DENNIS'S LOVE PUT TO PRACTICAL USE
The day following his unlucky criticism of the pictures was one of
great despondency to Dennis. He had read in Christine's face that he
had wounded her sorely; and, though she knew it to be unintentional,
would it not prejudice her mind against him, and snap the slender
thread by which he hoped to draw across the gulf between them the cord,
and then the cable, that might in time unite their lives?
In the evening his restless, troubled spirit drove him, in spite of
the rain, to seek to be at least nearer to her. He felt sure that in
the dusk and wrapped in his greatcoat he would not be noticed, but was
mistaken, as we have seen. He was rewarded, for he heard her sing as
never before, as he did not believe she could sing. For the first time
her rich, thoroughly trained voice had the sweetness and power of
feeling. To Dennis her song seemed like an appeal, a cry for help, and
his heart responded in the deepest sympathy. As he walked homeward he
said to himself: "She could be a true artist, perhaps a great one, for
she can feel. She has a heart. She has a taste and skill in touch that
few can surpass. I can scarcely believe the beautiful coloring and
faultless lines of that picture are her work." He long for a chance
to speak with her and explain. He felt that he had so much to say, and
in a thousand imaginary ways introduced the subject of her painting.
He hoped he might find her sketching in some of the rooms again. He
thought that he knew her better for having heard her sing, and that
he could speak to her quite frankly.
The next day she came to the store, but passed him without the slightest
notice. He hoped she had not seen him, and, as she passed out, so
placed himself that she must see him, and secured for his pains only
a slight, cold inclination of the head.
"It is as I feared," he said, bitterly. "She detests me for having
spoiled her triumph. She is not just," he added, angrily. "She has no
sense of justice, or she would not blame me. What a mean-spirited
craven I should have been had I shrunk away under her taunts yesterday.
Well, I can be proud too."
When she came in again he did not raise his eyes, and when she passed
out he was in a distant part of the store. Christine saw no tall muffled
figure under her window again, though she had the curiosity to look.
That even this humble admirer, for whom she cared not a jot, should
show such independence rather nettled and annoyed her for a moment.
But she paid no more heed to him than to the other clerks.
But what was the merest jar to Christine's vanity cost Dennis a
desperate struggle. It required no effort on her part to pass him by
without a glance. To him it was torture. In a few days she ceased to
think about him at all, and only remembered him in connection with her
disappointment. But she was restless, could settle down to no work, and
had lost her zest in her old pleasures. She tried to act as usual,
for she saw her father's eye was on her. He had not much indulgence
for any one's weaknesses save his own, and often by a little cold
satire would sting her to the very quick. On the other hand, his
admiration, openly expressed in a certain courtly gallantry, nourished
her pride but not her heart. Though she tried to keep up her usual
routine, her manner was forced before him and languid when alone. But
he said, "All this will pass away like a cold snap in spring, and the
old zest will come again in a few days."
It did, but from a cause which he could not understand, and which his
daughter with consummate skill and care concealed. He thought it was
only the old enthusiasm rallying after a sharp frost of disappointment.
Dennis's pride gave way before her cool and unstudied indifference.
It was clearly evident to him that he had no hold upon her life
whatever, and how to gain any he did not see. He became more and more
dejected.
"She must have a heart, or I could not love her so; but it is so incased
in ice I fear I can never reach it."
That something was wrong with Dennis any friend who cared for him at
all might see. The Bruders did, and, with the quick intuitions of
woman, Mrs. Bruder half guessed the cause. Mr. Bruder, seeing
preoccupation and sometimes weary apathy in Dennis's face, would say,
"Mr. Fleet is not well."
Then, as even this slight notice of his different appearance seemed
to give pain, Mr. Bruder was patiently and kindly blind to his pupil's
inattention.
Dennis faithfully kept up all his duties on Sunday as during the week;
but all was now hard work. Some little time after the unlucky morning
which he could never think of without an expression of pain, he went
to his mission class as usual. He heard his boys recite their lessons,
said a few poor lame words in explanation, and then leaned his head
listlessly and wearily on his hand. He was startled by hearing a sweet
voice say, "Well, Mr. Fleet, are you not going to welcome a new laborer
into your corner of the vineyard?"
