CHAPTER X.
THE FAIRY GODMOTHER.
They were mounting the steep incline of the Route de Poissy beforeAndrew replied. He had been staring fixedly ahead, absorbed apparentlyin the business of guiding the automobile around the sharp turns of theside streets, before they struck the wide main road. It was almost as ifhe had not heard the remark at all; but Mrs. Carnby knew better. And shewas one of the discerning persons who never build els on tellingobservations. Despite the tension with which the following pause wasinstinct, it was Andrew, not she, who first spoke.
"That was a very singular speech, Mrs. Carnby."
"_On fait ce qu'on peut_," said Mrs. Carnby. "You're a very singularyoung man, Mr. Vane."
"I have my failings, of course," said Andrew, a trifle coolly. "I'm onlyhuman, you know. We're all of us that."
"Unfortunately, you're _not_ 'only human' my dear young friend; you'remasculine as well. And we're not all of us _that_, thank Heaven!"
"Aren't we talking a little blindly?" suggested Andrew.
"Yes, possibly," agreed his companion, "but some things aren't easy tosay. Do you remember that when one of the old prophets undertook to haula monarch over the coals for his misdeeds, he would always begin with aparable? I think, in this instance, I shall follow the establishedprecedent."
"I was afraid you were going to begin by saying you were old enough tobe my mother," retorted Andrew, with a faint smile.
"I always skip unimportant details," said Mrs. Carnby. She observed withsatisfaction that, without increasing the speed at the top of theincline, Andrew had turned from the direct route to St. Germain into oneof the forest by-roads. Evidently he was in no haste to curtail theconversation.
"I'm waiting," he observed presently.
"Where I used to spend my summers, on the South Shore," said Mrs.Carnby, with her eyes on the interlacing foliage overhead, "it was thecustom of the natives to make collections of marine trophies from thebeach and the rock-pools, and work upon them sundry transformations,with an aim to alleged artistic effectiveness. They glued the smallershells and coloured pebbles on boxes and mirror-frames; and paintedlandscapes on the pearl finish of the larger mussels; and tiedbaby-ribbon around the sea-urchin shells; and gilded the dried starfish.You know what I mean--the kind of thing that comes under the head of 'APresent from North Scituate' or 'Souvenir of Nantasket Beach.' But youmay, perhaps, have remarked the appearance of one and all of theseobjects while they were as yet where nature was pleased to put them--onthe sand, that is, or in the tidal pools. Do you remember the sheen ofthe pebbles, the soft pinks and grays of the starfish? Is there anythingcomparable to these, in the artistic combination of all the gilt paintand baby-ribbon in the world? It seems to suggest, as a possibility,that nature knows best; and that in lacking the simple touch ofsea-water they lack the one thing which ever made them beautiful at all.It opens up a whole tragedy in the phrase 'out of one's element.' That'smy parable."
"You'll remember," said Andrew, falling in with her whim, "that thetransgressing monarch rarely understood what the prophet was driving atin his parable. I, too, must follow precedent."
"Shall I speak plainly?" asked Mrs. Carnby, laying her hand for aninstant on his arm.
"Very, please. There seems to be something rather serious back of allthis."
"_Eh bien!_ You're a young man, Andrew Vane, to whom fate has beenuncommonly civil. Your family is rather exceptionally good, on--er--onboth sides. Your means are, or will be, some day, almost uncomfortablyample. You're more than passably good-looking, and you're surprisinglyclever. Your health is magnificent, and, finally, nature chose Americaas your environment."
"A mixed blessing, that last!"
"Five words, with Thomas Radwalader in every letter!" said Mrs. Carnby."I should think you'd find the _role_ of phonograph ratherunsatisfying."
"I thought you liked him," said Andrew, flushing.
"And I like the obelisk!" nodded Mrs. Carnby, "but that doesn'tnecessarily imply that I should like half a hundred tin facsimiles setup in its immediate vicinity, and making the Place de la Concorde looklike a colossal asparagus-bed! There are only three ways in which a mancan be distinguished, nowadays. He must be unimaginably rich,unspeakably immoral, or unquestionably original. You're not the first,as yet, and you've just proved that you're not the last."
"I'm not the second, I hope?"
Mrs. Carnby pursed her lips, and wrinkled her forehead.
