comfort them in affliction. The other day our ostler's brother lost his
sweetheart--she died, poor girl--and the ostler and another friend had
him over here to cheer him up. They took him to the stable, and whittled
round among the stalls with him half the forenoon, and let him rub down
some of the horses; they stood him out among the vegetables and let him
gather some of the new kind of potato-bugs; they made him sit in the
office with his feet on top of the stove; they played billiards with
him; but he showed no signs of resignation till they borrowed three
squirrel-guns and started with him to the oak woods yonder. That seemed
to 'fetch' him. You should have seen them trudging off together with
their guns all aslant,--this way,--the stricken lover in the middle!"
Bartlett rises to illustrate, and then at the deepening solemnity of
Constance's face he desists in sudden dismay: "Miss Wyatt, I've shocked
you!"
_Constance._--"Oh, no--no!"
_Bartlett._--"It _was_ shocking. I wonder how I could do it! I--I
thought it would amuse you."
_Constance_, mournfully.--"It did, thank you, very much." After a pause:
"I didn't know you liked--joking."
_Bartlett._--"Ah! I don't believe I do--all kinds. Good Lord--I beg your
pardon." Bartlett turns away with an air of guilty consciousness, and
goes to the window and looks out, Constance's gaze following him: "It's
a wonderful day!" He comes back toward her: "What a pity you couldn't be
carried there in your chair!"
_Constance._--"I'm not equal to that yet." Presently: "Then
you--like--nature?"
_Bartlett._--"Why, that's mere shop in a landscape painter. I get my
bread and butter by her. At least I ought to have some feeling of
gratitude."
_Constance_, hastily.--"Of course, of course. It's very stupid of me,
asking."
_Bartlett_, with the desperate intention of grappling with the
situation.--"I see you have a passion for formulating, classifying
people, Miss Wyatt. That's all very well, if one's characteristics were
not so very characteristic of everybody else. But I generally find in my
moments of self-consciousness, when I've gone round priding myself that
such and such traits are my peculiar property, that the first man I meet
has them all and as many more, and isn't the least proud of them. I dare
say you don't see anything very strange in them, so far."
_Constance_, musingly.--"Oh, yes; very strange indeed. They're
all--wrong!"
_Bartlett._--"Well! I don't know--I'm very sorry-- Then you consider it
wrong not to like shooting and to be fond of joking and nature, and"--
_Constance_, bewilderedly.--"Wrong? Oh no!"
_Bartlett._--"Oh, I'm glad to hear it. But you just said it was."
_Constance_, slowly recalling herself, with a painful blush, at
last.--"I meant--I meant I didn't expect any of those things of you."
_Bartlett_, with a smile.--"Well, on reflection, I don't know that I
did, either. I think they must have come without being expected. Upon my
word, I'm tempted to propose something very ridiculous."
_Constance_, uneasily.--"Yes? What is that?"
_Bartlett._--"That you'll let me try to guess _you_ out. I've failed so
miserably in my own case, that I feel quite encouraged."
_Constance_, morbidly.--"I'm not worth the trouble of guessing out."
_Bartlett._--"That means no. You always mean no by yes, because you
can't bear to say no. That is the mark of a very deep and darkling
nature. I feel that I _could_ go on and read your mind perfectly, but
I'm afraid to do it. Let's get back to myself. I can't allow that you've
failed to read my mind aright; I think you were careless about it. Will
you give your intuitions one more chance?"
_Constance_, with an anxious smile.--"Oh yes."
_Bartlett._--"All those traits and tastes which we both find so
unexpected in me are minor matters at the most. The great test question
remains. If you answer it rightly, you prove yourself a mind-reader of
wonderful power; if you miss it-- The question is simply this: Do I like
smoking?"
_Constance_, instantly, with a quick, involuntary pressure of her
handkerchief to her delicate nostrils.--"Oh, yes, indeed!"
