The Transgression of Andrew Vane: A Novel

  CHAPTER II.

  NEW FRIENDS AND OLD.

  In ordinary, Mrs. Carnby was one of the rare mortals who succeed indisposing as well as in proposing, but there were times when there wasnot even a family resemblance between her plans and her performances.She had fully intended that young Vane should be the only guest at herSunday breakfast, but as she came out of church that morning into thebrilliant sunlight of the Avenue de l'Alma, she found herself face toface with the Ratchetts, newly returned from Monte Carlo, and promptlybundled the pair of them into her victoria. Furthermore, as the carriageswung round the Arc, and into the Avenue du Bois, she suddenly espiedMr. Thomas Radwalader, lounging, with an air of infinite boredom, downthe _plage_.

  "There's that Radwalader, thinking about himself again!" she exclaimed,digging her coachman in the small of his ample back with the point ofher tulle parasol. "Positively, it would be cruelty to animals not torescue him. _Arretez_, Benoit!"

  Radwalader came up languidly as the carriage stopped.

  "Where are you going?" demanded Mrs. Carnby, after greetings had beenexchanged.

  "Home," answered Radwalader. "I met Madame Palffy back there a bit, andcouldn't get away for ten minutes. You know, it's shocking on thenerves, that kind of thing, so I thought I'd drop in at my quarters fora pick-me-up."

  "Well, if I'm not a pick-you-up, I'm sure I don't know what is," saidMrs. Carnby. "You're to come to breakfast. You'll have to walk, though.We're three already, you see, and I don't want people to take mycarriage for a _panier a salade_. I hadn't the most remote intention ofasking you; but when a man tells me he's been talking for ten minutes tothat Palffy, I always take him in and give him a good square meal."

  "You're very kind," said Radwalader. "Are you going to play bridgeafterwards? If so, I must go home for more money."

  "Nothing of the sort!" said Mrs. Carnby emphatically. "There's a_protege_ of Jeremy's coming to breakfast--a Bostonian, twenty yearsyoung, and over here for his health. You must all go, directly aftercoffee. I'm going to spend the afternoon feeding him with sweet spiritsof nitre out of a spoon, and teaching him his catechism. Perhaps you'dlike to stay and learn yours?"

  "I think I know it," laughed Radwalader.

  "If you do, it's one of your own fabrication, then--with just a singlequestion and answer. 'What is my duty toward myself? My duty towardmyself is, under all circumstances, to do exactly as I dee please.'"

  "If that were the case, my good woman, I should live up to my professionof faith, not only by accepting your invitation, as I mean to do, but bystaying the entire afternoon."

  "That's very nicely said indeed," answered Mrs. Carnby. "_Allez_,Benoit!"

  Twenty minutes later the whole party were assembled in her _salon_.Carnby, caught by his wife as he was scuttling into his study, was nowdoing his visibly inadequate best to entertain Philip Ratchett, whostood gloomily before him, with his legs far apart, his hands in hispockets, and his eyes on the top button of his host's waistcoat. He wasa typical Englishman, of the variety which leans against door-jambs inthe pages of _Punch_, and makes unfortunate remarks beginning with "Isay--" about the relatives of the stranger addressed. Society bored himto the verge of extinction, but it is only fair to say that he repaidthe debt with interest. He was tolerated--as many a man before and afterhim has been--for the sake of his wife.

  Mrs. Ratchett patronized, with equal ardour, a sewing-class whichfabricated unmentionable garments of red flannel for supposedly gratefulheathen, and a society for psychical research which boasted ofliberal-mindedness because it was willing to admit that, at the dawn ofthe twentieth century, the causes of certain natural phenomena yetremained unexplained. Her entire conception of life underwent a radicalchange whenever she read a new book, which she did at fortnightlyintervals. She was thirty, clever, and frankly beautiful, hence a factorin the Colony.

  The fifth member of the company in Mrs. Carnby's _salon_, Mr. ThomasRadwalader, enjoyed the truly Parisian distinction of being animpecunious bachelor who did not accept all the invitations he received.He might have been thirty-five or forty-five or fifty-five. Hissmooth-shaven, impassive face offered no indication whatever of his age.He was already quite gray, but, in contrast to this, his speech wastinged with a frivolity, rather pleasant than otherwise, which hinted atyouth. Mrs. Carnby had once described him as being "dappled withknowledge," and this, in common with the majority of Mrs. Carnby'sestimates, came admirably near to being exact. Radwalader's actual fundof information was far less ample than was indicated by the facilitywith which he talked on any and every subject, but he was master of thescience of selection. He judged others--and rightly--by himself, andwent upon the often-proven theory that a polished brilliant attractsmore attention than an uncut Koh-i-nur. He made the superficial thingsof life his own, and on the rare occasions when the trend ofconversation led him out of his depth, he caught at the life-belt ofepigram, and had found his feet again before men better informed hadfinished floundering. He lived in a tiny apartment, on the safe side ofnothing a year, and kept up appearances with a skill that was littleshort of genius. Gossip passed him by, a circumstance for which he wasdevoutly grateful, though it was due less to chance than to management.