"Perhaps not _unspeakably_ immoral," she said, "but immoral--yes, Ithink you're that. Of course, there are many different conceptions ofimmorality, and mine may be unique. Let us come back to my parable. WhatI mean is this. You were born with every natural good fortune, and yourbreeding and education secure to you every social advantage which onecould possibly desire. You've been placed, like the sea-urchins or thestarfish, in a situation preeminently befitting you. You're American inevery detail of your sane, clean make-up, my friend, and you've beengiven America, the sanest, cleanest country on God's globe, in which todevelop and achieve. Might one ask what you're doing over here? Gettinga finish?--that's what it's called, isn't it? Allowing yourself, that isto say, to be tied up with the baby-ribbon and decorated with the giltpaint of Parisian frivolity! And when you go back--if you ever do--tolive in America, what will you be? 'A Souvenir of Paris,' my good sir,'A Present from the Invalides,' as undeniably as if somebody hadlettered the words on your forehead in ornamental script, and pasted aphotograph of Napoleon's tomb on your shirt-bosom. That's what _I_ callimmoral. I like you better as an American; I like you better with thesheen of the salt water on you; I like you better in your element, Mr.Andrew Vane!"
"I never heard anything better in the way of a sermon," said Andrew,groping for an answer.
"It's too true to be good," retorted Mrs. Carnby. "Do you believe any ofit?"
"Some, perhaps--not all. And the whole attack is a litle abrupt. What_have_ I been doing?"
"Nothing! You've hit upon precisely the objection. '_Tekel!_--thou artweighed in the balances and art found wanting!' Margery Palffy is likemy own daughter to me, Mr. Vane. She calls me her fairy godmother, youknow. Are you looking forward to introducing her to MirabelleTremonceau?"
Mrs. Carnby was once more contemplating the forest foliage overhead. Forthe second time in fifteen minutes, her instinct for distinguishing theline which separates the boldly effective from the futilely impertinentwas standing her in good stead. As a matter of fact, Andrew had _not_been weighed in the balances--but he was just about to be!
The forest was all alive with the lisp of leaves, and the shiftingdapple of sunlight and shadow, and, even as she waited, Mrs. Carnbysmiled quietly to herself, in pure enjoyment of the great Gothic archesof green, that seemed to thrill and shiver with delight under the warmsunlight and the fresh west wind. The forest, like the sea, has in itsevery mood a magnificent dignity of its own--a superb indifference tothe transitory doings of man, which dwarfs human affairs to an aspect ofutter triviality. The world which Mrs. Carnby knew, and toward which herattitude was alternately one of keen appreciation and of good-naturedcontempt--the world of fashion and frivolity and easy cynicism, seemed,as she contrasted it with this vast serenity, to become incomparablylittle. The suggestion of endurance and repose with which these shadowyreaches, opening to right and left, were eloquent, lent a curiouscontemptible tawdriness to the little comedy, so conceivably potentialtragedy, in which she and the man beside her were playing each a part.How little difference it made, after all, if men were fools orblackguards, and women wantons or martyrs! For a moment she was sorryshe had spoken. She felt that here and now she could not quarrel, oreven dispute, with Andrew over what he chose to do. The intrusion ofintrigue and dissipation into these forest fastnesses was hideouslyincongruous.
"There's cruelty in what you have said, but I can see that it's notwanton cruelty, and that there's kindness as well."
Andrew was speaking slowly, thoughtfully; almost, thought Mrs. Carnby toherself, as if he, too, had be
en touched by the softening sympathy ofthe forest. But she shook off the mood which had been stealing over her,as being wholly inadequate to the demand upon her fund of resource. Whatwas needed, far from being the influence of elemental nature, was thekeenest, if most worldly, diplomacy of which she was mistress. Shestraightened herself, and began to put on her gloves, working thefingers with the patient care of one who understood that, with a gloveabove all things, it is _le premier pas qui coute_. Inwardly she waskeying taut the strings of her self-possession. She realized thatemotion would be as fatal to her purpose as would sheer frivolity.
"Under your words," continued Andrew, "I can see that there must lie amore or less intimate knowledge of many things which we have nevermentioned--many things which I did not suppose you would ever--"
"Find out? You really _are_ young, aren't you? Why, my dear Mr. Vane,any given woman of average intelligence can find out whatever shechooses about any given man, provided always she hasn't the fatalhandicap of being in love with him. Not that I've been spying upon you,understand. It's hardly a matter of vital concern to me if you gocompletely to the dogs, but Margery would probably give her heart'sblood to hold you back. Therefore, people tell _me_ all the facts, andkeep _her_ in total ignorance. That's the way of the world. Why, my goodsir, I could probably tell you at this moment how you've spent fifty percent. of your time for the past week, and, between them, the other womenback there at the villa could account for another quarter. With gossipall things are possible."
"I didn't think I was of sufficient importance to call for such strictsurveillance," said Andrew.
"You're not! That's precisely what you must learn about the AmericanColony. It's what things are done, not who does them, that makesfour-fifths of the gabble. A man's a man, and a woman's a woman, and anintrigue's an intrigue. You could tag them exhibits A, B, and C, and theColony would find almost as much to talk about as if you gave the fullnames. What's not known is made up. It's necessary to find tea-tabletopics, and necessity is the mother of invention. You can have no idea,unless you're in the thick of the gossip, how absorbing any one person'saffairs can be, when there's nothing better to talk about."
