CHAPTER XV
SOME SOCIAL EXPERIENCES
One evening about the middle of February, Kenneth Hastings called atthe Clayton home. After a few moments of general conversation, heturned to Mrs. Clayton and begged to be excused from his engagement toaccompany them to Box Canyon.
"Oh, Mr. Kenneth," protested Edith.
"I am sorry, Edith," he said, turning to her, "but I leave to-morrowfor England."
"For England!" ejaculated Esther in astonishment; for she knew that avisit to England had been remote from his thoughts the last time shehad talked with him.
"Nothing wrong at home, I hope, Kenneth?" said John Clayton, kindly.
"My uncle cabled me that my parents were killed in an accident. It isimperative that I go at once."
He paused. John Clayton reached over and laid a hand on his arm. Mrs.Clayton spoke a few words of sympathy; but Esther Bright sat silent.How she had urged him to make his parents a visit! How he had rebuffedher, saying they cared nothing for him! She remembered his saying thathe had always been starved for a mother's love. Too late now to giveor to receive.
She felt Kenneth looking at her, expecting her to say some word. Sheseemed suddenly dumb. At last she heard him speak her name. Hehesitated, then continued:
"I wish I had gone when you suggested it, Miss Bright."
He bowed his head upon his hand.
"I wish you _had_ gone," she said, simply. "It might have been acomfort to you."
After awhile he spoke cheerfully of his return, and of what they woulddo.
"Don't let Miss Bright work too hard," he said, smiling gravely. "Shedoes enough work for five men."
"I shall miss your help," was all she said. But she felt a suddenlonging to comfort him. Into her face flashed a look of sympathy. Heknew it was for him.
"It almost makes me homesick, Kenneth, to hear you talk of goinghome," said Mrs. Clayton. "England always will seem home to me," sheadded, turning to Esther.
"It is a beautiful country to call home," responded the New Englandgirl. "I love England."
They talked till late, Kenneth receiving message after message fromthem to kindred and friends across the sea.
He rose to go, taking leave of Esther last of all. Then he turned toher with both hands extended. She placed her own in his. He drew hertowards him, and without a word, turned and was gone.
Esther withdrew, and Edith and Carla soon followed, leaving JohnClayton and his wife seated before the fireplace.
"Well, John!" said the wife.
"Well, my dear?" responded the husband, apparently surmising what wascoming.
"Kenneth _loves_ Miss Bright."
"Well, is this the first time you have suspected that?" As though hehad always suspected it.
"No! But--"
"But what?"
"Is he worthy of her, John?"
"Don't be foolish, Mary. Kenneth is a true and honorable man. Yes--"pausing to listen to her expostulations,--"I know he used to drinksome; but I never saw him intoxicated. He played cards as we do here,and when he was in the company of men who gambled, he gambled too."
"But morally, John. It's goodness that a woman cares most about. Is heall right morally?"
He drew his chair close to hers.
"I believe Kenneth to be clean morally. If he had been immoral here, Ishould have known of it. And yet he, like the other men, has beensurrounded by temptation. What is gross does not appeal to him. I havenever known him to speak lightly of any woman. For you and Edith hehas the deepest respect; for Carla, he has the utmost compassion; andfor Miss Bright, (bless her!) he has a reverence I have never seen anyman show to any woman."
"Then he loves her, doesn't he?"
"He never told me so," he answered, smiling; "I doubt if he has toldher."
"But after that good-by to-night," she persisted, "I _know_ he lovesher."
"I hope he does, Mary, and that she cares for him. I don't see how shecould help it. I'd like to see them happy,--as happy as you and I are,Mary."
He leaned toward her, resting his cheek against hers.
"As happy as we are, Beloved. Twenty years married. Am I right? Andlovers still."
"Yes, twenty happy years," she said, "twenty happy years. But, John,do you think Miss Bright would make Kenneth happy? Would she give upher philanthropic ideas to devote herself to one ordinary man?"
"Oh, that's what's troubling you now, is it?" he asked, laughingoutright. Then he spoke seriously:
"I believe Miss Bright could and would make Kenneth supremely happy.You know she is domestic in her tastes, and I believe home wouldalways be her first consideration. But she is such a broad, publicspirited woman she would always be a public benefactor. And Kenneth isnot an ordinary man. You know that well. He is superior. I do not knowof any man for whom I have such a strong friendship."
"I like Kenneth, too," she admitted. "But I was just thinking."
He rose and covered the embers for the night.
"Better leave them alone," he suggested. "Their story is so beautifulI'd not like to have it spoiled."
"John!"