  Such was the company into which Mr. Andrew Sterling had despatched hisgrandson--in hopes that the change might be of benefit. As he camethrough the _portieres_, young Vane proved to tally, in the mainessentials of appearance, with Mrs. Carnby's prophetic estimate. He wassomewhat more than rather good-looking, and essentially American, withthe soap-and-cold-water suggestion strongly to the fore. Mrs. Carnbyalways noted three things about a man before she spoke to him--hishands, his linen, and his eyes. In the first two Andrew Vane qualifiedimmediately; in the third his hostess was forced to confess herself at aloss. In singular contrast to a complexion dark almost to swarthiness,his eyes were large and of an intense steel-blue. He met those ofanother squarely, not alone with the frankness characteristic of youth,but with the strange calm of confidence typical of men accustomed to thecommand of a battle-ship or an army corps. Mrs. Carnby, in ordinary themost self-possessed of women, gave, almost guiltily, before the keen,clear eyes of Andrew Vane.

  "He has no business whatever to have eyes like that, at his age," shetold herself, almost angrily. "They ought to _grow_ in a man's head,after he has seen everything there is to be seen."

  The thought was involuntary, but it recalled to her memory where she hadseen their like before.

  "Radwalader has them," she added mentally. "_Good_ Lord! _Radwalader_!And this child hasn't even graduated!"

  During the brief interval between the general introduction and theannouncement of breakfast, she studied her new guest with unwontedinterest. He was of the satisfactory medium height at which a man isneither contemptible nor clumsy, slight in build, but straight as anarrow, with narrow hips and a square backward fling of shoulder whichspoke of resolution.

  "He has 'No Compromise' written all over his back," said Mrs. Carnby toherself. "I should believe everything he told me, and not be afraid ofwhat I told him."

  Then she noted that he was eminently at ease. There is something out ofthe common about twenty that keeps its hands hanging at its sides, andits feet firmly planted, without suggesting a tailor's dummy. Andrew wastalking to Mr. Carnby about his grandfather and Boston, and from thefirst to the last word of the short colloquy he did not once shift hisposition. As he stood thus, in some curious fashion consideration of hisyears was completely eliminated from one's thought of him. He wasdeferential, but in the negative manner of guest to host, rather than inthe positive of youth to age; and, at the same time, he was assertive,but with the force of personality, not the conspicuity of awkwardness.He fitted into his surroundings instantly, like a wisely placed_bibelot_, but he dominated them as well.

  "That Palffy," was Mrs. Carnby's final resolve, "shall get him only overmy dead body."

  And so, unconsciously, Andrew scored his first Parisian triumph.

  For the first ten minutes o
f breakfast, Mrs. Carnby, at whose left hesat, let him designedly alone. It was her belief that men, likesaddle-horses, should be given their heads in strange territory, andleft to find themselves--this in contrast to the policy of her socialrival, Madame Palffy, who boasted of being able to draw out the bestthere was in a new acquaintance in the first quarter-hour ofconversation. In this she was probably correct, though in a sense whichshe did not perceive--for few good qualities survived the strain of thatinitial quarter-hour.

  But if Mrs. Carnby's attention appeared to be engrossed by Radwalader onher right, and Mrs. Ratchett beyond Radwalader, she kept, nevertheless,a weather eye on Andrew; and when, presently, his spoon tinkled on his_bouillon_ saucer, she turned to him.

  "I've been watching you," she began, "to see how you would take toFrench oysters. It's a test I always apply to newcomers from America.If they eat only one _Marennes verte_, I know at once that they approveof forty-story buildings, and are going to talk about 'getting back toGod's country'; if they eat all six, I know I may venture to hint thatthere are advantages about living in Paris, without having my headbitten off for being an expatriate."

  "It would seem your head is quite safe, so far as I am concerned,"laughed Andrew, "for I finished off my half-dozen, and thought them verygood."

  "Then you have the soul of a Parisian in the body of a Bostonian,"affirmed Mrs. Carnby. "A liking for _Marennes vertes_ is a survival of aprevious state of existence. Here's Mr. Radwalader, for instance, whocan't abide them, even after Heaven knows _how_ many years in Paris."

