January 12. We are all sleeping so badly. Even the Senator, whom
nothing has ever before kept from his "proper rest," is complaining
of wakefulness. Suppers every night either here or elsewhere, the
house never quiet until two or three in the morning, all of us up at
eight--Cyrus often at seven because he rides a good deal, and the early
morning is the only time when any one in Washington in the season
can find time to ride. "It's worse than the Wilderness campaign,"
said Mr. Burke, who was a lieutenant in the war. "For now and then,
between battles and skirmishes, we did get plenty of sleep. This is
a continuous battle day and night, week in and week out, with no
let-up for Sundays." And Mrs. Burke--poor "ma!" How hollow-eyed and
sagged-cheeked she is getting with the real season less than two weeks
old! She says: "I wouldn't treat a dog as I treat myself. I no sooner
get to sleep than they wake me. I think the servants just delight to
wake me, and I don't blame them, for they're worse off than we are,
though I do try to be as easy on them as possible." She doesn't know
how many long naps they take while she's dragging herself from place to
place.
On our way to the White House to a musicale she fell asleep. As we
rolled up to the entrance I had to wake her. She came to with a sort
of groan and gave a ludicrously pitiful glance at the attendant who was
impatiently waiting. "Oh, Lord!" she muttered. "I was dreaming I was in
bed, and it ain't so. Instead, I've got to enjoy myself." And then she
gave a dreary laugh.
"Ma" Burke dozed through the musicale with a pleasant smile on her
large face and her head keeping time to the music. When we spoke to the
President and he said he hoped she'd "enjoyed herself," she drawled:
"I did that, Mr. President! I only wish it had been longer--I'm 'way
behind on sleep." He laughed uproariously. It's the fashion to laugh
at everything "ma" says now, because the German ambassador tells every
one what a wit she is. And who'd fail to laugh at wit admired by an
ambassador?
Writing about sleep has driven off my fit of wakefulness. I'll only
add that Lu Frayne's in town, working day and night to get her husband
transferred from San Francisco to the War Department here. I think
she'll win out, as she's got two Senators who've been frightening
the President by acting queerly lately. It's too funny! When the new
Administration came every one was scared because the rumor got round
that he was going to give us a repetition of the Cleveland nightmare.
But there was nothing in it; the only "pulls" that have failed to
work are those that were strong with the last Administration, and
there's a whole crop of new pulls. Well, at least, the right sort of
people, those who have family and position, are getting their rights to
preference as they never did before. We've not had many Presidents who
knew the right sort of people even when they've been willing to please
them, if they could pick them out.
What a changed Washington it is: so many formalities; so many rich
people; so many rich men, and men of family and position in office;
so many big, fine houses and English and French servants. "Such a
stylishness!"
January 14. Our first big dance last night--I mean, formal dance to
show our strength. Everybody was here, and the dinner beforehand and
the supper afterward and all the mechanical arrangements, so to speak,
were perfect. The ball-room was a sight--even "ma" Burke, tired to
death, perked up. Almost all the diplomats, except those nobody asks,
were here. And I don't think more than thirty people we hadn't invited
ventured to come. We were all so excited that, after the last people
had gone, we sat round for nearly an hour. "Ma" Burke took me in her
arms and kissed me. "It was your ball," said she. "But then, everything
we get credit for is all yours; ain't it, pa?"
"Miss Talltowers has certainly done wonderfully," said "pa" in his
cautious, judicial way. Then he seemed ashamed of himself, as if he had
been ungenerous, and shook hands with me and added: "Thank you, thank
you, Miss Augusta--if you'll permit me the liberty of calling you so."
"I never expected to see as pretty a girl as you bothering to have
brains," Mrs. Burke went on to say. And for the first time in weeks and
weeks it occurred to me that I did have a personal existence apart from
my work--the books and bookkeeping, the servants and the housekeeper,
who is only one more to fuss with, the tradespeople, and musicians, and
singers, and florists, and--it makes my head whirl to try to recall the
awful list.
"She won't be pretty very long," said Cyrus--he's taking lessons of his
mother and is dropping his fancy-work speech and his "made-in-Germany"
manners--"if she don't stop working day _and_ night."
"Oh, I'm amusing myself," replied I; but I was reminded how weary I
felt, and went away to bed. I neglected to close my sitting-room door,
and as I was getting ready for bed in my dressing-room I couldn't help
overhearing a scrap of talk between Cyrus and Mr. Gunton as they went
along the hall on the way to their apartments.
"The Tevises were disgusting--they showed their envy so plainly," Cyrus
said. The Tevises are trying hard to do what we're doing in a social
way, and though they must have even more money than the Burkes, they're
failing at it.
"They'll never get anywhere," Mr. Gunton replied. "You can't collect
much of a crowd of nice people just to watch you spend money. You've
got to give them a real show. There's where Miss Talltowers comes in."
