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throughout the text.
Probable typographical errors were corrected: "instanteously,"
"thorougly," "acquiesence," "speculatious," "her's."
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A ROMANTIC YOUNG LADY.
* * * * *
"_Mr. Grant is nothing if not entertaining--nothing if not
subtle. Himself a clever analyst, he defies analysis._"--THE
UNIVERSITY.
MR. GRANT'S NOVELS.
THE KNAVE OF HEARTS.
1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.
"It is a companion to 'The Confessions of a Frivolous Girl,'
being the autobiography of a young man who devotes himself to
the profession of heart-breaking. The various species of
American female flirts are amusingly and clearly sketched by a
few light but powerful strokes, and this, together with the
simple yet surprisingly successful methods employed to make the
girls' acquaintance, to lead them gently on to the brink of the
precipice, and then to drop them, instantaneously and utterly,
makes the book a veritable 'flirt's vade mecum.'"--_The Argonaut._
AN AVERAGE MAN.
1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.
"There is a good strong purpose throughout the story. The style
is rapid and bright."--_Life._
THE CONFESSIONS OF A FRIVOLOUS GIRL.
1 vol. 16mo. $1.25.
"The greatest social literary hit of the year."--_Chicago Tribune._
"A screaming success."--_Saturday Review._
"Clever and piquant sketches--refreshing spirit and
vivacity."--_Harper's Magazine._
A ROMANTIC YOUNG LADY.
1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.
Mr. Grant's latest work, and in many respects his best.
_Sold by booksellers. Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by the
publishers_,
=TICKNOR & COMPANY, BOSTON.=
* * * * *
A ROMANTIC YOUNG LADY
by
ROBERT GRANT
Author of
"The Confessions of a Frivolous Girl,"
"An Average Man,"
"The Knave of Hearts," Etc.
Boston
Ticknor and Company
1886
Copyright, 1886,
by Ticknor and Company.
All rights reserved.
University Press:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.
CONTENTS
BOOK PAGE
I. Innocence. 7
II. Sophistication. 71
III. (Un)common Sense. 221
BOOK I.
INNOCENCE.
I.
My mother died in giving me birth. My father was a very rich man, a
railway magnate, so called, absorbed in great business enterprises. Thus
it happened that I was brought up between two fires,--my father's
sister, Aunt Agnes; and my mother's sister, Aunt Helen.
Aunt Agnes was prim but cultivated. She wrote for reviews and wore
eye-glasses, and her library table was habitually littered with
pamphlets and tomes. On the other hand, Aunt Helen was a neat, dapper
little woman, who lived in a gem of a house and delighted in bric-a-brac
and entertaining. They were both spinsters. Each of them passed one
evening in every week with me. On Tuesdays I dined with Aunt Agnes, and
on Fridays with Aunt Helen. Thus I was alone only two evenings out of
seven, for on Sundays my father did not go to the Club.
From the age of ten until I was fifteen I attended a private school. I
proved ambitious and quick at my books. Aunt Helen was anxious that I
should be well grounded in the modern languages, while Aunt Agnes wished
me to pursue what she styled "serious" studies. In my efforts to please
them both I broke down in health. My father was the first to observe my
pallid cheeks, and at the advice of a physician I was taken away from
school. For nearly a year I was idle, save that I read at random in my
father's library. Then my aunts for once put their heads together and
insisted upon my having a governess. They told my father that the next
three years were the most important in my life, and that the best way to
foster my health was to find some judicious person to be my companion.
Aunt Helen was in favor of one who had youth and good spirits, but Aunt
Agnes thought it important that a governess should inspire respect. I
was not consulted, and my father declined to arbitrate between them. In
the end, the favorite of Aunt Agnes was installed, through the chance
discovery that the other applicant had been at one time on the stage.
Miss Jenks was a kind but sober disciplinarian of fifty. I was her pupil
until I was eighteen; and though I was none the less lonely because of
her companionship, I am in her debt to-day for the pains she took to
systematize my heterogeneous acquirements and teach me the evils of
superficiality. Her views of life were autumnal in tint, and her laugh
was never hearty. She rarely conversed with me at length; but if I made
inquiries concerning any matter of knowledge, I was sure to find a book
or pamphlet on my desk the next day, with slips marking the valuable
pages. She kept me so steadily employed during the hours I was not in
bed or in the fresh air that I had no time for novel-reading,--a pastime
I had indulged in formerly to a considerable extent. I thrived
physically under this regimen, but I became silent and grave. Miss Jenks
seemed constantly on her guard against undue enthusiasm, and abetted by
her example I inclined to introspection and over conscientiousness. I
picked up pins, and went out of my way to kick orange-peel from the
sidewalk, on principle.
But apart from, or rather concurrent with, this sobriety of character I
was a dreamer in secret, and delighted to give the rein to fancy. I
liked to picture myself in some of the romantic situations of which
I had read, and to build castles for the future. But all these
imaginations were of a realistic order, as distinguished from ghosts and
fairies and other creations of that class. I was completely free from
superstitions. It was not for luck that I picked up pins, but that they
should not be wasted. In like manner I never hesitated to let a
horse-shoe lie in the road, to walk under a ladder, or be one of
thirteen at table. And yet I was distinctly a dreamer. If it was in the
way of lovers, my thoughts were entirely subjective. I knew no young men
except the boys at dancing-school; and they as a rule avoided me, for I
was shy, and for the present only moderately pretty. I think I tried in
my day-dreams to form an ideal of what a lover's mental and moral
attributes should be without ever endowing the abstraction with a head.
I found a happiness in doing so much,--akin, I fancy, to that of the
votary who kneels before a shrine of which the doors are closed. It was
the consciousness of a great possible happiness that thrilled me, rather
than any definite vision.
When Miss Jenks left us I was a well educated girl for my age. What I
knew I knew thoroughly, and the wishes of both my aunts had been
respected. Perhaps the most striking circumstances connected with my
bringing up, however, were that at eighteen I had no idea I was the
heiress to an enormous fortune, and that I could pass young men in the
street without self-consciousness. Strangely, too, I had grown up
without having formed an intimacy with any girls of my own age. I have
never quite been able to decide whether the ability I thus acquired to
think for and by myself was more valuable than the happiness that
results from such friendships; yet I have never distinctly regretted not
having made a confidant among my contemporaries.
II.
Miss Jenks went away in October, and a few days later Aunt Helen
broached the subject of preparations for the winter. I was to go into
society; and she had taken upon her shoulders the burden of having me
well-dressed and "presentable," as she called it. My clothes ordered
from Paris were at her house, and she took even more pleasure than I in
studying their effect when tried on, and in selecting from my mother's
jewelry the most appropriate articles for my toilet. There were certain
trinkets among them which she told me were all the rage; and she
concluded with a homily that I was very fortunate to be able to have
such expensive things to wear, and that many girls had to be content
with two ball-dresses, or in some instances with one. I was glad to put
myself entirely in her hands, for I felt that she knew about such
matters. My own sensations were a mixture of timidity, bewilderment, and
exultation.
One evening a short time previous to the beginning of the gay season my
father turned to me and said,--
"There is something I wish to tell you, Virginia. I have recently made
my will. With the exception of a few legacies for charitable uses and a
bequest to each of your aunts, I have left everything to you. Very
likely it may be a surprise to you to hear that you will be very rich.
