ROSALIND. Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown more than
your enemies.--_As You Like It._
In the few weeks following the entertainment of the Dusenalls, Hampstead
had not seen Nina. He felt he had been doing harm. The memory of that
which had occurred and a twinge or two at his unfaithfulness to his
friend Jack had made him avoid seeing her. But afterward, as fancy for
seeing her again came to him more persistently, he gradually reverted
to the old method of self-persuasion, that if she preferred Jack she
might have him. He said he did not intend to show "any just cause or
impediment" when Jack's marriage bans were published, and what the girl
might now take it into her head to do was no subject of anxiety to him.
She, in the mean time, had lost no time in improving her acquaintance
with Margaret after the calls had been exchanged. Margaret was not
peculiar in finding within her an argument in favor of one who evidently
sought her out, and the small amount of effusion on Nina's part was not
without some of its desired effect. Nina wished to be her particular
friend. She had perceived that a difference existed between them--a
something that Geoffrey seemed to admire; and she had the vague impulse
to form herself upon her.
Huxley explained table-turning by a simple experiment. He placed cards
underneath the hands of the people forming the charmed circle round the
table, and when they all "willed" that the table should move in a
particular direction the cards and hands moved in that direction, while
the table resisted the spirits and remained firm on its feet. In a
similar way, Nina's impulse to know Margaret and frame herself upon her
were all a process of unconscious self-deception which resembled the
illusions of unrecognized muscular movements. She had no fixed ideas
regarding Hampstead. Her actions were simply the result of his presence
in her thoughts. She moved toward him, distantly and vaguely, but
surely--somewhat as the card of a ship-compass, when it is spinning,
seems to have no fixed destination, though its ultimate direction is
certain.
She found it easy to bring the Dusenall girls to regard Margaret as
somebody worth cultivating. The family tree of the Dusenall's commenced
with the grandfather of the Misses Dusenall, who had got rich "out
West." On inquiry they found that Margaret's family tree dwarfed that of
any purely Canadian family into a mere shrub by comparison; and on
knowing her better they found her brightness and vivacity a great
addition to little dinners and lunches where conversational powers are
at a premium.
With plenty of money, no work, an army of servants, a large house and
grounds, a stable full of horses, and a good yacht, three or four young
people can with the assistance of their friends support life fairly
well. Lawn-tennis was their chief resource. Nina, being rather of the
Dudu type, was not wiry enough to play well, and Margaret had not
learned. She was strong and could run well, but this was not of much use
to her. When the ball came toward her through the air she seemed to
become more or less paralyzed. Between nervous anxiety to hit the ball
and inability to judge its distance, she usually ended in doing nothing,
and felt as if incurring contempt when involuntarily turning her back
upon it. If she did manage to make a hit, the ball generally had to be
found in the flower-beds far away on either side of the courts. In
cricketing parlance, she played to "cover point" or "square leg" with
much impartiality.
So these two generally looked on and made up for their want of skill in
dignity and in conversation among themselves and with the men too
languid to play. The wonder was that the marriageable young women liked
Margaret so well. With her long, symmetrical dress rustling over the
lawn and her lace-covered parasol occasionally hiding her dainty bonnet
and well-poised head, Margaret might have been regarded as an enemy and
labeled "dangerous," but the girls trusted her with their particular
young men, with a sort of knowledge that she did not want any of them,
even if the men themselves should prove volatile and recreant. After
all, what young girls chiefly seek "when all the world is young, lad,
and all the trees are green," is to have a good time and not be
interrupted in their whims. So Margaret, who was launching out into a
gayer life than she had led before, got on well enough, and the wonder
as to what girls who did nothing found to talk about was wearing off. If
she was not much improved in circles where general advantages seemed to
promise originality, it was no bad recreation sometimes to study the
exact minimum of intelligence that general advantages produced, and the
drives in the carriages and Nina's village-cart were agreeable. She was
partial to "hen-parties." Nina had one of these exclusive feasts where
perhaps the success of many a persistent climber of the social ladder
has been annihilated. It was a luncheon party. Of course the Dusenall
girls were there, and a number of others. Mrs. Lindon did not appear.