  "They taste so much like two-sou pieces that, whenever I eat them, theymake me feel like a frog savings-bank," said Radwalader.

  "There you are!" cried Mrs. Carnby triumphantly. "That would never havearisen as an objection in the mind of any one who had known what it isto be a Parisian."

  "Or a frog savings-bank," said Radwalader. "No, I suppose not. I can'tseem to live down the fact that I was born in the shadow of IndependenceHall. But I'm doing so much to make up for the bad beginnings of mypresent incarnation, that I shall undoubtedly be a Parisian in my next.Have you been here long, Mr. Vane?"

  "Three days."

  "Do you speak French?" put in Mrs. Carnby. "No? What a pity! You've noidea what a difference it makes."

  "I've only such a smattering as one gets in school and college," saidAndrew. "Of course I didn't _know_ I was coming over here. But, afterall, one seems to get on very well with English."

  "That's just the trouble, Mr. Vane," volunteered Mrs. Ratchett. "So manyAmericans are content just to 'get on' over here. That isn't the cue toParis at all! It only means that you and she are on terms of bowingacquaintance. You'll never get to know her till you can talk to her inher own tongue."

  "Or listen to her talk to you," observed Radwalader. "So long as we'reusing the feminine gender--"

  "Oh!" interrupted Mrs. Carnby. "A remark like that _does_ come with_extreme_ grace from you, I _must_ say. Here," she added, turning toMrs. Ratchett, and indicating Radwalader with her fish-fork, "here's aman, my dear, who spent two solid hours of last Monday telling me thestory of his life. And it reminded me precisely of a peacock--one long,stuck-up tale with a hundred I's in it. Radwalader, you're a brute!"

  Carnby, with his eyes fixed vacantly upon a spot midway between apepper-mill and a little dish of salted almonds, appeared to berevolving some complicated business problem in his mind; and, as hiswife caught sight of him, her fish-fork swung round a quarter-circle inher fingers, like a silver weathercock, until, instead of Radwalader, itindicated the point of her husband's nose.

  "That person," she said to Andrew, "is either in Trieste or Buda. Hiscompany has an incapable agent in both cities, and whenever he glares atvacancy, like a hairdresser's image, I know he is in either one town orthe other. With practice, I shall come to detect the shade of differencein his expression which will tell me which it is. Mr. Ratchett--somemore of the _eperlans_?"

  Ratchett was deeply engaged in dressing morsels of smelts in littleovercoats of _sauce tartare_, assisting them carefully with his knife toscramble aboard his fork, and, having braced them there firmly withcubes of creamed potato, conveying the whole arrangement to his mouth,where he instantly secured it from escape by popping in a piece of breadupon its very heels. He looked up, as Mrs. Carnby spoke to him, murmured"'k you," and immediately returned to the business in hand. Radwaladerand Mrs. Ratchett had fallen foul of each other over a chance remark ofhis, and were now just disappearing into a fog of art discussion, fromwhich, in his voice, an abrupt "Besnard" popped, at intervals, asindignantly as a ball from a Roman candle, or, in hers, the word"Whistler" rolled forth with an inflection which suggested the name of acathedral.

  "Tell me a little about yourself," said Mrs. Carnby, turning again toAndrew.

  "If it's to be about myself," he answered, "I think it's apt to belittle indeed. I've been in college almost three years, but I've beenkept back, more or less, by a touch of fever I picked up on a trip toCuba. It crops out every now and again, and knocks me intogood-for-nothingness for a while. I'm not sure that I shall go back toHarvard. You see, I want to _do_ something."

  "What?" demanded Mrs. Carnby.

  "I'm not sure. I'm over here in search of a hint."

  "And a very excellent idea, too!" said his hostess. "Because, if youwill keep your eyes open in the American Colony, you'll see abouteverything which a man ought _not_ to do; and after that it should becomparatively easy to make a choice among the few things that remain."

  "You're not very flattering to the American Colony," said Andrew.

  "That's because I belong to it," replied Mrs. Carnby, "and you'll findI'm about the only woman in it, able to speak French, who will make thatadmission. I belong to it, and I love it--for its name. It's about asmuch like America as a cold veal cutlet with its gravy coagulated--ifyou've ever seen _that_!--is like the same thing fresh off the grill.But I don't allow any one but myself to say so!"

  "You're patriotic," suggested Andrew.

  "Only passively. I'm extremely doubtful as to the exact location of'God's country,' and, even if you were to prove to my satisfaction thatit lies between Seattle and Tampa, I'm not sure I should want to livethere. America's a kind of conservatory on my estate. I don't care tosit in it continually, but, at the same time, I don't like to have otherpeople throwing stones through the roof. But about what you want to do?"

