CHAPTER XVI.
What slender youth, bedewed with liquid odors, Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, Pyrrha? For whom bindest thou In wreaths thy golden hair, Plain in its neatness? Oh, how oft shall he On faith, and changed gods, complain, To whom thou untried seemest fair?
HORACE, _Lib. I, Ode 5._
A fine spring afternoon. A dark-eyed, well-dressed young lady with anattractive figure descends from a street car near the Don Bridge. Shecrosses the bridge leisurely and proceeds eastward along the KingstonRoad toward Scarborough. Whatever her destination may be, the time atwhich she arrives is evidently of no consequence. She does "belong" downKingston Roadway. The street car dropped her there, and one may come along way for ten cents on street cars. From the uninterested way inwhich she views the semi-rural surroundings one can see that she iscarelessly unfamiliar with the region.
A fine horse, with his glossy coat and harness shining in the sun, comesalong behind her at a rate that would not be justified in a crowdedthoroughfare. Behind the horse a stylish dog-cart bowls along with itsplate-glass lamps also shining in the sun. Between this spot and thecity of Kingston there is no man on the road handsomer than he whodrives the dog-cart. The lady looks pleased as she hears the trap comingalong; a flush rises to her cheeks and makes her eyes still brighter.When the horse trots over the sod and stops beside the sidewalk hersurprise is so small that she does not even scream. On the contrary, sheproceeds, without speaking, to climb into the vehicle with an expressionon her face in which alarm has no place.
In some analogy with that mysterious law which rules that an elephantshall not climb a tree, symmetrical people in fashionable dresses, whoselines tend somewhat toward convexity, do not climb into a high dog-cartwith that ease which may compensate others for being long and lanky. Amiddle-aged elder of the Established Kirk stands on his doorstepdirectly opposite and looks pious. He says this is a meeting not ofchance but of design, and reproof is shown upon his face. The lady wearsParisian boots, and the general expression of the middle-aged elder issevere except where the eyes suggest weakness unlooked for in a face ofsuch high moral pitch. Once in, the young lady settles herselfcomfortably and wraps about her dress the embroidered dust-linen as ifshe were well accustomed to the situation. They drive off, and themiddle-aged elder shakes his head after them and says with renewedpersonal conviction that the world is not what it ought to be.
The road is soft and smooth, and the horse saws his head up and down ashe steps out at a pace that makes him feel pleasantly disposed towardcountry roads and inclined to travel faster than a gentlemanly,civilized, by-law-regulated horse should desire. The young lady laysaside her parasol, which is remarkable--a gay toy--and takes up a blacksilk umbrella which is not remarkable but serviceable. The good-lookingman pulls out of his pocket a large brown veil rolled up in paper, andshe of the Parisian boots ties it quickly around a little skull-cap sortof bonnet of black beads and lace. The veil is thrown around in such away that the folds of it can be pulled down over her face in an instant.Here, also, the lady shows a deftness in assuming this head-gear thatargues prior practice, and when this is done she lays her hand on thehandsome man's arm and looks up at him radiantly, while the silkumbrella shuts out a couple of farmer's wives.
"Doesn't it make me look hideous?" she says, referring to the veil.
"Yes, my dear, worse than ever," says the handsome man. His face is amixture of careless good-nature and quiet devil-may-care recklessness.Perhaps there are women who never make men look spiritual. It is to behoped that the umbrella hides his disregard for appearances on thepublic street and that the farmer's wives in the neighborhood are nottoo observant.
"For goodness' sake, Geoffrey, _do_ behave better on the highway! Whatwill those women think?"
"Their curiosity will gnaw them cruelly, I fear. They are looking afterus yet. I can see them."
"Well, it is not fair to me to go on like that; besides I am terrifiedall the time lest the people may find out who it is that wears the brownveil about the country. I have heard four or five girls speaking aboutit. It's the talk of the town."
"No fear about that, Nina. I don't think your name was ever mentioned inconnection with the veil, but, in case it might be, I drove out HelenBroadwood and Janet Carruthers lately, and, in view of the dust flying,I persuaded them to wear the brown veil. We drove all over the city anddown King Street several times. So now the brown veil is divided betweenthe two of them. It was not much trouble to devote a little time to thisobject, and besides, you know, the old people give excellent dinners."
