CHAPTER VI.
For in her youth There is a prone and speechless dialect, Such as moves men; besides, she hath prosperous art, When she will play with reason and discourse, And well she can persuade.
_Measure for Measure._
If anybody had stated that Geoffrey Hampstead was a scoundrel, he wouldhave had grounds for his opinion. As he did not attempt to palliate hisown misdeeds, nobody will do so for him. He repudiated the idea of beingled into wrong-doing, or driven into it by outside circumstances.Whatever he did, he liked to do thoroughly, and of his own accord. WhenNature lavishes her gifts, much ability for both good and evil isusually part of the general endowment; and, although, perhaps, if weknew more, all wrong-doing would receive pity, Geoffrey possessed aknowledge of results that tends to withdraw compassion. But he hadoverstepped the mark when he had told Nina there was no good in him.Even his own statement reminded him how few things there are about whicha sweeping assertion can be made with truth. He grew impatient to findthat so many people do not hold opinions--that their opinions hold them;and when the good equalities of a person under discussion met with noconsideration he invariably spoke of them. He had a good word to say formost people, and no lack of courage to say it, and thus he gaveimpression of being fair-minded, which made men like him. He had thecompassion for the faulty which seems to appear more frequently in thosewhose lives have been by no means without reproach than among thestrictest followers of religions which claim charity as their own. Hethought he realized that consciousness of virtue does not breed so muchtrue compassion as consciousness of sin; and a young clergyman of hisacquaintance found that his arguments as to the utility of sin in theworld were very shocking and difficult to answer.
Thus he alternated between good and evil, very much in the ordinary way,with only these differences, that his good seemed more disinterested andhis evil more pronounced than with most people. The good which he didwas done without the bargaining hope of future compensation, andtherefore seemed more commendable. On the other hand, as he had almostforgotten what the idea of hell was, he was not forced to brave thoseconsequences which, if some believe as they profess, must render theirdeliberate wrong-doing almost heroic.
What should a man be called who had in him these combinations? Too goodto be either a Quilp or a Jonas Chuzzlewit, and much too bad to resembleany of the spotless heroes of fiction. It will settle the matter withthose who are intolerant of distinctions and who do not examine intomixtures of good and evil outside their own range of life to have itunderstood and agreed that he was a thoroughpaced scoundrel. This willplace us all on a comfortable footing.
Some days after the Dusenalls' entertainment Geoffrey was strollingalong King Street when he caught sight of Margaret Mackintosh comingalong the street with quiet eyes observant. She walked with a long,elastic step, which seemed to speak of the buoyancy of her heart.
Geoffrey walked slower, so that he might enjoy the beauty of hercarriage, and the charm of her presence as she recognized him. It seemedto him that no one else could convey so much in a bow as she could. Withthe graceful inclination of the head came the pleasure of recognitionand a quick intelligence that lighted up her face. It was the bow of aprincess, as we imagine it; not, it will be remembered, as Canada hasexperienced it. A nobility and graciousness in her face and figure mademen feel that she had a right to condescend to them. Innocence was notthe chief characteristic of her face. However attractive, innocence is apoetic name for ignorance--the ignorance which has been canonized by theRomish faith, and has thus produced all the insipid virgins and heroinesof the old masters and writers. She did not show that pliable, ductile,often pretty ignorance, supposedly sanctified by the name of innocence,which has been the priestly ideal of beauty for at least nineteenhundred years--perhaps always.
Hers was a good face, with a sweet, firm, generous mouth, possiblypassionate, and already marked by sympathetic suffering from such humanills as she understood. She seemed to have nothing to hide, and she wasas free and open as the day, and as fresh as the dawn; and a large partof the charm she had for all men lay in the fact that her self-respectwas so assured to her that she had forgotten all about it. She had noneof that primness which, is the outcome of an attempt to conceal thefact, that knowledge of which one is ashamed is continually uppermost inthe mind.
As soon as her eye rested on Geoffrey, it lighted up with that marvelousquickness which is the attribute of rapidly-thinking people. In a flashher mind apparently possessed itself of all she had ever known of him.Five or six little things to say came tumbling over each other to herlips, as she held out her long gloved hand in greeting. Even Hampsteadfelt that her quick approach, earnest manner, and the way she lookedstraight at him almost disconcerted him; but he had thought to wait tillshe spoke to him to see what she would say. And she thought he wouldspeak first, so a little pause occurred for an instant that would havebeen slightly awkward had they not both been young and very good-lookingand much interested in each other.
"And how are you?" said she heartily, as they shook hands. The pausemight have continued as far as either of them cared. They wereself-possessed persons--these two.