It is proper and right you should know it now, just as it was important
you should remain in ignorance of the fact during childhood. I have
requested hitherto your aunts and your governess to make no allusions to
your future prospects. If I am not mistaken, you learn the truth from me
for the first time."
He paused as if expecting an answer.
"Yes, it has never occurred to me to inquire about the future," said I.
"I knew that we lived in comfort. Beyond that I have not thought on the
subject."
"It is as I supposed," said my father. "Unless I see reason to alter the
present distribution of my property, you will be one of the richest
women in town. When you were a child, Virginia, I felt badly at times
that you were not a boy; I wanted a son to inherit my name and fortune.
But one day it occurred to me, that, though a daughter could not make
money, she might learn to spend it as well as a son. The thought
comforted me; for I have made all the money we can need for many
generations to come, and my only desire is that when I am gone there
shall be some one to use it as I would like. There is an idea, I know,
that women are not fitted to comprehend the value of money, and that it
is unwise to give them the control of large sums. However correct that
may be, the tendency of all modern legislation shows that the world is
in favor of their administering their own affairs. At any rate, I
propose to make the experiment. Unless you convince me beforehand that I
am mistaken, I shall leave you at my death the mistress of over three
million dollars."
While I was trying to form a definite idea of so much wealth, my father
rose, and going to a side-table took up a large tin box, on the top of
which lay a plush-covered case and a pile of pamphlets.
"In this trunk," he said, "you will find one hundred thousand dollars in
first-rate securities, registered in your name. I want you to learn, so
far as is possible for a woman, the care of property. These newspapers
and reports will help you somewhat. I shall be glad to answer all your
questions, and will keep you supplied with the latest intelligence
relating to your property; for I give you these stocks and bonds to use
as you see fit. You will find a cheque-book and a bank-book inside. One
must learn to appreciate the value of money in order to use it well. I
would not advise you to change your investments at first without
consulting me. You must expect to make mistakes at the outset, but I
have great confidence in your good sense. I should have been afraid to
make the experiment in the case of many girls."
These words of my father brought the tears to my eyes. He had been
watching me after all, while I sometimes half fancied him oblivious of
my existence. At the moment, I was too confused to do more than thank
him and gather up in a dazed way the pamphlets he placed before me. He
put the little key that dangled from the tin box into the lock, and
disclosed to me the parchment securities within.
"Carefully managed, that ought to yield you six per cent net," said he.
"But what am I to do with so much money every year?" I cried aghast.
My father laughed, and said: "That is for you to decide, Virginia. You
will learn only too soon the part that money plays in the world," he
added gravely. "Prepare yourself to be courted and flattered for its
sake. Some people would say, 'Do not destroy her faith in human nature.
She will learn the truth soon enough.' I believe that to be forewarned
is to be forearmed. Good and true men are abundant, but there are
unscrupulous and mercenary ones as well, who will woo you for the sake
of your fortune and not because they love you.
"One word more," said he, without regard to the expression of pain that
overspread my face at his last speech. "Do not be afraid to use your
money. Avoid foolish extravagance, but learn to enjoy life and the
blessings at your disposal. It used to be considered wrong by our
forefathers to surround themselves with beautiful things, and any but
the simplest comforts. Some people are of that opinion still, but I do
not agree with them. Your own good sense will be the best criterion of
what is unduly ostentatious; but never hesitate to have anything you may
wish because you fear the verdict of others. In short, be independent,
and think for yourself if you wish to be happy. Your Aunt Helen has
undertaken the charge of your wardrobe; that is something of which I
know nothing. I can tell when a young lady is well dressed, but I am not
capable of selecting her dresses. Here, however," he said, taking the
plush-covered case from the table, "is something that will make your
toilet more complete."
I started with delight on raising the lid, to discover a superb necklace
of the largest pearls. Under the impulse of the moment I flung my arms
about my father's neck and kissed him. He seemed touched by my
impetuosity, and stood for a moment with my head between his hands
looking into my eyes.
"I believe you have in you the making of a noble woman, my dear," he
said proudly. "You have your mother's sweet disposition, and also I
think my fixity of purpose."
I lay awake that night for hours. It seemed to me that I had grown five
years older in a single day, and I felt a new responsibility in living.
My father's trust and generosity had stirred me deeply, and I made many
a solemn vow not to prove unworthy of such confidence. But athwart the
satisfaction these thoughts inspired, rose the recollection of what he
had said regarding the insincerity of men. I had of course read in
novels of fortune-hunters, but no suspicion of their existence within
the pale of the polite society of which I was so soon to form a part had
ever marred the rosy simplicity of my imagination. This was my first
peep at the world's wickedness, and it shocked me to think that human
nature could be so base.
I had seen but little of my Aunt Agnes during the autumn, perhaps
because I more than half suspected she did not sympathize with the plans
and preparations for my social education. I remembered some years
before, at the time when the question of my attending dancing-school was
being debated, to have heard her express disapproval of girls who
frittered away their time and health in the pursuit of what she called
"vain pleasures." I had not conversed with her on the subject, but I had
obtained an intimation from her short and acrid manner on the one or two
occasions when we had met of late that she was quite aware of what was
going on, and condemned it unequivocally.
Although I knew that Aunt Agnes was very fond of me, and I in turn loved
and respected her, she was apt to inspire me with awe even on ordinary
occasions. Her character was as upright as her figure, which in defiance
of the relaxed customs of the day was always arrayed against a
straight-backed chair. Conventionalities of every sort were an
abomination to her. Black silk was the full extent of her condescension
in the matter of what she was pleased to call Babylonian attire, and she
had no patience with the ordinary vanities of her sex.
She received me frostily when I went to visit her a few days after the
conversation with my father, and suffered me to kiss both her cheeks in
turn without evincing a sign of being mollified. Remembering that she
was fond of directness, I opened fire at once by observing that I was
invited to a ball at Mrs. Dale's a week hence.
"All girls are fools," she answered abruptly, after a moment. I bowed my
head submissively, and awaited the storm.
"I expected better things of you, Virginia," she continued. "I hoped you
were too sensible to follow the herd, and waste the best years of your
life in folly."
"Folly?" I echoed faintly.
"Yes, folly. What else is it but folly to sit up night after night,
until the small hours of the morning, waltzing with brainless young
men?"
"But, Aunty, my father wishes me to go into society."
"Pshaw! What does he know about balls and parties? He is under the thumb
of your Aunt Helen. At your age he was working hard for his living, and
learning to be of use in the world."
"But I have not to earn my living," said I.
"So much the worse for you. Humph! You have found that out, have you?"
I understood that she referred to what my father had told me. "Yes, I
know my father is very rich. If I do not go to parties, how am I to
learn anything about life?"
"Life! You are very simple, child, if you expect to learn what life is
by dancing the German. The first thing we shall hear is, that you are
engaged to some young dandy who is after your fortune. Then you will be
snuffed out. You will become a fashionable simpleton, who goes to bed at
four and gets up at noon. Life, indeed!"
This cruel insinuation, following so soon upon what I had lately heard,
cut like a knife. I answered firmly,--
"My father has already warned me to be on my guard against insincere
persons."
