CHAPTER XXXVI

LAST WORDS

CHAPTER I

THREE GIRLS

It was a very cold blustering day in early January, and even brilliant

thronged Broadway felt the influence of winter's harshest frown. There

had been a heavy fall of snow which, though in the main cleared from

the sidewalks, lay in the streets comparatively unsullied and

unpacked. Fitful gusts of the passing gale caught it up and whirled it

in every direction. From roof, ledges, and window-sills, miniature

avalanches suddenly descended on the startled pedestrians, and the air

was here and there loaded with falling flakes from wild hurrying

masses of clouds, the rear-guard of the storm that the biting

northwest wind was driving seaward.

It was early in the afternoon, and the great thoroughfare was almost

deserted. Few indeed would be abroad for pleasure in such weather, and

the great tide of humanity that must flow up and down this channel

every working day of the year under all skies had not yet turned

northward.

But surely this graceful figure coming up the street with quick,

elastic steps has not the aspect of one driven forth by grave business

cares, nor in the natural course of things would one expect so young a

lady to know much of life's burdens and responsibilities. As she

passes I am sure the reader would not turn away from so pleasant a

vision, even if Broadway were presenting all its numberless

attractions, but at such a time would make the most of the occasion,

assured that nothing so agreeable would greet his eyes again that

sombre day.

The fierce gusts make little impression on her heavy, close-fitting

velvet dress, and in her progress against the wind she appears so trim

and taut that a sailor's eye would be captivated. She bends her little

turbaned head to the blast, and her foot strikes the pavement with a

decision that suggests a naturally brave, resolute nature, and gives

abundant proof of vigor and health. A trimming of silver fox fur

caught and contrasted the snow crystals against the black velvet of

her dress, in which the flakes catch and mingle, increasing the sense

of lightness and airiness which her movements awaken, and were you

seeking a fanciful embodiment of the spirit of the snow, you might

rest satisfied with the first character that appears upon the scene of

my story.

But on nearer view there was nothing spirit-like or even spirituelle

in her aspect, save that an extremely transparent complexion was

rendered positively dazzling by the keen air and the glow of exercise;

and the face was much too full and blooming to suggest the shadowy and

ethereal.

When near Twenty-first Street she entered a fruit store and seemed in

search of some delicacy for an invalid. As her eye glanced around

among the fragrant tropical fruits that suggested lands in wide

contrast to the wintry scene without, she suddenly uttered a low

exclamation of delight, as she turned from them to old friends, all

the more welcome because so unexpected at that season. These were

nothing less than a dozen strawberries, in dainty baskets, decked out,

or more truly eked out, with a few green leaves. Three or four baskets

constituted the fruiterer's entire stock, and probably the entire

supply for the metropolis of America that day.

She had scarcely time to lift a basket and inhale its delicious aroma,

before the proprietor of the store was in bowing attendance, quite as

openly admiring her carnation cheeks as she the ruby fruit The man's

tongue was, however, more decorous than his eyes, and to her question

as to price he replied:

"_Only_ two dollars a basket, miss, and certainly they are beauties

for this season of the year. They are all I could get, and I don't

believe there is another strawberry in New York."

"I will take them all," was the brief, decisive answer, and from a

costly portemonnaie she threw down the price, a proceeding which the

man noted in agreeable surprise, again curiously scanning the fair

face as he made up the parcel with ostentatious zeal. But his customer

was unconscious, or, more truly, indifferent to his admiration, and

seemed much more interested in the samples of choice fruit arranged on

every side. From one to another of these she flitted with the delicate

sensuousness of a butterfly, smelling them and touching them lightly

with the hand she had ungloved (which was as white as the snow

without), as if they had for her a peculiar fascination.

"You seem very fond of fruit," said the merchant, his _amour propre_

pleased by her evident interest in his stock.

"I have ever had a passion for fine fruits and flowers," was the

reply, spoken with that perfect frankness characteristic of American

girls. "No, you need not send it; I prefer to take it with me."

And with a slight smile, she passed out, leaving the fruiterer

chuckling over the thought that he had probably had the pleasantest

bit of trade on Broadway that dull day.

Plunging through the drifts, our nymph of the snow resolutely crossed

the street and passed down to a flower store, but, instead of buying a

bouquet, ordered several pots of budding and blooming plants to be

sent to her address. She then made her way to Fifth Avenue and soon

mounted a broad flight of steps to one of its most stately houses. The

door yielded to her key, her thick walking boots clattered for a

moment on the marble floor, but could not disguise the lightness of

her step as she tripped up the winding stair and pushed open a

rosewood door leading into the upper hall.

"Mother, mother," she exclaimed, "here is a treat for you that will

banish nerves, headache, and horrors generally. See what I have found

for you out in the wintry snows. Now am I not a good fairy for once?"

"Oh, Edith, child, not so boisterous, please," responded a querulous

voice from a great easy-chair by the glowing grate, and a middle-aged

lady turned a white, faded face toward her daughter.

"Forgive me, mother, but my tramp in the January storm has made me

feel rampantly well. I wish you could go out and take a run every day

as I do. You would then look younger and prettier than your daughters,

as you used to."

The invalid shivered and drew her shawl closer around her,

complaining:

"I think you have brought the whole month of January in with you. You

really must show more consideration, my dear, for if I should take

cold--" and the lady ended with a weary, suggestive sigh.

In fact, Edith had entered the dim heavily-perfumed room like a gust

of wholesome air, her young blood tingling and electric with exercise,

and her heart buoyant with the thought of the surprise and pleasure

she had in store for her mother. But the manner in which she had been

received had already chilled her more than the biting blasts on

Broadway. She therefore opened her bundle and set out the little

baskets before her mother very quietly. The lady glanced at them for a

moment and then said, indifferently:

"It is very good of you to think of me, my dear; they look very

pretty. I am sorry I cannot eat them, but their acid would only

increase my dyspepsia. Those raised in winter must be very sour. Ugh!

the thought of it sets my teeth on edge," and the poor, nervous

creature shrank deeper into her wrappings.

"I am very sorry, mother, I thought they would be a great treat for

you," said Edith, quite crestfallen. "Never mind; I got some flowers,

and they will be here soon."

"Thank you, dear, but the doctor says they are not healthy in a room--Oh, dear--that child! what shall I do!"

The front door banged, there was a step on the stairs, but not so

light as Edith's had been, and a moment later the door burst open, and

"the child" rushed in like a mild whirlwind, exclaiming:

"Hurrah! hurrah! school to the shades. No more teachers and tyrants

for me," and down went an armful of books with a bang on the table.

"Oh, Zell!" cried Edith, "please be quiet; mother has a headache."

"There, there, your baby will kiss it all away," and the irrepressible

young creature threw her arms around the bundle that Mrs. Allen had

made herself into by her many wrappings, and before she ceased, the

red pouting lips left the faintest tinge of their own color on the

faded cheeks of the mother.

The lady endured the boisterous embrace with a martyr-like expression.

Zell was evidently a privileged character, the spoiled pet of the

household. But a new voice was now heard that was sharper than the

"pet" was accustomed to.

"Zell, you are a perfect bear. One would think you had learned your

manners at a boys' boarding school."

Zell's great black eyes blazed for a moment toward the speaker, who

was a young lady reclining on a lounge near the window, and who in

appearance must have been the counterpart of Mrs. Allen herself as she

had looked twenty-three years before. In contrast with her sharp,

annoyed tone, her cheeks and eyes were wet with tears.

"What are you crying about?" was Zell's brusque response. "Oh, I see;

a novel. What a ridiculous old thing you are. I never saw you shed a

tear over real trouble, and yet every few days you are dissolved in

brine over Adolph Moonshine's agonies, and Seraphina's sentiment,

which any sensible person can see is caused by dyspepsia. No such

whipped syllabub for me, but real life."

"And what does 'real life' mean for you, I would like to know, but

eating, dressing, and flirting?" was the acid retort.

"Though you call me 'child,' I have lived long enough to learn that

eating, dressing, and flirting, and while you are about it you might

as well add drinking, is the 'real life' of most of the ladies of our

set. Indeed, if my poor memory does not fail me, I have seen you

myself take a turn at these things sufficiently often to make the

sublime scorn of your tone a little inconsistent."

As these barbed arrows flew, the tears rapidly exhaled from the hot

cheeks of the young lady on the sofa. Her elegant languor vanished,

and she started up; but Mrs. Allen now interfered, and in tones harsh

and high, very different from the previous delicate murmurs,

exclaimed:

"Children, you drive me wild. Zell, leave the room, and don't show

yourself again till you can behave yourself."

Zell was now sobbing, partly in sorrow and partly in anger, but she

let fly a few more Parthian arrows over her shoulder as she passed

out.

"This is a pretty way to treat one on their birthday. I came home with

heart as light as the snowflakes around me, and now you have spoiled

everything. I don't know how it is, but I always have a good time

everywhere else, but there is something in this house that often sets

one's teeth on edge," and the door banged appropriately with a

spiteful emphasis as the last word was spoken.

"Poor child," said Edith, "it _is_ too bad that she should be so

dashed with cold water on her birthday."

"She isn't a child," said the eldest sister, rising from the sofa and

sweeping from the room, "though she often acts like one, and a very

bad one too. Her birthday should remind her that if she is ever to be

a woman, it is time to commence," and the stately young lady passed

coldly away. Edith, went to the window and looked dejectedly out into

the early gloom of the declining winter day. Mrs. Allen sighed and

looked more nervous and uncomfortable than usual.

The upholsterer had done his part in that elegant home, The feet sank

into the carpets as in moss. Luxurious chairs seemed to embrace the

form that sank into them. Everything, was padded, rounded, and

softened, except tongues and tempers. If wealth could remove the

asperities from these as from material things, it might well be

coveted. But this is beyond the upholsterer's art, and Mrs. Allen knew

little of the Divine art that can wrap up words and deeds with a

kindness softer than eider-down.

"Mother's room," instead of being a refuge and a favorite haunt of

these three girls, was a place where, as we have seen, their "teeth

were set on edge."

Naturally they shunned the place, visiting the invalid rather than

living with her; their reluctant feet impelled across the threshold by

a sense of duty rather than drawn by the cords of love. The mother

felt this in a vague, uncomfortable way, for mother love was there,

only it had seemingly turned sour, and instead of attracting her

children by sweetness and sympathy, she querulously complained to them

and to her husband of their neglect. He would sometimes laugh it off,

sometimes shrug his shoulders indifferently, and again harshly chide

the girls, according to his mood, for he varied much in this respect.

After being cool and wary all day in Wall Street, he took off the curb

at home; therefore the variations that never could be counted on. How

he would be at dinner did not depend on himself or any principle, but

on circumstances. In the main he was indulgent and kind, though quick

and passionate, brooking no opposition; and the girls were really more

attached to him and found more pleasure in his society than in their

mother's. Zelica, the youngest, was his special favorite, and he

humored and petted her at a ruinous rate, though often storming at

some of her follies.

Mrs. Allen saw this preference of her husband, and was weak enough to

feel and show jealousy. But her complainings were ineffectual, for we

can no more scold people into loving us than nature could make buds

blossom by daily nipping them with frost. And yet she made her

children uncomfortable by causing them to feel that it was unnatural

and wrong that they did not care more for their mother. This was

especially true of Edith, who tried to satisfy her conscience, as we

have seen, by bringing costly presents and delicacies that were seldom

needed or appreciated.

Edith soon became so oppressed by her mother's sighs and silence and

the heavy perfumed air, that she sprang up, and pressing a remorseful

kiss on the white thin face, said:

"I must dress for dinner, mamma: I will send your maid," and vanished

also.

CHAPTER II

A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING

The dining-room at six o'clock wore a far more cheerful aspect than

the invalid's room upstairs. It was furnished in a costly manner, but

more ostentatiously than good taste would dictate. You instinctively

felt that it was a sacred place to the master of the house, in which

he daily sacrificed to one of his chosen deities.