Nina was asked where she was, but she said she did not know. As she
never did seem to know, this was not considered peculiar.
On this day Margaret was evidently the particular guest, and she was
made much of by several girls whom she had not met before. It was worth
their while, for she was Nina's friend and Nina had such delicious
things--such a "perfect love" of a boudoir, all dadoes, and that sort of
thing, with high-art furniture for ornament and low-art furniture in
high-art colors for comfort, articles picked up in her traveling,
miniature bronzes of well-known statues, a carved tower of Pisa of
course, coral from Naples, mosaics from Florence, fancy glassware from
Venice--in fact a tourist could trace her whole journey on examining the
articles on exhibition. A French cook supplied the table with delectable
morsels which it were an insult to speak of as food. Altogether her home
was a pleasant resort for her acquaintances, and there were those
present who thought it not unwise to pay attention to any person whom
Nina made much of.
There were some who could have been lackadaisical and admiring nothing,
if the tone of the feast had been different, but Margaret was for
admiring everything and enjoying everything, and having a generally
noisy time and lots of fun. She was a wild thing when she got off in
this way, as she said, "on a little bend," and carried the others off
with her.
What concerns us was the talk about the bank games. Some difference of
opinion arose as to whether or not these were enjoyable. Not having been
satisfied with attention from the right quarter at previous bank games,
several showed aversion to them. Nina was looking forward with interest
to the coming events, and Margaret, when she heard that Geoffrey and
Jack and other friends were to compete in the contests, was keen to be a
spectator. Emily Dusenall remarked that Geoffrey Hampstead was said to
be a splendid runner, and that these games were the first he had taken
any part in at Toronto, as he had been away during last year's. It was
arranged that Nina and Margaret should go with the Dusenalls to the
games after some discussion as to whose carriage should be used. Nina
asserted that their carriage was brand new from England and entitled to
consideration, but the Dusenalls insisted that theirs was brand new,
too, and, more than that, the men had just been put into a new livery.
It was left to Margaret, who decided that she could not possibly go in
any carriage unless the men were in livery absolutely faultless.
Some days after this the carriage with the men of spotless livery rolled
vice-regally and softly into the great lacrosse grounds where the Bank
Athletic Sports were taking place. The large English carriage horses
pranced gently and discreetly as they heard the patter of their feet on
the springy turf, and they champed their shining bits and shook their
chains and threw flakes of foam about their harness as if they also, if
permitted, would willingly join in the sports. There was Margaret,
sitting erect, her eyes luminous with excitement. Inwardly she was
shrinking from the gaze of the spectators who were on every side, and as
usual she talked "against time," which was her outlet for nervousness in
public places. Mrs. Mackintosh had made her get a new dress for the
occasion, which fitted her to perfection, and Nina declared she looked
just like the Princess of Wales bowing from the carriage in the Row. The
two Dusenalls were sitting in the front seat. Nina sat beside Margaret.
Nina was looking particularly well. So beautiful they both were! And
such different types! Surely, if one did not disable a critical
stranger, the other would finish him.
The whole turn-out gave one a general impression of laces, French
gloves, essence of flowers, flower bonnets, lace-smothered parasols, and
beautiful women. There was also an air of wealth about it, which tended
to keep away the more reticent of Margaret's admirers. She knew men of
whose existence Society was not aware--men who were beginning--who lived
as they best could, and, as yet, were better provided with brains than
dress-coats. Moreover, the Dusenalls had a way of lolling back in their
carriage which they took to be an attitude capable of interpreting that
they were "to the manor born." There was a supercilious expression about
them, totally different from their appearance at Nina's luncheon, and
they had brought to perfection the art of seeing no person but the right
person. Consequently, it required more than a usual amount of confidence
in one's social position to approach their majesties. The wrong man
would get snubbed to a dead certainty.