"Much good a warning would do, if you were to take it into your head to
like anybody! Tell _me_! I may not understand girls" (this was a thrust
at Aunt Helen), "but I know the dispositions of my own family. When a
Harlan gets a fixed idea, it takes a deal of pounding to drive it out;
and you're a Harlan, Virginia, if there ever was one."
This last reflection seemed to console her a little, or at least to
suggest the futility of trying to alter my determination; for after
speaking of other matters for a few moments she exclaimed,--
"Well! girls will be girls, I suppose, to the end of time,"--and rising
she went to an escritoire and took out a small parcel, which it was
evident she had intended to present to me from the first. "There,
Virginia, if you are bent on being frivolous, is a bit of old lace that
your Aunt Helen, or anybody else, would have to hunt a long time to
equal. You will find a locket inside which I wore when your father was
married. I shall never use such frippery again, and you might as well
have them now as when I am dead."
Knowing that she meant to be gracious, I thanked her warmly. But having
doubts regarding her taste, I abstained from opening the package
until I reached home. Then I found that the lace even surpassed in
exquisiteness the estimate Aunt Agnes had put upon it. Aunt Helen was
fairly envious, and spent the evening in wondering "where on earth" her
rival could have come into possession of such a treasure.
But the locket--a cameo, bizarre, and out of the run of ordinary
personal ornaments--excited her contempt.
"It is fit for a woman of forty, and would make you look like a guy,
Virginia."
The idea of looking different from other people did not disturb me.
Indeed, I had resolved to be thoroughly independent. So, on the evening
of Mrs. Dale's ball, I announced my intention of wearing the locket, and
of reserving my necklace of pearls for some more brilliant occasion.
Aunt Helen, who supervised my toilet, was greatly distressed at my
obstinacy. Nevertheless I left the house with it on. But at the last
moment my courage failed me; I slipped it off and put it in my
pocket,--thus making a courtesy to conventionality on the threshold of
society.
III.
My recollections of the first few parties I attended are confused. A
great many young men were introduced to me, but I scarcely distinguished
one from another. I was alternately dazed and dazzled by the attentions
I received. There is no object in disguising the fact that I had become
very handsome, and my brilliant financial prospects were of course well
known.
My emotions were doubtless those of an average society belle, eager to
drain the cup of pleasure to the dregs. I lived to dance, and cared
little with whom I danced, provided he danced well. The mere physical
satisfaction of waltzing, coupled with the glamor of a universal homage,
contented me.
But this did not last long. I learned to make distinctions, and to
generalize; and from this primary stage of development I began to
entertain positive likes and dislikes.
It was not however until the winter was waning that Mr. Roger Dale
occupied a different place in my thoughts from half-a-dozen others,
although he had been polite to me from the time of my first ball at his
mother's house. It would be difficult to say exactly what distinguished
him from the rest of their admirers in the eyes of every girl with any
pretensions to beauty or style; but he was undeniably considered at that
time, in the circle of my acquaintance, as the most fascinating man in
society. He was commonly spoken of as interesting, and there was a vague
impression that he was lacking in constancy. It was not unnatural
therefore that I should be flattered at his singling me out for
assiduous attentions, especially when he possessed the art of letting me
understand in a quiet, gentlemanly fashion, and without the aid of
garish compliments, that I was the only girl in the room for whom he
cared a straw. I did not believe him, but I was pleased, for that was
the way in which I wished to be wooed by the one whom I wished to
believe.
So in course of time I became willing to retire with him into
conservatories and ante-rooms to avoid interruption. I was still fond of
dancing, but I had recovered from the frenzy which blinded me to
everything but the rapture of the moment. I liked to hear Mr. Dale talk,
and without an affinity of ideas our intimacy must have died a natural
death. But we found a common ground of sympathy in our revolt against
the subserviency in modern life of romance to matter-of-fact
considerations. He harped upon this string, and awoke a corresponding
chord in my breast. His ideas were a correlation of the dreams of my
girlhood. I felt that I was understood. There was such a thing as the
love I had imagined; Mr. Dale had pondered over it, fathomed it, and
could talk about it. Not that I considered myself in love with him, or
him with me. We simply were friends,--that was all. But existence seemed
nobler when illumined by his theories.
He declared that the Puritan fathers and their descendants lacked the
power of expression. People were afraid to acknowledge they loved. The
ardor that distinguished the passion of other races and made it
beautiful was nowhere to be found, for if it ever dared to manifest
itself the breath of ridicule wilted its growth. The expensive "floral
offering" was more prized than the single dewy bud of the true lover,
and the zeal and sentiment of chivalry had yielded to the blighting
prose of a commercial age.
My Aunt Helen was the first of the family to comment on my intimacy with
him.
"What does your friend Mr. Dale do?" she asked one day.
"Do?"
"Yes. I mean what is his business down town?"
"I don't know, Aunt Helen," I answered; and I spoke the truth. I had
never thought to inquire.
"The Dale blood is not the very best in the world," she continued
presently, with her head bent over her work almost as though
soliloquizing. "As regards position they are well enough, but two of
this young man's uncles were extremely dissipated, and I fancy that the
father was not much to boast of. He died early, just after I was grown
up. I remember him though. He was a handsome creature."
I listened with glowing cheeks, but made no response.
"They have very little to live on I imagine," she observed nearly five
minutes later.
"Of whom are you speaking?" I inquired with dignity.
"The Dales, child, of course. It was generally supposed that Mrs. Dale
was left very poorly off. I believe her husband's life was insured for
something, and they own their house. Pussy always looks well dressed,
but they must have to scrimp in other ways."
Pussy Dale was Roger's eldest sister, a girl of just my age. They were a
family of five, four of whom were daughters.
"I don't see that their being poor is anything against them," I said a
little hotly.
"No-o," replied Aunt Helen reflectively, "perhaps not. But I don't know
what your father would say to him for a son-in-law."
"A son-in-law? You have no right to make such insinuations, Aunt Helen,"
I protested. "Mr. Dale and I are friends, and nothing more."
"I am glad to hear it, dear; for though I should try to reconcile myself
to whomever you chose, believing that a girl is the best judge of what
will contribute to her own happiness, I own frankly that I should be
better pleased with some one whose antecedents were a little more
creditable."
I gritted my teeth and sewed industriously in silence for the rest of
the evening. I felt injured, without scarcely knowing why. Aunt Helen's
accusations were vague at best. It was impossible for me to doubt Mr.
Dale. But on the other hand the idea of our marriage was not a serious
consideration. Still I felt annoyed and troubled, and I could not help
thinking of what my father and Aunt Agnes had said by way of warning.
But though I lay awake long that night I fell asleep at last, convinced
that Roger Dale was the noblest and sincerest soul alive, and that to
doubt him would be to wrong the sacred name of friendship.
This conversation took place in March; but in the next two months Mr.
Dale was so much at our house that I was not surprised when my father
asked one evening the same question put to me by Aunt Helen. Our
intimacy had continued without further developments, except a constantly
increasing devotion on his part and a corresponding pleasure in his
society on my own. I did not make my infatuation conspicuous by walking
with him in the streets, but otherwise I did not attempt to disguise the
partiality I felt for him. Had I mixed more with other girls before
entering society I might have been less guileless. But as it was, I
never thought of tempering by coquetry the satisfaction visible in my
face whenever Mr. Dale appeared.