With a deep flush he saw that Miss Winthrop was in charge of the class
next to him, and that he had been oblivious to her presence nearly an
hour. He tried to apologize. But she interrupted him, saying: "Mr.
Fleet, you are not well. Any one can see that."
Then Dennis blushed as if he had a raging fever, and she was perplexed.
The closing exercises of the school now occupied them and then they
walked out together.
"Mr. Fleet," she said, "you never accepted my invitation. We have not
seen you at our house. But perhaps your circle of friends is so large
that you do not wish to add to it."
Dennis could not forbear a smile at the suggestion, but he said, in
apology, "I do not visit any one, save a gentleman from whom I am
taking lessons."
"Do you mean to say that you have no friends at all in this great city?"
"Well, I suppose that is nearly the truth; that is, in the sense you
use the term. My teacher and his wife--"
"Nonsense! I mean friends of one's own age, people of the same culture
and status as yourself. I think we require such society, as truly as
we need food and air. I did not mean those whom business or duty brought
you in contact with, or who are friendly or grateful as a matter of
course."
"I have made no progress since my introduction to society at Miss
Brown's," said Dennis.
"But you had the sincere and cordial offer of introduction," said Miss
Winthrop, looking a little hurt.
"I feel hardly fit for society," said Dennis, all out of sorts with
himself. "It seems that I can only blunder and give pain. But I am
indeed grateful for your kindness."
Miss Winthrop looked into his worn, pale face, and instinctively knew
that something was wrong, and she felt real sympathy for the lonely
young man, isolated among thousands. She said, gently but decidedly:
"I did mean my invitation kindly, and I truly wished you to come. The
only proof you can give that you appreciate my courtesy is to accept
an invitation for to-morrow evening. I intend having a little musical
entertainment."
Quick as light flashed the thought, "Christine will be there." He said,
promptly: "I will come, and thank you for the invitation. If I am
awkward, you must remember that I have never mingled in Chicago society,
and for a long time not in any."
She smiled merrily at him, and said, "Don't do anything dreadful, Mr.
Fleet."
He caught her mood, and asked what had brought her down from her
theological peak to such a valley of humiliation as a mission school.
"You and Miss Ludolph" she answered, seriously. "Between you, you gave
me such a lesson that afternoon at Miss Brown's that I have led a
different life ever since. Christine made all as dark as despair, and
against that darkness you placed the fiery Cross. I have tried to cling
to the true cross ever since. Now He could not say to me, 'Inasmuch
as ye did it not.' And oh!" said she, turning to Dennis with a smile
full of the light of Heaven, "His service is so very sweet! I heard
last week that teachers were wanted at this mission school, so I came,
and am glad to find you a neighbor."
Dennis's face also kindled at her enthusiasm, but after a moment grew
sad again.
"I do not always give so lifeless a lesson as to-day," he said, in a
low voice.
"Mr. Fleet, you are not well. I can see that you look worn and greatly
wearied. Are you not in some way overtaxing yourself?"
Again that sensitive flush, but he only said: "I assure you I am well.
Perhaps I have worked a little hard. That is all."
"Well, then, come to our house and play a little tomorrow evening,"
she answered from the platform of a street car, and was borne away.
Dennis went to his lonely room, full of self-reproach.
"Does she find Christ's service so sweet, and do I find it so dull and
hard? Does human love alone constrain me, and not the love of Christ?
Truly I am growing weak. Every one says I look ill. I think I am, in
body and soul, and am ceasing to be a man; but with God's help I will
be one--and what is more, a Christian. I thank you, Miss Winthrop; you
have helped me more than I have helped you. I will accept your
invitation to go out into the world. I will no longer mope, brood, and
perish in the damp and shade of my own sick fancies. If I cannot win
her, I can at least be a man without her;" and he felt better and
stronger than he had done for a long time. The day was breaking again.
In accordance with a custom that was growing with him ever since the
memorable evening when Bill Cronk befriended him, he laid the whole
matter before his Heavenly Father, as a child tells an earthly parent
all his heart. Then he added one simple prayer, "Guide me in all
things."