"That was nice of you to put it off on those girls and to take so muchtrouble for me, but it can't last, Geoffrey, dear. We are sure to berecognized some day. Helen and Janet will both say they were not on theIndian road near the Humber the day we met the Joyces's wagonette, andthose girls are so stupid that people will believe them; and that badquarter of an hour when Millicent Hart rode behind us purposely to findout who I was. That was a mean thing of her to do, but I paid her off. Imet her at Judge Lovell's the other night. It was a terrible party, butI enjoyed it. I knew she expected to bring things to a climax with Mr.Grover; she's _folle_ about that man. I monopolized him the wholeevening--in fact he came within an ace of proposing. Gracious, how thatgirl hates me now!"
"I would not try paying her off too much, or she will think you have astrong reason for doing so," said Geoffrey. "After all, her curiositydid her no good. You managed the umbrella to a charm."
"The best thing you could do would be to have a linen duster for me towear--such as the American women travel in; then, as the veil covered myhead, I could discard the umbrella, and they would not recognize myclothes."
In this way they rattled down to Scarborough, and then Geoffrey turnedoff the highway through a gate and drove across a lot of wild landcovered with brushwood until he struck a sort of road through the forestwhich had been chopped out for the purpose of hauling cordwood in thewinter. He followed this slowly, for it was rough wheeling. Then hestopped, tied the horse, and Nina and he sauntered off through the woodsuntil they reached the edge of the high cliffs overlooking the lake.This spot escaped even picnic parties, for it was almost inaccessibleexcept by the newly cut and unknown road. Solitude reigned where thefinest view in the neighborhood of Toronto could be had. They could lookalong the narrow cliffs eastward as far as Raby Head. At theirfeet--perhaps a hundred and fifty feet down--the blue-green waves lappedthe shore in the afternoon breeze, and on the horizon, across the thirtyor forty miles of fresh water, the south shore of the lake could bedimly seen in a summer haze.
The winter had come and gone since we saw our friends last, and theearly spring was delicious in the warmth that hurried all nature into apromise of maturity. Not much of importance had happened to any of themsince we last saw them. Jack was as devoted as ever, and Nina was not.She tried to do what she could in the way of being pleasant to Jack, andshe went on with the affair partly because she had not sufficienthardness of heart to break it off, and chiefly because Geoffrey told hernot to do so. He preferred that she should remain, in a nondescript way,engaged to Jack.
Hampstead generally dined with the Mackintoshes on Sunday, and called inthe evening once or twice during the week. He also took Margaret fordrives in the afternoon--generally about the town. When this happened aboy in buttons sat behind them and held the horse when they descended tomake calls together on Margaret's friends. This was pleasant for both ofthem, and a beginning of the quiet domestic life which, after marriage,Geoffrey intended to confine himself to, and he won good opinions amongMargaret's friends from the cheerful, pleasant, domesticated manner hehad with him when they dropped in together, in an off-hand, "engaged"sort of way to make informal calls. And so far as Margaret could know heseemed in every way entitled to the favorable opinions she created. Allhis better, kinder nature was present at these times, and no one couldmake himself more agreeable when he was, as he said of himself,"building up a moral monument
more lasting than brass."
But Geoffrey had his "days off," and then he was different. He smiled ashe thought that in cultivating a high moral tone it was well not tooverdo the thing at first; that two days out of the week would sufficeto keep him socially in the traces. He thought his "off" days frequentlymade him prize Margaret all the more when he could turn with some relieftoward the one who embodied all that his imagination could picture inthe way of excellence. He despised himself and was complacent withhimself alternately, with a regularity in his inconsistencies which wasthe only way (he would say, smiling) that he could call himselfconsistent. If necessary, he would have admitted that he was bad; but tohimself he was fond of saying that he never tried to conceal fromhimself when he was doing wrong; and, among men, he despised the many"Bulstrodes" of existence who succeed in deceiving themselves byfalsities. He said that this openness with self seemed to have somethingpartly redeeming about it; perhaps only by comparison--that it possiblyranked among the uncatalogued virtues, marked with a large note ofinterrogation. He thought there were few brave enough to be quite honestwith themselves, and that there was always a chance for a man whoremained so; that the hopeless ones were chiefly those who, with orwithout vice, have become liars to themselves; who, by minglinguncontrolled weakness and professed religion, have lost the power toproperly adjust themselves.