This time I was prepared with an answer to the question concerning his
occupation down town:--
"He is in the wool business, and doing very well."
"A wool broker?"
"I think so."
"Humph!"
My father walked up and down the room a few times. "I have already
cautioned you, Virginia, against false prophets who come to you in
sheep's clothing."
He was jocose doubtless so as to pass the matter off lightly, and to
spare my feelings. But I chose to be offended, and answered haughtily,--
"I don't understand what you mean."
He stood still and looked directly at me. "Simply this, Virginia: I
trust you are too sensible to throw yourself away on a man who is not
worthy of you."
"You do Mr. Dale a great injustice," I replied, with an assumption of
dignity; "and me too." Whereupon I swept out of the room.
I flung myself upon my bed and burst into tears. These remarks of my
father and aunt were straws, but they showed me how the wind was likely
to blow. Those upon whom I had a right to rely for sympathy were ready
to desert me first of all. It was cruel and unkind. Had I asked to be
allowed to marry Mr. Dale? Had either of us ever hinted at the subject?
Never! And yet my father was the first to cast suspicions and make
insinuations, for I understood his unjust taunt. Sheep's clothing,
indeed! Detraction was the surest way to make me love him; for if there
was any one under the sun whose sentiments were noble and unselfish,
whose motives were manly and disinterested, I believed it was Roger
Dale. Why had my father spoken in such high terms of my good sense only
six months ago if he thought it necessary to caution me again to-day? I
felt bitter and wronged.
Just then my glance chanced to fall on the tin box in which were the
securities my father had given me in the autumn, and I blushed as I
reflected that except to deposit the dividends that were sent to me I
had done nothing toward understanding the care of my property. I had
used the cheque-book to give a little money in charity and to pay some
bills, but the pile of financial pamphlets lay on the shelf of my desk
still unread. I had not had time to devote myself to them, or rather the
time had slipped away before I realized it.
There was some ground after all for my father's reproof. It was possible
that my neglect and apparent disregard of his wishes had led him to
speak severely of Mr. Dale. The thought comforted me and brought sleep
to my eyes. I rose early, and spent an hour before breakfast in reading
the Annual Report of one of the Railway Companies in which I held stock;
and I went downstairs with a confused mind, but with a sense of awakened
virtue. I was cheerful and animated at table, and asked several
questions concerning mortgage bonds and sinking funds that brought a
pleasant expression to my father's face.
The reason why I felt so buoyant was not merely the light-heartedness of
repentance. My romantic spirit had conceived a scheme for convincing my
father that he had unjustly sneered at Mr. Dale's business capacity. I
was resolved to consult him as to my investments, and I felt sure that
the profits accruing from his sage advice would plead his cause more
eloquently than any words of mine. Let but my father perceive my
admirer's sterling qualities, and I knew that he would be eager to make
amends for his injustice by pushing him forward in business. The idea
took strong possession of me, for ever since hearing Aunt Helen speak
of Mr. Dale's lack of means I had been eager at heart to assist him. I
would gladly have asked him to put my money into some commercial
venture, and have insisted upon his keeping a portion of the gains; but
to that I felt he would never consent.
And yet I did not believe that I was in love with Roger Dale. The
thought never occurred to me. I was ready to have our relations continue
indefinitely as they were. But I was not able to regard the hostility of
my family without impatience that added a spice of martyrdom to my
interviews with him. The very fact that others thought ill made it all
the more incumbent upon me to be steadfast and undoubting.
IV.
Before I had an opportunity to broach the question of investments to Mr.
Dale, Aunt Agnes added her quota to my sense of wrong. One evening when
she came to dinner I divined, from the intense rigidity of her posture
at table, that she was offended with me. To tell the truth, I felt a
trifle guilty. My visits to her during the winter had been spasmodic and
hurried. What was worse, so greatly was I carried away by my social
success, that whenever we did meet I prattled on about fashionable
frivolities regardless of her frown. But though I was conscious of not
standing in her good graces, I felt tolerably secure from comments on
the score of Mr. Dale, for the reason that as she never went anywhere
she would know nothing of my intimacy with him unless Aunt Helen or my
father were to make her a confidant; and this I did not think likely.
Therefore, when she introduced the subject while we were alone together
in the drawing-room after dinner, I was a little disconcerted.
"Who is this Mr. Gale whose name I see connected with yours?" she asked
severely.
"With mine?"
"Yes, with yours. Don't beat about the bush! You know perfectly well
whom I mean."
"Excuse me, Aunt Agnes, there is no Mr. Gale among my acquaintance. I
know a Mr. Dale."
She frowned, and began to fumble in her pocket. "The principle is the
same whether it is Gale or Dale or Tompkins. I never expected to learn
of my niece's engagement from the public press. I am confident the
notice said 'Gale.' Ah! I thought so. Plain as the nose on your face,"
she added, producing from her porte-monnaie a newspaper cutting and
reading aloud: "'It is rumored that the engagement of the beautiful and
accomplished daughter of Augustus Harlan, the Railway Magnate, to Mr.
Roger Gale of this city will soon be announced.'"
"It is not true, Aunt Agnes," I cried indignantly. Needless to say I was
startled at this bit of information, coming too as it did from such an
unexpected source. My aunt's knowledge of it seemed fully as remarkable
to me as the fact of the publication.
"I trust not," she replied with emphasis. "I did not seriously suppose
my own niece so far lost to all sense of propriety as to take such a
step unbeknown to me. But it seems to me, Virginia, you must have been
behaving in a, to say the least, very peculiar manner, to get your name
into the newspapers. Where there is so much smoke there is apt to be a
little fire. Who is this Mr. Gale?"
"His name is Dale, Aunt Agnes."
"Well, Dale then. You won't put me off by quibbling. If you want your
father to know of it, you are taking just the course to make me tell
him."
"My father knows all there is to know. Mr. Dale is a friend of mine and
comes to the house by permission. There is no possibility of an
engagement between us."
"An engagement! I should hope not. Do you consider yourself qualified to
enter upon the cares and responsibilities of married life?"
"I have already said that I have no intention of getting married."
"Getting married! Why, the child is crazy. You talk of matrimony as if
it were as simple a proceeding as changing your dress or going to a
party."
"Some people would appear to find it so," I answered, goaded to
impertinence.
But Aunt Agnes apparently did not perceive my innuendo. "I dare say,"
said she with asperity. "That is because there are so many fools in the
world."
We sat in silence for some minutes. My aunt was so much excited that I
could see her hands tremble as she put the obnoxious cutting back into
her porte-monnaie. All of a sudden she looked at me over her glasses and
said,--
"I am willing to give you one more chance, Virginia."
I waited for her to continue.
"If you choose to take advantage of it, well and good. If not, you must
go your own ways. I am not going to make my life a burden over you any
longer. If you prefer to be giddy and foolish, let those take the
responsibility who have encouraged you to become so. No one shall blame
me."
"You know, Aunt Agnes, I wish to be nothing of the sort."
