposedshe was giving Peter? It is always a problem in love to say whether welove people most for the qualities they actually possess, or for thosewith which our own love endows them. Here was a young girl,inexperienced in world and men, joyfully sinking her own life in that ofa man whom, but a few months before, had been only a matter of hearsayto her. Yet she had apparently taken him, as women will, for better, forworse, till death, as trustfully as if he and men generally were asknowable as A B C, instead of as unknown as the algebraic X. Only oncehad she faltered in her trust of him, and then but for a moment. How farhad her love, and the sight of Peter's misery, led her blindly to renewthat trust? And would it hold? She had seen how little people thought ofthat scurrilous article, and how the decent papers had passed it overwithout a word. But she had also seen, the scandal harped upon bypartisans and noted that Peter failed to vindicate himself publicly, orvouchsafe an explanation to her. Had she taken Peter with trust ordoubt, knowledge or blindness?

  Perhaps a conversation between the two, a week later, will answer thesequestions. It occurred on the deck of a vessel. Yet this parting glimpseof Peter is very different from that which introduced him. The vessel isnot drifting helplessly, but its great screw is whirling it towards theisland of Martinique, as if itself anxious to reach that fairy land offairy lands. Though the middle of November, the soft warmth of thetropics is in the air. Nor are the sea and sky now leaden. The first isturned into liquid gold by the phosphorescence, and the full moonsilvers everything else. Neither is Peter pacing the deck with lines ofpain and endurance on his face. He is up in the bow, where the vessel'sforefoot throws up the white foam in silver drops in the moonlight. Andhe does not look miserable. Anything but that. He is sitting on ananchor stock, with his back comfortably braced against the rail. Anotherperson is not far distant. What that person sits upon and leans againstis immaterial to the narrative.

  "Why don't you smoke?" asked that person.

  "I'm too happy," said Peter, in a voice evidencing the truth of hiswords.

  "Will you if I bite off the end?" asked Eve, Jr., placing temptationmost temptingly.

  "I like the idea exceedingly," said Peter. "But my right arm is so verypleasantly placed that it objects to moving."

  "Don't move it. I know where they are. I even know about the matches."And Peter sat calmly while his pockets were picked. He even seemed toenjoy the sensation of that small hand rummaging in his waistcoatpockets. "You see, dear, that I am learning your ways," Leonorecontinued, in a tone of voice which suggested that that was the chiefend of woman. Perhaps it is. The Westminster catechism only tells us thechief end of man.

  "There. Now are you really happy?"

  "I don't know anybody more so."

  "Then, dear, I want to talk with you."

  "The wish is reciprocal. But what have we been doing for six days?"

  "We've been telling each other everything, just as we ought. But now Iwant to ask two favors, dear."

  "I don't think that's necessary. Just tell me what they are."

  "Yes. These favors are. Though I know you'll say 'yes.'"

  "Well?"

  "First. I want you always to keep your rooms just as they are?"

  "Dear-heart, after our six weeks' trip, we must be in Albany for threeyears, and when we come back to New York, we'll have a house of course."

  "Yes. But I want you to keep the rooms just as they are, because I lovethem. I don't think I shall ever feel the same for any other place. Itwill be very convenient to have them whenever, we want to run down fromAlbany. And of course you must keep up with the ward."

  "But you don't suppose, after we are back in New-York, that I'll staydown there, with you uptown?"

  "Oh, no! Of course not. Peter! How absurd you are! But I shall go downvery often. Sometimes we'll give little dinners to real friends. Andsometimes, when we want to get away from people, we'll dine by ourselvesand spend the night there. Then whenever you want to be at the saloonsor primaries we'll dine together there and I'll wait for you. And then Ithink I'll go down sometimes, when I'm shopping, and lunch with you.I'll promise not to bother you. You shall go back to your work, and I'llamuse myself with your flowers, and books, till you are ready to gouptown. Then we'll ride together."

  "Lispenard frightened me the other day, but you frighten me worse."

  "How?"

  "He said you would be a much lovelier woman at thirty than you are now."

  "And that frightened you?" laughed Leonore.

  "Terribly. If you are that I shall have to give up law and politicsentirely, so as to see enough of you."

  "But what has that to do with my lunching with you?"

  "Do you think I could work at law with you in the next room?"

  "Don't you want me? I thought it was such a nice plan."

  "It is. If your other favor is like that I shan't know what to say. Ishall merely long for you to ask favors."

  "This is very different. Will you try to understand me?"

  "I shan't misunderstand you, at all events." Which was a crazy speechfor any man to make any woman.

  "Then, dear, I want to speak of that terrible time--only for a moment,dear. You mustn't think I don't believe what you said. I do! I do! Everyword of it, and to prove it to you I shall never speak of it again. Butwhen I've shown you that I trust you entirely, some stormy evening, whenwe've had the nicest little dinner together at your rooms, and I'vegiven you some coffee, and bitten your cigar for you, I shall put youdown before the fire, and sit down in your lap, as I am doing now, andput my arms about your neck so, and put my cheek so. And then I wantyou, without my asking to tell me why you told mamma that lie, and allabout it."

  "Dear-heart," said Peter, "I cannot tell. I promised."

  "Oh, but that didn't include your wife, dear, of course. Besides, Peter,friends should tell each other everything. And we are the best offriends, aren't we?"

  "And if I don't tell my dearest friend?"

  "I shall never speak of it, Peter, but I know sometimes when I am bymyself I shall cry over it. Not because I doubt you, dear, but becauseyou won't give me your confidence."

  "Do you know, Dear-heart, that I can't bear the thought of your doingthat!"

  "Of course not, dear. That's the reason I tell you. I knew you couldn'tbear it."

  "How did you know?"

  "Because I understand you, dear. I know just what you are. I'm the onlyperson who does."

  "Tell me what I am."

  "I
think, dear, that something once came into your life that made youvery miserable, and took away all your hope and ambition. So, instead oftrying to make a great position or fortune, you tried to do good toothers. You found that you could do the most good among the poor people,so you worked among them. Then you found that you needed money, so youworked hard to get that. Then you found that you could help most byworking in politics, so you did that. And you have tried to gain powerso as to increase your power for good. I know you haven't liked a greatdeal you have had to do. I know that you much prefer to sit before yourstudy fire and read than sit in saloons. I know that you would ratherkeep away from tricky people than to ask or take their help. But youhave sacrificed your own feelings and principles because you felt thatthey were not to be considered if you could help others. And, becausepeople have laughed at you or misunderstood, you have become silent andunsocial, except as you have believed your mixing with the world to benecessary to accomplish good."

  "What a little idealist we are!"

  "Well, dear, that isn't all the little idealist has found out. She knowssomething else. She knows that all his life her ideal has been waitingand longing for some one who did understand him, so that he can tell herall his hopes and feelings, and that at last he has found her, and shewill try to make up for all the misery and sacrifice he has endured Sheknows, too, that he wants to tell her everything. You mustn't think,dear, that it was only prying which made me ask you so many questions.I--I really wasn't curious except to see if you would answer, for I feltthat you didn't tell other people your real thoughts and feelings, andso, whenever you told me, it was really getting you to say that youloved me. You wanted me to know what you really are. And that was why Iknew that you told me the truth that night. And that is the reason why Iknow that some day you will tell me about that lie."

  Peter, whatever he might think, did not deny the correctness ofLeonore's theories concerning his motives in the past or his conduct inthe future. He kissed the soft cheek so near him, tenderly, and said:

  "I like your thoughts about me, dear one."

  "Of course you do," said Leonore. "You said once that when you had afine subject it was always easy to make a fine speech. It's true, too,of thoughts, dear."