"Oh, I am pretty well, thank you," said Geoffrey, without hastening tocontinue the conversation.
"And particularly well you look. Never saw you look better," saidMargaret.
Geoffrey made a deep bow, extending the palms of his hands toward herand downward in reverent Oriental pantomime, as one who should say:"Your slave is humbly glad to please, and dusts your path with hismiserable body."
"And what brought you into town to-day?" said he, as he turned andwalked with her. "Not the giddy delight of walking on King Street, Ihope?"
"That was my only idea, I will confess. Home was dull, and I was tiredof reading. Mother was busy and father was away somewhere; so I came outfor a walk. Yes, King Street was my only hope. No, by the way--I had anexcuse. I have been looking for a house-maid. None to be had though."
"Don't find one," said Geoffrey. "Just come out every day to look forone. I know several fellows who would hunt house-maids with you foreverif they got the chance."
"Ah! they never dare to say that to me. They might get snapped up. Yetit is hard to only receive compliments by deputy, like this. Do theyintend that, after all, I shall die an old maid? And your banks friendsare such excellent _partis_! are they not?"
"They are," said Geoffrey. "At least, they would be if they had a houseto put a wife into--to say nothing of the maid."
"Talking of house-maids," said Margaret, "I just met Mrs.whats-her-name--you know, the little American with the German name; andshe had just discharged one of her maids. She said to me, 'You know Ihave just one breakfast--ice-cold water and a hot roll; sometimes apickle. Sarah said I'd kill myself, and in spite of everything I couldsay she _would_ load the table with tea or coffee and stuff I don'twant. 'Last I got mad and I walked in with her wages up to date. I said,'Sarah I guess we had better part. You don't fill the bill.' I told herI would try and get Sarah myself, as I didn't object to her ideas in thematter of breakfasts. I have been looking for her and wanting some niceperson to help me to find her. What are you doing this afternoon? Won'tyou come and help me to find Sarah?" This, with a little pretense of_implorando_.
"If you think I 'fill the bill' as 'a nice person' nothing would give megreater pleasure. Sarah will be found. No, I have nothing in particularon hand to-day. I was going to the gymnasium to have a fellow pummel mewith the gloves. I am certain I have received more headaches andnose-bleedings in learning how to defend myself with my hands than onewould receive in being attacked a dozen times in earnest."
"Well, now would be a good time to stop taking further lessons," saidMargaret. "Why do you give yourself so much trouble?"
"Oh, for the exercise, I suppose, or the prestige of being a boxer.Keeps one's person sacred, in a manner; and among young men serves togive more weight to the expressi
on of one's opinions. I think it is amistake, though, as far as I am concerned. Nature made me speedy on myfeet, and when the time comes I'll use her gift instead of theartificial one."
"I have heard it said that it is much wiser for a gentleman to run froma street fight than to stay in it--that the fact of his not using hisfeet as a means of attack in a fight always places him at adisadvantage. Could you not learn the manly art of kicking, as well?"
"What a murderous notion!" exclaimed Geoffrey. "I don't think thatbranch of self-defense is taught in the schools. It reminds one of aduel with axes. For my part, I think that hunting Sarah is much moreimproving. That is, if one did not have blood-thirsty ideas put into hishead on the way."
And Margaret looked so gentle and pacific.
"I always think a very interesting subject like this should be thoughtout carefully," said she, smiling.
If she could not talk well on all subjects, she was a boon to those whocould only talk on _one_--to those who resemble a ship with only onesail to keep them going--slow to travel on, but capable of teachingsomething, and not to be despised.
With her tall figure, classic face, and blonde hair, Margaret Mackintoshwas a vision; but when she came, with large-pupiled eyes, in quest ofknowledge, even grave and reverend seigniors were apt to forget theinformation she asked for. University-degree young men, the mostsuperior of living creatures, soon understood that she sought for whatthey had learned, and not for themselves; and this demeanor on her part,while it tended to disturb the nice balance in which the weight of theirmental talents was accurately poised against that of their physicalfascinations, went to make friends and not lovers.
There was one person, however, to whose appearance she was notindifferent; who always suggested to her the Apollo Belvedere, and gaveher an increased interest in the Homer of arts, whereas the vigorouslife, heroic resolve, and shapely perfection of the ancient hero meetwith but little response in women who exist with difficulty. She wasperhaps entitled, by a sort of natural right, to expect that a masculineappearance should approach that grade of excellence of which she washerself an example.
"Do you know," she continued, as they proceeded up Yonge Street, "justbefore I met you I passed such a horrible young man, with long armsreaching almost to his knees and a little face. He made me quiteuncomfortable. It's all very well to believe in our evolution as anabstract idea; but an experience like this brings the conviction home toone's mind altogether too vividly. It was quite a relief to meet you.You always look so--in fact, so different from that sort of person,don't you know?"