"Very well, then. I propose to pass the summer in Europe, and it strikes
me as an excellent opportunity for you to cut adrift from the
objectionable associations you have formed during the past few months.
With a fresh start, and surroundings calculated to inspire in you a
desire for self-improvement, it will not be too late to hope for better
things. I have every confidence in the natural stability of your
character if you are once put upon the right track. I blame your
advisers more than I blame you."
I listened to her words with some disquietude. I had never crossed the
Atlantic, and at any ordinary time would have jumped at the chance. But
I had already other plans in store for the summer that I did not feel
prepared to relinquish, even for the pleasure of a trip to Europe.
"It is very kind of you to think of me," I said.
"No, it isn't. It's only natural," she answered shortly. "You are my
brother's child, and let alone any affection I may have for you, it is
my duty to save you from harm if I can."
"Who else is going?" I asked out of sheer cowardice; for I had already
made up my mind to decline the invitation.
"Who else? Nobody. If a woman at my age has not learned to travel
without an escort, it is time she did. I suppose that's what you're
driving at. Well, what do you say? Go, or remain at home as you like.
Only I shall regard it as a choice once and for all."
"Aunt Agnes," I answered with an endeavor to express in my tone and
manner the affection and gratitude I felt, "I thank you with all my
heart for your kindness. Whatever you may say, it _was_ extremely kind
of you to offer to take me abroad with you, and I wish I could go."
"What is there to prevent your going?" she inquired sharply.
I hesitated an instant, and then boldly spoke the truth, though I knew
it would operate like a two-edged sword:--
"I have already promised to spend the summer at Tinker's Reach with Aunt
Helen, and she would be disappointed if I failed her at the last moment,
for all her plans are made on that understanding."
"Ah! That is it," she replied with bitter calmness. "Very well, I
disclaim all further responsibility. You act with your eyes open, and
must take the consequences."
There was so much pain and concern in her expression that for an instant
I hesitated, and thought of changing my mind. I went to her and knelt
down beside her chair.
"Aunt Agnes, you must not talk so. I love you as dearly as I love Aunt
Helen; and if I had not promised to spend the summer with her I should
be delighted to go with you. Do not repulse me. I have so few relatives
to care for me, and I shall be very unhappy if you go away angry."
But she refused to be mollified. She did not scold me, and she coldly
suffered me to embrace her at parting; but her air was more grim than I
had ever seen it, and I was conscious of having wounded her deeply.
Perhaps it is needless to say that Mr. Dale was at the bottom of my
decision. A few weeks previous I had confided to him that Aunt Helen had
invited me to spend the summer with her at her new cottage at Tinker's
Reach. He assured me that there were few more charming spots, that it
was a favorite resort of his own, and that he himself proposed to pass
his vacation there. Naturally, I felt bound to a certain extent after
this to go to Tinker's Reach. Indeed, I was eagerly looking forward to a
continuance of our friendship under such happy auspices.
When I had spoken to Mr. Dale regarding his business he replied, as I
have already stated, that it was "wool." But I noticed he was brief,
and his manner did not encourage me to ask further questions, I ascribed
his reserve to modesty, or the proper reluctance some people have to
talk of private affairs that in no way concern the interrogator. This
impression was heightened by the investigations which I quietly made in
regard to the point, feeling that though I could not admit the
possibility of a doubt even in regard to his business sagacity, it was
well to have evidence with which to rebut the insinuations of my family.
Every one of the young men whom I questioned regarding Mr. Dale's
prospects assured me that he was doing very well, and attended his
office daily.
This was pleasant tidings, and encouraged me to speak to him of the
matter I had at heart. With all my tendency to romance and indifference
to the opinion of others, I realized that it must be delicately handled.
I must not seem to offer a gift or to place him under an obligation.
Accordingly, one day shortly before we left town, I explained to him the
condition of my affairs; how my father had settled a sum upon me with
the request that I should manage it intelligently, with a view to having
the control of larger amounts later. I said further that I was anxious
to learn, and to acquit myself with credit; and that it had struck me
as a brilliant scheme to double my property (I fixed upon this as a
reasonable estimate) by some investment. He listened to my words with
close attention, and as he made no comment at this point I said:--
"You are down town, Mr. Dale, and must necessarily understand business
matters. I come to you for advice. I want you to tell me what to buy. I
will give you the money, and when you think it time to sell I will
authorize you to do so. You see I am not entirely ignorant myself."
Roger Dale gave a short laugh, and made no response for a moment. "It
wouldn't do," he said at last, shaking his head. "What would your father
say if he heard of it? He doesn't have any too high an opinion of me
already, I fancy."
"But, Mr. Dale, that would be the very way to prove to him that you are
a practical business man. If my father were to take you into his
confidence he could push you ahead very fast, I know. I will show him
the profits of your investments, and bestow the credit where it
belongs."
The idea seemed to amuse him, for he laughed again. "You seem to forget,
Miss Harlan, that instead of profits you might lose it all."
"That would be impossible. I have too much confidence in your judgment
to fear any such result," I answered sweetly, led away by the eagerness
I felt to obtain his consent to the project.
He gave me a swift sidelong glance that made me tremble and set my heart
fluttering, though I did not know why.
"Besides," I said speaking fast and feverishly, "the money is mine. I
have a right to do what I please with it."
There was a pause, and then he said with the same glance, only longer
and intenser than before: "Miss Harlan, I cannot accept such a
responsibility unless you give it to me forever."
I was stunned. I had brought this upon myself I could see plainly, now
that it was too late. My undignified, unfeminine conduct stood out
before me the moment he had spoken, in all its mortifying nakedness. He
had mistaken my meaning, but it was I who was to blame for the error.
Humiliated and confused, I was at a loss for words; but a reply was
necessary.
"You have misunderstood me entirely, Mr. Dale. Let us change the
subject, if you please," I said with dignity.
Fortunately some one came in just at this moment, and Mr. Dale shortly
rose to go. But he dared in taking leave to look at me again in the
manner I have described, and in spite of my will and desire my eyes fell
as they encountered his.
We did not meet again, much to my relief, before I left town. I was in
an harassing state of mind, and happiness alternated in my thoughts with
despair. For a terrible secret had dawned upon me,--terrible, because I
foresaw the painful consequences which would result therefrom. I loved
Roger Dale. It was useless to disguise it longer from myself. His words
had made the truth manifest, and that which I fancied friendship was
become a mutual passion. Any mortification I may have felt at having
unwittingly prompted the speech that had filled my heart with joy was
nullified by the consciousness that I was beloved.
But the thought of braving the opposition of my family distressed me
beyond measure, as it must needs distress any conscientious girl in a
similar position. My instincts told me that it was vain to hope that
they would relent. Their objections were baseless, but none the less I
knew that they would prove insuperable. I found myself face to face
with a dilemma fraught with unhappiness whichever way I should solve it.
What was there to allege against Mr. Dale? Nothing. He was poor. But
what of that? My father had money enough for us both. Why need he mar by
cruel suspicions and prejudices this great joy of my life? I remember to
have wondered sometimes that girls could marry contrary to the consent
of their parents, but it seemed to me now that no one could sacrifice an
attachment as strong as mine to blind authority without doing wrong to
the eternal principles of love and honor. I vowed in secret that if
Roger Dale should prove as true to me as I would be to him, nothing
should keep us apart.