_Bartlett_, daunted and reddening.--"Miss Wyatt, you have been deluding
me. You are really a mind-reader of great subtlety."
_Constance._--"I don't know--I can't say that it was _mind_-reading
exactly." She lifts her eyes to his, and in his embarrassment he passes
his hand over his forehead and then feels first in one pocket, and then
in the other for his handkerchief; suddenly he twitches it forth, and
with it a pipe, half a dozen cigars, and a pouch of smoking tobacco,
which fly in different directions over the floor. As he stoops in dismay
and sweeps together these treasures, she cries: "Oh, it didn't need all
_that_ to prove it!" and breaks into a wild, helpless laugh, and
striving to recover herself with many little moans and sighs behind her
handkerchief, laughs on and on: "Oh, don't! I oughtn't! Oh dear, oh
dear!" When at last she lies spent with her reluctant mirth, and
uncovers her face, Bartlett is gone, and it is her mother who stands
over her, looking down at her with affectionate misgiving.
III.
MRS. WYATT _and_ CONSTANCE.
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Laughing, Constance?"
_Constance_, with a burst of indignant tears.--"Yes, yes! Isn't it
shocking? It's horrible! He made me."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"He?"
_Constance_, beginning to laugh again.--"Mr. Bartlett; he's been here.
Oh, I _wish_ I _wouldn't_ be so silly!"
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Made you? How could he make _you_ laugh, poor child?"
_Constance._--"Oh, it's a long story. It was all through my
bewilderment at his resemblance. It confused me. I kept thinking it was
_he_,--as if it were some dream,--and whenever this one mentioned some
trait of his that totally differed from _his_, don't you know, I got
more and more confused, and--mamma!"--with sudden desolation--"I know he
knows all about it!"
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"I am sure he doesn't. Mr. Cummings only told him that
his resemblance was a painful association. He assured your father of
this, and wouldn't hear a word more. I'm certain you're wrong. But what
made you think he knows?"
_Constance_, solemnly.--"He behaved just as if he didn't."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Ah, you can't judge from that, my dear." Impressively:
"Men are very different."
_Constance_, doubtfully.--"Do you think so, mamma?"
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"I'm certain of it."
_Constance_, after a pause.--"Mamma, will you help take this shawl off
my feet? I am so warm. I think I should like to walk about a little. Can
you see the island from the gallery?"
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Do you think you'd better try to leave your chair,
Constance?"
_Constance._--"Yes, I'm stronger this morning. And I shall never gain,
lounging about this way." She begins to loose the wraps from her feet,
and Mrs. Wyatt coming doubtfully to her aid she is presently freed. She
walks briskly towards the sofa, and sits down quite erectly in the
corner of it. "There! that's pleasanter. I get so tired of being a
burden." She is silent, and then she begins softly and wearily to laugh
again.
_Mrs. Wyatt_, smiling curiously.--"What is it, Constance? I don't at all
understand what made you laugh."
_Constance._--"Why, don't you know? Several times after I had been
surprised that he didn't like this thing, and hadn't that habit and the
other, he noticed it, and pretended that it was an attempt at
mind-reading, and then all at once he turned and said I must try once
more, and he asked, 'Do I like smoking?' and I said instantly, 'Oh,
yes!' Why, it was like having a whole tobacconist's shop in the same
room with you from the moment he came in; and of course he understood
what I meant, and blushed, and then felt for his handkerchief, and
pulled it out, and discharged a perfect volley of pipes and tobacco,
that seemed to be tangled up in it, all over the floor, and then I began
to laugh--so silly, so disgusting; so perfectly flat! and I thought I
should _die_, it was so ridiculous! and-- Oh, dear, I'm beginning
again!" She hides her face in her handkerchief and leans her head on the
back of the sofa: "Say something, _do_ something to stop me, mother!"
She stretches an imploring left hand toward the elder lady, who still
remains apparently but half convinced of any reason for mirth, when
General Wyatt, hastily entering, pauses in abrupt irresolution at the
spectacle of Constance's passion.