She nearly said he looked so like her Apollo, but did not.
Geoffrey smiled. "There are times when the idea seems against commonsense," said he, with a short glance at her.
"Ah! you intend that for me. But you are almost repeating father'sremark. You know he is a confirmed follower of the theory. A few daysago he said that the only thing he had against you was that you upsethis studies. He says you ought to hire out to the special-creationiststo be used as their clinching argument. So you see what it is to be anAp--"
She stopped.
"Ah! you were going to say something severe, then," said Geoffrey. "Justas well, though, to snub me sometimes. I don't mind it if nobody knowsof it. But, about your father? Do you assist him in his studies?"
"I don't know that I assist him much. He does the hardest part of thework, and then has to explain it all to me. But I read to him a gooddeal when his eyes trouble him. After procuring a new book on thesubject he never rests till he has exhausted it. We often worry throughit together, taking turns at the reading. We have just finishedHaeckel's last. We are wild about Haeckel."
"Yes, there is something very spiritual and orthodox about him," saidGeoffrey. "And now that you must have got about as far as you can atpresent, how does the theory affect you?"
"Not at all, except to make me long to know more. If one could live tobe two hundred years old, would it not be delightful?" said Margaret,looking far away up the street in front of her.
"But as to your religion?" asked Geoffrey. "Do you find that it makesany difference?"
"I don't think I was ever a very religious person," she replied,mistaking the word religious for 'churchy.' "I never was christened, norconfirmed, nor taught my catechism, nor anything of that sort. Nobodyever promised that I should renounce the devil and all his works, andso--and so I suppose I never have."
She looked at Geoffrey with the round eyes of guilelessness, slightlymirthful, as if, while deprecating this wretched state, she could stillenjoy life.
Her companion could scarcely look away from her. There was such acombination of knowledge and purity and all-round goodness in her facethat it fascinated him and induced him to say gravely:
"Indeed, one might have almost supposed that you had enjoyed thesebenefits from your earliest youth."
"No," she answered, "I have been neglected in church matters. Who knows?Perhaps, if I had been different, father and I would never have beensuch companions. I never remember his going to church, although he payshis pew-rent for mother and me to go. He is afraid people would call himan atheist, you know, and no man cares about being despised or lookedupon as peculiar in that way. He says that as long as he pays hispew-rent the good people will let him alone. As for mother, I hardlyknow what her belief is now. She is mildly contemptuous of evolution;chiefly, I think, because she does not know, or care anything about it.She says the creed she was brought up in is quite enough for her, and ifshe can keep the dust _out_ of the house and contentment _in_ it shewill do more than most people and fullfil the whole duty of woman. Idon't think she likes to be cross-questioned about her particulartenets, which really seem to be sufficient for her, except when she isworried over a new phase of the old family lawsuit, and then sheoscillates between pugnacity and resignation. So you see I was leftpretty much to myself as to assuming any belief that I might careabout."
"And what belief did you come to care about?" he asked, feelinginterested.
"Well, father seems to think that the most dignified attitude of ourignorance is a respectful silence; but, as you have asked which belief I_care about_, I can answer frankly that I like best going to church andsaying my prayers. It is so much more pleasant and comfortable to try tothink our prayers are heard, for, as mother says, reason and logic arepoor outlets for emotion when the lawsuit goes wrong. With ourinformation as it is, our conclusions seem to depend on whether we haveor have not in us the spirit of research. They tell me in the churchesthat, being unregenerate, my heart is desperately wicked, and, as I havenothing but a little bad temper now and then to reproach myself with, Ido not agree with them. On the contrary, I always feel that my liferather tends to lead me toward believing--or, at any rate, does not makeme prejudiced. I like to believe that God watches over and cares for us.There being no proof or disproof of the matter, I would find it asdifficult, by way of reasoning, to altogether disbelieve as toaltogether believe."
"Then you make evolution a part of your religion?" asked Geoffrey.
Margaret had been brought up in an advanced latter-day school. All theunrecognized passion within her had gone out in quest of knowledge,which her father had taught her to regard as a source of quiethappiness, or at least as comforting to the soul during the matureryears as an intricate knowledge of crochet and quilt work. When she tookto her bosom the so-called dry-as-dust facts of science she clothed themin a sort of spirituality. Even slipper-working for a married curate hasbeen known to stir the pulses, and, though she knew that when theobjects of our enthusiasm seem to glow it is unsafe to say whether theglow is not merely the reflection of our own fervor, she regarded thelately dug-up facts of science somewhat as if they were mines oflong-hidden coal, capable of use and possessed of intrinsic warmth. Herface brightened with all the enthusiasm of a devotee as she answeredGeoffrey's question.
