Late one afternoon early in December, Miss Pritchard telephoned to
Elsie to say that she would not be home to dinner as she was going
directly from the office to see a friend who had been taken suddenly to
a hospital. She was to dine in town on her way back and would be late
home. Mr. Graham, whom Elsie would remember, had spoken of calling in
the evening, and Miss Pritchard asked her to explain the circumstance
to him and keep him until her return.
As she turned away from the telephone, Elsie sighed deeply. Mr.
Graham's name stirred up uncomfortable recollections. In any case,
much as she had admired and liked him, she would have dreaded meeting
him again; and to entertain him alone for an indefinite period, with
his undivided attention focussed upon her, seemed an ordeal not only to
be dreaded but truly to be shunned.
Suppose he should refer again to her darling mother--as he surely
would! Acting or no acting, the girl felt that she couldn't deny her
again. Should she do so, it would be like the Palladium ceasing to
stand and Troy falling. And yet, what was she to do? If she didn't
hold to her statement of the summer, wouldn't she hazard spoiling
everything, not only for herself, but for the Elsie at Enderby?
Too wretched to allow herself the comfort of the window-seat in the
bow, Elsie dropped down on the floor before one of the long, low
windows of the adjacent side of the room, and gazing drearily out into
the dusky street, tried to prepare herself for an impromptu scene with
the coming guest wherein the matter of extraordinary dimples or sticky
babies might come up at any moment and be skilfully parried. But
stage-fright, confusion, and tears threatened imminently, like an ugly
nightmare, and she said to herself there was no use, she simply dared
not face it.
The temptation came to her to avoid the whole encounter by going to bed
at once. She certainly felt queer--almost faint; and when she should
be missed at the dinner-table and some one came up to see what had
happened, she could truly say she didn't feel able to see Mr. Graham,
and send word that he was to wait for Miss Pritchard.
As she considered the suggestion, reaching the point where Cousin Julia
came in, the girl's heart smote her. Cousin Julia would be
startled--yes, frightened. What a wretch she was deliberately to plan
to cause her utterly gratuitous anxiety! And how practised, how
_grounded_, in deceit she had grown, to turn thereto so readily for
help out of difficulty! How very far she was getting from her class
motto, "Per aspera ad astra"! And she recollected a word, strange
hitherto to her, which Cousin Julia had used in the summer. She had
mentioned her hope, as she had looked forward to the coming of the real
Elsie Marley, that she shouldn't have, at sixteen, become _inveterate_
in the ways of the Pritchard family. Well, wasn't she fast becoming
_inveterate_ in the ways of deceit? Wasn't she, perhaps, already
inveterate? Truly, she must be perilously near it. And oh, wasn't
this a far, far worse sort of _inveterateness_ than the Pritchard sort?
And if Cousin Julia had dreaded that, how, pray, would she feel in
regard to this?
Rising suddenly, Elsie rushed into her own room as if she were running
away from the visions she had conjured. As she made herself tidy for
dinner, her desperation grasped at a third expedient, a middle way.
Couldn't she get around the difficulty by preventing or forestalling
the introduction of any doubtful topic into the conversation? During
the time that would elapse between Mr. Graham's arrival and Cousin
Julia's return--three-quarters of an hour at the longest, she
supposed--she would keep him from bringing up any matter of
resemblances, of big dimples, of madonnas, or sticky babies. She would
monopolize the conversation, so far as she could, and direct it all the
time. At the risk of utterly losing the good opinion of one of Cousin
Julia's most valued friends, of appearing forward, conceited, tiresome,
she would rattle on like the empty-headed society girl in certain
modern plays. She would introduce utterly impersonal subjects, such
as--at the moment she couldn't think of anything but prohibition, which
would last about two minutes--and chatter foolishly and fast upon them,
one after another. Then, if she exhausted them and all else failed,
she would make such pointed and brazen references to her own singing
that he would be obliged to ask her to sing--and once going, she could
easily keep that up until Cousin Julia came to the rescue. And she
certainly wouldn't sing "Elsie Marley" nor anything that would in any
way remind Mr. Graham of it. Either she would shock that elegant
gentleman's taste with the ugliest of ragtime, or she would inflict him
with a succession of the operatic selections she had taken up with
Madame Valentini. The latter choice would probably, upon Miss
Pritchard's arrival, serve to bring up the unhappy matter of her
abandoning the stage for music, but that would be a minor evil.