After passing the long grand stand the carriage drew up in an
advantageous spot where they could see the termination of the mile
walking match. The volunteer band had brokenly ceased to play God save
the Queen on discovering that theirs was _not_ the vice-regal carriage,
and, in the field, Jack Cresswell was coming round the ring, with
several others apparently abreast of him, heeling and toeing it in fine
style. As they watched the contest, sympathy with Jack soon became
aroused. Margaret heard somebody say that this was the home-stretch.
Several young bank-clerks were standing about within earshot, and she
listened to what they were saying as if all they said was oracular.
"Gad! Jack's forging ahead," said one.
"Yes, but Brownlee of Molson's is after him. Bet you the cigars Brownlee
wins!"
This was too much for Margaret. She stood up in the carriage and,
without knowing it, slightly waved her parasol at Jack, not because he
would see her encouragement, but on general principles, because she felt
like doing so, regardless of what the finer feelings of the Dusenalls
might be. The walkers crossed the winning line, and it was difficult to
see who won. Margaret sat down again, her face lighted with excitement,
and said all in a breath:
"Was not that splendid? How they did get over the ground! What a pace
they went at! Poor Jack, how tired he must be! I do hope he won, Nina,"
and she laid her hand on Nina's tight-sleeved soft arm with emphasis.
The Dusenalls did not think there was much interest in a stupid
walking-match, and they thought standing up and waving one's parasol
rather bad form, so they were not enthusiastic.
Nina said softly: "Indeed, if you take so much interest in Jack I'll get
jealous."
While she said this her face began to color, and Margaret's reply was
interrupted by Geoffrey Hampstead's voice which announced welcome news.
He gave them all a sort of collective half-bow and shook hands with Nina
in a careless, friendly way.
"I come with glad tidings--as a sort of harbinger of spring, or Noah's
dove with an olive-branch--or something of the kind."
"Is your cigar the olive-branch? To represent the dove you should have
it in your mouth," said Nina. "Stop, I will give you an olive-branch, so
that you may look your part better."
She wished Geoffrey to know that she felt no anger for what had occurred
at the ball. Geoffrey saw the idea, and answered it understandingly as
she held out a sprig of mignonette.
"I suppose this token of peace can only be carried in my mouth," said
Geoffrey, throwing away his cigar.
"Certainly," said Nina, and her gloved fingers trembled slightly as she
put the olive-branch between his lips, saying "There! now you look
wonderfully like a dove."
Margaret was smiling at this small trifling, but her anxiety about the
walking-match was quite unabated. She said: "I do not see why you call
yourself a harbinger of spring or anything else unless you have
something to tell us. What is your good news? Has Mr. Cresswell won the
prize?"
"By about two inches," said Geoffrey. "I thought I might create an
indirect interest in myself, with Miss Lindon at least, by coming to
tell you of it." He wore a grave smile as he said this, which made Nina
blush.
"And so you did create an indirect interest in yourself," said Margaret.
"Now you can interest us on your own account. What are you going to
compete for to-day?"
Hampstead was clad in cricketing flannels--his coat buttoned up to the
neck.
"I entered for a good many things," said he, "in order that I might go
in for what I fancied when the time came. They are contesting now for
the high-pole jump. Perhaps we had better watch them, as they have
already begun to compete. I am anxious to see how they do it."
High leaping with the pole is worth watching if it be well done.
Margaret's interest increased with every trial of the men who were
competing, and she almost suffered when a "poler" did his best and
failed. One man incased in "tights" was doing well, and also a small
young fellow who had thrown off his coat, apparently in an impromptu
way, and was jumping in a pair of black trousers, which looked peculiar
and placed him at a disadvantage from their looseness. The others soon
dropped out of the contest, being unable to clear the long lath that was
always being put higher. These two had now to fight it out together.
They had both cleared the same height, and the next elevation of the
lath had caused them both to fail. Margaret was on her feet again in the
carriage, her face glowing as she watched every movement of the
"polers." Her sympathies were entirely with the funny little man in
black trousers. The other at length cleared the lath, amid applause. But
the little hero in black still held on and made his attempts gracefully.