"She has wonderful taste and originality," said Cyrus. Cyrus!
Mr. Gunton sat out most of the evening with Nadeshda. I suppose
she was trying to make Cyrus jealous and also to create trouble
between him and his uncle. I've not seen a franker flirtation even
in Washington. Whenever I chanced to look at them, Mr. Gunton was
talking earnestly, and she seemed to be hanging to his words like a
thirsty bird to a water-pan. And her queer, subtle face was--well,
it was beautiful, and gave me that sense of the wild and fierce and
uncanny which makes her both fascinating and terrible. I think Mr.
Gunton was infatuated--indeed, I know it. For when I spoke of her to
him this morning his eyes seemed to blaze. He drew a long breath. "A
wonder-woman!" he said. "I never saw anything like her--in the flesh."
Then he looked a little sheepish, and added: "I mean it, but I laugh
at myself, too. There are fools that don't know they're fools; then,
there are fools that do know it and laugh at themselves as they plan
fresh follies--it takes a pretty clever man, Miss Talltowers, to make
a grand, supreme, rip-roaring ass of himself, doesn't it? At least,
I hope so." And with that somewhat mysterious observation he left me
abruptly.
When I saw him and Nadeshda together so much at the ball I looked out
for Cyrus. He seemed bored, and devoted himself to wallflowers, but on
the whole was surprisingly unconcerned, apparently. I had him in sight
almost the whole evening. Jim Lafollette, who stuck to my train like a
Japanese poodle--I told him so, but he didn't take the hint--said that
"the gawk," meaning Cyrus, was hanging round me. "He's moon-struck,"
said Jim. "So your little put-up job with Jessie seems to be doing
nicely, thank you." I wonder why a man assumes that the fact that he
loves a woman gives him the right to insult her and makes it his duty
to do it. And I wonder why we women assent to that sort of impudence.
There's another conventionality that ought to be stamped out.
I find I was hasty in my judgment of Cyrus. He's a lot more of a man
than he led me to suppose at first. I think he might be licked into
shape. He ought to hunt up some widow or married woman older than
himself and go to school for a few seasons. But perhaps Nadeshda will
do as well.
January 17. There were thirty-two at Senator Burke's "little informal
breakfast" yesterday morning, including four of the leading Senators,
two members of the Cabinet, an ambassador and three ministers, several
generals, half a dozen distinguished strangers, four or five big
financial men from New York who are here on "private business" with
Congress, and not a man who doesn't count for something except that
wretched little Framstern, who never misses anything free. And our
regular weekly informal dance was an equal success in its way. Senator
Ritchie told me it was amazing how Burke had forged to the front in
influence and in popularity. "And now that the newspapers have begun to
take him up he'll soon be standing out before the whole country." So
my little suggestion about the wives and families of correspondents of
the big papers, which the Burkes adopted, is bearing fruit. And Mrs.
Burke is so genuinely friendly and hospitable that really I've only to
suggest her being nice to somebody to set her to work. If she were the
least bit of a fraud I'd not dare--she'd only get into trouble.
January 18. I was breakfasting alone in my sitting-room this morning--I
always do an hour or so of work before I touch anything to eat--when
Mr. Gunton sent, asking if he might join me. I was glad to have him.
His direct way is attractive, and he never talks without saying at
least a few things I haven't heard time and again. He was in riding
clothes, and as soon as I looked at him I saw he had something on his
mind.
"Good ride?" I asked.
He made an impatient gesture--whenever he has anything to say and
doesn't know how to begin, the way to start him off is to make some
commonplace remark. It acts like a blow that knocks in the head of a
full barrel. "I was out with the Baroness Daragane," he said, "with
Nadeshda."
"And Cyrus?" said I.
He looked at me in astonishment, then laughed queerly. "Oh, bother!"
he exclaimed. "Cyrus doesn't disturb himself about _her_, or she about
him--and you know it. Miss Talltowers, I love her--and she loves me."
His tone was convincing. But, after the first shock, I couldn't believe
anything so preposterous. And I felt sorry for him--an honest, straight
man, inexperienced with women, a fine mixture of gentleness and
roughness, at once too much and too little of a gentleman for Nadeshda.
If I had dared I should have tried to undeceive him. But I'm not so
stupid as ever to try to make a person in love see the truth about
the person he or she's in love with. So I simply said: "She is a most
fascinating woman."
[Illustration]
"You think I'm a fool," he went on, as if I hadn't spoken, "and I am
a--a blankety-blank fool. Did you see her night before last in that
dress of silver spangles like the wonderful skin of some amazing
serpent? Did you see her eyes--her hair--the way her arms looked--as if
they could wind themselves round a man's neck and choke him to death
while her eyes were fooling him into thinking that such a death was
greater happiness than to live?" He rolled this all out, then burst
into a queer, crazy laugh. "You see, I'm a lunatic!" he said.