V.
Tinker's Reach, as most people know, is a very popular summer resort on
the Atlantic sea-coast. It possesses the advantages both of the ocean
and the country. There are beautiful drives in its vicinity variegated
by mountain peaks, ponds almost large enough to be classed as lakes, and
extensive woods where one--or more readily two--may be lost with ease.
On the other hand the harbor is adapted to all sorts of craft, from the
two hundred ton yacht to the bark canoe; and for those who prefer
looking at the waves to riding over them, there are superb rocks to sit
upon and clamber over, which abound in eyries for the retiring and caves
for the curious. Altogether it is a delightful place.
It takes its name, not as might be supposed from one of the aborigines,
but from a small variety of mackerel known to fishermen as "tinkers,"
which used to be seined off the main head-land in large quantities.
Originally a primitive settlement, fashionable patronage had dotted the
shore with large hotels and showy villas, which at this period were less
numerous than at present.
Soon after my arrival I received a note from Mr. Dale announcing that he
would be able to get away from the city by the end of the week. The
receipt of this missive thrilled me with joy; but I felt that proper
sentiments obliged me to tell my Aunt Helen. It would scarcely be
honorable to carry on an affair of which she disapproved, while enjoying
her hospitality and under her protection. Besides, I was not without
hopes of winning her over to my side. She had always been the one to
whom I had gone for sympathy, and her desertion in this case made me
feel sadly the need of an ally. So I said to her one evening,--
"Mr. Dale will be here early next week."
Aunt Helen shifted uneasily in her chair. "I don't know what your father
would say to that. He disapproves of your intimacy with Mr. Dale."
"I know it, Aunt Helen. He is prejudiced against him."
"Mr. Dale is certainly a very constant young man," she replied.
My heart gave a bound. Her remarks before had been rather in the form
of criticisms than regular objections. I laid down my work with the
resolve to throw myself on her mercy.
"Aunt Helen, why is it that all of you are so opposed to Mr. Dale?"
"Opposed! Well, dear, I should hardly call it that," said my aunt. "Your
father has an idea, I believe, that Mr. Dale is mercenary in his views.
What foundation for it he may have I do not know. As for myself, I
cannot say I am opposed, for I scarcely know the young man."
"My father is very unjust," I said with tears in my eyes.
"It may be, dear. Very likely he would own himself that it was merely an
impression; but it is only right that he should watch over your
interests carefully."
"Is it watching over my interests to cast suspicion on the motives of
one of my best friends?"
"It will all come right in the end, dear."
"He is noble and high-minded. No one shall say anything against him in
my presence," I cried fiercely.
My aunt smoothed out the lap of her dress reflectively. "You are quite
justified in standing up for your friend, Virginia. No one can blame
you for that. I have no doubt this young Dale is all you describe him to
be. Only," she added, with an apologetic cough, "be discreet. Some
persons, perhaps, would wish to be better informed before ceasing to
feel uneasy. I believe, though, in trusting to a girl's own instinct in
these matters: it rarely goes astray. If my parents had followed that
course, I might have been more happy."
She raised her handkerchief to her eyes to stay a tear, and with an
impulse of gratitude and pity I went to her and kissed her.
"Yes," she murmured, acknowledging my sympathy with a pressure of the
hand, "when I was just about your age there was a young man who was very
fond of me, and I liked him. He wished to marry me."
"And your father objected to him?"
"He thought we were too young. He insisted upon our waiting until we had
more money. So we did, and he fell into bad habits, and--and we drifted
apart. It is a long story."
"Oh, Aunt Helen, I am very sorry."
"Thank you, dear. I should never have told you except to show that I
could sympathize with you. Only, as I have said, be discreet. It is a
serious responsibility for me to assume. I hope you will take no
decisive steps without consulting your father. Kiss me, Virginia."
We embraced with fervor, and I was sure that I had gained an ally.
Mr. Dale arrived on the expected day and was kindly welcomed by my aunt,
who asked him to stay to tea. It was a superb evening, and he proposed
that we should go out on the water as was the custom at Tinker's Reach.
He had been an accomplished oar in College, and a dozen strokes sent the
light boat skimming beyond the bevy of similar craft by which we were
surrounded. The sea was calm as a mill-pond, and the moon was at the
full. I lay back with my face turned to the heavens and my fingers
trailing in the cool water. Mr. Dale rowed on until the lights on shore
seemed mere specks, and we could just perceive the gentle roll of the
Atlantic swell. He rested on his oars and listened. The voices of the
others were lost in the distance, and only the tinkle of a banjo wafted
from afar broke the night's tranquillity. The water was alive with
phosphorescence that sparkled like gems around the blades.
We had neither of us spoken since starting. I know not what were his
thoughts, but mine were full of happiness. I felt sure,--sure of his
love, and sure that he should have mine for the asking. And yet, so
perfect was my peace, that I hoped he would postpone the words that were
to make us still nearer to each other. We had talked so much of love and
of its rapture and unselfishness earlier in our acquaintance, that now
it was come to us silence seemed the most fitting commentary.
But he had made up his mind to speak at once.
"Virginia, I have brought you out here where we are alone, and where
only Nature can interrupt us, to tell you that I adore you. Let the
inconstant moon and twinkling stars laugh as they please. I know that
true love exists, for my soul is full of it at this moment. Speak,
dearest, and make me happy forever."
In the fulness of my transport at his ardent words, it seemed to me that
heaven was come down to earth. My dreams had promised no such
blessedness as this. Faintly and softly I murmured,--
"Roger, you know that I love you with all my heart."
"My darling!"
"My beloved!"
Is there an hour to compare in unqualified happiness with that in which
a woman of impulsive nature, ignorant of the world and blindly trusting,
whispers the confidences of her innocent bosom in the ear of her
accepted lover? Roger and I, alternately silent with bliss or
overflowing with the rapture of the heart's language, strolled arm in
arm along the moonlit shores far into the night.
Only one incident marred our content. "Virginia," said Roger suddenly,
"what will your father say?"
My father! I had never thought of him. So absorbing had been the
consciousness that Roger Dale loved me and I returned his love, that
every other consideration was blotted from my mind.
"Not to-night. We will not talk of that to-night. Let me be happy while
I can," I cried, pressing his arm with feverish fondness.
"He dislikes me then? I was sure of it," he said quietly, but there was
a scowl on his face.
"He does not know you, Roger. But I will make him give his consent. He
cannot refuse me anything."
We walked on in silence. I felt stirred and rebellious. "Dearest," said
I, in a low tone of determination, "I will be true to you whatever
happens."
He stooped his head and kissed me. "If you are as constant to me, sweet
Virginia, as I shall be to you, nothing can separate us."
Oh, joyous words! Were they not the very same with which I had fortified
my courage scarcely a month ago?
We parted just after midnight. My aunt was sitting up for me, and I
burst into the room in great excitement.
"Oh, Aunt Helen, I am engaged, I am engaged! I am so happy!"
"My darling child!"
We wept in each other's arms.
"He is so noble, Aunty; so good and kind!"
"God grant he may continue so!" she said, stroking my hair.