IV.
GENERAL WYATT, CONSTANCE, _and_ MRS. WYATT.
_Constance._--"_Oh_, ha, ha, ha! Oh, _ha_, ha, ha, ha!"
_General Wyatt._--"Margaret! Constance!" At the sound of his voice,
Constance starts up with a little cry, and stiffens into an attitude of
ungracious silence, without looking at her father, who turns with an
expression of pain toward her mother.
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Yes, James. We were laughing at something Constance had
been telling me about Mr. Bartlett. Tell your father, Constance."
_Constance_, coldly, while she draws through her hand the handkerchief
which she has been pressing to her eyes.--"I don't think it would amuse
papa." She passes her hand across her lap, and does not lift her heavy
eye-lashes.
_Mrs. Wyatt_, caressingly.--"Oh, yes, it would; I'm sure it would."
_Constance._--"You can tell it then, mamma."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"No; you, my dear. You tell it so funnily; and"--in a
lower tone--"it's so long since your father heard you laugh."
_Constance._--"There was nothing funny in it. It was disgusting. I was
laughing from nervousness."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Why, Constance"--
_General Wyatt._--"Never mind, Margaret. Another time will do." He
chooses to ignore the coldness of his daughter's bearing toward himself.
"I came to see if Constance were not strong enough to go out on the lake
this morning. The boats are very good, and the air is so fine that I
think she'll be the better for it. Mr. Bartlett is going out to the
island to sketch, and"--
_Constance._--"I don't care to go."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Do go, my daughter! I know it will do you good."
_Constance._--"I am not strong enough."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"But you said you were better, just now; and you should
yield to to your father's judgment."
_Constance._--"I will do whatever papa bids me."
_General Wyatt._--"I don't bid you. Margaret, I think I will go out
with Mr. Bartlett. We will be back at dinner." He turns and leaves the
room without looking again at Constance.
V.
CONSTANCE _and_ MRS. WYATT; _then_ BARTLETT.
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Oh, Constance! How can you treat your father so coldly?
You will suffer some day for the pain you give him!"
_Constance._--"Suffer? No, I'm past that. I've exhausted my power of
suffering."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"You haven't exhausted your power of making others
suffer."
_Constance_, crouching listlessly down upon the sofa.--"I told you that
I lived only to give pain. But it's my fate, not my will. Nothing but
that can excuse me."
_Mrs. Wyatt_, wringing her hands.--"Oh, oh! Well, then, give _me_ pain
if you must torment somebody. But spare your father,--spare the heart
that loves you so tenderly, you unhappy girl."
_Constance_, with hardness.--"Whenever I see papa, my first thought is,
If he had not been so harsh and severe, it might never have happened!
What can I care for his loving me when he hated _him_? Oh, _I_ will do
my duty, mother; _I_ will obey; I _have_ obeyed, and I know how. Papa
can't demand anything of me _now_ that isn't easy. I have forgiven
everything, and if you give me time I can forget. I _have_ forgotten. I
have been laughing at something so foolish, it ought to make me cry for
shame."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Constance, you try me beyond all endurance! You talk of
forgiving, you talk of forgetting, you talk of that wretch! Forgive
_him_, forget _him_, if you can. If he had been half a man, if he had
ever cared a tithe as much for you as for himself, all the hate of all
the fathers in the world could not have driven him from you. You talk of
obeying"--
_Mary, the serving woman_, flying into the room.--"Oh, please, Mrs.
Wyatt! There are four men carrying somebody up the hill. And General
Wyatt just went down, and I can't see him anywhere, and"--
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"You're crazy, Mary! He hasn't been gone a moment; there
isn't time; it can't be he!" Mrs. Wyatt rushes to the gallery that
overlooks the road to verify her hope or fear, and then out of one of
the doors into the corridor, while Constance springs frantically to her
feet and runs toward the other door.