The portly colored waiter, in dress coat and white vest, has just

placed the soup on the table, and Mr. Allen enters, supporting his

wife. He had sort of manly toleration for all her whims and

weaknesses. He had never indulged in any lofty ideas of womanhood, nor

had any special longings for her sympathy and companionship. Business

was the one engrossing thing of his life, and this he honestly

believed woman incapable of, from her very nature. It was true of his

wife, but due to a false education rather than to any innate

difficulties, and he no more expected her to comprehend and sympathize

intelligently with his business operations, than to see her go down to

Wall Street with him wearing his hat and coat.

She had been the leading belle in his set years ago. He had admired

her immensely as a stylish, beautiful woman, and carried her off from

dozens of competitors, who were fortunate in their failure. He always

maintained a show of gallantry and deference; which, though but

veneer, was certainly better than open disregard and brutal neglect.

So now, with a good-natured tolerance and politeness, he seated the

feeble creature in a cushioned chair at the table, treating her more

like a spoiled child than as a friend and companion. The girls

immediately appeared also, for they knew their father's weakness too

well to keep him waiting for his dinner.

Zell bounded into his arms in her usual impulsive style, and the

father caressed her in a way that showed that his heart was very

tender toward his youngest child.

"And so my baby is seventeen to-day," he said. "Well, well, how fast

we are growing old."

The girl laughed; the man sighed. The one was on the threshold of what

she deemed the richest pleasures of life; the other had well-nigh

exhausted them, and for a moment realized it.

Still he was in excellent spirits, for he had been unusually fortunate

that day, and had seen his way to an "operation" that promised a

golden future. He sat down therefore to the good cheer with not a

little of the spirit of the man in the parable, whose complacent

exhortation to his soul has ever been the language of false security

and prosperity.

The father's open favoritism for Zell was another source of jealousy,

her sisters naturally feeling injured by it. Thus in this household

even human love was discordant and perverted, and the Divine love

unknown. What chance had character, that thing of slow growth, in such

an atmosphere?

The popping of a champagne cork took the place of grace at the opening

of the meal, and the glasses were filled all around. In honor of

Zell's birthday they drank to her health and happiness. By no better

form or more suggestive ceremony could this Christian (?) family wish

their youngest member "God-speed" on entering the vicissitudes of a

new year of life. But what they did was done heartily, and every glass

was drained. To them it seemed very appropriate and her father said,

glancing admiringly at her flaming cheeks and dancing eyes--

"This is just the thing to drink Zell's health in, for she is as full

of sparkle and effervescence as the champagne itself."

Had he been a wiser and more thoughtful man, he would have carried the

simile further and remembered the fate of champagne when exposed.

However piquant and pleasing Zell's sparkle might be, it would hardly

secure success and safety for life. But in his creed a girl's first

duty was to be pretty and fascinating, and he was extremely proud of

the beauty of his daughters. It was his plan to marry them to rich men

who would maintain them in the irresponsible luxury that their mother

had enjoyed.

Circumstances seemed to justify his security. The son of a rich man,

he had also inherited a taste for business and the art of making

money. Years of prosperity had confirmed his confidence, and he looked

complacently around upon his family and talked of the future in

sanguine tones.

He was a man considerably past his prime, and his florid face and

portly form indicated that he was in the habit of doing ample justice

to the good cheer before him. Intense application to business in early

years and indulgence of appetite in later life had seriously impaired

a constitution naturally good. He reminded you of a flower fully blown

or of fruit overripe.

"Since you have permitted Zell to leave school, I suppose she must

make her debut soon," said Mrs. Allen with more animation than usual

in her tone.

"Oh, certainly," cried Zell, "on Edith's birthday, in February. We

have arranged it all, haven't we, Edith?"

"Heigho! then I am to have no part in the matter," said her father.

"Yes, indeed, papa," cried the saucy girl, "you are to have no end of

kisses, and a very long bill."

This sally pleased him immensely, for it expressed his ideal of

womanly return for masculine affection, at least the bills had never

been wanting in his experience. But, mellowed by wine and elated by

the success of the day, he now prepared to give the coup that would

make a far greater sensation in the family circle than even a debut or

a birthday party. So, glancing from one eager face to another (for

between the wine and the excitement even Mrs. Allen was no longer a

colorless, languid creature, ready to faint at the embrace of her

child), he said with a twinkle in his eye--

"Well, go to your mother about the party. She is a veteran in such

matters. But let there be some limit to the length of the bill, or I

can't carry out another plan I have in view for you."

Chorus--"What is that?"

Coolly filling his glass, he commenced leisurely sipping, while

glancing humorously from one to another, enjoying their impatient

expectancy.

"If you don't tell us right away," cried Zell, bouncing up, "I'll pull

your whiskers without mercy."

"Papa, you will throw mother into a fever. See how flushed her face

is!" said Laura, the eldest daughter, speaking at the same time two

words for herself.

The face of Edith, with dazzling complexion all aglow, and large dark

eyes lustrous with excitement, was more eloquent than words could have

been, and the bon vivant drank in her expression with as much zest as

he sipped his wine. Perhaps it was well for him to make the most of

that little keen-edged moment of bright anticipation and bewildering

hope, for what he was about to propose would cost him many thousands,

and exile him from business, which to him was the very breath of life.

But Mrs. Allen's matter-of-fact voice brought things to a crisis, for

with an injured air she said:

"How can you, George, when you know the state of my nerves?"

"What I propose, mamma, will cure your nerves and everything else, for

it is nothing less than a tour through Europe."

There was a shriek of delight from the girls, in which even the

exquisite Laura joined, and Mrs. Allen trembled with excitement. Apart

from the trip itself, they considered it a sort of disgrace that a

family of their social position and wealth had never been abroad.

Therefore the announcement was doubly welcome. Hitherto Mr. Allen's

devotion to business had made it impossible, and he had given them no

hints of the near consummation of their wishes. But he had begun to

feel the need of change and rest himself, and this weighed more with

him than all their entreaties.

In a moment Zell had her arms about his neck, and her sisters were

throwing him kisses across the table. His wife, looking unusually

gratified, said:

"You are a sensible man at last," which was a great deal for Mrs.

Allen to say.

"Why, mamma," exclaimed her husband, elevating his eyebrows in comic

surprise, "that I should live to hear you say that!"

"Now don't be silly," she replied, joining slightly in the laugh at

her expense, "or we shall think that you have taken too much

champagne, and that this Europe business is all a hoax."

"Wait till you have been outside of Sandy Hook an hour, and you will

find everything real enough then. I think I see the elegant ladies of

my household about that time."

"For shame, papa! what an uncomfortable suggestion over a dinner

table!" said the fastidious Laura. "Picture the ladies of your

household in the salons of Paris. I promise we will do you credit

there."

"I hope so, for I fear I shall have need of _credit_ when you all

reach that Mecca of women."

"It's no more the Mecca of women than Wall Street is the Jerusalem of

men. What you are all going to do in Heaven without Wall Street, I

don't see."

Mr. Allen gave his significant shrug and said, "I don't meet notes

till they are due," which was his way of saying: "Sufficient unto the

day is the evil thereof."

"The salons of Paris!" said Edith, with some disdain. "Think of the

scenery, the orange-groves, and vineyards that we shall see, the

Alpine flowers--"

"I declare," interrupted Zell, "I believe that Edith would rather see

a grape-vine and orange-tree than all the toilets of Paris."

"I shall enjoy seeing both," was the reply, "and so have the advantage

of you in having two strings to my bow."

"By the way, that reminds me to ask how many beaux you now have on the

string," said the father.

Edith tossed her head with a pretty blush and said: "Pity me, my

father; you know I am always poor at arithmetic."

"You will take up with a crooked stick after all. Now Laura is a

sensible girl, like her mother, and has picked out one of the richest,

longest-headed fellows on the street."

"Indeed!" said his wife. "I do not see but you are paying yourself a

greater compliment than either Laura or me."

"Oh, no, a mere business statement. Laura means business, and so does

Mr. Goulden."

Laura looked annoyed and said:

"Pa, I thought you never talked business at home."

"Oh, this is a feminine phase that women understand. I want your

sisters to profit by your good example."

"I shall marry an Italian count," cried Zell.

"Who will turn out a fourth-rate Italian barber, and I shall have to

support you both. But I won't do it. You would have to help him

shave."

"No, I should transform him into a leader of banditti, and we would

live in princely state in the Apennines. Then we would capture you,

papa, and carry you off to the mountains, and I would be your jailer,

and give you nothing but turtle-soup, champagne, and kisses till you

paid a ransom that would break Wall Street."

"I would not pay a cent, but stay and eat you out of house and home."

"I never expect to marry," said Edith, "but some day I am going to

commence saving my money--now don't laugh, papa, for I could be

economical if I once made up my mind"--and the pretty head gave a

decisive little nod.

"I am going to save my money and buy a beautiful place in the country

and make it as near like the garden of Eden as possible."

"Snakes will get into it as of old," was Mrs. Allen's cynical remark.

"Yes, that is woman's experience with a garden," said her husband with

a mock sigh.

Popping off the cork of another bottle, he added, "I have got ahead of

you, Edith. I own a place in the country, much as I dislike that kind

of property. I had to take it to-day in a trade, and so am a

landholder in Pushton--prospect, you see, of my becoming a rural

gentleman (Squire is the title, I believe), and of exchanging stock in

Wall Street for the stock of a farm. Here's to my estate of three

acres with a story and a half mansion upon it! Perhaps you would

rather go up there this summer than to Paris, my dear?" to his wife.

Mrs. Allen gave a contemptuous shrug as if the jest were too

preposterous to be answered, but Edith cried:

"Fill my glass; I will drink to your country place. I know the cottage

is a sweet rustic little box, all smothered with vines and roses like

one I saw last June." Then she added in sport, "I wish you would give

it to me for my birthday present. It would make such a nice porter's

lodge at the entrance to my future Eden."

"Are you in earnest?" asked the father suddenly.

Both were excited by the wine they had drunk. She glanced at her

father, and saw that he was in a mood to say yes to anything, and,

quick as thought, she determined to get the place if possible.

"Of course I am. I would rather have it than all the jewelry in New

York." She was over-supplied with that style of gift.

"You shall have it then, for I am sure I don't want it, and am

devoutly thankful to be rid of it."

Edith clapped her hands with a delight scarcely less demonstrative

than that of Zell in her wildest moods.

"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Allen; "the idea of giving a young lady such an

elephant!"

"Bat remember," continued her father, "you must manage it yourself,

pay the taxes, keep it repaired, insured, etc. There is a first-class

summer hotel near it. Next year, after we get back from Europe, we

will go up there and stay awhile. You shall then take possession,

employ an agent to take care of it, who by the way will cheat you to

your heart's content. I will wager you a box of gloves that, before a

year passes, you will try to sell the ivy-twined cottage for anything

you can get, and will be thoroughly cured of your mania for country

life."

"I'll take you up," said Edith, in great excitement, "but remember, I

want my deed on my birthday."

"All right," said Mr. Allen, laughing. "I will transfer it to you to-morrow, while I think of it. But don't try to trade it off to me

before next month for a new dress."

Edith was half wild over her present. Many and varied were her

questions, but her father only said:

"I don't know much about it. I did not listen to half the man said,

but I remember he stated there was a good deal of fruit on the place,

for it made me think of you at the time. Bless you, I could not stop

for such small game. I am negotiating a large and promising operation

which you understand about as well as farming. It will take some time

to carry it through, but when finished we will start for the 'salons

of Paris.'"

"I half believe," said Laura, with a covert sneer, "that Edith would

rather go up to her farm of three acres."

"I am well satisfied as papa has arranged it," said the practical

girl. "Everything in its place, and get all out of life you can, is my

creed."