I gave a vent to my ecstasy in talk. While I rattled on she sat drying
her eyes and looking at me with a half fond, half uneasy expression. Now
and again she sobbed hysterically. At last she exclaimed, "What will
your father say?"
"We will think of that to-morrow," I said. "I mean to be perfectly happy
to-night."
"You will have to write to him of course."
"We have decided on nothing yet."
"Oh, Virginia, I am all in a flutter. What _will_ he say? He is sure to
blame me, and Heaven knows I acted for what seemed to me the best."
"It _was_ the best, dear Aunt Helen. Can't you see how happy I am? When
Roger and I are married, you shall come and live with us always, and
have the best room in the house; for if it hadn't been for you I might
never have known what it is to be loved by the noblest man in the
world."
It was a long time before I fell asleep. I was aroused in the morning by
a knock at my door. It was Aunt Helen.
"Let me in," she said mysteriously.
"Well?" said I when I had risen and admitted her, "what is it? What has
happened?"
"Your father has just arrived. He is downstairs."
"Father?"
"Yes. He knows nothing of course. I have scarcely slept a wink all
night, Virginia. I feel dreadfully nervous. What _will_ he say?"
I got back into bed and drew the clothes up to my chin in an affectation
of composure. But I was overwhelmed by the news. His opposition seemed a
much more serious consideration than when regarded by moonlight. A
visit from him at any other time would not have been a surprise, for he
had said he should run down to Tinker's Reach at his first leisure
moment.
My aunt stood at the foot of the bed, watching my face and expecting me
to speak.
"What do you mean to do about it?" she asked.
"Tell him," I replied.
"I suppose you might put it off until you return to town, especially if
you would make up your mind to see very little of Mr. Dale in the mean
time."
"No. It is best to have it over and done with. I want it settled now and
forever." I felt my courage hardening.
"Well, Heaven bless you, child!" she said, kissing me. "You must admit,
Virginia, that I have warned you all along that your father was opposed
to Mr. Dale."
"It is not your fault in any way, Aunt Helen. I shall tell him so."
She left me, and I dressed deliberately. There was evidently no escape
from the situation. But upon one point I was perfectly decided: nothing
should induce me to give up Roger. I was ready to postpone our wedding
for the present, or to humor my father's objections in any reasonable
way. But renounce him, never! Having arrived at this determination I
went downstairs. My father was eating his breakfast, and I waited until
he was comfortably settled with a cigar on the sofa, before making my
confession. Aunt Helen had taken the precaution to absent herself from
the room. I began bravely:--
"Father, there is something I wish to tell you that interests me very
deeply."
He removed the cigar, and looked at me inquiringly. I saw he did not
suspect the truth.
"I am engaged to be married to Mr. Roger Dale. You must not be angry,
father," I continued hastily. "You cannot help liking him when you know
him better. He is worthy of me in every way."
I ventured to look at him; he was smoking with quick, nervous puffs that
betokened great excitement.
"Bah!" he cried presently. "Bah! what a fool I have been! I might have
known it would end in some such way as this. No girl ever had a better
opportunity than you, and yet you are ready to sacrifice everything for
the sake of a fellow who is no more fit to be your husband than the
veriest beggar in the street. You have disappointed me terribly,
Virginia. I believed you to be sensible and clever; but the admission
you have just made proves you to be little short of a goose. Bah! you
couldn't have chosen worse. A dissipated, mercenary good-for-nothing!"
"You must not speak in that way of Roger, father. I cannot sit here and
let him be abused. Scold me as much as you please, but don't say
anything against him. You do not understand him."
"Understand him, indeed! It is you who do not understand him. I never
expected that a daughter of mine would fall in love with a barber's
block."
This was too much for my endurance. "You are unjust," I cried with,
flashing eyes. "It is too late to talk so. We love each other, and if my
own father repulses me we must go elsewhere for a blessing."
I have an idea that I looked like a queen of tragedy as I stood and
braved him thus, for he gazed at me with a sort of astonishment, and
made a movement as if to deter me from leaving the room. Just then, as
fortune willed, the door was thrown open, and the servant ushered in
Roger Dale.
He looked from the one to the other of us, and his cheeks reddened.
"So, sir," exclaimed my father, "you have come to claim your bride! You
will have to reckon with me first; and I warn you that you will need
stronger arguments than any I have ever heard in your favor, to convince
me that you are the proper man to marry my daughter. Virginia, you may
leave us. I will send for you when I wish for you. This gentleman and I
are capable of settling this matter together."
I saw that my father was in a rage that would not brook resistance. But
my own blood was boiling. Roger stood pale but seemingly unabashed,
gazing at me as if he waited for me to speak. I addressed him:--
"Whatever my father may say to you, Roger, do not forget that I have
promised to be your wife." With this speech I left the room.
VI.
I went to my room and bolted the door. Presently Aunt Helen knocked, but
I declined to let her in. I felt grievously wronged. My father had
trampled upon the most sacred sentiments of my soul. He had spurned and
insulted the man I loved. What proofs had he of the charges he had
brought? Dissipation! It could not be. I surely would have discovered
this long ago if it had been true. Mercenary! Could he be called
mercenary whom a high sense of honor had forbidden to assist me in the
investment of my property? Good for nothing! Ah, my father did not know
the noble impulses that underlay Roger Dale's unostentatious manner!
I do not know how long it was before Aunt Helen knocked a second time,
and said that my father had sent for me. It was probably not more than
half an hour, but it had seemed to me an eternity. I was waiting for the
summons, with the box containing my securities beside me; and with this
in my hands I confronted my father once more in the parlor.
He was no longer visibly angry. Both he and Roger were smoking, and
sitting at ease as I entered. I took a chair close by my lover's side,
and looked at him fondly. He returned my glance, but there was a shadow
of annoyance in his expression that made me feel uneasy. It brought to
my mind his face as I had noticed it the previous evening, when he spoke
of my father's prejudice against him.
At last my father saw fit to begin. He spoke in a deliberate,
business-like tone, free from passion. "I have sent for you, Virginia,
to repeat to you what I have already said to Mr. Dale. Once and for all,
I will never give my consent to your marriage. I am utterly and
radically opposed to it. I have been from the first, as you are aware.
If you ask for my reasons, I do not consider this gentleman fitted to be
my son-in-law. He has on his own admission no means to support a wife;
he has no ambition or desire to excel, and I know from positive evidence
that his habits are by no means exemplary."
He paused, and I glanced anxiously at Roger; but his eyes were fixed on
the floor, and he sat drumming gently on the table with the fingers of
one hand.
"If you persevere in this piece of folly contrary to my expressed
wishes, you do it, Virginia, at your own peril, for I warn you that my
resolution is fixed and cannot be shaken. Do not hope, either of you, by
nursing the affair along to overcome my objections later. That is a
favorite resort of young people in novels; but if fathers in real life
are so weak in general, I shall prove an exception. As you know,
Virginia, the part of a tyrannical parent is the last I ever expected to
be called upon to play. I have allowed you every indulgence, and trusted
you to an extent that I am beginning to believe was unwise. But I will
not waste time in words; my resolution is perfectly explicit. My will is
made in your favor. If I should die to-day, you would be mistress of all
my property. Unless you promise me not to marry this man, I shall alter
it to-morrow, and neither of you shall ever receive one cent from me
during my lifetime or at my decease. This sounds like a threat, but it
is only intended to show to the fullest extent in my power how fatal to
your happiness I consider this union would be. I can say no more than
this. I cannot prevent you from marrying Mr. Dale if you are bent upon
it. There are no laws to punish foolish women or mercenary men; but you
must take the consequences. What you have in that box," he continued,
nodding towards me, "is all you will ever receive at my hands. If I am
not mistaken, this young gentleman would play ducks-and-drakes with that
in a very short time. I have said my say, and now you can suit
yourselves."