"Oh," said Margaret, gazing straight before her, "I would give anything
in the world to see that circus-man beaten!"
"How much would you give, Miss Mackintosh?" said Geoffrey.
Margaret did not hear him.
"Oh, I want my little flying black angel to win. Is it impossible for
anybody to beat the enemy?" Then, turning excitedly to the girls, she
said hurriedly, "I could just love anybody who could beat the enemy."
"Does 'anybody' include me?" asked Geoffrey, laughing.
"Yes, yes," cried Margaret, catching at the idea. "Can you really defeat
him? Yes, indeed, I will devote myself forever to anybody who can beat
him. Have you a pole? Borrow one. Hurry away now, while you have a
chance." In her eagerness her words seemed to chase each other.
"Well--will you all love me?" inquired Geoffrey, with an aggravating
delay.
There was a shrill chorus of "Until death us do part" from the girls,
and Geoffrey skipped over a couple of benches and ran over to the
"polers," where he claimed the right to compete, as he had been entered
previously in due time for this contest. Strong objection was
immediately raised by the man in tights. The judges, after some
discussion, allowed Geoffrey to take part amid much protestation from
the members of the circus-man's bank.
Geoffrey took his pole from Jack Cresswell, who had competed on it
without success. It was a stout pole of some South American wood, and
very long. He threw off his coat, displaying a magnificent body in a
jersey of azure silk. After walking up to look at the lath he grasped
his pole and, making a long run, struck it into the ground and mounted
into the air. He had not risen very high when he saw that he had
miscalculated the distance; so he slid down his pole to the earth.
Derisive coughs were heard from different parts of the field, and
"Tights" looked at Geoffrey maliciously and laughed.
At the next rush that Geoffrey made, he sailed up into the air on his
pole like a great bird, and as he became almost poised in mid-air, he
went hand over hand up the stout pole. Then, by a trick that can not be
easily described, his legs and body launched out horizontally over the
lath, and throwing away his pole he dropped lightly on his feet without
disturbing anything.
"Tights" was furious, and he said something hot to Geoffrey, who,
however, did not reply.
A difficulty arose here because there were no more holes in the uprights
to place the pegs in to hold up the lath. Geoffrey was now even with the
enemy, but not ahead of him. So he asked the judges to place the lath
across the top of the uprights. This raised the lath a good fifteen
inches, and nobody supposed that it could be cleared.
There was something stormy about Hampstead when a man provoked him, and
"Tights" had been very unpleasant. He pointed to the almost absurd
elevation of the lath; his tones were short and exasperating as he
addressed his very savage rival:
"Now, my man, there's your chance to exhibit your form."
"Tights" refused to make any useless trial, but relieved the tension of
his feelings by forcing a bet of fifty dollars on Geoffrey that he could
not clear it himself.
The excitement was now considerable. Geoffrey took the offered bet,
pleased to be able to punish his antagonist further. But really the
whole thing was like child's-play to him. It seemed as if he could clear
anything his pole would reach. His hand-over-hand climbing was like
lightning, and he went over the lath, cricket trousers and all, with
quite as much ease as when it was in the lower position, and this amid a
wild burst of applause.
He then grabbed his coat and made for the dressing-room, to prepare for
the hurdle race, for which the bell was ringing.
When he ran out into the field again, after about a moment, he was clad
in tights of azure silk with long trunks of azure satin, and his feet
wore running shoes that fitted like a glove. No wonder girls raved about
him. So did the men. He was a grand picture, as beautiful as a god in
his celestial colors.
But there was work for him to do in the hurdle race. The best amateur
runners in Canada were to be with him in this race, and there is a field
for choice among Canadian bank athletes. They were to start from a
distant part of the grounds, run around the great oval, and finish close
to our carriage, where eager faces were hopeful for his success.