  "I really haven't the most remote idea. I want it to be something worthwhile--something which will attract attention."

  "Nothing does, nowadays," said Mrs. Carnby, "except air-ships andremarriage within two hours of divorce."

  "What _are_ you talking about?" asked Mrs. Ratchett, suddenly abandoningthe argument in which it was evident that she was coming out secondbest.

  "My choice of a profession," replied Andrew. "I don't want to make amistake. But everything seems to be overcrowded."

  "Exactly," observed Radwalader. "It isn't so much a question ofselecting what's right as of getting what's left. Haven't you a specialtalent?"

  "I'm afraid not," said Andrew.

  "And if you had, it wouldn't do you much good in the States," commentedMrs. Carnby. "Nothing counts over there but money and social position.It's the only country on earth where it's less blessed to be gifted thanreceived."

  "I had thought of civil engineering," said Andrew.

  "Civil engineering?" repeated Mrs. Carnby. "But, my dear Mr. Vane,_that's_ not a profession. It's only a synonym for getting on insociety. We're all of us civil engineers!"

  She pushed back her chair as she spoke.

  "We'll wait for you in the _salon_," she added, "and, meanwhile, Mrs.Ratchett and I will think up a profession for Mr. Vane. Jeremy, you'reto give them the shortest cigars you have."

  "I was once in the same quandary," said Radwalader to Andrew, when themen were left alone, "and concluded to let Time answer the question forme. You may have noticed that Time is prone to reticence. So far, he hasnot committed himself one way or another.
"

  "I'm afraid I haven't the patience for that," said Andrew. "Besides,it's different in America. One _has_ to do something over there. It'salmost against the law to be idle."

  "Of course. The only remedy for that is to live in Paris. You might dothat. It's a profession all by itself--of faith, if nothing else. Onlyone has need of the golden means."

  "I think I am a homeopathist, so far as Europe is concerned," saidAndrew. "I'm already a little homesick for the Common."

  "It's a bad pun," answered Radwalader, "but is there anything in Americabut--the common?"

  "You can't expect me to agree with you there."

  "I don't. I never expect any one to agree with me. It takes all thecharm out of conversation. You may remember that Mark Twain once saidthat it's a difference of opinion which makes horse-races. He shouldhave made it human races. That would have been truer, and so, moreoriginal. But a homeopathist is only a man who has never triedallopathy. You must let me convert you by showing you something ofParis. If I've any profession at all, it's that of guide."

  "You're very kind," said Andrew, "but you mustn't let your courtesy putyou to inconvenience on my account. There must be a penalty attached toknowing Paris well, in the form of fellow country-men who want to beshown about."

  "'Never a rose but has its thorn,'" quoted Radwalader. "If you knowParis well, you're overrun; and if you don't, you're run over. Of thetwo, the former is the less objectionable. When we leave here, perhapsyou'd like to go out to the races for a while? If you haven't been,Auteuil is well worth seeing of a Sunday afternoon."

  "I should be very glad," said Andrew.

  "Then we'll consider it agreed. I see Carnby is getting to his feet. Heis about to make his regular postprandial speech. It is one to becommended for its brevity."

  "The ladies?" suggested Jeremy interrogatively.

  "By all means!" said Radwalader, as his cigarette sizzled into theremainder of his coffee. "It's a toast to which we all respond."

  "By the way," said Ratchett, as they moved toward the _portieres_, "Iwas going to ask you chaps about membership in the Volney."

  The three men gathered in a group, and Andrew, seeing that they wereabout to speak of something in which he had no concern, passed into the_salon_. Here he was surprised to find three women instead of two--stillmore surprised when the newcomer wheeled suddenly, and came toward himwith both hands outstretched.

  "How do you _do_?" she said. "What a charming surprise! Mrs. Carnby wasjust speaking of you, and I've been telling her what jolly times we usedto have last summer at Beverly. How delightful to find you here! Mrs.Carnby's my dearest friend, you must know, Mr. Vane."

  "Miss Palffy is one of the few people to whom I always feel equal,"observed Mrs. Carnby.

  "I can say the same, I'm sure," agreed Andrew.

  "That means that you and I are to be friends as well, then," answeredMrs. Carnby, "because things that are equal to the same thing are boundto be equal to each other. Are you going out with Jeremy, Margery?"

  "Yes--our usual Sunday spree, you know. He's a dear!"

  She bent over as she spoke and buried her nose in one of the big roseson the table.

  "Lord, girl, but I'm glad to see you again!" said the inner voice ofAndrew Vane.