CHAPTER II.
THE IRONY OF LIFE.
I've been feverishly gay since I came to Meg. I have walked betweenstormwinds--grief behind and grief that I must enter. I've dined anddanced, and I've clenched my hands lest I might shriek, and I've longedto hide away and die.
But I won't die. I'm not like other women--a silly, whining pack, theirhearts the same fluttering page blotted with the same tears wept inHell or Heaven. Love is a draught for two--or one; wretched one!--todrink. My life is for the world.
Oh, I've been a child, caring only for the lights and the pretty thingsand the music; but I'm not blind now. I understand many things thatwere hidden from the plain girl from the West. I have lived a year inevery day. I see as they are these people I have thought so kind. Sorich I call them now; so smug, so socially jealous.
There's Meg Van Dam, now; surely she knows why I have come to her, andshe was Milly's friend; yet she fawns upon me. I thought her a greatperson, but now I know she's eager to rise by hanging at my skirts, andI amuse myself with her joy that I've rejected Ned, as she thinks; withher talk of Strathay, her dismay at John Burke's wooing.
John's so persistent. He called to see me the very day--almost in thehour I came here; the hour I was pacing the dainty little room Megassigns me, picturing the scene on board the Bermuda boat, wondering ifNed had gone to the dock on the chance of a parting word with Milly,torturing myself with the vision of a lovers' reconciliation.
When John's card was brought, I was tempted to refuse to see him. Butat the thought that he would know too well how to interpret reserves, Iwent down, nerved to meet him with a smile.
"Why, John," I said with my most pleased expression, "back from theWest so soon? You've heard the news, I suppose--my cousins sailed thismorning."
He had turned from the window at the rustle of my dress, and thegrimness of his square-set jaws, warning me of a coming struggle,relaxed into a look of perplexity. Men have so little insight; he couldnot see that, as I sank, still smiling, into a chair, my breath came ingasps that almost choked me. After a moment's silence he said sharply:--
"Helen, we must be married."
"Married! Didn't you get my letter? John--"
"Listen!" he interrupted. "I must have the right to take care of you.You need me."
"Indeed?"
My tone was purposed insolence; I met his look with bravado. I hatedhim because he--because I--because he dared to know--because he offeredto come to my relief when my aunt--Ned--perhaps he thought medeserted--lovelorn. His awkward figure woke in me a sudden physicalrepulsion.
"_I_ need _you_?" I repeated with a cool laugh. "And except the gooddeed of providing me with a husband, what services do you propose to--"
"Nelly," he said, disregarding my taunts, "I have just come from the_Orinoco_. When I reached the office this morning and heard that theparty was starting, I assumed that you would be with it and hurried tothe pier. If I'd missed the boat, I might not have learned the truthuntil--when? Why have they gone without you? What does it all mean?"
I pulled a flower nonchalantly from a vase beside me, but I felt mycheeks burn and grow white with deadly cold and fever.
"Didn't Mrs. Baker tell you," I said, "that 'Nelly dear' thoughtBermuda unfashionable? You got my letter?"
"No; you did write, then? You so far recognised the claim of yourpromised husband--"
"Not now; not one minute--"
In a blind frenzy of rage I held out his ring; but he knew the masterword to my heart. I stopped short as, ignoring what I said, he hurriedon.
"Why wasn't Hynes at the boat?" he demanded. "Did he know what Ididn't--that it was not the place to seek you?"
He grasped my wrists, he looked into my bloodless face--caught thedefiant, exultant look that flashed upon it at the news he gave; thenhe dropped my hands but immediately seized them again.
"If he dares come near you, he shall answer! Speak!" he said. "Is itfor his sake that you've stayed here?"
"If you will let me go--"
He loosed his grasp and I ostentatiously chafed my wrists. I was in afury. I was driven to madness by the thought that John might force aquarrel upon Ned--the man I had rejected and the man that had rejectedme!
"I'll never marry you nor any poor man!" I cried out. "What have you tooffer me? What can you do? Oh, yes, you can come and insult me, andtalk to me of love--Love! The love that would make me a poor man'sdrudge!"
Again I thrust his ring at him, the opal spitting angry blue and orangefires. I thought he would have struck at it. Heaven knows what madinstinct was at the back of his brain. I believe every man's a brutewhen the woman he loves defies him. I think his fingers tingled for theCave man's club. At any rate, I shrank in terror from his eyes.
But quickly the red light sank in them, and a puzzled look grew thereinstead, turning them very soft and pitiful.
"Nelly, I cannot think you serious," he said. "We have always talked ofmarriage, and--is it an insult to press you for the day? Heart of me,I've been so much worried about you! Are you very sure that you havechosen the wisest part? If you are, I can only leave you to think itover, perhaps to--"
"Don't preach!"