The next day was brighter and better than its forerunners. "For some
reason I feel more like myself," he thought. After the excitement and
activity of a busy day, he said, "I can conquer this, if I must."
But when he had made his simple toilet, and was on his way to Miss
Winthrop's residence, his heart began to flutter strangely, and he
knew the reason. Miss Winthrop welcomed him most cordially, and put
him at his ease in a moment, as only a true lady can. Then she turned
to receive other guests. He looked around. Christine was not there;
and his heart sank like lead. "She will not be here," he sighed. But
the guests had not ceased coming, and every new arrival caused a flutter
of hopes and fears. He both longed and dreaded to meet her. At last,
when he had almost given up seeing her, suddenly she appeared, advancing
up the parlor on her father's arm. Never had she seemed so dazzlingly
beautiful. He was just then talking to Mr. Winthrop, and for a few
moments that gentleman was perplexed at his incoherent answers and the
changes in his face. Having paid their respects to the daughter, Mr.
and Miss Ludolph came toward Mr. Winthrop, and of course Dennis had
to meet them. Having greeted them warmly, Mr. Winthrop said, "Of course
you do not need an introduction to Mr. Fleet."
Dennis had shrunk a little into the background, and at first they had
not noticed him. Mr. Ludolph said, good-naturedly, "Glad to see you,
Mr. Fleet, and will be still more glad to hear your fine voice."
But Christine merely bowed as to one with whom her acquaintance was
slight, and turned away. At first Dennis had blushed, and his heart
had fluttered like a young girl's; but, as she turned so coolly away,
his native pride and obstinacy were aroused.
"She shall speak to me and do me justice," he muttered. "She must
understand that I spoke unconsciously on that miserable morning, and
am not to be blamed. As I am a man, I will speak boldly and secure
recognition." But as the little company mingled and conversed before
the music commenced, no opportunity offered. He determined to show
her, however, that he was no country boor, and with skill and taste
made himself agreeable.
Christine furtively watched him. She was surprised to see him, as the
idea of meeting him in society as an equal had scarcely been suggested
before. But when she saw that he greeted one after another with grace
and ease, and that all seemed to enjoy his conversation, so that a
little knot of Miss Winthrop's most intelligent guests were about him
at last, she felt that it would be no great condescension on her part
to be a little more affable. In her heart, though, she had not forgiven
the unconscious words that had smitten to the ground her ambitious
hopes.
Then again, his appearance deeply interested her. A suppressed
excitement and power, seen in the glow and fire of his dark eyes, and
felt in his tones, stirred her languid pulses.
"He is no vapid society-man," she said to herself; and her artist eye
was gratified by the changes in his noble face.
"Look at Fleet," whispered her father; "could you believe he was
sweeping the store the other day? Well, if we don't find out his worth
and get what we can from him, the world will. We ought to have had him
up to sing before this, but I have been so busy since your illness
that it slipped my mind."
Miss Winthrop now led Christine to the piano, and she played a classical
piece of music in faultless taste. Then followed duets, solos, quartets,
choruses, and instrumental pieces, for nearly all present were musical
amateurs. Under the inspiration of this soul-stirring art, coldness
and formality melted away, and with jest and brilliant repartee,
alternating with song, there gathered around Miss Winthrop's piano
such a group as could never grace the parlors of Miss Brown. Sometimes
they would carry a new and difficult piece triumphantly through; again
they would break down, with much laughter and good-natured rallying.
Dennis, as a stranger, held back at first; but those who remembered
his singing at the tableau party were clamorous to hear him again, and
they tested and tried his voice during the evening in many and varied
ways. But he held his own, and won greener laurels than ever. He did
his very best, for he was before one whom he would rather please than
all the world; moreover, her presence seemed to inspire him to do
better than when alone. Christine, like the others, could not help
listening with delight to his rich, clear tenor, and Mr. Ludolph was
undisguised in his admiration.
"I declare, Mr. Fleet, I have been depriving myself of a good deal of
pleasure. I meant to have you up to sing with us before, but we have
been under such a press of business of late! But the first evening I
am disengaged you must surely come."