"That means, get all out of me you can, don't it, sly puss?" laughed

the father, well pleased, though, with the worldly wisdom of the

speech.

"Kisses, kisses, unlimited kisses, and consider yourself well repaid,"

was the arch rejoinder; and not a few, looking at her as she then

appeared, would have coveted such bargains. So her father seemed to

think as he gazed admiringly at her.

But something in Zell's pouting lips and vexed expression caught his

eye, and he said good-naturedly:

"Heigho, youngster, what has brought a thunder-cloud across your saucy

face?"

"In providing for birthdays to come, I guess you have forgotten your

baby's birthday present."

"Come here, you envious elf," said her father, taking something from

his pocket. Like light she flashed out from under the cloud and was at

his side in an instant, dimpling, smiling, and twinkling with

expectation, her black eyes as quick and restless as her father was

deliberate and slow in undoing a dainty parcel.

"Oh, George, do be quick about it, or Zell will explode. You both make

me nervous," said Mrs. Allen fretfully.

Suddenly pressing open a velvet casket, Mr. Allen hung a jewelled

watch with a long gold chain about his favorite's neck, while she

improvised a hornpipe around his chair.

"There," said he, "is something that is worth more than Edith's farm,

tumble-down cottage, roses, and all. So remember that those lips were

made to kiss, not to pout with."

Zell put her lips to proper uses to that extent that Mrs. Allen began

to grow jealous, nervous, and out of sorts generally, and having

finished her chocolate, rose feebly from the table. Her husband

offered his arm and the family dinner party broke up.

And yet, take it altogether, each one was in higher spirits than

usual, and Zell and Edith were in a state of positive delight. They

had received costly gifts that specially gratified their peculiar

tastes, and these, with the promise of a grand party and a trip to

Europe, youthful buoyancy, and champagne, so dilated their little

feminine souls that Mrs. Allen's fears of an explosion of some kind

were scarcely groundless. They dragged their stately sister Laura, now

unwontedly bland and affable, to the piano, and called for the

quickest and most brilliant of waltzes, and a moment later their lithe

figures flowed away in a rhythm of motion, that from their exuberance

of feeling, was as fantastic as it was graceful.

Mr. Allen assisted his wife to her room and soon left her in an

unusually contented frame of mind to develop strategy for the coming

party. Mrs. Allen's nerves utterly incapacitated her for the care of

her household, attendance upon church, and such humdrum matters, but

in view of a great occasion like a "grand crush ball," where among the

luminaries of fashion she could become the refulgent centre of a

constellation which her fair daughters would make around her, her

spirit rose to the emergency. When it came to dress and dressmakers

and all the complications of the campaign now opening, notwithstanding

her nerves, she could be quite Napoleonic.

Her husband retired to the library, lighted a choice Havana, skimmed

his evening papers, and then as usual went to his club.

This, as a general thing, was the extent of the library's literary

uses. The best authors in gold and Russia smiled down from the black

walnut shelves, but the books were present rather as furniture than

from any intrinsic value in themselves to the family. They were given

prominence on the same principle that led Mrs. Allen to give a certain

tone to her entertainments by inviting many literary and scientific

men. She might be unable to appreciate the works of the _savants_, but

as they appreciated the labors of her masterly French cook, many

compromised the matter by eating the _petits soupers_ and shrugging

their shoulders over the entertainers.

And yet the Allens were anything but vulgar upstarts. Both husband and

wife were descended from old and wealthy New York families. They had

all the polish which life-long association with the fashionable world

bestows. What was more, they were highly intelligent, and, in their

own sphere, gifted people. Mr. Allen was a leader in business in one

of the chief commercial centres, and to lead in legitimate business in

our day requires as much ability, indeed we may say genius, as to lead

in any order department of life. He would have shown no more ignorance

in the study, studio, and laboratory, than their occupants would have

shown in the counting-room. That to which he devoted his energies he

had become a master in. It is true he had narrowed down his life to

little else than business. He had never acquired a taste for art and

literature, nor had he given himself time for broad culture. But we

meet narrow artists, narrow clergymen, narrow scientists just as

truly. If you do not get on their hobby and ride with them, they seem

disposed to ride over you. Indeed, in our brief life with its fierce

competitions, few other than what are known as "one idea" men have

time to succeed. Even genius must drive with tremendous and

concentrated energy, to distance competitors. Mr. Allen was quite as

great in his department as any of the lions that his wife lured into

her parlors were in theirs.

Mrs. Allen was also a leader in her own chosen sphere, or rather in

the one to which she had been educated. Given _carte-blanche_ in the

way of expense, she would produce a brilliant entertainment which few

could surpass. The coloring and decorations of her rooms would not be

more rich, varied, or in better taste, than the diversity, and yet

harmony of the people she would bring together by her adroit

selections. She had studied society, and for it she lived, not to make

it better, not to elevate its character, and tone down its

extravagances, but simply to shine in it, to be talked about and

envied.

Both husband and wife had achieved no small success, and to succeed in

such a city as New York in their chosen departments required a certain

amount of genius. The _savants_ had a general admiration for Mrs.

Allen's style and taste, but found that she had nothing to offer on

the social exchange of her parlors but fashion's smallest chit-chat.

They had a certain respect for Mr. Allen's wealth and business power,

but, having discussed the news of the day, they would pass on, and the

people during the intervals of dancing drifted into congenial schools

and shoals, like fish in a lake. Mr. and Mrs. Allen had a vague

admiration for the learning of the scholars and the culture of the

artists, but would infinitely prefer marrying their daughters to

downtown merchant princes.

Take the world over, perhaps all classes of people are despising

others quite as much as they are despised themselves.

But when the French cook appeared upon the scene, then was produced

your true democracy. Then was shown a phase of life into which all

entered with a zest that proved the common tie of humanity.

CHAPTER III

THREE MEN

While Mrs. Allen was planning the social pyrotechnics that should

dazzle the fashionable world, Edith and Zell were working off their

exuberant spirits in the manner described in the last chapter, which

was as natural to their city-bred feet as a wild romp is to a country

girl.

The brilliant notes of the piano and the rustle of their silks had

rendered them oblivious to the fact that the door-bell had rung twice,

and that three gentlemen were peering curiously through the half-open

door. They were evidently frequent and favored visitors, and had

motioned the old colored waiter not to announce them, and he

reluctantly obeyed.

For a moment they feasted their eyes on the scene, as the two girls,

with twining arms and many innovations on the regular step, whirled

through the rooms, and then Zell's quick eye detected them.

Pouncing upon the eldest gentleman of the party, she dragged him from

his ambush, while the others also entered. The youngest approached the

blushing, panting Edith with an almost boyish confidence of manner, as

if assured of a welcome, while the remaining gentleman, who was

verging toward middle age, quietly glided to the piano and gave his

hand to Laura, who greeted him with a cordiality scarcely to be

expected from so stately a young lady.

The laws of affinity and selection were evidently in force here, and

as the reader must surmise, long acquaintance had led to the present

easy and intimate relations.

"What do you mean," cried Zell, dragging under the gaslight her

cavalier, who assumed much penitence and fear, "by thus rudely and

abruptly breaking in upon the retirement of three secluded young

ladies?"

"At their devotions," added the cynical voice of the gentleman at the

piano, who was no other than Mr. Goulden, Laura's admirer.

Zell's attendant threw himself in the attitude of a suppliant and said

deprecatingly:

"Nay, but we are astronomers."

"That's a fib, and not a very white one either," she retorted. "I

don't believe you ever look toward heaven for anything."

"What need of looking thither for heavenly bodies?" he replied in a

low, meaning tone, regarding with undisguised admiration her glowing

cheeks. "Moreover, I don't like telescopic distances," he continued,

with a half-made motion to put his arm around her waist.

"Come," she said, pirouetting out of his reach, "remember I am no

longer a child, I am seventeen to-day."

"Would that you might never be a day older in appearance and

feelings!"

"Are you willing to leave me so far behind?" she asked with some

maliciousness.

"No, but you would make me a boy again. If old Ponce de Leon had met a

Miss Zell, he would soon have forsaken the swamps and alligators of

Florida." "Oh, what a watery, scaly compliment! Preferred to swamps

and alligators! Who would have believed it?"

"I am not blind to your pretty, wilful blindness. You know I likened

you to something too divine and precious to be found on earth."

"Which is still true in the carrying out of your marvellously mixed

metaphors. I must lend you my rhetoric book. But as your meaning dawns

on me, I see that you are symbolized by old Ponce. I shall look in the

history for the age of the ancient Spaniard to-morrow, and then I

shall know how old you are, a thing I could never find out."

As with little jets of silvery laughter and with butterfly motion she

hovered round him, the very embodiment of life and beautiful youth,

she would have made, to an artist's eye, a very true realization of

the far-famed mythical fountain.

And yet, as a moment later she confidingly took his arm and strolled

toward the library, it was evident that all her flutter and hesitancy,

her seeming freedom and mimic show of war, were like those of some

bright tropical bird fascinated by a remorseless serpent whose intent

eyes and deadly purpose are creating a spell that cannot be resisted.

Mr. Van Dam, upon whose arm she was leaning, was one of the worst

products of artificial metropolitan life. He had inherited a name

which ancestry had rendered honorable, but which he to the utmost

dishonored, and yet so adroitly, so shrewdly respecting fashion's

code, though shunning nothing wrong, that he did not lose the _entree_

of the gilded homes of those who called themselves "the best society."

True, it was whispered that he was rather fast, that he played heavily

and a trifle too successfully, and that he lived the life of anything

but a saint at his luxurious rooms. "But then," continued society,

openly and complacently, "he is so fine-looking, so courtly and

polished, so well connected, and what is still more to the point, my

dear, he is reputed to be immensely wealthy, so we must not heed these

rumors. After all, it is the way of these young men of the world."

Thus "the best society" that would have politely frozen out of its

parlors the Chevalier Bayard, _sans peur et sans reproche_, had he not

appeared in the latest style, with golden fame rather than golden

spurs, welcomed Mr. Van Dam. Indeed, not a few forced exotic belles,

who had prematurely developed in the hothouse atmosphere of wealth and

extravagance, regarded him as a sort of social lion; and his

reticence, with a certain mystery in which he shrouded his evil life,

made him all the more fascinating. He was past the prime of life,

though exceedingly well preserved, for he was one of those cool,

deliberate votaries of pleasure that reduce amusement to a science,

and carefully shun all injurious excess. While exceedingly deferential

toward the sex in general, and bestowing compliments and attentions as

adroitly as a financier would place his money, he at the same time

permitted the impression to grow that he was extremely fastidious in

his taste, and had never married because it had never been his fortune

to meet the faultless being who could satisfy his exacting eyes. Any

special and continued admiration on his part therefore made its

recipient an object of distinction and envy to very many in the unreal

world in which he glided serpent-like, rather than moved as a man. To

morbid minds his rumored evil deeds became piquant eccentricities, and

the whispers of the oriental orgies that were said to take place in

his bachelor apartments made him an object of a curious interest, and

many sighed for the opportunity of reforming so distinguished a

sybarite.

On Edith's entrance into society he had been much impressed by her

beauty, and had gradually grown quite attentive, equally attracted by

her father's wealth. But she, though with no clear perception of his

character, and with no higher moral standard than that of her set,

instinctively shrank from the man. Indeed, in some respects, they were

too much alike for that mysterious attraction that so often occurs

between opposites. Not that she had his unnatural depravity, but like

him she was shrewd, practical, resolute, and was controlled by her

judgment rather than by her impulses. Her vanity, of which she had no

little share, led her to accept his attentions to a certain point, but

the keen man of the world soon saw that his "little game," as in his

own vernacular he styled it, would not be successful, and he was the

last one to sigh in vain or mope an hour in lovelorn melancholy. While

ceasing to press his suit, he continued to be a frequent and familiar

visitor at the house, and thus his attention was drawn to Zell, who,

though young, had developed early in the stimulating atmosphere in

which she lived. At first he petted and played with ner as a child, as

she wilfully flitted in and out of the parlors, whether her sisters

wanted her or not. He continually brought her _bon-bons_ and like

fanciful trifles, till at last, in jest, the family called him Zell's

"ancient beau."