I flung out at him a torrent of abusive words, resolved that he shouldthink about me what he chose, so long as it was not the truth.
He had no plea for himself; he saw that it would be useless. I stabbedhim the more viciously as the anger died out of his face and left itonly grave and pained. He looked older than I had ever seen him before;and on his temple, where he turned toward the window, gleamed a littlestreak of gray.
"But, Nelly, what will you do?" he said at last.
His tone was as level as if he were discussing some trivial matter. Hehad given up the fight, and, paying no heed to my unkindness, hadfallen back upon the old habit, the instinct of looking out for me,smoothing my way after his own fashion that is so irritating.
"You can't stay among these--these strangers, can you?" he continued."Are you going home?"
"To the farm? Never, I hope. Mrs. Van Dam, my chaperon, has many plansfor me--better form than talking things over with a man. In the springwe may go abroad."
He tried--poor, foolish fellow--to read from my face the riddle of awoman's heart before he answered:--
"I'm afraid I don't altogether understand you, Nelly."
Presently he left me, wondering, even as I wonder now: Why don't I carefor John? He's a strong man and he loves me. Just another of Nature'ssorry jests, isn't it?
It was all so hopeless, so tangled. I leaned against the mantel,relieved by his going, but unutterably lonely. Just for a moment Ifeared the brilliant future that stretched in vista--without love, itlooked an endless level of tedium and weariness. My bitterness towardsJohn melted and the years we had known each other unrolled themselvesbefore me--happy, innocent years. I felt his strength and gentleness,and of a sudden something clutched at my throat. Sob followed sob; Ishook in a tearless convulsion.
Only for an instant. Then I, too, turned to leave the room, but fate orinstinct had brought John back and I was startled by his voice:--
"Nelly, tell me!"
He did not come near me. There was no gust of passion in his tone, yetI felt as never before the depth of his tenderness. He had not comeback to woo, but as the old friend, ambitious of helpfulness.
"Helen," he said, "how can I leave you, who need protection more thanany other woman, so terribly alone?"
I didn't fear I might be tempted, but I quavered out:--
"John, go away. I've wronged you enough. I never loved you; I've nofaith in love. I never loved you at all, and--you must have seen,lately, that I have changed--that I've become a very--a very mercenarywoman. I can't afford to marry a poor man."
My lips quivered, for this was the cruelest lie of all; I have changed,but I'm not money loving. And I couldn't deceive him. He smiledqueerly, but he must have thought time his ally, for he only said:--
"Money can buy you nothing; you might leave gewgaws to
other women. Butyou are less mercenary than you think yourself; and you will alwaysknow that I love you; let it rest with that, for now."
So he went away the second time, leaving me with my hands clenched andmy teeth set--so fierce had been my fight to seem composed. As I sankbreathless into a chair, and my tense fingers relaxed, out from myright hand rolled the little opal ring. I hadn't returned it, afterall; had been gripping it all the time, unknowing. At sight of it, Iburst into hysterical laughter.
And that madly merry laughter is the end. I should go crazy if Iyielded to love that I can't return, and I should despise him if heaccepted. A husband not too impassioned, a fair bargain--beautybartered for position, power, for a name in history--that is all thereis left to me, now that love has vanished.
The farm! I couldn't go back, to isolation and dull routine! I toldJohn I might go abroad. Why not? I might see the great capitals, and inthe splendour of palaces find a fitting frame for my beauty. There maybe salve for heartache in the smile of princes. At any rate, the seaswould flow between me and Ned Hynes.
I had forgotten my ambitions. I'd have said to Ned: "Whither thou goestI will go;" but if what he feels for me is not love--if in his heart hehates me for the witchery I've put upon him--
I could go abroad with a title, if I chose. If love lies not my way,there is Strathay.
How listless I am, turning from my sorrow to write of what to mostgirls would be a delight--of that pathetic little figure, toadied andflattered, but keeping a good heart through it all; of his markedattentions, which I permit because they keep other men away; of hisefforts to see me--for the Van Dams' position isn't what I imagined it,and we are not invited to many houses where I could meet him; of Meg'srejoicings over a few of the cards we do receive.
Oh, I win her triumphs, triumphs in plenty! Because the Earl admiresme, hasn't she once sat at the same table with Mrs. Sloane Schuyler,who refuses to meet intimately more than a hundred New York women; andhasn't she twice or thrice talked "autos" with Mrs. Fredericks; andisn't she envied by all the women of her own set because the Earl andhis cousin shine refulgent from her box at the Opera?