Christine had noticed how quietly and almost indifferently Dennis had
taken the many compliments showered on him before, but now, when her
father spoke, his face flushed, and a sudden light came into his eyes.
Dennis had thought, "I can then see and speak to her." Every now and
then she caught his eager, questioning, and almost appealing glance,
but he made no advances. "He thinks I am angry because of his keen
criticism of my picture. For the sake of my own pride, I must not let
him think that I care so much about his opinion;" and Christine resolved
to let some of the ice thaw that had formed between them. Moreover,
in spite of herself, when she was thrown into his society, he greatly
interested her. He seemed to have just what she had not. He could meet
her on her own ground in matters of taste, and then, in contrast with
her cold, negative life, he was so earnest and positive. "Perhaps papa
spoke for us both," she thought, "and I have been depriving myself of
a pleasure also, for he certainly interests while most men only weary
me."
Between ten and eleven supper was announced; not the prodigal abundance
under which the brewer's table had groaned, but a dainty, elegant
little affair, which inspired and promoted social feeling, though the
"spirit of wine" was absent. The eye was feasted as truly as the palate.
Christine had stood near Dennis as the last piece was sung, and he
turned and said in a low, eager tone, "May I have the pleasure of
waiting on you at supper?"
She hesitated, but his look was so wistful that she could not well
refuse, so with a slight smile she bowed assent, and placed the tips
of her little gloved hand on his arm, which so trembled that she looked
inquiringly and curiously into his face. It was very pale, as was ever
the case when he felt deeply. He waited on her politely but silently
at first. She sat in an angle, somewhat apart from the others. As he
stood by her side, thinking how to refer to the morning in the
show-room, she said: "Mr. Fleet, you are not eating anything, and you
look as if you had been living on air of late--very unlike your
appearance when you so efficiently aided me in the rearrangement of
the store. I am delighted that you keep up the better order of things."
Dennis's answer was quite irrelevant.
"Miss Ludolph," he said, abruptly, "I saw that I gave you pain that
morning in the show-room. If you only knew how the thought has pained
me!"
Christine flushed almost angrily, but said, coldly, "Mr. Fleet, that
is a matter you can never understand, therefore we had better dismiss
the subject."
But Dennis had determined to break the ice between them at any risk,
so he said, firmly but respectfully: "Miss Ludolph, I did understand
all, the moment I saw your face that day. I do understand how you have
felt since, better than you imagine."
His manner and words were so assured that she raised a startled face
to his, but asked coldly and in an indifferent manner, "What can you
know of my feelings?"
"I know," said Dennis, in a low tone, looking searchingly into her
face, from which cool composure was fast fading--"I know your dearest
hope was to be among the first in art. You staked that hope on your
success in a painting that required a power which you do not possess."
Christine became very pale, but from her eyes shone a light before
which most men would have quailed. But Dennis's love was so true and
strong that he could wound her for the sake of the healing and life
he hoped to bring, and he continued--"On that morning this cherished
hope for the future failed you, not because of my words, but because
your artist eye saw that my words were true. You have since been
unhappy--"
"What right have _you_--you who were but a few days since--who are a
stranger--what right have you to speak thus to me?"
"I know what you would say, Miss Ludolph," he answered, a slight flush
coming into his pale face. "Friends may be humble and yet true. But
am I not right?"
"I have no claim on your friendship," said Christine, coldly. "But,
for the sake of argument, grant that you are right, what follows?" and
she looked at him more eagerly than she knew. She felt that he had
read her very soul and was deeply moved, and again the superstitious
feeling crept over her, "That young man is in some way connected with
my destiny."
Dennis saw his power and proceeded rapidly, for he knew they might be
interrupted at any moment; and so they would have been had anything
less interesting than eating occupied the attention of others.
"I saw in the picture what in your eyes and mine would be a fatal
defect--the lack of life and true feeling--the lack of power to live.
I did not know who painted it, but felt that any one who could paint
as well as that, and yet leave out the soul, as it were, had not the
power to put it in. No artist of such ability could willingly or
ignorantly have permitted such a defect."