"Indeed, yes. The new knowledge seems like the backbone of my religion.I often sit in church and think what a blessed privilege it is to bepermi
tted to know even as little as we do about God's plan of creation."
She joined her hands before her quickly as she walked along, forgetfulof all but the idea that enchained her. Her face showed the devotionseen in some old pictures of early saints, but it was too capable andanimated to be the production of any of the old masters.
"Oh, it is grand to know even a little!" she exclaimed; "to think thatthis is God's plan, and that bit by bit we are allowed to unravel it! Isit not true that we acquire knowledge as we are able to receive it? Didnot the ruder people receive the simple laws which Moses learned inEgypt? and did not Christianity expand those laws by teaching thereligion of sympathy? These are historical facts. Why, then, should wenot regard evolution as an advanced gospel, the gospel of the knowledgeof God's works, to bind us more closely to him from our admiration ofthe excellence of his handiwork--as a father might show his growing sonhow his business is carried on, and how beautiful things are made? Ofcourse, one may reply that all the discoveries do not show that there isa God. Perhaps they don't; but I try to think they do. I never have beenable to find that verbal creeds do much toward making us what we are.The gloomy distort Christ's life to prove the necessity for sorrow; thejoyous do just the opposite. The naturally cruel practice their crueltyin the name of religion. Though all start with perhaps the same words ontheir lips, each individual in reality makes his religion for himselfaccording to his nature. Look at the difference between Guiteau andFlorence Nightingale. They both had the same creeds."
Hampstead was silent.
"I know that my religion might not suffice for others, because it has noterrors, but to me it is compelling. When I turn it all over moreminutely, the beauty of the thoughts seems to carry me away. Let thosewhose brittle creeds are broken grope about in their gloom, if theywill. To me it is glorious first to try to understand things, and thento praise God for his marvelous works."
Margaret grew more intense in her utterance as her subject grew uponher. They had turned off on a quiet street some time before, so therewas nothing to interrupt her. As her earnestness gave weight to hervoice, the words came out more fervently and more melodiously. Both herhands were raised, in an unconscious gesture, while the words welledforth with a depth and force impossible to describe.
Geoffrey walked on in silence.
He thought of the passage, "I came not to call the righteous, butsinners to repentance," and he wondered whether Christ would havethought that such as Margaret stood in need of any further faith. Theshrine of Understanding was the only one she worshiped at, arguing, asshe did, that from a proper understanding and true wisdom followed allthe goodness of the Christ-life. He became conscious of a vague regretwithin him that he had, as he thought, passed those impressionableperiods when a man's beliefs may be molded again. There was a distinctlonging to participate in the assurance and joy which any kind of fixedfaith is capable of producing. The Byronic temperament was not absentfrom him. He was keenly susceptible to anything--either moral orimmoral--which called upon his ideality; and these ideas of Margaret's,although he had thought of them before, seemed new to him.
"It seems strange," he said musingly, "to hear of some of the mostlearned men of the day erecting an altar similar to that which Paulfound at Athens 'to the unknown God,' and to find them impelled toworship something which they speak of as unknown and unknowable."
"And yet," she answered, "it is the work of some of these very men, andtheir predecessors, that gives the light and life to the religion whichI, for one, find productive of comfort and enthusiasm. One canunderstand the practicability of a heaven where a gradual acquisition ofthe fullness of knowledge could be a joyful and everlasting occupation;and I think a religion to fit us for such a heaven should, like theBuddhist's, strive to increase our knowledge instead of endeavoring tostifle it. What is there definitely held out as reward by religions tomake men improve? As far as I can see, there is nothing definitepromised, except in Buddhism perhaps, which men with active minds wouldcare to accept. But knowledge! knowledge! This is what may bring aneternity of active happiness. Here is a vista as delightful as it isboundless. Surely in this century, we have less cause to call Godaltogether 'unknown' than had the men of Athens. In the light ofomniscience the difference may be slight indeed, but to us it is great.I do hope," she added, "that what I have said does not offend any ofyour own religious convictions."
"I have none," said Geoffrey simply; "and it is very good of you to tellme so much about yourself. I have been wanting something of the kind.You know Bulwer says, 'No moral can be more impressive than that whichshows how a man may become entangled in his own sophisms.' He says it isbetter than a volume of homilies; and it is difficult sometimes, after acourse of reading mixed up with one's own vagaries, to judge as to one'sself or others from a sufficiently stable standpoint. You always seem togive me an intuitive knowledge of what good really is, and to tell mewhere I am in any moral fog."