"Yes, Mary."
"I just thought of something!"
"Remarkable! What did you think of?"
"Kenneth will inherit a large fortune, won't he?"
"Of course."
"That might change his plans."
"I think not. He loves America, and the woman he loves is here. Hewill return. Come! Let's to sleep."
The going of Kenneth Hastings brought a shadow over the household. Hisdeparture was likewise the signal for frequent calls from Lord Kelwin.It grew more apparent that he felt a marked interest in the teacher.But whether she felt a corresponding interest in him, no one couldhave determined. A few times she went horseback riding with him. Heassured her she was becoming an excellent horsewoman.
Lord Kelwin now became a constant attendant at the meetings of theclub, on all of which occasions he was Esther's self-appointed escort.
Once he ventured a remark about how it happened that a woman of herrank and fortune and accomplishments should be teaching in a miningcamp.
"My rank? My fortune? My accomplishments?" she repeated, mystified.
"Yes," he said, patronizingly, "a lady of rank and fortune. I have metseveral Americans of fortune,--great fortune,--in London andParis--ah--I--"
"But I am not a woman of rank and fortune, Lord Kelwin. I am just aplain working woman."
He did not observe the amused smile about her eyes and mouth. "You arenot likely to find women of rank and fortune in a mining camp."
"It's wonderful how much these American heiresses think of titles,don't you know, Miss Bright. Why, a man of rank can marry almost anyAmerican girl he pleases."
"Just so," she assented. "He wins a fortune to pay his debts, andsquander otherwise; and she wins a title, dragged into the dust by adegenerate nobleman, plus enough unhappiness to make her miserable therest of her life. An interesting business proposition, truly!"
"Why, really, Miss Bright,--ah--I--ah--I fear you grow sarcastic."
"_Really!_ Did you discern any approach to sarcasm in my remarks? I amsurprised!"
He was not prepared for the mockery in her voice, nor for somethingabout her that made him feel that she was his superior. Before hecould formulate a suitable reply, one quite in accord with hissentiments and feelings, she continued:
"We shall doubtless live to see a social evolution. The American manof genius, and force, and character is too intent on his great task ofcarving out a fortune, or winning professional or artisticdistinction, to give his days and nights to social life.
"Now there are noblewomen of the Old World who are women of realdistinction, vastly superior to many men of their class, and who havenot been spoiled by too great wealth simply because their profligatebrothers have squandered the family fortunes.
"Now it occurs to me that it might be a great thing for the progressof the human race, if the finest noblewomen of the Old World, who arewomen of int
ellect, and culture, and character, should seek inmarriage our men of brains and character.
"The time has come when the American man of the highest type needssomething more than a fashion plate or a tailor's model for his mate."
"And have you no American women who could match your paragons, yourAmerican _tradesmen_?" he asked, contemptuously.
"Oh, yes," she replied. "We have fine and noble American women. I wasjust thinking how the Old World could be invigorated by the infusionof fresh blood from the vital, progressive New World. Just think of abrainy, womanly Lady Somebody of England, refusing to ally herselfwith an inane, worthless nobleman of any country, and deliberately_choosing_ a man of the people here, a man whose achievements havemade him great! Is there not a college of heraldry somewhere thatplaces intellect and character and achievement above rank andfortune?"
He could not fathom her.
"How queer you are, Miss Bright! Such marriages," he continued, in atone of disgust, "would not be tolerated."
"Why not? They would be on a higher plane than the ones you boast of.You exploit the marriage of title and money. I suggest, as an advanceupon that, the marriage of the highest type of the noblewoman of theOld World, with no fortune but her intellect, her character, and herfine breeding, with the highest type of noble manhood in America, aman large enough and great enough to direct the progress of theworld."
"Ally the daughters of our nobility with plebeian Americans?--withworking men?"
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because we despise people in trades," he said, contemptuously.
"But the tradesmen who _make_ the fortunes are quite as good as theirdaughters, who barter themselves and their fathers' wealth for titles.You seem to approve of such alliances."
They had reached the veranda of the Clayton home. Esther Bright's handwas on the door knob, and her companion took his leave.
How radical she must seem to him!
As she entered her own room, she found a letter bearing a Londonpostmark. It was the first letter she had received from KennethHastings, and it was a long one. She read it through, and then rereadit, and buried her face in her arms on the table. After awhile therecame a knock on the door. It was Carla. She had been crying. Estherslipped an arm about her, and together they sat on the edge of thebed.
"What is the matter, Carla?" she asked gently.
"Oh, I am so unhappy!"
"Has anyone hurt your feelings, dear?"