Triumphs, certainly; doesn't Mrs. Henry wrangle with Meg over my poorbody, demanding that I sit in her box, and that I join Peggy'sBadminton club, and bring the Earl, who would bring the youths andmaidens who would bring the prestige that would, some day, make aNewport cottage socially feasible?
That's her dream, Meg's is Mayfair; she thinks of nothing but how toinvest me in London and claim her profit when I am Strathay's Countess,or mistress of some other little great man's hall. Oh, I understandthem; Mrs. Henry's the worst; oily!
I wonder if London is less petty than New York; if I should be out ofthe tug and scramble there. But I mustn't judge New York, viewing itthrough the Van Dams' eyes. If I did, I should see a curious pyramid.
At the top, a sole and unapproachable figure, the twelfth Earl ofStrathay, just out of school;
Next a society, two-thirds of whose daughters will marry abroad, and toall of whose members an Earl's lack of a wife is a burning issue;
Hanging by their skirts a thousand others, like the General and Mrs.Henry, available for big functions, pushing to get into the little ones;
Hanging by these in turn, ten thousand others outside the pale, butflinging money right and left in charity or prodigality to catch theeyes of those who catch the eyes of those who nod to Earls;
And after them nobody!
And the problem: "How high can we climb?"
Why, there are twenty thousand families in New York rich enough to beElect, if wealth were all. I could almost marry Strathay to save himfrom the ugly millioned girls! How they hate me!
I know what love is like, now; Strathay means to speak. If Ned wouldonly--but three weeks--three long, long weeks, and he doesn't--oh, Iwon't believe that, deep in his heart he does not love me. It's nottime--not time, yet, to think about the little Earl!
At any rate I won't be flung at his head; last night I taught Meg alesson she'll remember. She meant to bring him home to supper after theOpera, where, in spite of my first experience, we're constant now inattendance; but, to her surprise, then dismay, then almost abjectremonstrance, I prepared to go out before dinner to inspect the newstudio Kitty and Cadge have taken.
"Be back in good season?" she pleaded. "How _could_ you make anengagement for the night when Strathay.--Not wait for you! Why Helen,you can't--what would Strathay think if I allowed you to arrive aloneat the Opera?"
"Then can't you and Peggy entertain him?"
"Peggy?" She looked at me with blank incredulity. "You wouldn't stayaway when Strathay--why, Helen, you didn't mean that. Drive straight tothe Metropolitan when you leave your--those people, if you don't wishto come back for me. Where do they live?" she groaned despairingly.
"Top of a business block in West Fourteenth Street."
I thought she would have refused me the carriage for such a trip, butshe didn't venture quite so far as that; and the hour I spent with thegirls was a blessed breathing spell.
"What a barn!" I cried, when I had climbed more stairs than I couldcount to the big loft where I found them. "Girls, how came you here?"
"Behold the prodigal daughter! Shall we kill the fatted rarebit?" AndKitty threw herself upon me; while Cadge, waving her arms proudly atthe Navajo rugs, stuffed heads of animals and vast canvasses of Indianbraves and ponies that made the weird place more weird, replied to myquery:--
"Borrowed it of an artist who's wintering in Mexico; cheap; just as itstands."
Then they installed me under a queer tepee, and we had one of the oldtime picked-up suppers, and for an hour my troubles were pushed intothe background. The girls are in such frightful taste that I reallyshould drop them, but they're loyal and so proud of me!
"Princess," said Cadge, "time you were letting contracts for thebuilding of fresh worlds to shine in. You're the most famous person inthis, with all the women thirsting for your gore; and you've a reallive Lord for a 'follower.'"
"That's nothing."
Cadge thinks me still betrothed to John, so she affected tomisunderstand.
"Nearly nothing, for a fact," she said; "it isn't ornamental, but weseldom see specimens and mustn't judge hastily. And it is a Lord.--Seethe hand-out he gave me for last Sunday--full-page interview: 'Earl ofStrathay Discusses American Society?'
"Some English won't stand for anything but a regular pie-faced story,but Strathay's a real good little man."
"You said he had sixty-nine pairs of shoes," said Kitty reminiscently.
"No; twenty-nine."
"What's His Lordlets doing in New York?" inquired Pros., who was thereas usual, a queer and quiet wooer.
"Tinting the town a chaste and delicate pink, assisted and chaperonedby his cousin, the Hon. Stephen Allardyce Poultney. Ugh! Glad the_Star_ doesn't want an interview with _His_ Geniality; don't likeS.A.P. Esq.," said Cadge energetically. "But, Helen, now you've gotpeople where you want 'em, you play your own hand. You don't want anyVan Dam for a bear leader. That crowd's been working every fetch thereis to get in with the top notchers, and they just couldn't. Knowing youis worth more to them than endowing a hospital. You're a socialbonanza."