Christine's eyes sank, their fire faded out, and her face had the
pallor of one listening to her doom. This deeper feeling mastered the
momentary resentment against the hand that was wounding her, and she
forgot him, and all, in her pain and despair.
In a low, earnest tone Dennis continued: "But since I have come to
know who the artist is, since I have studied the picture more fully,
and have taken the liberty of some observation"--Christine hung on
his lips breathlessly, and Dennis spoke slowly, marking the effect of
every word--"I have come to the decided belief that the lady who painted
that picture can reach the sphere of true and highest art."
The light that stole into Christine's face under his slow, emphatic
words was like a rosy dawn in June; and the thought flashed through
Dennis's mind, "If an earthly hope can so light up her face, what will
be the effect of a heavenly one?"
For a moment she sat as one entranced, looking at a picture far off
in the future. His words had been so earnest and assured that they
seemed reality. Suddenly she turned on him a look as grateful and happy
as the former one had been full of pain and anger, and said: "Ah, do
not deceive me, do not flatter. You cannot know the sweetness and power
of the hope you are inspiring. To be disappointed again would be death.
If you are trifling with me I will never forgive you," she added, in
sudden harshness, her brow darkening.
"Nor should I deserve to be forgiven if I deceived you in a matter
that to you is so sacred."
"But how--how am I to gain this magic power to make faces feel and
live on canvas?"
"You must believe. You yourself must feel."
She looked at him with darkening face, and then in a sudden burst of
passion said: "I don't believe; I can't feel. All this is mockery,
after all."
"No!" said Dennis, in the deep, assured tone that ever calms and secures
attention. "This is not mockery. I speak the words of truth and
soberness. You do not believe, but that is not the same as cannot. And
permit me to contradict you when I say you _do_ feel. On this subject so
near your heart you feel most deeply--feel as I never knew any one feel
before. This proves you capable of feeling on other and higher subjects,
and what you feel your trained and skilful hand can portray. You felt on
the evening of that miserable day, and sang as I never heard you sing
before. Your tones then would move any heart, and my tears fell with the
rain in sympathy: I could not help it."
Her bosom rose and fell tumultuously, and her breath came hard and
quick.
"Oh, if I could believe you were right!"
"I know I am right," he said, so decidedly that again hope grew rosy
and beautiful in her face.
"Then again," he continued, eagerly, "see what an advantage you have
over the most of us. Your power of imitation is wonderful. _You can copy
anything you see._"
"Good-evening, Miss Ludolph. Where have you been hiding? I have twice
made the tour of the supper-room in my search," broke in the voluble
Mr. Mellen. Then he gave Dennis a cool stare, who acted as if
unconscious of his presence. An expression of disgust flitted across
Christine's face at the interruption, or the person--perhaps both--and
she was about to shake him off that Dennis might speak further,
when Miss Winthrop and others came up, and there was a general movement
back to the parlors.
"Why, Christine, what is the matter?" asked her friend. "You look as
if you had a fever. What has Mr. Fleet been saying?"
"Oh, we have had an argument on my hobby, art, and of course don't
agree, and so got excited in debate."
Miss Winthrop glanced keenly at them and said, "I would like to have
heard it, for it was Greek meeting Greek."
"To what art or _trade_ did Mr. Fleet refer?" asked Mr. Mellen, with an
insinuation that all understood.
"One that you do not understand," said Christine, keenly.
The petted and spoiled millionaire flushed angrily a moment, and then
said with a bow: "You are right, Miss Ludolph. Mr. Fleet is acquainted
with one or two arts that I have never had the pleasure of learning."
"He has at least learned the art of being a gentleman," was the sharp
retort.
The young man's face grew darker, and he said, "From the _sweeping_
nature of your remarks, I perceive that Mr. Fleet is high in your
favor."
"A poor pun made in poorer taste," was all the comfort he got from
Christine.
Dennis was naturally of a very jealous disposition where his affections
were concerned. His own love took such entire possession of him that
he could not brook the interference of others, or sensibly consider
that they had the same privilege to woo, and win if possible, that he
had. Especially distasteful to him was this rich and favored youth,
whose presence awakened all his combativeness, which was by no means
small.