"Oh, no. It is not that. It is the other. I wish I could die!"
Esther drew Carla to her.
"You still care for Mr. Clifton; is that it?"
"Yes," she answered, with a sob, "that is it. I am _so_ unhappy!"
"Tell me all about it, Carla," said Esther, in a soothing tone."Perhaps it will be a relief for you to tell me. When a load is sharedit grows lighter."
"Well, you see, Papa and Mamma died, and I had no one but distantkindred. They gave me a home, and I became a sort of servant in thefamily. Mark Clifton was their nephew. He seemed to love me, and hewas the only one who did. He talked often of the home we'd have whenwe are married, as I told you.
"I was sixteen when he came to America. Then he sent me money to cometo him, saying we'd be married on my arrival here.
"But when I reached Gila, he said he could not disgrace his _family_by marrying _me_."
These words were followed by violent weeping. Then Esther comfortedher as best she could, and tucked her in her own bed. At last Carlafell into a heavy sleep.
Again Esther opened Kenneth's letter, read it, and placed it in herBible.
So days came and went,--homely days, days of simple duties, days ofministration to human need. And Esther Bright was happy.
One day as she lingered late at the schoolhouse, she was startled tosee a young Apache, dressed as a cowboy, standing in the doorway. Foran instant, she felt a sickening fear. Then her habit of self-controlasserted itself. She motioned him to a seat, but he did not seem tounderstand. He spied her guitar, tried the strings, shook his head,and muttered words unintelligible to her.
The Indian was, apparently, about her own age, tall, muscular, andhandsome. His long, glossy, black hair hung about his shoulders. Onhis head, was a light felt hat, similar to the ones worn by thecow-punchers. His trousers and jacket were of skins and clothrespectively. In a moment he looked up at her, from his seat on thefloor, and jabbered something. Apparently, he approved of her. Hetouched her dress and jabbered something else.
[2]"N[=e]-sh[=e]-aed-nl[)e]h'," he said, pointing southward towards theApache reservation.
[2] You be my squaw.
She told him, in poor Spanish, that she could not understand; but heapparently understood her, and looked pleased. Again he repeated thesame words, using much gesticulation to help convey his meaning.
There was a step outside, and Robert Duncan appeared with Bobbie.
After greeting the teacher, Robert looked with unbounded astonishmentat her unusual visitor. Apparently the Apache was there on a friendlyvisit. The Scotchman was about to pass on, when the teacher asked himto stay. He entered the room, and said something to the Indian, whoanswered, [3]"Indae-stzaen' [=u]'-sn-b[=e]-ceng-k[)e]'."
[3] The white woman is an angel.
Robert seemed to catch his meaning, and answered in Spanish that thepeople called her the Angel of the Gila.
The Apache nodded his head approvingly, and said, [4]"Indae-stzaen'[=u]'-sn-b[=e]-tse'!"
[4] The white woman is the daughter of God.
He stepped up to the teacher, and took hold of her arm as if to drawher away with him. She shook her head, and pointed to Robert Duncan,who made signs to him that she was his squaw. At last the Indianwithdrew, turning, from time to time, to look back at the vision that,apparently, had bewitched him.
Then Robert explained his own errand. He was seeking a mither forBobbie. The bairn must have a mither. He had understood her interestin the bairn to be a corresponding interest in himself. He was mucklepleased, he said, to be singled out for any woman's favor. He was naehandsome man, he kenned that weel. He was ready tae marry her any timeshe telt him. Robert looked wonderfully pleased with himself,apparently confident of a successful wooing. His experience had beenlimited.
"You wish to marry me, Mr. Duncan?" Outwardly, she was serious.
"Yes, Miss, sen ye was sae willin', I thocht I maucht as weel tak ye,an' then I'd not be bothered wi' ither women.
"Have they troubled you?" she asked, with a look of amusement. "Havethey been attentive to you?"
"Not as attentive as y'rsel'."
"In what way have I been attentive to you, Mr. Duncan?" she asked,looking still more amused.
"Ye've helpit me bairn, an' cleaned his claes, an' let him ca' yemither. Ye'd no hae doon that wi'oot wishin' the faither, too."
His confidence was rather startling.
"But suppose I do not wish the father. What then?"
"Oh, that could never be," he said, "that could never be."
"You have made a mistake, Mr. Duncan," she said, quietly. "You willhave to look elsewhere for a wife. Good afternoon."
Saying which, she turned the key in the door, and left him standingdumb with astonishment.
After she had gone some distance, he called after her: "Ye are makin'the mistak o' y'r life!"