But during the past year it had dawned on him that the child he petted

on account of her beauty and sprightliness, was rapidly becoming a

brilliant woman, who would make a wife far more to his taste than her

equally beautiful but matter-of-fact sister. Therefore he warily, so

as not to alarm the jealous father, but with all the subtle skill of

which he was master, sought to win her affections, knowing that she

would have her own way when she knew what way she wanted.

For Zell this unscrupulous man had a peculiar fascination. He petted

and flattered her to her heart's content, and thus made her the envy

of her young acquaintances, which was incense indeed to her vain

little soul. He never lectured or preached to her on account of her

follies and nonsense, as her elderly friends usually did, but gave to

her wild, impulsive moods free rein. Where a true friend would have

cautioned and curbed, he applauded and incited, causing Zell to

mistake extravagance in language and boldness in manner for spirit and

brilliancy. Laura and Edith often remonstrated with her, but she did

not heed them. Indeed, she feared no one save her father, and Mr. Van

Dam was propriety itself when he was present, which was but seldom.

What with his business, and club, and Mrs. Allen's nerves, the girls

were left mainly to themselves.

What wonder that there are so many shipwrecks, when young, heedless,

inexperienced hands must steer, unguided, through the most perilous

and treacherous of seas?

Mr. Allen's elegant, costly home was literally an unguarded fold, many

a laborer, living in a tenement house, doing more to shield his

daughters from the evil of the world.

To Mr. Van Dam, Zell was a perfect prize. Though he had sipped at the

cup of pleasure so leisurely and systematically, he was getting down

to the dregs. His taste was becoming palled, and satiety was burdening

him with its leaden weight. But as the child he petted developed daily

toward womanhood, he became interested, then fascinated by the

process. Her beauty was so brilliant, her excessive sprightliness so

contagious, that he felt his sluggish pulses stir and tingle with

excitement the moment he came into her presence. Her wild, varying

moods kept him constantly on the _qui vive_, and he would say in

confidence to one of his intimate cronies:

"The point is, Hal, she is such a spicy, piquant contrast to the

insipid society girls, who have no more individuality than fashion

blocks in Broadway windows."

He liked the kittenish young creature all the more because her

repartee was often a little cutting. If she had always struck him with

a velvet paw, the thing would have grown monotonous, but he

occasionally got a scratch that made him wince, cool and brazen as he

was. But, after all, he daily saw that he was gaining power over her,

and the manner in which the frank-hearted girl took his arm and leaned

upon it spoke volumes to the experienced man. While he habitually wore

a mask, Zell could conceal nothing, and across her April face flitted

her innermost thoughts.

If she had had a _mother_, she might, even in the wilderness of earth,

have become a blossom fit for heavenly gardens, but as it was, her

wayward nature, so full of dangerous beauty, was left to run wild.

Edith was beginning to be troubled at Zell's intimacy with Mr. Van

Dam, and to conceive a growing dislike for him mingled with suspicion.

As for Laura, the eldest, she was like her mother, too much wrapped up

in herself to have many thoughts for any one else, and they all

regarded Zell as a mere child still. Mr. Allen, who would have been

very anxious had Zell been receiving the attentions of some penniless

young clerk or artist, laughed at her "flirtation with old Van Dam" as

an eminently safe proceeding.

But on the present evening her sisters were too much occupied with

their own friends to give Zell or her dangerous admirer much

attention. As yet no formal engagement had bound any of them, but an

intimacy and mutual liking, tending to such a result, was rapidly

growing.

In Edith's case the attraction of contrasts was again shown. Augustus

Elliot, the youth who had approached her with such confidence and

grace, was quite as stylish a personage as herself, and that was

saying a great deal. But every line of his full handsome face, as well

as the expression of his light blue eyes, showed that he had less

decision in the whole of his luxurious nature than she in her little

finger. Self-indulgence and good-natured vanity were unmistakably his

characteristics. To yield, not for the good of others, but because not

strong enough to stand sturdily alone, was the law of his being. If he

could ever have been kept under the influence of good and stronger

natures, who would have developed his naturally kind heart and good

impulses into something like principle, he might have had a safe and

creditable career. But he was the idol of a foolish, fashionable

mother, and the pet of two or three sisters who were empty-brained

enough to think their handsome brother the perfection of mankind; and

by eye, manner, and often the plainest words, they told him as much,

and he had at last come to believe them. Why should they not? He was

faultless in his own dress, faultless in his criticism of a lady's

dress, taking the prevailing fashion as the standard. He was perfectly

versed in the polite slang of the day. He scented afar off and

announced the slightest change in the mode, so that his elegant

sisters could appear on the avenue in advance of the other fashion-plates. As they sailed away on a sunny afternoon in their gorgeous

plumage, the envy of many a competing belle, they would say:

"Isn't he a duck of a brother to give us a hint of a change so early?

After all there is no eye or taste like that of man when once

perfected."

And then they knew him to be equally _au fait_ on the flavor of wines,

the points of horses, the merits of every watering-place, and all the

other lore which in their world gave pre-eminence. They had been

educated to have no other ideal of manhood, and if an earnest,

straight forward man, with a purpose, had spoken out before them, they

would have regarded him as an uncouth monster.

Notwithstanding all his vanity, "Gus," as he was familiarly called,

was a very weak man, and though he would not acknowledge it, even to

himself, instinctively recognized the fact. He continually attached

himself to strong, resolute natures, by whom, if they were adroit, he

could easily be made a tool of. He took a great fancy to Edith from

the first hour of their acquaintance, and she soon obtained a strong

influence over him. She instinctively detected his yielding

disposition, and liked him the better for it, while his good-nature

and abundant supply of society talk made him a general favorite.

When every one whispered, "What a handsome couple they would make!"

and she found him so looked up to and quoted in the fashionable world,

she began to entertain quite an admiration as well as liking for him,

though she saw more and more clearly that there was nothing in him

that she could lean upon.

Gus's parents, who knew that the Allens were immensely wealthy, urged

on the match, but Mr. Allen, aware that the Elliots were living to the

extent of their means, discouraged it, plainly telling Edith his

reasons.

"But," said Edith, at the same time showing her heart in the practical

suggestion, "could not Gus go into business himself?"

"The worst thing he could do," said the keen Mr. Allen. "He has tried

it a few times, I have learned, but has not one business

qualification. He could not keep himself in toothpicks. His mother and

sisters have spoiled him. He is nothing but a society man. Mr. Elliot

has not a word to say at home. His business is to make money for them

to spend, and a tough time he has to keep up with them. You girls must

marry men who can take care of you, unless you wish to support your

husbands."

Mr. Allen's verdict was true, and Edith felt that it was. When a boy,

Gus could get out of lessons by running to his mother with a plea of

headache or any trifle, and in youth he had escaped business in like

manner. His father had tried him a few times in his office, but was

soon glad to fall in with his wife's opinion, that _her_ son "had

too much spirit and refinement for plodding humdrum business, that he

was a born gentleman and suited only to elegant leisure," and as his

gentleman son only did mischief downtown, the poor over-worked father

was glad to have him out of the way, for he with difficulty made both

ends meet, as it was. Hoping he would do better with strangers, he

had, by personal influence, procured him situations elsewhere, but

between the mother's weakness and the young man's confirmed habits of

idleness, it always ended by Gus saying to his employers:

"I'm going of on a little trip--by-by," at which they gave a sigh of

relief. It had at last become a recognized fact that Gus must marry an

heiress, this being about the only way for so fine a gentleman to

achieve the fortune that he could not stoop to toil for. As he admired

himself complacently in the gilded mirror that ornamented his

dressing-room, he felt that a wise selection would be his only

difficulty, and though an heiress is something of a _rara avis_,

he sternly resolved to cage one with such heavy golden plumage that

even his mother, whom no one satisfied save himself, would give a sigh

of perfect content. When at last he met Edith Allen, it seemed as if

inclination might happily blend with his lofty sense of duty, and he

soon became Edith's devoted and favored attendant. And yet, as we have

seen, our heroine was not the sentimental style of girl that falls

hopelessly and helplessly in love with a man for some occult reason,

not even known to herself, and who mopes and pines till she is

permitted to marry him, be he fool, villain, or saint. Edith was fully

capable of appreciating and weighing her father's words, and under

their influence nearly decided to chill her handsome but helpless

admirer into a mere passing acquaintance; but when he next appeared

before her in his uniform, as an officer in one of the "crack" city

regiments, her eyes, taste, and vanity, and somehow her heart, so

pleaded for him that, so far from being an icicle, she smiled on him

like a July sun.

But whenever he sought to press his suit into something definite, she

evaded and shunned the point, as only a feminine diplomatist can. In

fact, Gus, on account of his vanity, was not a very urgent suitor, as

the idea of final refusal was preposterous. He regarded himself as

virtually accepted already. Meanwhile Edith for once in her life was

playing the role of Micawber, and "waiting for something to turn up."

And something had, for this trip to Europe would put time and space

between them, and gently cure both of their folly, as she deemed it.

Folly! She did not realize that Gus regarded himself as acting on

sound business principles and a strong sense of duty, as well as

obeying the impulses of what heart he had. The sweet approval of

conscience and judgment attended his action, while both condemned her.

As Gus approached this evening, she felt a pang of commiseration that

not only were they separated by her father's and her own disapproval,

but that soon the briny ocean would also be between them, and she was

unusually kind. She decided to play with her poor little mouse till

the last, and then let absence remedy all. Her mind was quick, if not

very profound.

As Mr. Goulden leaned across the corner of the piano, and paid the

blushing Laura some delicate compliments, one could not but think of

an adroit financier, skilfully placing some money. There was nothing

ardent, nothing incoherent and lover-like, in his carefully modulated

tones, and nicely selected words that meant much or little, as he

might afterward decide. Mr. Goulden always knew what he was about, as

truly in a lady's boudoir as in Wall Street. The stately, elegant

Laura suited his tastes; her father's financial status _had_ suited

him also. But he, who through his agents knew all that was going on in

Wall Street, was aware that Mr. Allen had engaged in a very heavy

speculation, which, though promising well at the time, might, by some

unexpected turn of the wheel, wear a very different aspect. He would

see the game through before proceeding with his own, and in the

meantime, by judicious attention, hold Laura well in hand.

In that brilliantly lighted parlor none of these currents and counter

currents were apparent on the surface. That was like the ripple and

sparkle of a summer sea in the sunlight. Every year teaches us

something of what is hidden under the fair but treacherous seeming of

life.

The young ladies were now satisfied with the company they had, and the

gentlemen, as can well be understood, wished no further additions.

Therefore they agreed to retire to the library for a game of cards.

"Hannibal," said Edith, summoning the portentous colored butler who

presided over the front door and dining-room, "if any one calls, say

we are out or engaged."

That solemn dignitary bowed as low as his stiff white collar would

permit, but soliloquized:

"I guess I is sumpen too black to tell a white lie, so I'se say dey is

engaged."

As the ladies swept away, leaning heavily on the arms of their favored

gallants, he added, with a slight grin illumining the gravity of his

face, "It looks mighty like it."

CHAPTER IV

THE SKIES DARKENING

The game of cards fared indifferently, for they were all too intent on

little games of their own to give close attention. Mr. Van Dam won

when he chose, and gave the game away when he chose, but made Zell

think the skill was mainly hers.

Still, in common parlance, they had a "good time." From such clever

men the jests and compliments were rather better than the average, and

repartee from the ruby lips that smiled upon them could not seem other

than brilliant.

