Events soon proved that Helen was right in saying that Marion must have
made an impression upon Mrs. Singleton. A few days later that lady's
card was brought to Mrs. Dalton, who regarded it with mild surprise,
saying, "Why, I have not called on her since her arrival this summer!"
"But you called on her last summer," said Helen; "and I suppose she has
some reason for coming without waiting for you to make another formal
visit. Pray find out what it is."
It was not at all difficult to discover Mrs. Singleton's reason for
the visit. She declared it frankly and at once. "I hear that you have
your charming daughter at home, Mrs. Dalton," she said; "and, knowing
her accomplishments, I want to secure her aid for some musical evenings
I am anxious to inaugurate. Mr. Singleton--my husband's uncle--finds
almost his only pleasure in music; so I desire very much that these
evenings shall be a success. Do you think Miss Morley will assist me?"
"I have no doubt she will be very glad to do so," answered Mrs. Dalton.
"I am delighted to hear it. And I am told that a very striking-looking
young lady, whom I saw in church with Miss Netta Morley last Sunday,
is your niece. Has she, also, taste and talent for music?"
"Oh! yes; she has a finer voice than Helen," said Mrs. Dalton, "and
sings much better."
"How very charming for me!" cried Mrs. Singleton. "May I have the
pleasure of seeing the young ladies? I should like to have their
definite promise to help me."
The young ladies were summoned, and very readily gave the promise asked
of them. They would be delighted, they said, to assist to the full
extent of their musical abilities. "And when," Helen asked, "will the
evenings begin?"
"Oh! at once," Mrs. Singleton replied. "On every Wednesday I hope to
gather all the musical talent of Scarborough into my drawing-room. I
shall send out my cards immediately to that effect. You don't know,
Miss Lynde,"--turning to Marion--"how pleased I am to find unexpectedly
such an addition as I am sure you will prove."
Marion smiled. "You are very kind," she said; "but I fear you are
taking too much for granted. I am not a good musician. I have never had
industry enough. Helen plays much better than I do."
"Oh, but, Marion, your voice is so fine!" cried Helen. "And everyone
likes singing best."
"_I_ do, I confess," said Mrs. Singleton. "And so, I think, does my
uncle. I have no doubt that you sing well, Miss Lynde."
"That is kind of you again," responded Marion; "but I must warn you
that Helen is not altogether a trustworthy witness. She always thinks
well of what her friends do, and poorly of what she does herself."
"I am willing to wait and let Mrs. Singleton decide whether or not I
think too well of what you do," observed Helen, with a gay little nod.
"Mrs. Singleton has no doubt what her decision will be," said that
lady. "Meanwhile, Miss Lynde, I wonder if we are not related in some
way? I am very certain that the Singletons have connections of your
name, and I fancy it must be your family."
"It is likely," answered Marion; "but matters of pedigree and
relationship have never interested me sufficiently for me to know
much about them. I regret that fact now," she continued, with unusual
graciousness; for she felt that she would not be sorry to be able to
claim relationship with people of such social position as these were.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Singleton, "my uncle will know all about it, I am sure.
Like most people of the old school, he thinks a great deal of such
things. And I hope I may prove right in my conjecture," she added, as
she rose to take leave.
"_What_ an impression you must have made upon her, Marion!" cried
Helen, as soon as they were alone. "Do you know that she is usually the
most supercilious woman, and so haughty that the idea of her claiming
relationship with any ordinary person seems incredible!"
"Do you consider me an ordinary person?" asked Marion, laughing, as she
walked toward a mirror. "I am exceedingly obliged to you."
"You know that I consider you a most extraordinary person," answered
Helen, with emphasis; "but Mrs. Singleton does not know yet what you
are in yourself, and--and you are not rich or--"
"Distinguished in any way," said Marion, as she paused. "There is no
doubt of that. As far as the outward accidents of life go, I am a very
insignificant person. But I shall not be so always, Helen. I am sure
of that; and people who know the world seem to have an instinct of it
also."
Helen looked at the fair face which, with such an air of conscious
power, regarded itself in the mirror. To her this ambition belonged
to the order of inexplicable things; yet she had a belief that it was
natural enough in Marion, and that it was fully justified by gifts
which she acknowledged without defining.