_Constance._--"Oh, yes, yes! It's papa! It's my dear, good, kind papa!
He's dead; he's drowned; I drove him away; I murdered him! Ah-h-h-h!"
She shrinks back with a shriek at sight of Bartlett, whose excited face
appears at the door.--"Go! It was you, _you_ who made me hate my father!
You made me kill him, and now I abhor you! I"--
_Bartlett._--"Wait! Hold on! What is it all?"
_Constance._--"Oh, forgive me! I didn't mean--I didn't know it was you,
sir! But where _is_ he? Oh, take me to him! Is he dead?" She seizes his
arm, and clings to it trembling.
_Bartlett._--"Dead? No, he isn't dead. He was knocked over by a team
coming behind him down the hill, and was slightly bruised. There's no
cause for alarm. He sent me to tell you; they've carried him to your
rooms."
_Constance._--"Oh, thank Heaven!" She bows her head with a sob, upon
his shoulder, and then lifts her tearful eyes to his: "Help me to get to
him! I am weak." She totters and Bartlett mechanically passes a
supporting arm about her. "Help me, and don't--don't leave me!" She
moves with him a few paces toward the door, her head drooping; but all
at once she raises her face again, stares at him, stiffly releases
herself, and with a long look of reproach walks proudly away to the
other door, by which she vanishes without a word.
_Bartlett_, remaining planted, with a bewildered glance at his empty
arm: "Well, I wonder who and what and where I am!"
III.
DISSOLVING VIEWS.
I.
GENERAL WYATT _and_ MRS. WYATT.
In the parlour stands an easel with a canvas of inordinate dimensions
upon it, and near this a small table, with a fresh box of colours in
tubes, and a holiday outfit of new brushes, pallet, and other artist's
materials, evidently not the property of Bartlett. Across the room from
this apparatus is stretched Constance's easy-chair, towards which
General Wyatt, bearing some marks of his recent accident in a bandaged
wrist and a stiff leg, stumps heavily, supported by Mrs. Wyatt. Beside
this chair is the centre-table of the parlour, on which are an open box
of cigars, and a pile of unopened newspapers.
_General Wyatt_, dropping into the chair with a groan.--"Well, my dear!
I feel uncommonly ashamed of myself, taking Constance's chair in this
manner. Though there's a great consolation in thinking she doesn't need
it any longer." Settling himself more comfortably in the chair, and
laying his stick across his knees: "Margaret, I begin to be very happy
about Constance. I haven't had so light a heart for many a long day. The
last month has made a wonderful change in her. She is almost like her
old self again."
_Mrs. Wyatt_, sighing.--"Yes, it seems almost too good to be true. I
don't know quite what to make of it. Sometimes, I almost fear for her
mind. I'm sure that half the time she forgets that Mr. Bartlett isn't
that wretch, and I can see her awake with a start to the reality every
little while, and then wilfully lull her consciousness to sleep again.
He's terribly like. I can hardly keep from crying out at times; and
yesterday I did give way: I was _so_ ashamed, and he looked so _hurt_. I
see Constance restrain herself often, and I dare say there are times
that we don't know of when she doesn't."
_General Wyatt._--"Well, all that may be. But it's a thing that will
right itself in time. We must do our best not to worry him. This painter
is a fine fellow, my dear. I took a great fancy to him at the beginning.
I liked him from the moment I saw him."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"James! You were going to strike him with your cane."
_General Wyatt._--"That was before I saw _him_. I was going to strike
the other one. But that's neither here nor there. We must be careful not
to hurt his feelings; that's all. We've got our Constance back again,
Margaret. Impossible as it seems, we have got her back by his help.
Isn't it wonderful to see that killing weight lifted from her young
life? It's like a miracle."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"It isn't lifted _all_ the time, James."