Mr. Mellen's most inopportune interruption and covert taunts provoked
him beyond endurance. His face was fairly white with rage, and for a
moment he felt that he could stamp his rival out of existence. In the
low, concentrated voice of passion he said, "If Mr. Mellen should lose
his property, as many do, I gather from his remarks that he would still
keep up his idea of a gentleman on charity."
Mr. Mellen flushed to the roots of his hair, his hands clenched. In
the flashing eyes and threatening faces of the young men those
witnessing the scene foresaw trouble. A light hand fell on Dennis's
arm, and Miss Winthrop said, "Mr. Fleet, I wish to show you a picture,
and ask your judgment in regard to it."
Dennis understood the act, and in a moment more his face was crimson
with shame.
"Miss Winthrop, you ought to send me home at once. I told you I was
unfit for society. Somehow I am not myself. I humbly ask your pardon."
"So sincere a penitent shall receive absolution at once. You were
greatly provoked. I trust you for the future."
"You may," was the emphatic answer. After that pledge Mr. Mellen might
have struck him and received no more response than from a marble statue.
Mr. Mellen also took a sober second thought, remembering that he was
in a lady's parlor. He walked away with his ears tingling, for the
flattered youth had never had such an experience before. The few who
witnessed the scene smiled significantly, as did Christine half
contemptuously; but Miss Winthrop soon restored serenity, and
the remaining hours passed away in music and dancing. Christine did not
speak to Dennis again--that is, by word of mouth--but she thought of
him constantly, and their eyes often met;--on his part that same eager,
questioning look. She ever turned hers at once away. But his words
kept repeating themselves continually, especially his last sentence,
when the unlucky Mr. Mellen had broken in upon them--"You can copy
anything you see."
"How noble and expressive of varied feeling his face is!" she thought,
watching it change under the playful badinage of Miss Winthrop.
"How I would like to copy it! Well, you can--'You can copy anything
you see.'" Then like a flash came a suggestion--"You can make him
love you, and copy feeling, passion, life--from the _living_ face.
Whether I can believe or feel, myself, is very doubtful. This I can
do: he himself said so. I cannot love, myself--I must not; I do not
wish to now, but perhaps I can inspire love in him, and then make his
face a study. As to my believing, he can never know how utterly
impossible his faith is to me."
Then conscience entered a mild protest against the cruelty of the
project. "Nonsense!" she said to herself; "most girls flirt for sport,
and it is a pity if I cannot with such a purpose in view. He will soon
get over a little puncture in his heart after I have sailed away to
my bright future beyond the sea, and perhaps Susie will comfort him;"
and she smiled at the thought. Dennis saw the smile and was entranced
by its loveliness. How little he guessed the cause!
Having resolved, Christine acted promptly. When their eyes again met,
she gave him a slight smile. He caught it instantly and looked
bewildered, as if he could not believe his eyes. Again, when a little
later, at the urgent request of many, he sang alone for the first time,
and again moved his hearers deeply by the real feeling in his tones,
he turned from the applause of all, with that same questioning look,
to her. She smiled an encouragement that she had never given him before.
The warm blood flooded his face instantly. All thought that it was the
general chorus of praise. Christine knew that she had caused it, and
surprise and almost exultation came into her face. "I half believe he
loves me now," she said. She threw him a few more kindly smiles from
time to time, as one might throw some glittering things to an eager
child, and every moment assured her of her power.
"I will try one more test," she said, and by a little effort she lured
to her side the offended Mr. Mellen, and appeared much pleased by his
attention. Then unmistakably the pain of jealousy was stamped on
Dennis's face, and she was satisfied. Shaking off the perplexed Mr.
Mellen again, she went to the recess of a window to hide her look of
exultation.
"The poor victim loves me already," she said. "The mischief is done.
I have only to avail myself of what exists from no fault of mine, and
surely I ought to; otherwise the passion of the infatuated youth will
be utterly wasted, and do no one any good."
Thus in a somewhat novel way Christine obtained a new master in
painting, and poor Dennis and his love were put to use somewhat as a
human subject might be if dissected alive.