Edith soon added to the sources of enjoyment by ordering cake and

wine, for though not the eldest she seemed naturally to take the lead.

Mr. Goulden drank sparingly. He meant that not a film should come

across his judgment. Mr. Van Dam drank freely, but he was seasoned to

more fiery potations than sherry. Not so poor Gus, who, while he could

never resist the wine, soon felt its influence. But he had sufficient

control never to go beyond the point of tipsiness that fashion allows

in the drawing-room.

Of course through Zell's unrestrained chatter the recently made plans

soon came out.

Adroit Mr. Van Dam turned to Zell with an expression of much pleased

surprise, exclaiming:

"How fortunate I am! I had completed my plans to go abroad some little

time since."

Zell clapped her hands with delight, but an involuntary shadow

darkened. Edith's face.

Gus looked nonplussed. He knew that his father and mother with

difficulty kept pace with his home expenses and that a Continental

tour was impossible for him. Mr. Goulden looked a little thoughtful,

as if a new element had entered into the problem.

"Oh, come," laughed Zell. "Let us all be good, and go on a pilgrimage

together to Paris--I mean Jerusalem."

"I will worship devoutly with you at either shrine," said Mr. Van Dam.

"And with equal sincerity, I suppose," said Edith, rather coldly.

"I sadly fear, Miss Edith, that my sincerity will not be superior to

that of the other devotees," was the keen retort, in blandest tones.

Edith bit her lip, but said gayly, "Count me out of your pilgrim band.

I want no shrine with relics of the past. I wish no incense rising

about me obscuring the view. I like the present, and wish to see what

is beyond."

"But suppose you are both shrine and divinity yourself?" said Gus,

with what he meant for a killing look.

"Do you mean that compliment for me?" asked Edith, all sweetness.

Between wine and love Gus was inclined to be sentimental, and so in a

low, meaning tone answered:

"Who more deserving?"

Edith's eyes twinkled a moment, but with a half sigh she replied:

"I fear you read my character rightly. A shrine suggests many

offerings, and a divinity many worshippers."

Zell laughed outright, and said, "In that respect all women would be

shrines and divinities if they could."

Van Dam and Goulden could not suppress a smile at the unfortunate

issue of Elliot's sentiment, while the latter glanced keenly to see

how much truth was hinted in the badinage.

"For my part," said Laura, looking fixedly at nothing, "I would rather

have one true devotee than a thousand pilgrims who were _gushing_ at

every shrine they met."

"Brava!" cried Mr. Goulden. "That was the keenest arrow yet flown;"

for the other two men were notorious flirts.

"I do not think so. Its point was much too broad," said Zell, with a

meaning look at Mr. Goulden, that brought a faint color into his

imperturbable face, and an angry flush to Laura's.

A disconcerted manner had shown that even Gus's vanity had not been

impervious to Edith's barb, but he had now recovered himself, and

ventured again:

"I would have my divinity a patron saint sufficiently human to pity

human weakness, and so come at last to listen to no other prayer than

mine."

"Surely, Mr. Elliot, you would wish your saint to listen for some

other reason than your weakness only," said Edith.

"Come, ladies and gentlemen, I move this party breaks up, or some one

will get hurt," said Gus, with a half-vexed laugh.

"What is the matter?" asked Edith innocently.

"Yes," echoed Zell, rising, "what is the matter with _you_, Mr. Van

Dam? Are you asleep, that you are so quiet? Tell us about your

divinity."

"I am an astronomer and fire-worshipper, somewhat dazzled at present

by the nearness and brilliancy of my bright luminary."

"Nonsense! your sight is failing, and you have mistaken a will-o'-the-wisp for the sun.

"'Dancing here, dancing there, Catch it if you can and dare,'"

and she flitted away before him.

He followed with his intent eyes and graceful, serpent-like gliding,

knowing her to be under a spell that would soon bring her fluttering

back.

After circling round him a few moments she took his arm and he

commenced breathing into her ear the poison of his passion.

No woman could remain the same after being with Mr. Van Dam. Out of

the evil abundance of his heart he spoke, but the venom of his words

and manner were all the more deadly because so subtle, so minutely and

delicately distributed, that it was like a pestilential atmosphere, in

which truth and purity withered.

No parent should permit to his daughters the companionship of a

thoroughly bad man, whatever his social standing. His very tone and

glance are unconsciously demoralizing, and, even if he tries, he

cannot prevent the bitter waters overflowing from their bad source,

his heart.

Mr. Van Dam did not try. He meant to secure Zell, with or without her

father's approval, believing that when the marriage was once

consummated Mr. Allen's consent and money would follow eventually.

For some little time longer the young ladies and their favored

attendants strolled about the room in quiet tete-a-tete, and then the

gentlemen bowed themselves out.

The door-bell had rung several times during the evening, but Hannibal,

with the solemnity of a funeral, had quenched each comer by saying

with the decision of the voice of fate:

"De ladies am engaged, sah," and no Cerberus at the door, or mailed

warder of the middle ages, could have proved such an effectual barrier

against all intruders as this old negro in his white waistcoat and

stiff necktie, backed by the usage of modern society. Indeed, in some

respects he was a greater potentate than old King Canute, for he could

say to the human passions, inclinations, and desires that surged up to

Mr. Allen's front door, "Thus far and no farther."

But upon this evening there was a caller who looked with cool,

undaunted eyes upon the stiff necktie and solemn visage rising above

it, and to Hannibal's reiterated statement, "Dey _am_ engaged,"

replied in a quiet tone of command:

"Take that card to Miss Edith."

Even Hannibal's sovereignty broke down before this persistent,

imperturbable visitor, and scratching his head with a perplexed grin

he half soliloquized, half replied:

"Miss Edith mighty 'ticlar to hab her orders obeyed."

"I am the best judge in this case," was the decisive response. "You

take the card and I will be responsible."

Hannibal came to the conclusion that for some occult reason the

gentleman, who was well known to him, had a right to pronounce the

"open sesame" where the portal had been remained closed to all others,

and, being a diplomatist, resolved to know more fully the quarter of

the wind before assuming too much. But his statecraft was sorely

puzzled to know why one of Mr. Allen's under-clerks should suddenly

appear in the role of social caller upon the young ladies, for Mr.

Fox, the gentleman in question, ostensibly had no higher position. His

appearance and manner indicated a mystery. Old Hannibal's wool had not

grown white for nothing, and he was the last man in the world to go

through a mystery as a blundering bumblebee would through a spider's

web. He was for leaving the web all intact till he knew who spun it

and whom it was to catch. If it was Mr. Allen's work or Miss Edith's,

it _must_ stand; if not, he could play bumblebee with a vengeance, and

carry off the gossamer of intrigue with one sweep.

So, showing Mr. Fox into a small reception room, he made his way to

the library door with a motion that would have reminded you of a

great, stealthy cat, and called in a loud, impressive whisper:

"Miss Edith!"

Edith at once rose and went to him, knowing that her prime minister

had some important question of state to present when summoning her in

that tone.

Screened by the library door, Hannibal commenced in a deprecating way:

"I told Mr. Fox you'se engaged, but he say I must give you dis card.

He kinder acted as if he own dis niggar and de whole establishment."

A sudden heavy frown drew Edith's dark eyebrows together and she said

loud enough for Mr. Fox in his ambush to hear:

"Was there ever such impudence!" and straightway the frown passed to

the listener, intensified, like a flying cloud darkening one spot now

and another a moment later.

"Return the card, and say I am engaged," she said haughtily. "Stay,"

she added thoughtfully. "Perhaps he wished to see papa, or there is

some important business matter which needs immediate attention. If

not, dismiss him," and Edith returned to the library quite as much

puzzled as Hannibal had been. Two or three times recently she had

found Mr. Fox's card on returning from evenings out. Why had he

called? She had only a cool, bowing acquaintance with him, formed by

his coming occasionally to see her father on business, and her father

had not thought it worth while to formally introduce Mr. Fox to any of

his family at such times, but had treated him as a sort of upper

servant. Her certainly was putting on strange airs, as her old grand-vizier had intimated. But in the game of cards, and her other little

game with Grus, she soon forgot his existence.

Meantime Hannibal, reassured, was regal again, and marched down the

marble hall with something like the feeling and bearing of his great

namesake. If there were a web here, the Allens were not spinning it,

and he owed. Mr. Fox nothing but a slight grudge for his "airs."

Therefore with the manner of one feeling himself master of the

situation he said:

"Hab you a message for Mr. Allen?"

"No," replied Mr. Fox quietly.

"Den I tell you again Miss Edith _am_ engaged."

Looking straight into Hannibal's eyes, without a muscle changing in

his impassive face, Mr. Fox said in the steady tone of command:

"Say to Miss Edith I will call again," and he passed out of the door

as if _he_ were master of the situation.

Hannibal rolled up his eyes till nothing but the whites were seen, and

muttered:

"Brass ain't no name for it."

Mr. Fox's action can soon be explained. Mr. Allen, while accustomed to

operate largely in Wall Street through his brokers, was also the head

of a cloth-importing firm. This in fact had been his regular and

legitimate business, but like so many others he had been drawn into

the vortex of speculation, and after many lucky hits had acquired that

overweening confidence that prepares the way for a fall. He came to

believe that he had only to put his hand to a thing to give it the

needful impulse to success. In his larger and more exciting operations

in Wall Street he had left the cloth business mainly to his junior

partners and dependants, they employing his capital. Mr. Fox was

merely a clerk in this establishment, and not in very high standing

either. He was also another unwholesome product of metropolitan life.

As office boy among the lawyers, as a hanger-on of the criminal

courts, he had scrambled into a certain kind of legal knowledge and

had gained a small pettifogging practice when an opening in Mr.

Allen's business led to his present connection. Mr. Allen felt that in

his varied and extended business he needed a man of Mr. Fox's stamp to

deal with the legal questions that came up, look after the intricacies

of the revenue laws, and manage the immaculate saints of the custom-house. As far as the firm had dirty, disagreeable, perplexing work to

do, Mr. Fox was to do it. Whenever it came in contact with the majesty

of the law and government, Mr. Fox was to represent it. Whenever some

Israelite in whom _was_ guile sought, on varied pretext, to wriggle

out of the whole or part of a bill, the wary Mr. Fox met him on his

own plane and with his own weapons, skirmished with him, and won the

little fight.

I would not for a moment give the impression that Mr. Allen was in

favor of sharp practice. He merely wished to conduct his business on

the business principles and practice of the day, and it was not his

purpose, and certainly not his policy, to pass beyond the law. But

even the judges disagree as to what the law is, and he was dealing

with many who thrived by evading it; therefore the need of a nimble

Mr. Fox who could burrow and double on his tracks with the best of

them. All went well for years, and the firm was saved many an

annoyance, many a loss, and if this guerilla of the house, as perhaps

we may term him, had been as devoted to Mr. Allen's interests as to

his own, all might have gone well to the end. But these very sharp

tools are apt to cut both ways, and so it turned out in this case. The

astute Mr. Fox determined to serve Mr. Allen faithfully as long as he

could faithfully and pre-eminently serve himself. If he who had

scrambled from the streets to his present place of power could reach a

higher position by stepping on the great rich merchant, such power

would have additional satisfaction. He was as keen-scented after money

as Mr. Allen, only the latter hunted like a lion, and the former like

a fox. He mastered Mr. Allen's business thoroughly in all its details.

Until recently no opportunity had occurred save work which, though

useful, caused him to be half-despised by the others who would not or

could not do it. But of late he had gained a strong vantage point. He

watched with intense interest Mr. Allen's attraction toward, and

entrance upon, a speculation that he knew to be as uncertain of issue

as it was large in proportions, for, if the case ever became critical,

he was conscious of the power of introducing a very important element

into the problem.

