CHAPTER XI
MADAM BOWKER HEARS THE NEWS
In the midst of profound hush Madam Bowker was charging her heavyartillery, to train it upon and demolish the engagement certainly, andprobably Margaret, too. Just as she was about to open fire callers wereushered in. As luck had it they were the three Stillwater girls, hastilymade-over Westerners, dressed with great show of fashion in whatpurported to be imported French hats and gowns. An expert eye, however,would instantly have pierced the secret of this formidable array ofplumes and furbelows. The Stillwaters fancied they had exquisite tasteand real genius in the art of dress. Those hats were made at home, wereadaptations of the imported hats--adaptations of the kind that "see" theoriginal and "go it a few better." As for the dresses, the Stillwatershad found one of those treasures dear to a certain kind of woman, hadfound a "woman just round the corner, and not established yet"--"Iassure you, my dear, she takes a mental picture of the most difficultdress to copy, and you'd never know hers from the original--and SOreasonable!"
In advance came Molly Stillwater, the youngest and prettiest and themost aggressively dressed because her position as family beauty made itincumbent upon her to lead the way in fashion. As soon as the greetingswere over--cold, indeed, from Madam Bowker, hysterical fromRoxana--Molly gushed out: "Just as we left home, Josh Craig came tearingin. If possible, madder than a hatter--yes--really--" Molly was stilltoo young to have learned to control the mechanism of her mouth; thus,her confused syntax seemed the result of the alarming and fascinatingcontortions of her lips and tongue--"and, when we told him where we weregoing he shouted out, 'Give Rita my love.'"
Margaret penetrated to the purpose to anger her against Craig. Was notCraig intended by Mrs. Stillwater for Jessie, the eldest and onlyserious one of the three? And was not his conduct, his hanging aboutMargaret and his shying off from Jessie, thoroughly up on publicquestions and competent to discuss them with anybody--was not hisconduct most menacing to her plans? Mrs. Stillwater, arranging formatrimony for all her daughters, had decided that Jess was hopelessexcept as a "serious woman," since she had neither figure nor face, noreven abundant hair, which alone is enough to entangle some men. So, Jesshad been set to work at political economy, finance, at studying up thepolitical situations; and, if started right and not interfered with, shecould give as good account of her teaching as any phonograph.
Margaret welcomed Molly's message from Craig with a sweet smile. Anamused glance at the thunderous face of her grandmother, and she said,"Perhaps it would interest you, dear, to know that he and I areengaged."
What could Madam Bowker say? What could she do? Obviously, nothing. Thethree Stillwaters became hysterical. Their comments and congratulationswere scraps of disjointed nonsense, and they got away under cover ofmore arrivals, in as great disorder as if the heavy guns Madam Bowkerhad stacked to the brim for Margaret had accidentally discharged intothem. Madam Bowker could wait no longer. "Margaret," said she, "help meto my carriage."
Mrs. Severence gave her difficult daughter an appealing glance, as ifshe feared the girl would cap the climax of rebellion by flatlyrefusing; but Margaret said sweetly:
"Yes, Grandma."
The two left the room, the old lady leaning heavily on her granddaughterand wielding her ebony staff as if getting her arm limbered to use it.In the hall, she said fiercely, "To your room," and waved her stafftoward the stairway.
Margaret hesitated, shrugged her shoulders. She preceding, and MadamBowker ascending statelily afterward, they went up and were presentlyalone in Margaret's pretty rose and gold boudoir, with the outer doorclosed.
"Now!" exclaimed Madam Bowker.
"Not so loud, please," suggested the tranquil Margaret, "unless you wishSelina to hear." She pointed to the door ajar. "She's sewing in there."
"Send the woman away," commanded the old lady.
But Margaret merely closed the door. "Well, Grandmother?"
"Sit at this desk," ordered the old lady, pointing with the ebony staff,"and write a note to that man Craig, breaking the engagement. Say youhave thought it over and have decided it is quite impossible. Andto-morrow morning you go to New York with me."
Margaret seated herself on the lounge instead. "I'll do neither," saidshe.