_General Wyatt._--"No matter--no matter. It isn't crushing her all the
time either. I'm glad for what relief there is, and I feel that all is
going well. Do you hear that step, Margaret? Listen! That's _like_ the
old bounding tread of our little girl. Where is the leaden-footed
phantom that used to drag along that hall? Is she coming this way?"
_Mrs. Wyatt_, listening.--"No, she is going to our rooms. Has Mr.
Bartlett been here yet?"
_General Wyatt._--"Not yet. He was to come when he got back from his
sketching. _What_ a good fellow, to take so much trouble for Constance's
amusement! It was uncommonly kind of Mr. Bartlett, Margaret, offering to
give her these lessons."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Yes, it worries me."
_General Wyatt._--"Why in the world should it worry you, Margaret?"
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"You can't offer him any compensation for his
instructions."
_General Wyatt._--"Of course not. That would be offensive. Well?"
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Well, James, can't you see how it complicates
everything? He is conferring another obligation. He might almost think
we tried to throw them together."
_General Wyatt_, fiercely.--"He had better not! Why, Margaret, he's a
gentleman! He can't think that."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"No, I suppose not. I suppose it's our trouble that has
made me suspicious of every one." She goes sadly about the room,
rearranging, with a house-keeper's instinct, everything in it.
_General Wyatt._--"You needn't trouble yourself with the room, Margaret;
Mary told me that she and the landlady had put it in order."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"That's just why I need." After a moment: "Are you going
to be here, James?"
_General Wyatt._--"Yes, I thought I should stay. It's a cheerful place
to read and smoke. It won't disturb them, will it?"
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Oh, no! It's quite necessary some one should stay. I'm
very glad you can, for I've got a few little things to do."
_General Wyatt._--"All right. I'll stay and do the dragon, or whatever
it is. But I wish you hadn't put it in that light, Margaret. I was
proposing to enjoy myself."
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Enjoy yourself, James? With such a terribly perplexing
affair before you!"
_General Wyatt._--"I don't see anything perplexing about it. It's
perfectly simple, to my mind. Mr. Bartlett kindly proposes to give
Constance a few lessons in drawing,--or painting; I don't know which it
is. That's the beginning and the end of it."
_Mrs. Wyatt_, with a heavy sigh.--"Yes, that's the _beginning_."
_General Wyatt_, impatiently.--"Well?"
_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Nothing. Are you quite comfortable, here? Have you got
everything you wish?"
_General Wyatt_, with a glance at the things on the table at his
elbow.--"Here are my cigars, and--yes, here are the papers. Yes, I'm all
right. But what do you mean by 'nothing'? What--Ah, here's Mr.
Bartlett!" As Bartlett comes into the room, the General, since he cannot
conveniently rise, makes a demonstration of welcome with his hands.
Bartlett has his colour-box under his arm, and a canvas in his hand.
"You've been improving the shining hour, I see. What have you there?"
II.
BARTLETT, GENERAL WYATT, _and_ MRS. WYATT.
_Bartlett_, with a smile and nod inclusive of Mrs. Wyatt.--"Nothing
worth looking at." He goes and faces it against the wall. "Have I kept
Miss Wyatt waiting?"
_Mrs. Wyatt_, anxiously.--"It's too bad you should waste your time upon
her, Mr. Bartlett. I don't know why we let you."
_Bartlett._--"You can't help yourself, Mrs. Wyatt. The wrong is owing to
circumstances beyond your control. If I have any virtue it is a
particularly offensive form of stubbornness. Besides,"--more
seriously,--"I feel myself honoured to do it--to contribute anything to
Miss Wyatt's--ah--ah--In short, if she can stand it _I_ can."
_General Wyatt._--"It's immensely kind of you. By the way, you won't
mind my staying here, will you, to read my papers, while you're at work?
Because if you do, I can clear out at once." Mrs. Wyatt, with mute but
lively tokens of dismay, attends the General's further remarks: "I don't
want to stay here and be a bore and a nuisance, you know." Mrs. Wyatt
vanishes from the scene in final despair.