In his care of the custom-house business he had discovered technical

violations of the revenue laws which already involved the loss to the

firm of a million dollars, and, with his peculiar loyalty to himself,

thought this knowledge ought to be worth a great deal. As Mr. Allen

went down into the deep waters of Wall Street, he saw that it might

be. In saving his employer from wreck he might virtually become

captain of the ship.

After this brief delineation of character, it would strike the reader

as very incongruous to say that Mr. Fox had fallen in love with Edith.

Mr. Fox never stumbled or fell. He could slide down and scramble up to

any extent, and when cornered could take a flying leap like that of a

cat. But he had been greatly impressed by Edith's beauty, and to win

her also would be an additional and piquant feature in the game. He

had absolute confidence in money, much of which he might have gained

from Mr. Allen himself. He knew a million of her father's money was in

his power, and this, in a certain sense, placed him in the position of

a suitor worth a million, and such he knew to be almost omnipotent on

the avenue. If this money could also be the means of causing Mr.

Allen's ruin, or saving him from it, he believed that Edith would be

his as truly as the bonds and certificates of stock that he often

counted and gloated over. Even before Mr. Allen entered on what he

called his great and final operation for the present, Mr. Fox was half

inclined to show his hand and make the most of it, but within the last

few days he had learned that perhaps a greater opportunity was opening

before him. Meantime in the full consciousness of power he had begun

to call on Edith, as we have seen, something as a cat plays around and

watches a caged bird, which it expects to have in its claws before

long.

The next morning at breakfast Edith mentioned Mr. Fox's recent calls.

"What is he coming here for?" growled Mr. Allen, looking with a frown

at his daughter.

"I'm sure I don't know."

"I hope you don't see him."

"Certainly not. I was out the first two times, and last night sent

word that I was engaged. But he insisted on his card being given to me

and put on airs generally, so Hannibal seems to think."

That dignitary gave a confirming and indignant grunt.

"He said he would call again, didn't he, Hannibal?"

"Yes'm," blurted Hannibal, "and he looked as if de next time he'd put

us all in his breeches pocket and carry us off."

"What's Fox up to now?" muttered Mr. Allen, knitting his brows. "I

must look into this."

But even within a few hours the cloud land of Wall Street had changed

some of its aspects. The serenity of the preceding day was giving

place to indications of a disturbance in the financial atmosphere. He

had to buy more stock to keep the control he was gaining on the

market, and things were not shaping favorably for its rise. He was

already carrying a tremendous load, and even his herculean shoulders

began to feel the burden. In the press and rush of business he forgot

about Fox's social ambition in venturing to call where such men as Van

Dam and Gus Elliot had undisputed rights.

Those upon whom society lays its hands are orthodox of course.

The wary Fox was watching the stock market as closely as Mr. Allen,

and chuckled over the aspect of affairs; and he concluded to keep

quietly out of the way a little longer, and await further

developments.

Things moved rapidly as they usually do in the maelstrom of

speculation. Though Mr. Allen was a trained athlete in business, the

strain upon him grew greater day by day. But true to his promise, and

in accordance with his habit of promptness, he transferred the deed

for the little place in the country to Edith, who gloated over its dry

technicalities as if they were full of romantic hope and suggestion to

her.

One day when alone with Laura, Mr. Allen asked her suddenly:

"Has Mr. Goulden made any formal proposal yet?"

With rising color Laura answered:

"No."

"Why not? He seems very slow about it."

"I hardly know how you expect me to reply to such a question," said

Laura, a little haughtily.

"Is he as attentive as ever?"

"Yes, I suppose so, though he has not called quite so often of late."

"Humph!" ejaculated Mr. Allen meditatively, adding after a moment,

"Can't you make him speak out?"

"You certainly don't mean me to propose to him?" asked Laura,

reddening.

"No, no, no!" said her father with some irritation, "but any clever

woman can make a man who has gone as far as Mr. Goulden commit himself

whenever she chooses. Your mother would have had the thing settled

long ago, or else would have enjoyed the pleasure of refusing him."

"I am not mistress of that kind of finesse," said Laura coldly.

"You are a woman," replied her father coolly, "and don't need any

lessons. It would be well for us both if you would exert your native

power in this case."

Laura glanced keenly at her father and asked quickly:

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say. A word to the wise is sufficient."

Having thus indicated to his daughter that phase of Wall Street

tactics and principles that could be developed on the avenue, he took

himself off to the central point of operations.

CHAPTER V

THE STORM THREATENING

Laura had a better motive than that suggested by her father for

wishing to lead Mr. Goulden to commit himself, for as far as she could

love any one beyond herself she loved him, and she also realized fully

that he could continue to her all that her elegant and expensive

tastes craved. Notwithstanding her show of maidenly pride and reserve,

she was ready enough to do as she had been bidden. Mr. Allen guessed

as much. Indeed, as was quite natural, his wife was the type of the

average woman to his mind, only he believed that she was a little

cleverer in these matters than the majority. The manner in which she

had "hooked" him made a deep and lasting impression on his memory.

But Mr. Goulden was a wary fish. He had no objection to being hooked

if the conditions were all right, and until satisfied as to these he

would play around at a safe distance. As he saw Mr. Allen daily

getting into deeper water, he grew more cautious. His calls were not

quite so frequent. He managed never to be with Laura except in company

with others, and while his manner was very complimentary it was never

exactly lover-like. Therefore, all Laura's feminine diplomacy was in

vain, and that which a woman can say frankly the moment a man speaks,

she could scarcely hint. Moreover, Mr. Goulden was adroit enough to

chill her heart while he flattered her vanity. There was something

about his manner she could not understand, but it was impossible to

take offence at the polished gentleman.

Her father understood him better. He saw that Mr. Goulden had resolved

to settle the question on financial principles only.

As the chances diminished of securing him indirectly through Laura as

a prop to his tottering fortunes, he at last came to the conclusion to

try to interest him directly in his speculation, feeling sure if he

could control only a part of Mr. Goulden's large means and credit, he

could carry his operation through successfully.

Mr. Goulden warily listened to the scheme, warily weighed it, and

concluded within the brief compass of Mr. Allen's explanation to have

nothing to do with it. But his outward manner was all deference and

courteous attention.

At the end of Mr. Allen's rather eager and rose-colored statements, he

replied in politest and most regretful tones that he "was very sorry

he could not avail himself of so promising an opening, but in fact, he

was 'in deep' himself--carrying all he could stand up under very well,

and was rather in the borrowing than in the lending line at present."

Keen Mr. Allen saw through all this in a moment, and his face flushed

angrily in spite of his efforts at self-control. Muttering something

to the effect:

"I thought I would give you a chance to make a good thing," he bade a

rather abrupt "good-morning."

As the pressure grew heavier upon him he was led to do a thing the

suggestion of which a few weeks previously he would have regarded as

an insult. Mrs. Allen had a snug little property of her own, which had

been secured to her on first mortgages, and in bonds that were quiet

and safe. These her husband held in trust for her, and now pledged

them as collateral on which to borrow money to carry through his

gigantic operation. In respect to part of this transaction, Mrs. Allen

was obliged to sign a paper which might have revealed to her the

danger involved, but she languidly took the pen, yawned, and signed

away the result of her father's long years of toil without reading a

line.

"There," she said, "I hope you will not bother me about business

again. Now in regard to this party--" and she was about to enter into

an eager discussion of all the complicated details, when her husband,

interrupting, said:

"Another time, my dear--I am very much pressed by business at

present."

"Oh, business, nothing but business," whined his wife. "You never have

time to attend to me or your family."

But Mr. Allen was out of hearing of the querulous tones before the

sentence was finished.

Of course he never meant that his wife should lose a cent, and to

satisfy his conscience, and impressed by his danger, he resolved that

as soon as he was out of this quaking morass of speculation he would

settle on his wife and each daughter enough to secure them in wealth

through life, and arrange it in such a way that no one could touch the

principal.

The large sum that he now secured eased up matters and helped him

greatly, and affairs began to wear a brightening aspect. He felt sure

that the stock he had invested in was destined to rise in time, and

indeed it already gave evidences of buoyancy. He noticed with an

inward chuckle that Mr. Goulden began to call a little oftener. He was

the best financial barometer in Wall Street.

But the case would require the most adroit and delicate management for

weeks still, and this Mr. Allen could have given. Success also

depended on a favorable state of the money market, and a good degree

of stability and quietness throughout the financial world. Political

changes in Europe, a war in Asia, heavy failures in Liverpool, London,

or Paris, might easily spoil all. Reducing Mr. Allen's vast

complicated operation to its final analysis, he had simply bet several

millions--all he had--that nothing would happen throughout the world

that could interfere with a scheme so problematical that the chances

could scarcely be called even.

But gambling is occasionally successful, and it began to look as if

Mr. Allen would win his bet; and so he might had nothing happened. The

world was quiet enough, remarkably quiet, considering the

superabundance of explosive elements everywhere.

The financial centres seethed on as usual, like a witch's caldron, but

there were no infernal ebullitions in the form of "Black Fridays." The

storm that threatened to wreck Mr. Allen was no wide, sweeping

tempest, but rather one of those little local whirlwinds that

sometimes in the west destroy a farm or township.

For the last few weeks Mr. Fox had quietly watched the game, matured

his plans, and secured his proof in the best legal form. He now

concluded it was time to act, as he believed Mr. Allen to be in his

power. So one morning he coolly walked into that gentleman's office,

closed the door, and took a seat. Mr. Allen looked up with an

expression of surprise and annoyance on his face. He instinctively

disliked Mr. Fox, as a lion might be irritated by a cat, and the

instinctive enmity was all the stronger because of a certain family

likeness. But Mr. Allen's astuteness had nothing mean or cringing in

it, while Mr. Fox heretofore had been a sort of Uriah Heep to him.

Therefore his surprise and annoyance at his new role of cool

confidence.

"Well, sir," said he, rather impatiently, returning to his writing, as

a broad hint that communications must be brief if made at all.

"Mr. Allen," said Mr. Fox, in that clear-cut, decisive tone, that

betokens resolute purpose, and a little anger also "I must request you

to give me your undivided attention for a little time, and surely what

I am about to say is important enough to make it worth the while."

Though Mr. Allen flushed angrily, he knew that his clerk would not

employ such a tone and manner without reason, so he raised his head

and looked steadily at his unwelcome visitor and again said briefly:

"Well, sir?"

"I wish, in the first place," said Mr. Fox, thinking to begin with the

least important exaction, and gradually reach, a climax in his

extortion, "I wish permission to pay my addresses to your daughter

Miss Edith."

Knowing nothing of a father's pride and affection, he had unwittingly

brought in the climax first.

The angry flush deepened on Mr. Allen's face, but he still managed to

control himself, and to remember that the father of three pretty

daughters must expect some scenes like these, and that the only thing

to do was to get rid of the objectionable suitors as civilly as

possible. He was also too much of an American to put on any of the

high-stepping airs of the European aristocracy. Here it is simply one

sovereign proposing for the daughter of another, and generally the

young people practically arrange it all before asking any consent in

the case. After all, Mr. Fox had only paid his daughter the highest

compliment in his power, and if any other of his clerks had made a

similar request he would probably have given as kind and delicate a

refusal as possible. It was because he disliked Mr. Fox, and

instinctively gauged his character, that he said with a short, dry

laugh:

"Come, Mr. Fox, you are forgetting yourself. You have been a useful

employe" in my store. If you feel that you should have more salary,

name what will satisfy you, and I will consult my partners, and try

and arrange it."--"There," thought he, "if he can't take that hint as

to his place, I shall have to give him a kick." But both surprise and

anger began to get the better of him when Mr. Fox replied:

"I must really beg your closer attention; I said nothing of increased

salary. You will soon see that is no object with me now. I asked your

permission to pay my addresses to your daughter."

"I decline to give it," said Mr. Allen, harshly, "and if I hear any

more of this nonsense I will discharge you from my employ."