The old lady waved the end of her staff in a gesture of lofty disdain."As you please. But, if you do not, your allowance is withdrawn."
"Certainly," said Margaret. "I assumed that."
Madam Bowker gazed at her with eyes like tongues of flame. "And how doyou expect to live?" she inquired.
"That is OUR affair," replied the girl. "You say you are done with me.Well, so am I done with you."
It was, as Margaret had said, because she was not afraid of hergrandmother that that formidable old lady respected her; and as she wasone of those who can give affection only where they give respect, sheloved Margaret--loved her with jealous and carping tenacity. The girl'swords of finality made her erect and unyielding soul shiver in a suddendreary blast of loneliness, that most tragic of all the storms thatsweep the ways of life. It was in the tone of the anger of love with thebeloved that she cried, "How DARE you engage yourself to such a person!"
"You served notice on me that I must marry," replied the girl, her owntone much modified. "He was the chance that offered."
"The chance!" Madam Bowker smiled with caustic scorn, "He's not achance."
"You ordered me to marry. I am marrying. And you are violating yourpromise. But I expected it."
"My promise? What do you mean?"
"You told me if I'd marry you'd continue my allowance after marriage.You even hinted you'd increase it."
"But this is no marriage. I should consider a connection between such aman and a Severence as a mere vulgar intrigue. You might as well runaway with a coachman. I have known few coachmen so ill-bred--sorepellent--as this Craig."
Margaret laughed cheerfully. "He isn't what you'd call polished, is he?"
Her grandmother studied her keenly. "Margaret," she finally said, "thisis some scheme of yours. You are using this engagement to help you tosomething else."
"I refused Grant Arkwright just before you came."
"You--refused--Arkwright?"
"My original plan was to trap Grant by making him jealous of Craig. ButI abandoned it."
"And why?"
"A remnant of decency."
"I doubt it," said the old lady.
"So should I in the circumstances. We're a pretty queer lot, aren't we?You, for instance--on the verge of the grave, and breaking your promiseto me as if a promise were nothing."
Mrs. Bowker's ebon staff twitched convulsively and her terrible eyeswere like the vent-holes of internal fires; but she managed her ragewith a skill that was high tribute to her will-power. "You are right inselecting this clown--this tag-rag," said she. "You and he, I see, arepeculiarly suited to each other.... My only regret is that in my blindaffection I have wasted all these years and all those thousands ofdollars on you." Madam Bowker affected publicly a fine scorn of moneyand all that thereto appertained; but privately she was a truearistocrat in her reverence and consideration for that which is the boneand blood of aristocracy.
"Nothing so stupid and silly as regret," said Margaret, with placidphilosophy of manner. "I, too, could think of things I regret. But I'mputting my whole mind on the future."
"Future!" Madam Bowker laughed. "Why, my child, you have no future.Within two years you'll either be disgracefully divorced, or the wife ofa little lawyer in a little Western town."
"But I'll have my husband and my children. What more can a woman ask?"
The old lady scrutinized her granddaughter's tranquil, delicate face inutter amazement. She could find nothing on which to base a hope that thegirl was either jesting or posing. "Margaret," she cried, "are youCRAZY?"
"Do you think a desire for a home, and a husband who adores one, andchildren whom one adores is evidence of insanity?"
"Yes, you are mad--quite mad!"
"I suppose you t
hink that fretting about all my seasons without an offerworth accepting has driven me out of my senses. Sometimes I think so,too." And Margaret lapsed into abstracted, dreamy silence.
"Do you pretend that you--you--care for--this person?" inquired the oldlady.
"I can't discuss him with you, Grandmother," replied the girl. "You knowyou have washed your hands of me."
"I shall never give up," cried the old lady vehemently, "until I rescueyou. I'll not permit this disgrace. I'll have him driven out ofWashington."
"Yes, you might try that," said Margaret. "I don't want him to stayhere. I am sick--sick to death--of all this. I loathe everything I everliked. It almost seems to me I'd prefer living in a cabin in theback-woods. I've just wakened to what it really means--no love, nofriendship, only pretense and show, rivalry in silly extravagance,aimless running to and fro among people that care nothing for one, andthat one cares nothing for. If you could see it as I see it you'dunderstand."