Geoffrey made a bad start--not having recovered after being once called
back. The first hurdle saw him over last, but between the jumps his
speed soon put him in the ruck. There is no race like the hurdle race
for excitement. At the fourth hurdle some one in front struck the bar,
which flew up just as Geoffrey rose to it. His legs hit it in the air
and he was launched forward, turned around, and sent head downward to
the ground. The thought that he might be killed went through many minds.
But those who thought so did not know that he could gallop over these
hurdles like a horse, lighting on his hands. No doubt it was a great
wrench for him, but he lit on his hands and was off again like the wind.
The fall had lost him his chance, he thought, but he went on with
desperation and pain, his head thrown back and his face set to win. It
was a long race, and five more hurdles had yet to be passed. The first
of these was knocked down so that in merely running through he gained
time by not having to jump, and he rapidly closed on those before him.
His speed between jumps was marvelous. His hair blew back in blonde
confusion, and he might well have been taken to represent some god of
whirlwinds, or an azure archangel on some flying mission. He hardly
seemed to touch the earth, and Margaret, who delighted in seeing men
manly and strong and fleet, felt her heart go out to him in a burst of
enthusiasm that became almost oppressive as the last hurdle was
approached.
There were now only two men ahead of him, and Geoffrey was so set on
winning that it seemed with him to be more a matter of mind than body. A
yell suddenly arose from all sides. One of the two first men struck the
last hurdle and went down, and Geoffrey, shooting far into the air in a
tremendous leap to clear the flying timber, passed the other man in the
last arrow-like rush, and dashed in an undoubted winner.
The enthusiasm for him was now unmingled. The sensation of horror that
many had felt on seeing him fall head downward during the race had given
way to a keen admiration for his plucky attempt to catch up with such
hopeless odds against him. There were old business men present whose
hearts had not moved so briskly since the last financial panic as when
the handicapped hero in azure leaped the last hurdle into glory. There
were men looking on whose figures would never be redeemed who, at the
moment, felt convinced that with a little training they could once more
run a good race--men whose livers were in a sad state and who certainly
forgot the holy inspiration before rising that night from their late
dinners. Surely if these old stagers could be thus moved, feminine
hearts might be excused. It was not necessary to know Geoffrey
personally to feel the contagious thrill that ran through the multitude
at the vision of his prowess. The impulse and the verdict of the large
crowd were so unanimous that no one could resist them.
As for Margaret, she was, alas, _standing on the seat_ by the time he
raced past the carriage--a fair, earnest vision, lost in the excitement
of the moment. With her gloved hands tightly closed and her arms braced
as if for running, she appeared from her attitude as if she, too, would
join in the race where her interest lay. The true woman in her was wild
for her friend to win. Geoffrey's appearance appealed to all her sense
of the beautiful. Knowledge of art led her to admire him--art of the
ancient and vigorous type. All the plaudits that moved the multitude
were caught up and echoed even more loudly within her. It was a
dangerous moment for a virgin heart. As Geoffrey managed to land himself
a winner against such desperate odds, she saw in his face, even before
he had won, a half supercilious look of triumph and mastery that she had
never seen there before. In a brief moment she caught a glimpse of the
indomitable will that with him knew no obstacles--a will shown in a face
of the ancient type, with gleaming eyes and dilated nostrils, heroic,
god-like, possibly cruel, but instinct with victory and resolve.
To her the triumph was undiluted. At the close of the race her lungs had
refused to work until he passed the winning line, and then her breath
came in a gasp, as she became conscious that her eyes were filled with
tears of sympathy.
With Nina it was different. That she was intensely interested is true.
Everybody was. But, instead of that whirl of sympathetic admiration
which Margaret felt, the strongest feeling she had was a desire that
Geoffrey would come to her first, would lay, as it were, his honors at
her feet--a wish suggesting the complacency with which the tigress
receives the victor after viewing with interest the combat.
