GRAYDON MUIR
Madge Alden was almost seventeen, and yet she was in many respects
a child. Scenes portrayed in books had passed before her mind like
pictures, having no definite significance. Mr. Muir was to her like
some of the forces in nature--quiet, unobtrusive, omnipotent--and she
accepted him without thought. Her sister was one whom she could
love easily as a matter of course. She was an indulgent household
providence, who cared for the young girl as she did for her own little
children. If anything was amiss in Madge's wardrobe the elder sister
made it right at once; if Madge had a real or imaginary ailment, Mary
was always ready to prescribe a soothing remedy; and if there was
a cloud in the sky or the wind blew chill she said, "Madge, do be
prudent; you know how easily you take cold." Thus was provided the
hot-house atmosphere in which the tender exotic existed. It could not
be said that she had thrived or bloomed.
Graydon Muir was the one positive element with which she had come in
contact, and thus far she had always accepted him in the spirit of a
child. He had begun petting her and treating her like a sister when
she was a child. His manner toward her had grown into a habit, which
had its source in his kindly disposition. To him she was but a weak,
sickly little girl, with a dismal present and a more dreary outlook.
Sometimes he mentally compared her with the brilliant girls he met in
society, and especially with one but a little older than Madge, who
appeared a natural queen in the drawing-room. His life abounded in
activity, interests, and pleasures, and if it was his impulse to throw
a little zest into the experiences of those in society who had no
claims upon him, he was still more disposed to cheer and amuse the
invalid in his own home. Moreover, he had become sincerely fond of
her. Madge was neither querulous nor stupid. Although not conceited,
he had the natural vanity of a handsome and successful man, and while
the evident fact that he was such a hero in her eyes amused him, it
also predisposed him to kindly and sympathetic feeling toward her.
He saw that she gave him not only a sisterly allegiance, but also a
richer and fuller tribute, and that in her meagre and shadowed life he
was the brightest element. She tried to do more for him than for any
one else, while she made him feel that as an invalid she could not do
very much, and that he should not expect it. She would often play
for him an hour at a time, and again she would be so languid that no
coaxing could lure her from the sofa. Occasionally she would even read
aloud a few pages with her musical and sympathetic voice, but would
soon throw down the book with an air of exhaustion, and plead that he
would read to her. In her weakness there was nothing repulsive, and
without calculation she made many artless appeals to his strength. He
generously responded, saying to himself, "Poor little thing! she has
a hard time of it. With her great black eyes she might be a beauty if
she only had health and was like other girls; but as it is, she is so
light and pale and limp that I sometimes feel as if I were petting a
wraith."
Of late she had begun to go out with him a little, he choosing
small and quiet companies among people well known to the Muirs, and
occasionally her sister also went. Her rôle of invalid was carefully
maintained and recognized. Graydon had always prided himself on his
loyalty as an escort; and as long as he was devoted, the neglect of
other young men was welcomed rather than regretted; for, except toward
him, all her old shyness still existed. With the consciousness that he
was caring for her she was well content with some half-secluded nook
of observation, from which she looked out upon scenes that were like
an animated story. She wove fanciful imaginings around those who
attracted her attention, and on her return laughingly discussed
the people who had passed, like players, before her eyes. Graydon
encouraged her to do this, for her ignorance of society made her
remarks original and amusing. He knew the conventional status of every
one they met as accurately as his brother recognized the commercial
value of the securities that passed under his eye, and Madge's
estimates often seemed absurd to the last degree.
Whenever she went out with Graydon his course was eminently
satisfactory; she never felt herself neglected, while at the same time
she saw that his attentions were welcomed everywhere. She never lost
her serene sense of proprietorship, and only grew more fond of him as
she noted how readily he left the side of beautiful and gifted women
to look after her. He had often laughingly asserted that he went into
society only for amusement, and his course under her own observation
confirmed his words.
Early in the winter during which our story opens, she had caught a
succession of colds, and one proved so severe and obstinate that her
friends were alarmed, fearing that she was going into a decline. She
slowly rallied, however, but was more frail than ever. Before the gay
season closed, just preceding Lent, Madge received an invitation to a
very large party. Graydon urged her to go, remarking that she had
not yet seen society. "Don't be afraid, I'll take care of you, little
ghost," he said, and with this assurance she accompanied him, contrary
to her sister's advice. It was indeed a brilliant occasion. The wide
rooms of a Madison Avenue palace were thronged, and she had never even
imagined such toilets as caught her eye on every side. There were
so many present that she could easily maintain her position of quiet
spectator, and her eyes dilated with pleasure as she saw that Graydon
was as much a leader as at other places where comparatively few were
present.