But Madam Bowker had thought all her life in terms of fashion andsociety. She was not in the least impressed. "Balderdash!" said she witha jab at the floor with the ebony staff. "Don't pose before me. You knowvery well you're marrying this man because you believe he will amount toa great deal."
Margaret beamed upon her grandmother triumphantly, as if she had steppedinto a trap that had been set for her. "And your only reason for beingangry," cried she, "is that you don't believe he will."
"I know he won't. He can't. Stillwater has kept him solely because thatunspeakable wife of his hopes to foist their dull, ugly eldest girl onhim."
"You think a man as shrewd as Stillwater would marry his daughter to anobody?"
"It's useless for you to argue, Margaret," snapped the old lady. "Theman's impossible--for a Severence. I shall stop the engagement."
"You can't," rejoined Margaret calmly. "My mind is made up. And alongwith several other qualities, Grandmother, dear, I've inherited yourwill."
"Will without wit--is there anything worse? But I know you are notserious. It is merely a mood--the result of a profound discouragement.My dear child, let me assure you it is no unusual thing for a girl ofyour position, yet without money, to have no offers at all. You shouldnot believe the silly lies your girlfriends tell about having bushels ofoffers. No girl has bushels of offers unless she makes herself commonand familiar with all kinds of men--and takes their loose talkseriously. Most men wouldn't dare offer themselves to you. The impudenceof this Craig! You should have ordered him out of your presence."
Margaret, remembering how Craig had seized her, smiled.
"I admit I have been inconsiderate in urging you so vigorously,"continued her grandmother. "I thought I had observed a tendency tofritter. I wished you to stop trifling with Grant Arkwright--or, rather,to stop his trifling with you. Come, now, my dear, let me put an end tothis engagement. And you will marry Grant, and your future will bebright and assured."
Margaret shook her head. "I have promised," said she, and her expressionwould have thrilled Lucia.
Madam Bowker was singularly patient with this evidence ofsentimentalism. "That's fine and noble of you. But you didn't realizewhat a grave step you were taking, and you--"
"Yes, but I did. If ever anything was deliberate on a woman's part, thatengagement was." A bright spot burned in each of the girl's cheeks. "Hedidn't really propose. I pretended to misunderstand him."
Her grandmother stared.
"You needn't look at me like that," exclaimed Margaret. "You know verywell that Grandfather Bowker never would have married you if you hadn'tfairly compelled him. I heard him tease you about it once when I was alittle girl."
It was Madam Bowker's turn to redden. She deigned to smile. "Men are sofoolish," observed she, "that women often have to guide them. Therewould be few marriages of the right sort if the men were not managed."
Margaret nodded assent. "I realize that now," said she. Earnestly:"Grandmother, try to make the best of this engagement of mine. When awoman, a woman as experienced and sensible as I am, makes up her mind acertain man is the man for her, is it wise to interfere?"
Madam Bowker, struck by the searching wisdom of this remark, wassilenced for the moment. In the interval of thought she reflected thatshe would do well to take counsel of herself alone in proceeding tobreak this engagement. "You are on the verge of making a terriblemisstep, child," said she with a gentleness she had rarely shown even toher favorite grandchild. "I shall think it over, and you will think itover. At least, promise me you will not see Craig for a few days."
Margaret hesitated. Her grandmother, partly by this unusual gentleness,partly by inducing the calmer reflection of the second thought, hadshaken her purpose more than she would have believed possible. "If I'vemade a mistake," said she, "isn't seeing him the best way to realizeit?"
"Yes," instantly and emphatically admitted the acute old lady. "See him,by all means. See as much of him as possible. And in a few days you willbe laughing at yourself--and very much ashamed."
"I wonder," said Margaret aloud, but chiefly to herself.
And Madam Bowker, seeing the doubt in her face, only a faint reflectionof the doubt that must be within, went away content.