Mr. Graham appeared promptly at the hour Miss Pritchard had predicted,
and Elsie greeted him in the rôle she had chosen and proceeded to give
him a gushing account of their journey back to New York at the end of
the summer. The artist, who had looked forward to seeing again the
charming little creature who had been such a vision of grace and
loveliness as she had sung and danced on the hotel veranda that summer
day, was surprised and dismayed at the change, the almost distressing
change, that had come upon the girl meantime. At first he took it for
granted that it was the coarsening effect of studying for the stage,
but very shortly he had decided otherwise. Whatever his skill in
reproduction, Charles Graham had the eye, the mind, and the heart of
the portrait-painter; and now he read the little actress's behavior
with a good measure of precision. Her restlessness, her chattering,
the high, unpleasing pitch of her naturally lovely low voice, her
assumption of the manner and speech of the blasé young person of the
stage, he saw to be primarily the cover of nervousness. He understood
that the girl was troubled about something, was perhaps suffering, and
tried to conceal it in this way. Moreover, he felt that, whatever it
was, she was bearing it altogether alone, hiding it from everybody.
So far, so good. But presently he jumped to a false conclusion. As he
referred casually to Miss Pritchard as an _inveterate_ optimist,
suddenly all the color died out of the girl's face, the shadow in her
eyes became momentarily genuine distress, and the bravado dropped from
her manner. It struck him that there was some misunderstanding between
his friend and her young cousin. And the pain this realization brought
him was curiously acute.
"But, my dear child," he exclaimed earnestly, "hers is no cheap
optimism. Miss Pritchard's wise, sane outlook upon life is the
courageous, positive optimism of the seasoned soldier. She has known
hardship and suffering, and it is victory over them that makes her
serenity and strength so impressive."
As the artist paused, he glanced with searching kindness at the girl
who was such a mere child, after all. But he seemed to feel a touch of
hardness or of obstinacy in the way she set her lips. He couldn't bear
the idea of her misunderstanding Miss Pritchard.
"I wonder, Miss Marley, if you ever heard about Miss Pritchard's
love-story?" he asked rather hesitatingly. "It all happened of course
before you were born; but your family may have spoken of it to you?"
Elsie raised her eyes quickly, regardless of the fact that there were
tears in them.
"Oh, no, Mr. Graham, I never knew--anything about it," she almost
gasped.
"Then I believe I will tell you," he said gravely. "If ever you
should--well, it makes one understand why Miss Pritchard so impresses
even a chance stranger with the strength of her personality."
He sighed. "It was years ago. Miss Pritchard was a newspaper woman at
the time--the most brilliant reporter, man or woman, in the city, we
thought her, in the little coterie of journalists and artists to which
we both belonged. More than one of us would have given all he had to
win her love. I don't mind saying to you, Miss Marley, that it was
because I could not win it that I have never married. She bestowed it,
however, upon an older man and a more brilliant than any of us. At
that time he was city editor of one of the big dailies; he had invested
a moderate inheritance wisely, and was worth millions when he died.
Miss Pritchard was in her late twenties, and though she was called
plain, possessed rare beauty of expression that is of course the
highest beauty of all; and it was no mere girl's heart that she gave
that man. She loved him with the intensity and maturity of a generous,
noble woman. He returned the love and he appreciated her fineness; and
yet he was unworthy of her. In the course of his business life, at a
certain stage of his career, he did something which, while it wasn't
dishonorable, wasn't strictly honorable. By means of this action,
which no one else of the few who knew it deemed reprehensible, he
gained prestige for his paper as well as for himself; but he lost Julia
Pritchard. Had he yielded in a moment of temptation, though it would
still have hurt her cruelly, I believe she would have overlooked his
fault. But the act was deliberate; and though he regretted it bitterly
and to his dying day, it was only because Miss Pritchard looked at it
as she did. Of the act itself, he never repented."
When Miss Pritchard came in, she noticed at once that Elsie looked very
pale--almost ill. After greeting her old friend warmly, she turned
anxiously to the girl.
"Has it been a hard day, honey?" she asked tenderly.
"Oh, yes, Cousin Julia," Elsie returned mournfully. And Mr. Graham
felt not only that his suspicion had been correct but that his relating
the story had truly had the desired effect.
"I think I'll go now, and--write a letter," the girl faltered.
"Go by all means, dear," Miss Pritchard bade her, "but don't write the
letter to-night unless it's imperative. I have tickets for 'The
Good-Natured Man' for to-morrow night, so if you can put off the
letter, hop right into bed and get a good rest in order to be fresh for
it."