"Why?" was the quiet response, yet spoken with the intensity of

passion.

"Because I never would permit my daughter to marry a man in your

circumstances, and, if you will have it, you are not the style of a

man I would wish to take into my family."

"If a man who was worth a million asked for your daughter's hand would

you answer him in this manner?"

"Perhaps not," said Mr. Allen, with another of his short, dry laughs,

which expressed little save irritation, "but you have my answer as

respects yourself."

"I am not so sure of that," was the bold retort. "I am practically

worth a million--indeed several millions to you, as you are now

situated. You have talked long enough in the dark, Mr. Allen. For some

time back there have been in your importations violations of the

revenue laws. I have only to give the facts in my possession to the

proper authorities and the government would legally claim from you a

million of dollars, of which I should get half. So you see that I am

positively worth five hundred thousand, and to you I am worth a

million with respect to this item alone."

Mr. Allen sprang excitedly to his feet. Mr. Fox coolly got up and

edged toward the door, which he had purposely left unlatched.

"Moreover," continued Mr. Fox, in his hard metallic voice, "in view of

your other operations in Wall Street, which I know all about, the loss

of a million would involve the loss of all you have."

Mr. Fox now had his hand on the door-knob, and Mr. Allen was glaring

at him as if purposing to rush upon him and rend him to pieces.

Standing in the passageway, Mr. Fox concluded, in a low, meaning tone:

"You had better make terms with me within twenty-four hours."

And the door closed sharply, reminding one of the shutting of a steel

trap.

Mr. Allen sank suddenly back in his chair and stared at the closed

door, looking as if he were a prisoner and all escape cut off.

He seemed to be in a lethargy or under a partial paralysis; he slowly

and weakly rubbed his head with his hand, as if vaguely conscious that

the trouble was there.

Gradually the stupor began to pass off, his blood to circulate, and

his mind to realize the situation.

Rising feebly, as if a sudden age had fallen, on him, he went to the

door and gave orders that he must not be disturbed, and then sat down

to think. Half an hour later he sent for his lawyer, stated the case

to him, enjoined secrecy, and asked him to see Fox, hoping that it

might be a case of mere blackmailing bravado. Keen as Mr. Allen's

lawyer was, he had more than his match in the astute Mr. Fox. Moreover

the latter had everything in his favor. There had been a slight

infringement of the revenue laws, and though involving but small loss

to the government, the consequences were the same. The invoice would

be confiscated as soon as the facts were known. Mr. Fox had secured

ample proof of this.

Mr. Allen might be able to prove that there was no intention to

violate the law, as indeed there had not been. In fact, he had left

those matters to his subordinates, and they had been a little

careless, averaging matters, contenting themselves with complying with

the general intent of the law, rather than, with painstaking care,

conforming to its letter. Bat the law is very matter-of-fact, and can

be excessively literal when money is to be made by those who live by

enforcing or evading it, as may suit them. Mr. Fox could carry his

case, if he pressed it, and secure his share of the plunder. On

account of a very slight loss, Mr. Allen might be compelled to lose a

million.

Before the day's decline the lawyer had asked Mr. Fox to take no

further steps, stating vaguely that Mr. Allen would look into the

matter, and would not be unreasonable.

A sardonic grin gave a momentary lurid hue to Mr. Fox's sallow face.

Knowing the game to be in his own hands, he could quietly bide his

time; so, assuming a tone of much moderation and dignity, he replied,

he had no wish to be hard, and could be reasonable also. "But," added

he, in a meaning tone, "there must be no double work in this matter.

Mr. Allen must see what I am worth to him--nothing could be plainer.

His best policy now is to act promptly and liberally toward me, for I

pledge you my word that if I see any disposition to evade my

requirements I will blow out the bottom of everything," and a snaky

glitter in his small black eyes showed how remorselessly he could

scuttle the ship bearing Mr. Allen's fortunes.

A speedy investigation showed Mr. Fox's fatal power, and Mr. Allen's

partners were for paying him off, but when they found that he exacted

an interest in the business that quite threw them into the background,

they were indignant and inclined to fight it out. Mr. Allen could not

tell them that he was in no condition to fight. If his financial

status had been the same as some weeks previously, he would rather

have lost the million than have listened one moment to Mr. Fox's

repulsive conditions, but now to risk litigation and commercial

reputation on one hand, and total ruin on the other, was an abyss from

which he shrank back appalled.

His only resource was to temporize, both with his partners and Mr.

Fox, and so gain time, hoping that the Wall Street scheme, that had

caused so much evil, might also cure it. Of course he could not tell

his partners how he was situated. The slightest breath of suspicion

might cause the evenly balanced scales in which hung all chances to

hopelessly decline. The speculation now promised well.

If he could only keep things quiet a little longer--

Edith must help him. Calling her into the library after dinner, he

asked:

"Has Mr. Fox called lately?"

"No, sir, not for some little time."

"Will you oblige me by seeing him and being civil if he calls again?"

"Why, papa, I thought you did not wish me to see him."

"Circumstances have altered since then. Is he very disagreeable to

you?"

"Well, papa, I have scarcely thought of him, but to tell you the truth

when he has been here on business I have involuntarily thought of a

mousing cat, or the animal he is named after on the scent of a hen-roost. But of course I can be civil or even polite to him if you wish

it."

A spasm of pain crossed her father's face and he put his hand hastily

to his head, a frequent act of late. He rose and took a few turns up

and down the room, muttering:

"Curse it all, I must tell her. Half knowledge is always dangerous,

and is sure to lead to blunders, and there must be no blunders now."

Stopping abruptly before his daughter, he said, "He has proposed for

your hand."

An expression of disgust flitted across Edith's face, and she replied

quickly:

"We both have surely but one answer to such a proposition from

_him_."

"Edith, you seem to have more sense in regard to business and such

matters than most young ladies. I must now test you, and it is for you

to show whether you are a woman or a shallow-brained girl. I am sorry

to tell you these things. They are not suited to your age or sex, but

there is no help for it," and he explained how he was situated.

Edith listened with paling cheek, dilating eyes, and parting lips, but

still with rising courage and a growing purpose to help her father.

"I do not wish you to marry this villain," he continued. "Heaven

forbid!" (Not that Mr. Allen referred this or any other matter to

Heaven; it was only a strong way of expressing his own disapproval.)

"But we must manage to temporize and keep this man at bay till I can

extricate myself from my difficulties. As soon as I stand on firm

ground I will defy him."

To Edith, with her standard of morality, the course indicated by her

father seemed eminently filial and praiseworthy. The thought of

marrying Mr. Fox made her flesh creep, but a brief flirtation was

another affair. She had flirted not a little in her day for the mere

amusement of the thing, and with the motives her father had presented

she could do it in this case as if it were an act of devotion. Of the

pure and lofty morality of the Bible she had as little idea as a

Persian houri, and rugged Roman virtue could not develop in the social

atmosphere in which the Allens lived. It was with a clear conscience

that she resolved to beguile Mr. Fox, and signified as much to her

father.

"Play him off," said this model father, "as Mr. Goulden does Laura.

Curse him!--how I would like to slam the front door in his face. But

my time may come yet," he added with set teeth.

That morning Mr. Allen sent for Mr. Fox, as he dared brave him no

longer without some definite show of yielding, in order to keep back

his fatal disclosures. With a dignity and formality scarcely in

keeping with his fear and the import of his words, he said:

"I have considered your statements, sir, and admit their weight. As I

informed you through my lawyer, I wish to be reasonable and hope you

intend to be the same, for these are very grave matters. In regard to

my daughter, you have my permission to call upon her as do her other

gentleman friends, and she will receive you. In this land, that is all

the vantage-ground a _gentleman_ asks, as indeed it is all that can be

granted. I am not the King of Dahomey or the Shah of Persia, and able

to give my daughters where interest may dictate. A lady's inclination

must be consulted. But I give you the permission you ask; you may pay

your addresses to my daughter. You could scarcely ask a father to say

more."

"It matters little to me what you or others say, but much what they

do. My action shall be based upon yours and Miss Edith's. I have

learned in your employ the value of promptness in all business

matters. I hope you understand me."

"I do, sir, but there can be no indecent haste in these matters. In

gaining the important position--in assuming the relations you desire--there should be some show of dignity, otherwise society would be

disgusted, and you would lose the respect which should follow such

vast acquirements."

"Where I can secure the whole cloth, I shall not worry about the

selvage of etiquette and passing opinion," was Mr. Fox's cynical

reply.

Mr. Allen could not prevent an expression of intense disgust from

coming out upon his face, and he replied with some heat:

"Well, sir, something is due to my own position, and I cannot treat my

daughter like a bale of cloth, as you suggest in your figurative

speech. However," he added, warily, "I will take the necessary steps

as soon as possible, and will trespass upon your time no longer."

As Mr. Fox glided out of the office with his sardonic smile, Mr. Allen

felt for the moment that he would rather become bankrupt than make

terms with him.

Meanwhile the month of February was rapidly passing, though each day

was an age of anxiety and suspense to Mr. Allen. The tension was too

much for him, and he evidently aged and failed under it. He drank more

than he ate, and his temper was very variable. From his wife he only

received chidings and complaints that in his horrid "mania for

business" he was neglecting her and his family in general. She could

never get him to sit down and talk sensibly of the birthday and debut

party that was now so near. He would always say, testily, "Manage it

to suit yourselves."

Laura and Zell were too much wrapped up in their own affairs to give

much thought to anything else. But Edith, of late, understood her

father and felt deeply for him. One evening finding him sitting

dejectedly alone in the library after dinner, she said:

"Why go on with this party, papa? I am sure I am ready to give it up

if it will be any relief to you."

The heart of this strong, confident man of the world was sore and

lonely. For perhaps the first time he felt the need of support and

sympathy. He drew his beautiful daughter, whom thus far he had

scarcely more than admired, down upon his lap and buried his face upon

her shoulder. A breath of divine impulse swept aside for a moment the

stifling curtains of his sordid life, and he caught a glimpse of the

large happy realm of love.

"And would you really give up anything for the sake of your old

father?" he asked in a low tone.

"Everything," cried Edith, much moved by the unusual display of

affection and feeling on the part of her father.

"The others would not," said he bitterly.

"Indeed, papa, I think they would if they only knew. We would all do

anything to see you your old jovial self again. Give up this wretched

struggle; tell Mr. Fox to do his worst. I am not afraid of being poor;

I am sure we could work up again."

"You know nothing about poverty," sighed her father. "When you are

down, the world that bowed at your feet will run over and trample on

you. I have seen it so often, but never thought of danger to me and

mine."

"But this party," said the practical Edith, "why not give this up? It

will cost a great deal."

"By no means give it up," said her father. "It may help me very much.

My credit is everything now. The appearance of wealth which such, a

display insures will do much to secure the wealth. I am watched day

and night, and must show no sign of weakness. Go on with the party and

make it as brilliant as possible. If I fail, two or three thousand

will make no difference, and it may help me to succeed. Whatever

strengthens my credit for the next few days is everything to me. My

stock is rising, only it is too slow. Things look better--if I could

only gain time. But I am very uneasy--my head troubles me," and he put

his hand to his head, and Edith remembered how often, she had seen him

do that of late.

"By the way," said he, abruptly, "tell me how you get on with Mr.

Fox."

"Oh, never mind about that now; do rest a little, mind and body."

"No, tell me," said her father sharply, showing how little control he

had over himself.

"Well, I think I have beaten him so far. He is very demonstrative, and

acts as if I belonged to him. Did I not manage to always meet him in

company with others, he would come at once to an open declaration. As

it is, I cannot prevent it much longer. He is coming this evening, and

I fear he will press matters. He seems to think that the asking is a

mere form, and that our extremity will leave no choice."

"You must avoid him a little longer. Come, we will go to the theatre,

and then you might be sick for a few days."