_Bartlett_, going up to the easel and dragging it into an entirely new
position.--"Not in the least. Some woman been putting this room in
order, hasn't there?"
_General Wyatt._--"Three."
_Bartlett._--"I thought so." He continues to disarrange all the
preparations for his work. His operations bring him in the vicinity of
General Wyatt, upon whose box of cigars his eye falls. "Oh, I say,
General! Smoking?"
_General Wyatt._--"Certainly. Why not?"
_Bartlett._--"Well, I don't know. I thought perhaps--I supposed--I
imagined somehow from something she said, or that happened--it was
offensive to Miss Wyatt."
_General Wyatt._--"Why, bless your heart, man, she minds it no more than
I do!"
_Bartlett._--"You don't say so! Why, I haven't smoked any for the last
two weeks, because--because-- And I'm almost dead for a pipe!"
_General Wyatt._--"Why, poor fellow! Why, here! Take a cigar!"
_Bartlett_, significantly shaking his head.--"Oh, no, no! I said a
_pipe_." He rushes to an old studio jacket which the landlady has hung
for him on the back of a chair; he dives in one pocket and gets out a
pipe, plunges into another and extracts a pouch of tobacco. He softly
groans and murmurs with impatience while he makes these explorations.
Upon their success: "So lucky Mrs. Ransom brought down that coat. I
couldn't have lived to get up-stairs after it!" Stuffing his pipe in a
frenzy, he runs to the General for a match; that veteran has already
lighted it, and extends it toward him. Bartlett stoops over the flame,
pipe in mouth. As the General drops the extinct match upon the floor the
painter puffs a great cloud, in which involved he is putting on his
studio jacket when Constance appears at the door. He instinctively
snatches his pipe from his lips and puts it in his pocket.
III.
CONSTANCE, BARTLETT, _and_ GENERAL WYATT.
_Constance_, fighting her way through the smoke to the General's
chair.--"Why, papa, how you _have_ been smoking!"
_General Wyatt_, with a queer look.--"Yes, I find it rests me after a
bad night. I didn't sleep well."
_Constance._--"Oh, poor papa! How do _you_ do, Mr. Bartlett?" She gives
him her hand for good-morning.
_Bartlett._--"Oh, quite well, quite well _now_, thank you. I--I--had
been a little off my--diet."
_Constance._--"Oh!"
_Bartlett._--"Yes. But I've gone back now, and I'm all right again." He
retires to the easel, and mechanically resumes his pipe, but takes it
from his mouth again, and after an impatient glance at it, throws it out
of the window. "When you're ready, Miss Wyatt, we can begin any time.
There's no hurry, though."
_Constance._--"I'm ready now. Is everything in reach, papa?"
_General Wyatt._--"Yes, my dear. I'm so perfectly comfortable that one
touch more would make me miserable."
_Constance._--"Can't I do something for you?"
_General Wyatt._--"Not a thing. I'm a prodigy of content."
_Constance._--"Not lift up this last fold of the chair, so your foot
won't rest so heavily on the floor?"
_General Wyatt._--"Was it resting heavily? I hadn't noticed. Yes, it
was; how you see everything, my dear! Yes"-- Constance stoops to put up
the chair to its last extension, and Bartlett runs forward to anticipate
her.
_Bartlett._--"Miss Wyatt, let me do that!"
_Constance._--"No, no! No one must touch papa but me. There, is that
right, papa?"
_General Wyatt._--"Exactly. That makes me pluperfectly comfortable. I
haven't a wish in the world, and all I ask now is to"--
_Constance._--"Get at your newspapers? Let me take off the wrappers for
you."
_General Wyatt._--"Not on any account." He gently withdraws from her the
newspaper she has taken up. "That is truly a kindness that kills. Open
my papers for me? I'd as lief you'd put on my hat for me, my dear."
_Bartlett._--"That is the one thing that can't be done for any man!"