At last her attention was attracted by one who was evidently a late
comer, and whose presence appeared to fill the apartment. All the
others paled before her, as do the stars when the moon rises among
them. She was evidently young, and yet she did not suggest youth. One
would almost imagine that she had never had a childhood or a girlhood,
but was rather a direct creation of metropolitan society. Her
exquisitely turned shoulders and arms were bare, and the diamonds
about her neck were a circlet of fire. The complexion of her fair oval
face was singularly pure, and the color came and went so easily as to
prove that it owed nothing to art. The expression of her gray eyes was
rather cold and haughty when at rest, and gave an impression of pride
and the consciousness of power. The trait which to the observant
Madge seemed most marked at first, however, was her perfect ease. Her
slightest movement was grace itself. Her entire self-possession was
indicated by the manner in which she greeted the men who sought her
attention, and many there were. She could be perfectly polite, yet
as repellent as ice, or she could smile with a fascination that even
Madge felt would be hard to resist. This girl, who was such an immense
contrast to herself, wholly fixed her attention as she stood for a few
moments, like a queen, surrounded by her courtiers.
Graydon had gone for a glass of water, and meeting a friend had been
detained for a brief space. Madge saw him coming, saw his eye light up
with admiration as he caught sight of the beautiful stranger, but he
came directly to her, and asked, genially, if there was anything else
she would like.
"Yes. Who is that girl yonder?"
"Miss Wildmere. Isn't she lovely? She promised me, last week, her
first dance for this evening. Will you excuse me for a little while?"
"Certainly;" and yet she was conscious of a sudden and odd little
protest at heart.
He approached the beauty. Miss Wildmere's face flushed with pleasure
and softened into a welcoming smile, such as she had not yet bestowed
upon any who had sought her favor. Then, in swift alternation, she
bent upon Madge a brief, cold glance of scrutiny. So brief was it, and
so complacent was the expression of the belle as she turned away, that
the pallid, sensitive girl was told, as by words, "You are nothing."
That glance was like a sharp, deep wound, and pierced where she
was most vulnerable. It said to her, "You are not capable of being
anything to Graydon Muir. I am not in the least afraid of you."
What was she to him? What did she wish to be? To these questions Madge
had but one answer. Any and every girl, in her belief, would be only
too glad to win him. He had said that Miss Wildmere was lovely; his
eyes had expressed an admiration which he had never bestowed upon her;
he had led the beauty away with a glad content in his face, and the
crowded room was made empty by their absence.
She was no longer conscious of weakness, but, obeying her impulse,
sprang up and followed them to the ballroom. Concealed by a little
group she stood, unwearied, and watched them as they glided hither and
thither with a grace that attracted many eyes. The music appeared to
control and animate them, and their motion was harmony itself. Graydon
evidently thought only of his fair partner; but her swift glances were
everywhere, gathering the rich revenue of admiration which was freely
offered. For a second she encountered Madge's large black eyes, full
of trouble, and a satirical smile proved that she enjoyed the poor
girl's solicitude. To deepen it she looked up at Graydon and said
something that caused his face to flush with pleasure. His response
was more decisive, for the swift color came into her face, and her
eyes drooped. The by-play was momentary, and would not have been
seen by a less vigilant observer than Madge; but to her it gave the
undoubted impression that they were lovers. When Miss Wildmere looked
again to see the result of her unkindly strategy, Madge was gone.
In reaction she had grown almost faint, and reached her former retreat
with difficulty. But all her latent womanhood speedily rallied to
meet this strange and but half-comprehended emergency. The impulse now
uppermost was to retain her self-control and reach the seclusion of
her own room. How she was to endure the long hours she scarcely knew.
She did not dare to think. Indeed, the effort was scarcely possible,
for her mind was at first in tumult, with only one thing clear, a
poignant sense of loss and trouble.
Graydon was a long time away, longer than he had ever been before when
acting as her escort. While she felt this neglect, and interpreted it
naturally, she was not sorry. She dreaded meeting him again. In one
brief hour her old ease and freedom with him had gone. She wondered at
the change in herself, yet knew that it was as definite and decided as
if she had become another person. When be had brought her the glass
of water she could look into his face with the frank directness of a
child. Why could she not do so now? Why did she almost tremble at the
thought of his glance, his touch, his presence? She knew that he would
come back with his old genial, kindly manner--that he would be
the same. But a change had occurred in her which made the fabled
transmutations of magic wands seem superficial indeed. Would he note
this change? Could he guess the cause? Oh, what _was_ the cause? Even
her pale face grew crimson, for there are truths that come to the
consciousness like the lightning from heaven. She did not need to
think, to weigh and reason. A woman's heart is often above and beyond
her reason, and hers had been awakened at last by the all-powerful
touch of love.