She admitted frankly to herself that she was talking to gain time,giving Andrew a chance to find his line of reply. It was going to beimportant, that reply, at least for Margery Palffy. Mrs. Carnby wouldundoubtedly have been at a loss to give a word-for-word rendition of theduties of a sponsor in baptism, either fairy or otherwise, according tothe Book of Common Prayer. She recollected vaguely certain references tothe pomps and vanities of the world, and realized, with a little inwardsmile, that she was warring more earnestly against these--and therest--in her adopted goddaughter's behalf than ever she had consideredit necessary to do in her own.
"As it happens," she continued, "there's been no one else to claim thecentre of the stage for the past few weeks, and therefore the lime-lighthas been turned upon you, as being the latest novelty--and a highlyenterprising one at that! I think it manifestly impossible that youcould have performed all the exploits credited to you, even had yougiven all your time to the task, with no allowance for eating andsleeping. But I think, too, that you would be surprised to find howextremely realistic gossip can be at times, and how much that you thinkis known only to yourself or to a few is, in fact, the talk of half theColony. You remember dear old Sir Peter Teazle? I seem always to bequoting him. He knew such an infinite deal, and guessed so much more. 'Ileave my character behind me,' he said, in parting from thescandal-mongers. Now, that's _so_ true of Paris--only more. My dearAndrew Vane, not only do you leave your character at the tea-table youare quitting, but you'll meet it, more or less torn to shreds, at thatto which you are going: and, if you were at the pains, you might findit, in a like state of demoralization, at a dozen others in the same_arrondissement_! I wish I could make you understand that. It seems tome to be so important to the conduct of life to know not only how westand, but in what manner we fall."
"As yet the charge against me seems to be a trifle indefinite,"suggested Andrew.
"On the contrary," retorted Mrs. Carnby, "I mentioned the young person'sname quite distinctly--the one, you know, whom you saw by chance at thePavillon Henri Quatre, and whom you were going back to meet."
"I can't pretend to misunderstand you," began Andrew, "but of course anyreflection upon Mademoiselle Tremonceau--"
"Now, my dear man, _pray_ don't be comic!" burst in Mrs. Carnby. "Thatsort of thing is as grotesque in these days as the doctrine of originalsin. And of all places in the world--Paris! Oh no! A spade's a spadehere, believe me, and when one is _demi-mondaine_, like MirabelleTremonceau, one is perfectly understood. _She_ knows, and _you_ know,and _I_ know. Don't let us argue over the indisputable."
"I _didn't_ know, at first," said Andrew gravely, "and, if I haveguessed recently, you must not take that to mean that our relations havechanged in the least degree. There's nothing between MademoiselleTremonceau and myself that I could not mention, Mrs. Carnby--absolutelynothing. But her friend I've been, and her friend I am. I'm not preparedto hear her branded as a 'moral leper' or something of the sort. Howhard you are, you good women!"
"I suppose," said Mrs. Carnby resignedly, "that when one adds two andtwo, the result is bound to be four. It isn't ever five or thirty-seven,by any chance, is it, just by way of variety? It's provokinglyinevitable; but not more so than what a man will say under certaincircumstances. Do I really seem to you that kind of person? Do youreally imagine that I'm objecting to your _penchant_ for the littleTremonceau, on the ground that her ideas of moral deportment are not allthat might be desired? I hadn't thought that I gave the impression ofbeing so desperately archaic."
"But you were about to warn me--"
"Merely to keep that self-same eccentricity of deportment well in mind,my friend. _Chacun dans sa niche_, Mr. Vane--the little Tremonceau andyou, as well as the rest of us. And hers is not the Palais de Glacebefore four o'clock, nor yet a _matinee classique_ at the Francais; andyours is not her victoria in the Bois. Don't be crude. A certain amountof privacy in the conduct of such affairs is as troublesome as apocket-handkerchief or a bathing-suit--but quite as essential. _Ne vousaffichez pas._ It only shows you to be an amateur--in the Americansense--and to be amateurish, nowadays, is to be grotesque. And, ofcourse, it doesn't make any difference how innocent your relations maybe. So long as Mirabelle Tremonceau is a figure in the calculation,there's no reason why people should not believe anything they choose."
"You mentioned Miss Palffy," ventured Andrew. "Have you heard thatshe--that I--"
"Indirectly. That, frankly, is why I have taken the liberty of meddlingin your affairs. It really isn't quite fair on the girl to bunglethings. So long as you're going to work to gallicize yourself, pray makea thorough job of it. Don't copy the Frenchman's license, and neglect toimitate his discretion. I abhor half-made methods."