"No one could know you and not be sure of it," she said, in answer
to the last speech. "Of course you will fill some great place in the
world--we settled _that_ long ago. But I do think it strange that Mrs.
Singleton should recognize how remarkable you are--so soon."
"Perhaps it is an indication that other people will recognize it too,"
replied Marion, with a smile; while she said to herself that one other
person had recognized it already.
And, indeed, the recognition of that person had by this time become
sufficiently evident to everyone. In the innocence of her heart, Helen
rejoiced that her hero and oracle agreed with her in admiring the
cousin whom she admired so much. "I knew how it would be!" she said to
him, triumphantly. "You might be critical about other people, but I
knew you _must_ acknowledge that Marion is beyond criticism."
"That, however, is just what I don't acknowledge," Rathborne answered,
laughingly. "Miss Lynde is by no means beyond criticism; she is only a
beautiful and clever young lady, who has clearly determined to do the
best for herself without much regard for others."
"Marion has never been taught or accustomed to think of others," said
gentle Helen. "But I do not think she would harm any one for her own
advantage."
"Oh! no; she would only quietly walk over the person who was unlucky
enough to get in her way," remarked Rathborne. "And it is not I who
would blame her for that."
Helen looked at him reproachfully. "Now you are doing yourself
injustice," she said. "I understand that you do not mean anything of
the kind, but such remarks make others think badly of you."
"No doubt," he replied, carelessly; "but, my dear Helen, there is
nothing in the world of less importance to me than what others--the
class of others you mean--think of me."
"But it is of great importance to _me_," said Helen. "I cannot bear
that you should be misjudged by any one."
He laughed--people were right who said of Rathborne that he had not
a pleasant laugh--as he replied, "Who can say when one is misjudged?
Don't trouble yourself about that. As long as you are satisfied with
me, I can snap my fingers at the rest of the world."
"You know how well I am satisfied," said Helen.
"Yes, I know," he answered, with a short thrill of compunction. "I am
not all you think me, Helen. The 'others,' whose opinion makes you
indignant, are nearer right than you are, if the truth were known, I
suspect."
"You shall not say such things!" cried Helen. "There is nothing I could
want changed in you, except"--her face fell a little--"except your
religion. If you were only a Catholic I should be perfectly happy."
Rathborne smiled a little, as one would at the folly of a child. "I a
Catholic!" he said. "My imagination is not strong enough to fancy that.
No, my dear little Helen; you must be content with me as I am."
"Have you read the book I gave you--which you promised to read?" asked
Helen, wistfully.
"I glanced into it--because I promised you," he answered; "but I found
little of interest, and nothing to change my convictions. Do not
indulge the hope that they ever will be changed. Let us understand each
other on that point from the first. You are at liberty to believe and
practice what you like, and I claim the same liberty for myself. Is not
that just?"
"I--suppose so," answered Helen, whose forte was not controversy, and
whose eyes were full of tears. "But surely you wish to believe and
practice the truth?"
Rathborne shrugged his shoulders. "What is truth?" he said. "There is
ancient and high authority for that question, and I don't know that it
has ever been answered satisfactorily. I shall not endeavor to begin to
answer it. And I shall not take an answer from the lips of a priest.
Now let us change the subject."
The subject was changed, but poor Helen's heart was heavier than
before it was begun. Whenever she did not talk to Rathborne on the
subject of religion, she indulged a hope of his conversion, founded on
her own ardent desire; but whenever she timidly opened the subject,
she felt the hopelessness of moving this nature so deeply rooted in
self-opinion, spiritual indifference, and worldly interests. At such
times her poor little heart had its first taste of bitterness of
life,--that bitterness which is so largely made up of the jarring of
different natures and of irreconcilable desires.
Meanwhile some irreconcilable desires had begun to disturb the even
current of Rathborne's carefully-planned life. For years he had seen
very clearly what he meant to do--first to marry Helen, in order to
secure the financial independence which her fortune would give; and
then to climb, by certain well-marked steps, the ladder of professional
and political eminence. He had never hesitated or wavered for an
instant in this plan, neither had any obstacle arisen in his way.