When Geoffrey rejoined them half an hour afterward he was endeavoring to
conceal an unmistakable lameness resulting from striking the hurdle in
the race. He had had his leg bathed, which he afterward found had been
bleeding freely during the run, and had got into his flannels again. In
the mean time a small circle of admirers had grouped themselves about
the Dusenalls' carriage.
Jack had been in to see them for a moment with a hymn of praise for
Geoffrey on his lips, but Nina made him uncomfortable by treating him
distantly, and, although Margaret beamed on him, he departed soon after
Geoffrey's arrival, making an excuse of his committee-man's duties.
Geoffrey noticed that, on his reappearing among them, Margaret did not
address him, but left congratulations to Nina and the Dusenalls. In the
interval after the race she had suddenly begun to consider how great her
interest in Geoffrey was. She had known him for over a year. During that
time he had ever appeared at his best before her. It was so natural to
be civilized and gentle in her presence. And Margaret was not devoid of
romance, in spite of her prosaic studies. Her ideality was not checked
by them, but rather diverted into less ordinary channels, and she was as
likely as anybody else to be captivated by somebody who, besides other
qualities, could form a subject for her imaginative powers.
Nevertheless, in spite of this sometimes dangerous and always charming
ideality, she had acquired the habit of introspection which Mr.
Mackintosh had endeavored to cultivate in her. He told her that when she
fell in love she "would certainly know it." And it was the remembrance
of this sage remark that now caused her to be silent and thoughtful. She
was wondering whether she was going to fall in love with Geoffrey, and
what it would be like if she did do so, and if she could know any more
interest in him if it so turned out that she eventually became engaged
to him. Then she looked at Geoffrey, intending to be impartial and
judicial, and thought that his looks were not unpleasing, and that his
banter with Miss Dusenall was not at all slow to listen to. She was
pleased that he did not address her first. She felt that she might have
been in some way embarrassed. Sometimes he glanced at her, as if
carelessly, and yet she seemed to know that all his remarks were to
amuse her, and that he watched her without looking at her. She had never
thought of his doing this before.
Bad Margaret! Full of guilt!
Geoffrey was endeavoring to make the plainest Miss Dusenall fix the day
for their wedding, declaring that it was she who had promised to marry
him if he won at jumping with the pole, and that she alone had nerved
him for the struggle, and he went on arranging the matter with a
volubility and assurance which she would have resented in anybody else.
She had affected to belittle Geoffrey somewhat, not having been much
troubled with his attentions, and she was conscious now that this banter
on his part was detracting from her dignity. But what was she to do? The
man was the hero of the hour, and cared but little for her dignity and
mincing ways. She would have snubbed him, only that he carried all the
company on his side, and a would-be snub, when one's audience does not
appreciate it, returns upon one's self with boomerang violence. After
all, it was something to monopolize the most admired man in six thousand
people, even if he did make game of her and treat her, like a child.
As for Nina, she answered feebly the desultory remarks of several young
men who hung about the carriage, and she listened, while she looked at
the contests, to one sound only--to the sound of Geoffrey's voice. From
time to time she put in a word to the other girls which showed that she
heard everything he said. This sort of thing proved unsatisfactory to
the young men who sought to engage her attention. They soon moved off,
and then she gave herself up to the luxury of hearing Geoffrey speak. It
might have been, she thought, that all his gayety was merely to attract
Margaret, but none the less was his voice music to her. Poor Nina! She
would not look at him, for fear of betraying herself. She lay back in
the carriage and vainly tried to think of her duty to Jack. Then she
thought herself overtempted, not remembering the words:
The devil tempts us not--'tis we tempt him,
Beckoning his skill with opportunity.
This meeting, which to her was all bitter-sweet, to Geoffrey was
piquant. To make an impression on the woman he really respected by
addressing another he cared nothing about was somewhat amusing to him,
but to know that every word he said was being drunk in by a third woman
who was as attractive as love itself and who was engaged to be married
to another man added a flavor to the entertainment which, if not
altogether new, seemed, in the present case, to be mildly pungent.
After this Nina deceived herself less.