Perhaps I shouldn't have let her talk so about Meg, but, after all, shetold me nothing new.
"Did I send you a marked paper with the paragraph I wrote about theimportant 'ological experiments you couldn't leave, even for the 'landof the lily and the rose?'" she proceeded. "Don't wonder you didn'twant to go to Bermuda, everything coming so fast your way. I crammedyour science into the story because it's good advertising. Don't reallystudy at Barnard now, do you? I wouldn't; would you, Kitty?"
Her white, mobile face gleaming with animation, Cadge declaimed uponone of her thousand hobbies:--
"What's women's science good for but dribbling essays to women's clubs?If some 'Chairwoman of Progress' were to grab off the Princess, does ittake science to give 'em 'Fresh Evidence that Woman was Evolved from aHigher Order o
f Quadrumanous Ape than Man?' We all know what the clubswant, and if they get it, they'd vote any one of us as bright a lightas Haeckel.--Pros., you saved any clippings for the Princess?"
Pros. gave me a quantity of articles about my beauty cut fromout-of-town and foreign papers. I believe I'll subscribe to a clippingsbureau. I hadn't thought of that.
I stayed and stayed; it was so pleasant in the eyrie; but when at lastI rose to go, Kitty sighed:--
"Why, you've only been here a minute, and in that gorgeous dress,you're like a real Princess, not my chum. I shall suggest a courtcircular--'The Princess Helen drove out yesterday attended by Gen. VanDam.'--'Her Serene Highness, Princess Helen, honoured the Misses Reidand Bryant last evening at a soiree.'--leaded brevier every morning onthe editorial page. Oh, Nelly, can't I have your left-off looks? Ahomely girl starves on bread and water, while a pretty one wallows injam."
"Princess must be wallowing in wealth," said Cadge, inspecting myevening dress; "suspect she didn't dress for us; it's Opera night.Stockholders share receipts with you? Beauty show in that first tierbox must sell tickets."
"Wish they would divide; I'm as poor as a church mouse," I said,laughing.
I didn't go to the Opera, though the girls had cheered me up until Ihurried home prepared to do Meg's bidding; but she had gone--angry, Isuppose--and I didn't follow.
I gained nothing; the Opera gives me my best chance to see and be seen.I might as well have had my hour of triumph, the men in the box, thejealous glances of the women. I might as well have scanned withfeverish expectation the big audience that turns to me more eagerlythan to the singers, searching--oh, I'm mad to think that Ned mightcome there again to look upon me.
I didn't even escape the Earl. Meg and her husband came home early,bringing him and Poultney; we had the supper, and, for my sins, I mademyself so agreeable that Meg forgave me, almost.
It was easy; I just let the poor boy talk to me about his mother andsisters, and watched his face light up as he spoke of them in a simple,hearty way that American boys don't often command. He is really verynice. One of his sisters is a beauty.
"But not like you," he said.
He's as boyishly honest as if he were sixteen; and as modest. To beCountess of Strathay would be a--
Of course Mrs. Henry and Peggy were here, smiling on Mr. Poultney,Strathay's cousin. Oh, I'm useful! I believe Mrs. Marmaduke is the onlyVan Dam who's kind to me without a motive; they're not Knickerbockersat all, as I supposed.
Cadge is right; I gain nothing socially by remaining with Meg; and herguesses come too close to my heart's sorrow. She watches and worries,forever concerned lest some "folly" on my part interfere with herambitions. Why, I'm frantic at times with imagining that even the maidshe lends me--an English "person"--reports upon my every change of mood.
Oh, I ought to be independent, independent in all ways. With a littlemoney I could manage it.
There's a Mrs. Whitney, a widowed aunt of Meg's husband, who livesalone in an apartment where a paying guest, if that guest were I, mightbe received. Meg would raise an outcry, of course, but I can't keep onvisiting her indefinitely; and I should still be partly in her hands.
But I have no money. My allowance is the merest nothing, spent beforeit comes. Why, I owe Meg's dressmaker, for the dress Cadge admired andfor others--Mrs. Edgar was cheaper; I must go back to her. And in theNicaragua, where Mrs. Whitney lives, the cost of--but it wouldn't befor long.
If Ned doesn't--
I won't think about Strathay. I must wait. It's my fault that I haven'tplenty of money. I've been so unhappy that I haven't explained toFather how my needs have increased, how my way of life has changed. ButI'll write to-night; he refuses me nothing. He must send me a good sumat once; as much as he can raise.
Mrs. Whitney's a harmless tabby--a thin, ex-handsome creaturestruggling to maintain appearances; but I can put up with her. I willgo to the Nicaragua. I'll go at once.