"But Miss Palffy--"
"Is heels over head in love with you, Mr. Vane. That much I know. Idon't ask about _your_ feelings. As a matter of fact, they haven't muchbearing on the main issue, which is that I don't mean to have herdisappointed in her estimate of you, for want of a friendly warning froman old woman who has seen many a young man spoil his life just becausehe took serious things too lightly and trivial ones too seriously."
"I wonder how much of this is serious advice, Mrs. Carnby," said Andrewsuddenly, and with a perceptible ring of irritation in his voice, "andhow much of it banter, with more than a suggestion of contempt.Apparently you're urging me to a change of course; actually, only to achange of method. I know you can't approve of my friendship forMademoiselle Tremonceau, and yet you're not asking me to give it up, butonly to put it out of sight and hearing. Isn't that--excuse me--butisn't it rather like trafficking with one's ideas of right and wrong? Ifone's doing no harm, why not go on? If one's to blame, why not pull upshort?"
"Oh, nobody pulls up short, in these days," said Mrs. Carnby, "excepthabitual drunkards who have been pronounced incurable. One mu
stn't asktoo much of people. It's like the servants: the old-fashioned kind usedto brush the dust into a dust-pan, wrap it up in newspapers, and seethat the ash-man carried it off; now they sweep it under the beds andsofas, where it can't be seen. One mustn't complain of knowing it'sthere, so long as it isn't actually in evidence. _Autre temps autresmoeurs._ It's a long cry from Hester Prynne to Mirabelle Tremonceau.Besides, pulling up short all by oneself is one thing, and pulling awoman up short into the bargain is quite another. She might object, thelittle Tremonceau."
"She hasn't the shadow of a claim on me."
"Of course not," said Mrs. Carnby, wrinkling her eyes amusedly at thecorners, "of course not." Inwardly she added, "Two and two make four!"
"Whereas Margery--"
"Whereas Margery," echoed Mrs. Carnby, "will play a part whichconvention has made absolutely iron-clad. She will continue to love, asshe loves now, an ideal man, endowed with an almost embarrassingmultiplicity of imaginary virtues; and, incidentally, will pray dailythat she may become worthy of him. Then, when he has sown his wild oats,perhaps he'll come to her, at his own good pleasure, and lay at her feetwhat he has achieved--a pleasant smattering of things generally talkedabout, a comprehensive intimacy with things generally _not_ talkedabout, a tobacco heart, and a set of nerves which make him unfit forpublication three days in the week. With these somewhat insufficientmaterials she will proceed to build up something indefinitely resemblingher original ideal. And they will be married. And they will live--hem!_haply_--ever afterwards!"
Andrew swung the automobile round a sharp corner with a vicious jerk,and they emerged from the shelter of the wood-road, and found themselvesagain upon the glaring white of the Route de Poissy. St. Germain was notfar distant. They could see the _octroi_ and the first houses throughthe trees. But it was toward Poissy that Andrew turned.
"Shall we go back?" he asked.
"If you think the little Tremonceau won't be angry at the delay,"answered Mrs. Carnby pleasantly.
"I'm fond of her," said Andrew abruptly, "very."
"I'm glad of that," said Mrs. Carnby, almost with enthusiasm. "Itexcuses a great deal. I confess I was afraid that you were trying to bebig--to 'show off,' as the children say. After all, she's the mostbeautiful _cocotte_ in Paris, and the most sought after. One couldn'thave blamed you for being flattered. But if you're really fond of her,one can't very well do anything except be glad that it's impossible youshould always be so."
"Why impossible?" demanded Andrew. "I'm bound to confess that it seemsto me to be quite within the range of likelihood that I should always befond of her. Why impossible?"
"It's hard to explain--that," said Mrs. Carnby, "but those women don'twear. They seem to be only plated with fascination, and in time theplating wears off, and you come back to the kind with the Hall-mark. I'mperfectly at ease about that. I've known too many cases of itshappening. Oh, I know how it all is now! The polish is absolutelydazzling, and you can't imagine that it will ever be different. That's asymptom of the earliest stages, but the disease will run its regularcourse."
"You rather touch one on the quick, Mrs. Carnby. I think perhaps neitherof us realizes what an extremely unusual conversation this has been."
"I shouldn't call it commonplace," said Mrs. Carnby, "and I think you'vestood it beautifully. But I want to ask you one more question. _Do_ youlove Margery?"
"With all my heart and soul and strength, Mrs. Carnby!"
"Then, my dear young friend, it's time to think what you're about.There's only one thing for you to do. The path lies open before you--andI think you'll have the courage and the good sense, to say nothing ofthe common decency, to follow it!"