"Yes, I see it," I replied cheerfully. "But why do you rave to me?"
"Because I--we--have got to tell somebody, and you're the only person
in Washington that I know that's both sensible and experienced, wise
enough to understand, beautiful enough to sympathize, and young enough
to encourage."
That was rather good for a man who had had less than a month's real
experience with women, wasn't it? I recognized Nadeshda's handiwork,
and admired.
"Miss Talltowers," he went on, "I am going to make a fool of myself,
and she's going to help me."
"In what particular sort of folly are you about to embark?" said I.
"We're going to marry," he replied. "We've _got_ to marry. I'm afraid
of her and she's afraid of me, and we'll either have Heaven or the
other place when we do marry--perhaps big doses of each alternately.
But we've got to do it."
"You know it's impossible," said I. "Under the laws of her country
she mayn't marry without the consent of her parents. And they'd never
consent."
"Certainly they won't," said he, "unless you can suggest some way of
getting the ambassador and his wife round. We want to give her people a
chance." This with perfect coolness. I began to believe that there must
be something in it.
"Does Nadeshda know you aren't rich?" I asked.
"She knows I have practically nothing. In fact I told her I had less
than I have."
"And you're sure she wishes to marry you?"
"Ask her."
He was quiet a while, then raved about her for ten minutes, begged me
to do my best thinking, and left me. I felt dazed. I simply couldn't
believe it. And the longer I thought, the more certain I was that
she was making some sort of grand play in coquetry, which seemed
ridiculous enough when I considered what small game Mr. Gunton is from
the standpoint of a woman like Nadeshda.
In the afternoon I was in a flower store in Pennsylvania Avenue, and
Nadeshda joined me. Her surface was, if anything, cooler and subtler
and more cynical than usual. "Send away your cab," said she, "and let
me take you in my auto--wherever you wish."
As I was full of curiosity, I accepted instantly. When we were under
way she gave me a strange smile--a slow parting of the lips, a slow
half-closing and elongation of those Eastern eyes which she inherits
from a Russian grandmother, I believe.
"Well, Gus," she said, "has that wild man told you?"
"Yes, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself," said I, a little
indignantly. "It ain't fair to coax an innocent into _your_ sort of
game and fleece him of his little all."
She laughed--beautiful white teeth, cruel like her red lips. "It's all
true--all he told you," she replied. "All true, on my honor."
Every season Washington's strange mixture of classes and conditions and
nations furnishes at least one sensation of some kind or other. But,
used as I am to surprises until they have ceased to surprise, this took
me quite aback. "Do you love him, Nadeshda--really?"
She quite closed her eyes and said in a strange, slow undertone:
"He's my master. The blood in my veins flowed straight from the
savage wilderness. And he comes from there, and I don't dare disobey
him. I'd do anything he said. And when we're married I'll never
glance at another man--if he saw me he'd kill me. Ah, you don't
understand--you're too--too civilized. Now, I think I should love him
better if he'd beat me."
I laughed--it was too ridiculous, especially as she was plainly in
earnest. She laughed, too, and added: "I think some day I'll try
to make him do it. He's afraid of me, too. And he may well be, for
I--well, he belongs to _me_, you see, and I _will_ have what's mine!"
Yes, she would--I believe her absolutely. And I must say I like her at
last, for all her extremely uncanny way of loving and of liking to be
loved. I suppose she's only a primeval woman--I believe the primeval
woman fancied the lover who lay in wait and brought her down with a
club. I begin to understand Robert Gunton, too--that is, the side of
his nature she's roused.
"Do you believe us?" she asked.
"Yes, I do," said I, "and I apologize to you. I've been thinking of you
all along as--fascinating, of course, but--mercenary."
"Ah, but so I am!" she exclaimed. "It breaks my heart to marry this
poor man--and of such a vulgar family--even among you funny Americans.
But"--she threw up her arms and her shoulders and let them drop in a
gesture of tragicomic helplessness--"I must have him; I must be his
slave."
I can't imagine how it's going to end, as her people will never let
her marry him. Possibly, if "ma" Burke were to persuade the Senator
to settle a large sum on her--but that's wild, even if Gunton would
consent. I can imagine what a roar he'd give if such a thing were
proposed. He'll insist on having her on his own terms. As if his
insisting would do any good!
The last thing she said to me was: "Do you know when we became engaged?
Listen! It was the first time we met--after three hours. After one hour
he made me insult the men who came up to claim dances. After two hours
he made me say, 'I love you.' After three hours--it was on the way down
to my carriage--he asked me to come into the little reception-room by
the entrance. And he closed the door and caught me in his arms and
kissed me. 'That makes you my wife,' he said in a _dreadful_ voice--oh,
it was--_magnifique!_--and he said, 'Do you understand?' And"--she
smiled ravishingly and nodded her head--"I understood."