They walked on together for some little distance further when Margaretstopped and began to look up and down the street.
"Why, where are we?" she said. "What street is this?"
"I can not help you with the name of the street. I supposed we wereapproaching the domicile of Sarah. We are now in St. John's Ward, Ithink, and unless Sarah happens to be a colored person you are notlikely to find her in this neighborhood."
"Dear me," said Margaret, as she descended from considering the possibleoccupations of the heavenly host to those usual in St. John's Ward, "Ihave not an idea where we are. We must have come a long distance out ofour way. It is your fault for doing all the talking."
"On the contrary, Miss Margaret, I have been unable to get a word inedgewise."
The search for Sarah was abandoned, and they wended their way towardMargaret's home, the conversation passing to other subjects and to NinaLindon, whom they discussed in connection with the ball at theDusenalls'.
"They certainly seem very devoted, do they not?" said Margaret,referring to Jack Cresswell also.
"Yes, their attachment for each other is quite idyllic," said Geoffrey,lapsing into his cynical speech, "which is as it should be. I did notsee them much together, as I left early."
"I noticed your absence, at least I remembered afterward not having seenyou late in the evening, but, as you take such an interest in yourfriend, you should have stayed longer, if only to see the very happyexpression on his face. You know she is spoken of as being the _belle_,and certainly he ought to be proud of her, as the attention sheattracted was so very marked. I thought her appearance was charming.They seemed to make an exception to the rule among lovers that one lovesand the other submits to be loved."
"I am glad to hear you say this," said Geoffrey, as he silentlyreflected as to the cause of Nina's return to do her duty in a way thatwould tend to ease her conscience. "Jack is worthy of the best of girls.Have you ever called upon the Lindons?"
"No, not yet. But Mr. Cresswell spoke to me about Miss Lindon and saidhe would like me to know her. So I said we would call. I am afraid,however, that mother will complain at the length of her visiting listbeing increased. She will have to be coaxed into this call to pleaseme."
"Jack cherishes an idea that Miss Lindon, he, and I will become a trioof good friends," said Geoffrey. "Now, if anything could be done to makeit a quartette, if you would consent to make a fourth, Miss Margaret, Iam certain the new arrangement would be more satisfactory to allparties, especially so to me considered as one of the trio. Agooseberry's part is fraught with difficulties."
"The more the merrier, no doubt, in this case. Numbers will release youfrom your responsibilities. I have myself two or three friends thatwould make excellent additions to the quartette. There's Mr. Le Fevre,of your bank, and also Mr.--"
"Ah, well!" said Geoffrey, interrupting. "Let us consider. I don't thinkthat it was contemplated to make a universal brotherhood of thisarrangement. If there are to be any more elected I should propose thatthe male candidates should be balloted for by the male electors only,and t
hat additional lady members should be disposed of by their own sexonly. Let me see. In the event of a tie in voting, the matter might beleft to a general meeting to be convened for consultation and ice-cream,and, if the candidate be thrown out by a majority, the proposer shouldbe obliged to pay the expenses incurred by the conclave."
"That seems a feasible method," said Margaret. "Although I tell you, ifwe girls do not have the right men, there will be trouble. And now weought to name the new society. What do you say to calling it 'AnAssociation for the Propagation of Friendly Feeling among Themselves'?"
"Limited," added Geoffrey, thinking that the membership ought to berestricted.
"Oh, limited, by all means," cried Margaret. "I should rather think so.Limited in finances, brains, and everything else. And then the rules!Politics and religion excluded, of course, as in any other club?"
"Well, I don't mind those so much as discussions of millinery anddress-making. These should be vetoed at any general meeting."
"Excuse me. These are subjects that come under the head of art, andought to be permissible to any extent; but I do make strong objection tothe use of yachting terms and sporting language generally."
"Possibly you are right," said Geoffrey. "But Jack--poor Jack! he mustrefer to starboard bulkheads and that sort of thing from time to time.However, we will agree to each other's objections, but we must certainlyplace an embargo upon saying ill-natured things about our neighbors--"
"Good heavens, man! Do you expect us to be dumb?" cried Margaret. "Verywell. It shall be so. We will call it the 'Dumb Improvement Company forLearned Pantomime.'"
And thus they rattled on in their fanciful talk merrilyenough--interrupting each other and laughing over their own absurdities,and sharpening their wits on each other, as only good friends can, untilMargaret's home was reached.
To Geoffrey it seemed to emphasize Margaret's youth and companionabilitywhen, in following his changing moods, she could so readily make thetransition from the sublime to the ridiculous.