Helen had yielded to his influence, her mother's opposition was easily
overcome, his professional success was all that he could desire, and
already he was known as a man certain to gain the coveted prizes of
public life.
But now into this well-ordered and orderly existence a distraction
came. A beautiful, imperious, ambitious woman suddenly appeared in
his path, and the strongest temptation of his life assailed him--the
temptation to give up Helen and her fortune for Marion and Marion's
striking gifts. "What might not a man accomplish with such a brilliant
and ambitious spirit to aid his own ambition!" he said to himself, and
so felt the temptation grow daily stronger. Yet he was well aware that
in giving up Helen, he would give up more than her affection (which he
did not count at all), and her fortune (which he counted very heavily):
he would give up also a large and influential family connection, and
the respect of every person of his acquaintance whose respect was worth
most to him. He felt, however, that he might make up his mind to the
last, if it were all; for he was too cynical and had too thorough a
knowledge of the world not to know that people do not long remember
anything to the disadvantage of a successful man. But to resign Helen's
fortune, after the careful work of years to secure it, was something
more difficult to him; and he had by no means made up his mind to do so
when the above conversation took place.
It was the day of Mrs. Singleton's _musicale_; and presently Rathborne,
who found conversation tiresome to maintain, said as he rose to go:
"Shall I accompany you this evening? Of course I have had a card like
everyone else."
"Oh! yes; come by all means," replied Helen. "Mamma is going with us,
and Netta and Frank are to call by; but it is always pleasant to have
_you_."
"It is not pleasant to me, however, to form one of a caravan," he said,
with some impatience. "If I am to accompany you, can you not dispense
with Miss Morley and her brother?"
"I hardly like to tell them not to come; and why should you object to
them? It is pleasant for us all to go together."
"Do you think so?" said Rathborne, with the sneer which came so readily
to his lip. Some words of Marion's recurred to his mind. "Helen is so
gregarious and so easily pleased," that young lady had said, "that
I think she would like to live always with a mob of people." But for
the memory of this speech he might not have felt so irritated with a
harmless and amiable love of companionship; but the contempt which
dictated the words found a ready echo in his own mind.
"If your cousins are going to accompany you, there is no need for
me," he observed; "so I will content myself with meeting you at Mrs.
Singleton's. Good-morning!"
"Oh, I am sorry!" said Helen, with quick regret. "Netta and Frank would
think it very strange, else I would send and ask them not to come--"
"Not on my account, I beg," responded Rathborne. "I am very well
satisfied with matters as they are. It gives me the opportunity of
choosing my own time to appear."
"Don't be too late," said Helen. "You know that Marion and I are both
going to sing; and Marion, I am sure, will do her best."
"And you also, I hope."
She shook her head. "I am not like Marion. A public performance
unnerves me, but it always puts her at her best. You will hear to-night
how much better she will sing for a number of people than she has ever
sung for a small circle."
"I shall certainly hear," said Rathborne. "Tell Miss Lynde that I am
preparing myself to be electrified."
Perhaps he was aware in uttering these words that Miss Lynde had
appeared in the open door behind him. At least there was no surprise
on his face, but a great deal of satisfaction, when she came forward,
saying:--
"And why, pray, Mr. Rathborne, should you be preparing yourself to be
electrified?"
"Because Helen has just been telling me how much you are inspired by an
audience," he answered; "and you are to have all Scarborough for your
audience."
She made a gesture of indifference. "Give me credit," she said,
"for caring a little more for the quality than the mere quantity of
appreciation. 'All Scarborough' does not mean a great deal to me, I
assure you."
"Such as it is, though, it will be at your feet," he said. "Do not
scorn it."
"I shall certainly wait until it is at my feet to begin to do so," she
answered, with a laugh.
"It is not good policy to scorn even that which is at your feet," he
said. "You may need it some day."
"Be sure that I have no inclination to scorn any kindness that comes in
my way," she observed, quickly. "You do me injustice if you believe me
capable of that."
"Then you will not scorn your audience to-night," he answered; "for I
am sure you will meet nothing but kindness from it."