The time passed, and still Graydon did not come. He was not absent
very long, and yet it began to seem terribly long to her. She had
overrated her powers, and found that even pride could not sustain her.
She had no reserve of strength to draw upon. The heat of the room grew
oppressive, and she was unaccustomed to throngs, confusion, and noise.
The consciousness of her weakness was forced upon her most painfully
at last by the appearance of Miss Wildmere on Graydon's arm. The
belle was smiling, radiant, her step elastic, her eyes shining with
excitement and pleasure. Her practiced scrutiny had assured her that
she was the queen of the hour; the handsomest and most courtly man
present was so devoted as to suggest that he might easily become a
lover; she had seen many glances of envy, and one, in the case of poor
Madge, of positive pain. What more could her heart desire? Graydon
conducted her to her chaperon, near whom half a dozen gentlemen were
waiting for a chance to be his successor; and, having obtained
her promise for another dance later in the evening, he turned
deprecatingly to Madge. His apologies ceased before they were half
spoken. She looked so white and ill that he was alarmed, and asked
permission to get her a glass of wine.
"No, Graydon," she said, then hesitated, for she felt the color coming
into her face, while a strange blur confused every object in the room.
"I'm very, very sorry," she added, hastily, after a moment. "I ought
not to have come. I'm not equal to this. It wouldn't take you very
long to drive home with me, and then you could return. Please,
Graydon."
Her tone was so urgent, and she appeared so weak, that he complied at
once, saying, with much compunction, "I should not have left you alone
so long, but supposed you were amusing yourself by looking at the
people."
She did not trust herself to reply. Her one thought was to reach the
refuge of her own apartment, and to this end she concentrated her
failing energies. The climb to the ladies' dressing-room was a
desperate effort; but when she was once outside the house the cold,
pure air revived her slightly.
"You can excuse me to our hostess--she will not care," she faltered,
and it seemed to her then that nobody would care. Miss Wildmere's
glance had conveyed the estimate of society. If she could believe
herself first in Graydon's thoughts she would not be cast down, but
now the truth was overwhelming.
She leaned away from him in the corner of the carriage, but he put his
strong arm round her and drew her to his breast. She tried to resist,
but was powerless. Then came the torturing thought, "If I repel
him--if I act differently--he will guess the reason," and she was
passive; but he felt her slight form tremble.
"My poor little ghost, you are ill in very truth! I'm indeed sorry
that I left you so long."
"Believe me, Graydon, I am ill. Please let that excuse me and explain.
Oh, that I--I were strong, like Miss Wildmere!"
"Isn't she a beauty?" exclaimed the unconscious Graydon. "The man who
wins her might well be proud, for he would have competitors by the
score."
"Your chances seem excellent," said Madge, in a low tone.
He laughed complacently, but added: "You don't know these society
belles. They can show a great deal of favor to more than one fellow,
yet never permit themselves to be pinned by a definite promise. They
are harder to catch and hold than a wild Bedouin; but such a girl as
Miss Wildmere is worth the effort. Yes, Madge, I do wish you were like
her. It would be grand sport to champion you in society and see you
run amuck among the fellows. It's a thousand pities that you are such
an invalid. I've thought more than once that you were designed to be a
beauty. With your eyes and Stella Wildmere's health you would be quite
as effective after your style as she is in hers. Never mind, little
sister, I shall stand by you, and as long as I live you shall always
have a luxurious sofa, with all the novels of the northern hemisphere
at your command. Who knows? You may grow strong one of these days.
When you do I'll pick out the nice fellows for you."
At every kindly word her heart grew heavier, and when the carriage
stopped at their door she could hardly mount the steps. In the hall
she faltered and caught the hat-rack for support. He lifted her in
his arms and bore her easily to her room, her sister following in much
solicitude. "It's nothing," said Madge; "the company was too large and
exciting for me. There was no need of Graydon's carrying me upstairs,
but he would do it."
"You poor dear!" began her sister, broodingly. "I feared it would be
so. Graydon is made of iron, and will never realize how delicate you
are."
"He's very kind, and more considerate than I deserve. As he says," she
added, bitterly, "I'm nothing but a ghost, and had better vanish."
"Nonsense, Madge," said the young man, with brusque kindness. "You
know I want you to haunt me always. Good-by now, little sister. I
shall be _de trop_ if I stay any longer. You'll be better in the
morning, and to-morrow evening I'll remain home and entertain you."