This day of the drive to Scarborough was one of his "off" days. He founda piquancy in these trips with him, because so many talked about herbeauty; and, as the majority of men do not have very high idealsconcerning feminine beauty, Nina was well adapted for extensiveconquest. No doubt she was very attractive, quite dazzling sometimes.She was partly of the French type, perfect in its way, but not thehighest type; she was lady-like in her appearance, yet with theslightest _soupcon_ of the nurse-girl. It amused him to hear mendiscussing, even squabbling about her, especially after he had come froma trip with the brown veil. If men had been more sober in the way theyregarded her, if her costumes had been less bewitching, he soon wouldhave become tired. But these incentives made him pleased with hisposition, and he was wont to quote the illustrious Emerson in sayingthat "greatly as he rejoiced in the victories of religion and morality,it was not without satisfaction that he woke up in the morning and foundthat the world, the flesh, and the devil still held their own, and diedhard." In other words, it pleased him that Nina existed to givelife--for the present--a little of that fillip which his nature seemedto demand.
"What is a wise man? Well, sir, as times go, 'tis a man who knowshimself to be a fool, and hides the fact from his neighbor."
This was the only text upon which Geoffrey founded any claim to wisdom.
As they left the cliff and walked slowly back through the woods Nina wasleaning on his arm, and the happiness of her expression showed howcompletely she could forget the duties which both abandoned in order tomeet in this way. But when they arrived at the dog-cart a change cameover her. The brown veil had to be tied on again. At many other timesshe had done this placidly, as part of the masquerade. But to-day shewas not inclined to reason carefully. To-day the veil was a badge ofsecrecy, a reminder of underhand dealings, a token that she must ever goon being sly and double-faced with the public, that she must renouncethe idea of ever caring for Geoffrey in any open and acknowledged way.To be sure, she had accepted this situation in its entirety when shecontinued to yield to her own wishes by being so much with an engagedman. But to be reasonable always, is uncommon. She resisted aninclination to tear the veil to shreds. Something told her thatexhibitions of temper would not be very well received by her companion.No matter how she treated Jack, was she not honest with Geoffrey? Didshe not risk her good name for him? And why should she have to mask herface and hide it from the public? She--an heiress, who would inheritsuch wealth--whose beauty made her a queen, to whom men were likeslaves!
The veil very nearly became altered in its condition as she thought ofthese things, but she put it on, and smothered her wrath until they gotout upon the highway. Then she said, after a long silence: "Would it notbe as well to let Margaret wear this brown veil a few times, Geoffrey?She has a right to drive about with you, and if people thought it wasonly she, their curiosity might cease."
A farm-house cur came barking after the dog-cart just then, andGeoffrey's anger expended itself partly on the dog, instead of beingembodied in a reply.
The whip descended so viciously through the air that a more carefulperson might have seen that the suggestion had not improved his temper.
Except this, he gave no answer. She pressed the subject, although sheknew he was angry. "Don't you think, Geoffrey, that that would be a goodthing to do? It would quite remove curiosity, and would, in any case, beonly fair to me."
Now, if there was one thing Hampstead could not and would not endure, itwas to have a woman he amused himself with attempt to put herself on apar with the one he reverenced. Margaret was about all that remained ofhis conscience. She embodied all the good he knew. Every resolve andhope of his future depended upon her. He could not as yet, he thought,find it possible always to live as she would like; but in a calm way, socontrolled as to seem almost dispassionate, he worshiped her, as itwere, in the abstract.
His ideas concerning her were so rarefied that, in any other person, hemight have called them fanatical. He was bad, but he felt that he wouldrather hang himself than allow so much as a breath to dim the fairmirror of Margaret's name. At the very mention of her as wearing thisbrown veil he grew pale with anger, and the barking cur got the benefitof it, and at Nina's insistence his face and eyes grew like steel.
"Heavens above! Can't you let her name alone? Is it not enough for youto raise the devil in me, without scheming to give her trouble? Do youthink I will allow her to step in and be blamed for what it was yourwhim to go in for--risks and all?"
Nina was ready now to let the proposition drop, but she could notrefrain from adding: "She would not be blamed for very much if she wereblamed for all that has happened between us."
There was truth in what she said, but Geoffrey had looked upon thesemeetings as anything but innocent. Argument on the point wasinsufferable, and it only made him lash out worse, as he interruptedher.
"Good God, Nina! you must be mad! Don't you see? Don't you understand?"
Nina waited a second while she thought over what he meant, and her bloodseemed to boil as she considered different things.