I had listened to his words with a constantly increasing indignation
that overshadowed the remorse I felt at having disappointed his hopes.
So incensed was I at his aspersions of Roger that I almost laughed when
he spoke of disinheriting me. But the taunt that Roger was courting me
for my money was most galling of all, by very force of reiteration. I
started to my feet once more with a defiant air.
"It is not true. You misjudge Mr. Dale cruelly. To show you, father, how
free our love is from the base and paltry motives you impute, and that
we do not need your help, see there!"
I rushed through the open window which led to the piazza, and before
either my father or Roger divined my intention, hurled with all my might
the box of securities over the railing into the sea beneath. It opened
just before reaching the water, and the contents were submerged by the
seething surf.
I re-entered the parlor with a triumphant air. Roger's face wore a
half-scared look as he began to realize what I had done.
"Mad girl!" cried my father with a sneer. "Mr. Dale will not thank you
for that, I fancy. You have, however, done me an infinite service." He
turned and left the room.
When he was gone, exhausted and unnerved I buried my face on Roger's
shoulder and sobbed bitterly. He tried to soothe me, and finally induced
me to sit down. He sat beside me, holding my hand and urging me to calm
myself. At last I turned to him and said with a sudden transport of new
happiness, and smiling through my tears,--
"I promised to remain true to you, Roger, and I have."
"Yes, dear, I know. When you are a little more composed, we will talk
the matter over seriously."
There was something in his tone that chilled me; he was so calm, and I
so carried away by excitement.
"Do not think of my father's words," I said. "Forget them. I shall be
perfectly happy so long as you love me."
"He will never relent," he answered gloomily. "He is known down town as
a man who makes up his mind once for all time."
"I would rather disobey my father than be false to you," I responded
firmly.
"Yes. But how are we to live?" he asked, rising from the sofa and
promenading the room nervously, with his hands in his pockets.
"Live?" I echoed.
"Unfortunately we should have to eat and drink, like everybody else. It
was a pity," he continued reflectively, "that you flung that money
overboard; we might have been very comfortable with that."
"Yes," I replied in a dazed sort of way.
"Was it the whole?" He stood looking at me with his head on one side.
"The whole of what?"
"Was all the property your father gave you in that box?"
"Certainly: I wonder you ask, Roger."
He walked up and down a few times and then took a seat beside me.
"Let us look at this matter in a common-sense way, Virginia. Heaven
knows I love you, and that I am as romantic in my feelings as any one
could desire. But suppose we were to marry without your father's
consent, what would be the result? We should starve. To speak frankly, I
find it difficult enough to make both ends meet as a single man. You are
used to every luxury and comfort, and have not been accustomed to
economize. Do not misunderstand me, Virginia," he continued, speaking
quickly, struck perhaps by my expression, which if my emotions were
adequately reflected therein must have made him uneasy. "I know that you
are capable of any sacrifice; it is I who am unwilling to permit you to
give up your fortune and your family for my sake. If there were any
chance of your father's relenting, if I thought there was a possibility
that time would make a difference in his views, I would not speak so.
But as it is, I see no alternative for us but an unsuccessful struggle
with poverty, that would end in unhappiness. It breaks my heart to come
to this conclusion, but justice to you, as well as common-sense, will
not let me suffer you to commit a folly which after the glamour of the
moment was over, you would regret."
It was the manner even more than the matter of his speech that stabbed
me to the heart. Had he spoken less calmly and deliberately, I might
have believed that he shrank from accepting my self-sacrifice, and have
regarded his dampening words as a mere cloak for his own generosity. But
his unconcerned and dispassionate air left no doubt in my mind that
it was he who was unwilling to face the romantic but desperate
circumstances in which my father's decree had placed us. Instinct told
me that he in whose constancy and in whose devotion to ideality I had
believed with all the ardor and trust of which I was capable, was false,
and ready to subordinate a love like ours to temporal considerations.
Yet with the persistence of one who clutches at any semblance of hope
however slender, I refused to believe the truth without further
evidence.
"I should not be a burden to you, Roger. People can live on much less
than they suppose. We could both work, I as well as you."
He shrugged his shoulders, and taking both my hands in his looked into
my face with a trivial smile, so little in accord with the intensity of
my feelings that I almost shrieked with pain.
"Do you think I would allow my dear girl to demean herself in any such
way as that? No, no! Love in a cottage is a delightful theory, but put
into practice it becomes terribly disappointing."
I drew away my hands from him and sat for some moments in silence.
"I think it is best that our engagement should come to an end," I said
presently.
He made a sigh of resignation. "That is for you to decide. It rests with
you, of course."
"I agree with you that it would be very foolish of us to marry without
my father's consent, Mr. Dale."
He drew himself up a little, and looked at me as if hurt. "Are you angry
with me, Virginia?"
"Angry? Why should I be angry?"
"Then why call me Mr. Dale?"
"Because," I answered quietly and firmly, though I felt my anger rising,
"unless you are to be my husband, you must be Mr. Dale."
"Can we not be friends?" he asked in a dejected tone.
"We can never be anything else," I answered with some ambiguity; and I
rose and rang the bell.
The servant entered. "Tell Mr. Harlan, please, that I would like to
speak to him."
"I think we are acting for the best," he said, after an awkward pause.
"I am sure we are, Mr. Dale." It was undignified, it may be, to betray
my feelings, but my love was too strong to die without a murmur.
My father looked inquiringly at us as he entered. His face seemed to me
almost haggard.
I said at once, "Father, we have made up our minds that you are right.
It would be madness in us to marry without your consent. The credit of
our decision belongs to Mr. Dale. He has proved to me that our
engagement should come to an end."
My father turned toward him with a scornful smile, appreciating, I
think, the gentle sarcasm of my words. But I doubt if Roger did, for he
added immediately,--
"Yes, sir; I cannot consent to the sacrifice your daughter is prepared
to make."
"I am glad that she as well as you have come to your senses, and I thank
you for making the only amends possible for having endeavored to enter
my family contrary to my desire, by teaching my daughter her duty. I
have no doubt that we shall both be very grateful to you in the future."
This time Roger perceived that he was being laughed at, for his cheeks
flushed. But he recovered his composure, and looking at me, said,--
"I trust I may continue to come to see you as usual."
I trembled all over at his words, but I controlled myself, and
answered,--
"If you wish."
After a few moments of awkward hesitancy he left us.
When I knew that he was really gone, I could restrain myself no longer.
Sinking into a chair, I covered my face with my hands and burst into a
flood of tears. "Oh, father, he has deceived me! He has broken my
heart!"