In a few minutes they were off, and were scarcely well away when Mr.

Fox, dressed in more style than he could carry gracefully, appeared.

"Miss Edith am out," said Hannibal loftily.

"I half believe you lie," muttered Mr. Fox, looking very black.

"Sarch de house, sah. It am a berry gentlemanly proceeding."

"Where has she gone? and whom did she go with?"

"I hab no orders to say," said Hannibal, looking fixedly at the

ceiling of the vestibule.

The knightly suitor turned on his heel, muttering, "They are playing

me false."

'Twas a pity, and he so true.

The next day Edith was sick and Mr. Allen's stock was rising. Hannibal

again sent Mr. Fox baffled away, but with a dangerous gleam in his

eyes.

On the following morning Mr. Allen found a note on his desk. His face

grew livid as he read it, and he often put his hand to his head. He

sat down and wrote to this effect, however:

"I am arranging the partnership matter as rapidly as possible. In

regard to my daughter you will ruin all if you show no more

discretion. I cannot compel her to marry you. You may make it

impossible to influence her in your favor. You have been well

received. What more can you ask? A matter of this kind must be

arranged delicately."

Mr. Fox pondered over this with a peculiarly foxy expression. "It

sounds plausible. If I only thought he was true," soliloquized this

embodiment of truth.

Mr. Allen's stock was higher, and Mr. Fox watched the rise grimly, but

he saw Edith, who was all smiles and graciousness, and gave him a

verbal invitation to her birthday-party which was to take place early

in the following week.

The fellow had not a little vanity, and was insnared, his suspicions

quieted for the time. Valuing money himself supremely, it seemed most

rational that father and daughter should regard him as the most

eligible young man in the city.

Edith's friends, and Gus in particular, were rather astonished at the

new-comer. Laura was frigid and remonstrant, Zell and Mr. Van Dam

satirical, but Edith wilfully tossed her head and said he was clever

and well off, and she liked him well enough to talk to him a little.

Society had made her a good actress. Meanwhile on the Tuesday

following (and this was Friday) the long expected party would take

place.

CHAPTER VI

THE WRECK

On Saturday Mr. Allen's stock was rising, and he ventured to sell a

little in a quiet way. If he "unloaded" rapidly and openly, he would

break down the market.

Mr. Fox watched events uneasily. Mr. Goulden grew genial and more

pronounced in his attentions. Gus, on Saturday, showed almost as much

solicitude for a decisively favorable answer as did Mr. Fox, if the

language of his eyes meant anything; but Edith played him and Mr. Fox

off against each other so adroitly that they were learning to hate

each other as cordially as they agreed in admiring her. Though she

inclined in her favor to Mr. Fox, he was suspicious from nature, and

annoyed at never being able to see her alone.

As before, they were at cards together in the library, and Edith went

for a moment into the parlor to get something. With the excuse of

obtaining it for her, Mr. Fox followed, and the moment they were alone

he seized her hand and pressed a kiss upon it. An angry flush came

into her face, but by a great effort she so far controlled herself as

to put her finger to her lips and point to the library, as if her

chief anxiety was that the attention of its occupants should not be

excited. Mr. Fox was delighted, though the angry flush was a little

puzzling. But if Edith permitted that she would permit more, and if

her only shrinking was lest others should see and know at present,

that could soon be overcome. These thoughts passed through his mind

while the incensed girl hastily obtained what she wished. But she,

feeling that her cheeks were too hot to return immediately to the

critical eyes in the library, passed out through the front parlor,

that she might have time to be herself again when she appeared. On

what little links destiny sometimes hangs!

That which changed all her future and that of others--that involving

life and death--occurred in the half moment occupied in her passing

out of the front parlor. The consequences she would feel most keenly,

terribly indeed at times, though she might never guess the cause. Her

act was a simple, natural one under the circumstances, and yet it told

Mr. Fox, in his cat-like watchfulness, that with all his cunning he

was being made a fool of. The moment Edith had passed around the

sliding door and thought herself unobserved, an expression of intense

disgust came out upon her expressive face, and with her lace

handkerchief she rubbed the hand he had kissed, as if removing the

slime of a reptile; and the large mirror at the further end of the

room had faithfully reflected the suggestive little pantomime. He saw

and understood all in a flash.

No words could have so plainly told her feeling toward him, and he was

one of those reptiles that could sting remorselessly in revenge. The

nature of the imposition practiced upon him, and the fact that it was

partially successful and might have been wholly so, cut him in the

sorest spot. He who thought himself able to cope with the shrewdest

and most artful had been overreached by a girl, and he saw at that

moment that her purpose to beguile him long enough for Mr. Allen to

extricate himself from his difficulties might have been successful. He

had had before an uneasy consciousness that he ought to act

decisively, and now he knew it.

"I'm a fool--a cursed fool," he muttered, speaking the truth for once,

"but it's not too late yet."

His resolution was taken instantly, but when Edith appeared after a

moment in the library, smiling and affable again, lie seemed in good

spirits also, but there was a steely, serpent-like glitter in his

eyes, that made him more repulsive than ever. But he stayed as late as

the others, knowing that it might be his last evening at the Allens'.

For Edith had said as part of her plan for avoiding Mr. Fox:

"We shall be too busy to see any company till Tuesday evening, and

then we hope to see you all."

Her sisters had assented, expecting that it would be the case.

With a refinement of malice, Mr. Fox sought to give general annoyance,

by a polite insolence toward the others, which they with difficulty

ignored, and a lover-like gallantry toward Edith, which was like

nettles to Gus, and nauseating to her; but she did not dare resent it.

He could at least torment her a little longer.

At last all were gone, and her father coming in from his club said,

drawing her aside:

"All right yet?"

"Yes, but I hope the ordeal will be over soon, or I shall die with

disgust, or, like some I have read of in fairy stories, be killed by a

poisonous breath."

"Keep it up a little longer, that is a good, brave girl. I think that

by another week we shall be able to defy him," said her father in

cheerful tones. "If my stock rises as much in the next few days as of

late, I shall soon be on _terra firma_."

If he had known that the mine beneath his feet was loaded, and the

fuse fired, his full face would have become as pale as it was florid

with wine and the dissipation of the evening.

Monday morning came--all seemed quiet. His stock was rising so rapidly

that he determined to hold on a little longer.

Goulden met and congratulated him, saying that he had bought a little

himself, and would take more if Mr. Allen would sell, as now he was

easier in funds than when spoken to before on the subject.

Mr. Allen replied rather coldly that he would not sell any stock that

day.

Mr. Fox kept out of the way, and quietly attended to his routine as

usual, but there was a sardonic smile on his face, as if he were

gloating over some secret evil.

Tuesday, the long-expected day that the Allens believed would make one

of the most brilliant epochs in their history, dawned in appropriate

brightness. The sun dissipated the few opposing clouds and declined in

undimmed splendor, and Edith, who alone had fears and forebodings,

took the day as an omen that the storm had passed, and that better

days than ever were coming.

Invitations by the hundred, with imposing monogram and coat-of-arms,

had gone out, and acceptances had flowed back in full current. All

that lavish expenditure could secure in one of the most luxurious

social centres of the world had been obtained without stint to make

the entertainment perfect.

But one knew that it might become like Belshazzar's feast.

The avalanche often hangs over the Alpine passes so that a loud word

will bring it whirling down upon the hapless traveller. The avalanche

of ruin, impending over Mr. Allen, was so delicately poised that a

whisper could precipitate its crushing weight, and that whisper had

been spoken.

All the morning of Tuesday his stock was rising, and he resolved that

on the morning after the party he would commence selling rapidly, and,

so far from being bankrupt, he would realize much of the profit that

he had expected.

But a rumor was floating through the afternoon papers that a well-known merchant, eminent in financial and social circles, had been

detected in violating the revenue laws, and that the losses which such

violation would involve to him would be immense. The stock market,

more sensitive than a belle's vanity, paused to see what it meant. One

of Mr. Allen's partners of the cloth house brought a paper to him. He

grew pale as he read it, put his hand suddenly to his head, but after

a moment seemingly found his voice and said:

"Could Fox have been so dastardly?"

His partner shrugged his shoulder as much as to say, "Fox could do

anything in that line."

Mr. Allen sent for Fox, but he could not be found. In the meantime the

stock market closed and the rise of his stock was evidently checked

for the moment.

By reason of the party, Mr. Allen had to return uptown, but he

arranged with his partner to remain and if anything new developed to

send word by special messenger.

By eight o'clock the Allen mansion on Fifth Avenue was all aglow with

light. By nine, carriages began to roll up to the awning that

stretched from the heavy arched doorway across the sidewalk, and

ladies that would soon glide through the spacious rooms in elegant

drapery, now seemed misshapen bundles in their wrapping, and gathered

up dresses as they hurried out of the publicity of the street. The

dressing-rooms where the spheroidal bundles were undergoing

metamorphose became buzzing centres of life.

Before the long pier glasses there was a marshalling of every charm,

real or borrowed (more correctly bought), in view of the hoped-for

conquests of the evening, and it would seem that not a few went on the

military maxim that success is often secured by putting on as bold a

front, and making as great and startling display, as possible. But as

fragrant, modest flowers usually bloom in the garden with gaudy,

scentless ones, so those inclined to be _bizarre_ made an excellent

foil for the refined and elegant, and thus had their uses. There is

little in the world that is not of value, looking at it from some

point of view.

In another apartment the opposing forces, if we may so style them,

were almost as eagerly investing themselves in--shall we say charms

also? or rather with the attributes of manhood? At any rate the

glasses seem quite as anxiously consulted in that room as in the

other. One might almost imagine them the magic mirrors of prophecy in

which anxious eyes caught a glimpse of coming fate. There were certain

youthful belles and beaux who turned away with open complacent smiles,

vanity whispering plainly to them of noble achievement in the parlors

below. There were others, perhaps not young, who turned away with

faces composed in the rigid and habitual lines of pride. They were

past learning anything from the mirror, or from any other source that

might reflect disparagingly upon them. Prejudice in their own favor

surrounded their minds as with a Chinese wall. Conceit had become a

disease with them, and those faculties that might have let in

wholesome, though unwelcome, truth were paralyzed.

But the majority turned away not quite satisfied--with an inward

foreboding that all was not as well as it might be--that critical eyes

would see ground for criticism. Especially was this true of those whom

Time's interfering fingers had pulled somewhat awry, even beyond the

remedy of art, and of those whose bank account, jewels, silks, etc.,

were not quite up to the standard of some others who might jostle them

in the crush. Realize, my reader, the anguish of a lady compelled to

stand by another lady wearing larger diamonds than her own, or more

point lace, or a longer train. What _will_ the world think, as under

the chandelier this painful contrast comes out? Such moments of deep

humiliation cause sleepless nights, and the next day result in bills

that become as crushing as criminal indictments to poor overworked

men. Under the impulse of such trying scenes as these, many a matron

has gone forth on Broadway with firm lips and eyes in which glowed

inexorable purpose, and placed the gems that would be mill-stones

about her husband's neck on the fat arms or fingers that might have

helped him forward. There are many phases of heroism, but if you

want your breath quite taken away, go to Tiffany's, and see some

large-souled woman, who will not even count the cost or realize the

dire consequences--see her, like some martyr of the past, who would

show to the world the object of his faith though the heavens fell,

march to the counter, select the costliest, and say in tones of

majesty:

"Send the bill to my husband!"

Oh, acme of faith! The martyrs knew that the Almighty was equal to

the occasion. She knows that her husband is not; yet she trusts, or,

what is the same thing here, gets trusted. Men allied to such women

are soon lifted up to--attics. It is still true that great deeds bring

humanity nearer heaven!

Therefore, my reader, deem it not trivial that I have paused so long

over the Allens' party. It is philosophical to trace great events and

phenomenal human action to their hidden causes.