"Yes, I do understand. You need say no more," cried she, with her eyesblazing. "You want me to realize that I am so much beneath her--that sheis so far above me--that, although I have done nothing much out of theway, the imputation of her doing the same thing is a kind of death toyou. You go out of your way to try and hurt me--"
"No, no, Nina," said Geoffrey, controlling himself, "I do not want tohurt your feelings. If we must continue speaking on this unpleasantsubject, I will explain."
"That will do, Geoffrey Hampstead," she exclaimed in a rage; "I don'twant to hear your explanation. I hate you and despise you! I have been afool myself, but you have been a greater one. I could have made a princeof you. I was fool enough to do this, and now," here Nina tore the veiloff her head, and threw it on the road, "and now," she continued, as shefaced him with flashing eyes, "you will always remain nothing but amiserable bank-clerk. Who are you that you should presume to insult me?and who is she that she should be held over my head? I am as good inevery way as she is, and, if all that's said is true, I am a good dealbetter."
Geoffrey listened silently to all she said, and to her blind imputationagainst Margaret. Gazing in front of him with a look that boded ill, hereduced the horse's pace to a walk, so that he need not watch hisdriving, and turned to her, speaking slowly, his face cruel and his eyessmall and glittering.
"Listen! You have consciously played the devil with me ever since I knewyou. You have known from the first how you held me; you played your partto perfection, and I liked it. It amused me. It made better things seemsweeter after I left you. It is not easy to be very good al
l at once,and you partly supplied me with the opposite. I don't blame you for it,because I liked it, and I confess to encouraging you, but the factis--you sought me. Hush! Don't deny it! As women seek, you sought me. Wetacitly agreed to be untrue to every tie in order to meet continually,and in a mild sort of way try to make life interesting. Did either of usever try by word or deed to improve the other? Certainly not. Nor did weever intend to do so. We taught each other nothing but scheming andtreachery. And you thought that you would make the devil so pleasingthat I could not do without him. This is the plain truth--in spite ofyour sneer. Recollect, I don't mind what you say about me, but you haveundertaken to insult and lay schemes for somebody else, and that I'llnot forgive. For _that_, I say what I do, and I make you see yourposition, when you, who have been a mass of treachery ever since youwere born, dare to compare yourself with--no matter who. I won't evenmention her name here. That's how I look upon this affair, if you insistupon plain speech. Now we understand things."
It was a cruel, brutal tirade. Truth seems very brutal sometimes. Hebegan slowly, but as he went on, his tongue grew faster, until it waslike a mitrailleuse. Nina was bewildered. She had angered himintentionally; but she had not known that on one subject he was afanatic, and thus liable to all the madness that fanaticism implies. Shesaid nothing, and Hampstead, with scarcely a pause, added, in a moreordinary tone: "It will be unpleasant for us to drive any furthertogether. You are accustomed to driving. I'll walk."
He handed the reins to Nina and swung himself out without stopping thehorse. She took the reins in a half-dazed way and asked vaguely:
"What will I do with the horse when I get to the town?"
"Turn him adrift," said Geoffrey, over his shoulder, as he proceeded upa cross-road, feeling that he never wished to see either her or the trapagain.
Nina stopped the horse to try to think. She could not think. His bitingwords had driven all thought out of her. She only knew he was going awayfrom her forever. She looked after him, and saw him a hundred yards offlighting a cigar with a fusee as he walked along. She called to him andhe turned. The country side was quiet, and he could hear her say, "Comehere!" He went back, and found her weeping. All she could say was "Getin." Of course he got in, and they drove off up the cross-road so as tomeet no person until she calmed herself. After a while she sobbed out:
"Oh, you are cruel, Geoffrey. I may be a mass of treachery, but not toyou--not to you, Geoffrey. Having to put on the veil angered me. I havebeen wicked. We have both been wicked. But you are so much worse than Iam. You know you are!"
As she said this it sounded partly true and partly whimsical, so shetried to smile again. He could not endeavor to resist tears when he knewthat he had been unnecessarily harsh, and he was glad of the opportunityto smile also and to smooth things over.
As a tacit confession that he was sorry for his violence, he took thehand that lay beside him into his, and so they drove along toward thecity, each extending to the other a good deal of that fellow-feelingwhich arises from community in guilt. Both felt that in tearing off themask for a while they had revealed to each other things which, beingconfessed, left them with hardly a secret on either side, and if thisbrought them more together, by making them more open with each other,both felt that they now met upon a lower platform.
CHAPTER XVII.