RIVAL GIRLS
Instead of Graydon there came a letter saying that he would be
detained abroad another week. The heat was oppressive, and the family
physician said that little Jack should be taken to the country at
once. Therefore they packed in haste, and started for a hotel in the
Catskills at which rooms had been engaged. Graydon was to join them
there as soon after his return as possible.
Madge looked wistfully at the mountains, as with shadowy grandeur
they loomed in the distance. There is ever a solemnity about mountain
scenery, and she felt it as she passed under the lofty brows of wooded
heights. To her spirit it was grateful and appropriate, for, while she
would lead among them apparently the existence of a young girl bent
only on enjoyment, she believed she would leave them, either a happy
woman, or else facing the tragedy of a thwarted life. Their deepest
shadows might, even when her laugh was gayest, typify the despondency
she would hide from all.
It was Saturday, and Mr. Muir accompanied his family. He and his wife
looked worn and weary, for at this time circumstances were bringing
an excess of care to both. Mrs. Muir was a devoted mother, and little
Jack had taxed her patience and strength to the utmost. A defensive
warfare is ever the severest test of manhood, and Mr. Muir had found
the past week a trying one. He had been lured into an enterprise that
at the time had seemed certain of success, even to his conservative
mind, but unforeseen elements had entered into the problem, and it now
required all his nerve, all his resources, to meet the strain. Neither
Madge nor his wife knew anything of this. Indeed, it was not his habit
to speak of his affairs to any one, unless the exigencies of the case
required explanation. In this emergency he was obliged to maintain
among his associates an air of absolute confidence. Now that he was
out of the arena he gave evidence of the strain.
Madge saw this, and resolved that her large reserve of vitality should
be drawn upon. The tired mother should be relieved and the perplexed
and wearied man beguiled into forgetfulness of the sources of anxiety.
Jack would have indulged in a perpetual howl during the journey had
not his attention been diverted by Madge's unexpected expedients,
which often suspended an outcry with comical abruptness, while her
remarks and questions made it impossible for Mr. Muir to toil on
mentally in Wall Street. By reason of the heat the majority of the
passengers dozed or fretted. She heroically kept up the spirits of her
little band, oblivious of the admiring eyes that often turned toward
her flushed, animated face.
There are few stronger tests than unflagging good-humor during a
disagreeable journey with cross children. At last the ordeal came to
an end, and in the late afternoon shadows they alighted at the wide
piazza of the Under-Cliff House, and were shown to airy rooms, which
proved that the guests were not kept in pigeon-holes for the sole
benefit of the proprietor. Our heroine employed the best magic the
world has known--thoughtful helpfulness. Mr. Muir was banished. "You
would be as useful as a whale," she said to him, when he offered to
aid his wife in unpacking and getting settled. "Go down to the piazza
and smoke in peace. I shall be worth a dozen of you as soon as I take
off my travelling-dress."
She verified her words, and before they were aware of it Mrs. Muir,
who was prone to fall into hopeless confusion at such times, and the
nurse were acting under her direction. The elder little boy and girl
were coaxed, restrained, managed, and soon sent down to their father,
redressed and serene. Jack was lulled to sleep in Madge's room. The
trunks instead of disgorging chaos, were compelled to part with their
contents in an orderly way. In little more than an hour the two rooms
allotted to Mr. and Mrs. Muir, and the nurse with the children, took
on a cosey, inhabitable aspect, and by supper-time the ladies, in
evening costume and with unruffled brows, joined Mr. Muir.
"The idea of my ever permitting Madge to go back to Santa Barbara!"
exclaimed Mrs. Muir. "This day alone has proved that I can never get
on without her. Just go and look at your room, sir. One would think we
had been settled here a week. You ought to pay Madge's bills, and give
her a handsome surplus."
"If time is money," said Madge, "Henry will have to pay me well. He
must stay and help me explore these mountains in every direction.
But now let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we shall go to
church."
"I've half a mind to take you down to Wall Street with me next week,"
said Mr. Muir. "Perhaps you can straighten out things there."
"No, sir. I'm a woman's-rights girl, and one of her rights is to get
things out of the way as soon as possible, so that people can have a
good time. Thank heaven our affairs can be shut up in drawers and hung
up in closets, and there we can leave them--in this case for a good
supper first, and a long quiet rest on this piazza afterward. Don't
you think you could find a drawer somewhere in which to tuck away your
Wall Street matters, Henry? You won't need them till some time next
week, for you must certainly spend two or three days with us."
Mr. Muir laughed. "I've heard of managing women before, but you beat
them all. You have won, to-day, the right to manage for a while. I'll
join you soon; then supper; and, as you suggest, I'll put the Wall
Street matters somewhere and lock them up."
Thus their mountain sojourn began auspiciously. The supper was
excellent, and they were in a mood to enjoy it; they found the piazza
deliciously cool after the long hot day; and the faint initial pipings
of autumn insects only emphasized the peace and quiet of the evening.
The mountains brooded around them like great shadows, their outlines
gemmed with stars, and the very genius of repose seemed to settle down
upon the weary man and woman who were in the thick of their life's
battle.
They were among the earliest arrivals at the house, and had a wide
space to themselves. Indeed, they could have been scarcely more
secluded at their own summer residence. For those seeking rest, an
early flight to summer resorts brings a rich reward.
While her relatives dozed or merely revived sufficiently from time to
time to make some desultory remark, Madge thought deeply. At first she
had been disappointed at the postponement of Graydon's return, but
she grew reconciled as she dwelt upon it. While hope was deferred,
she enjoyed a longer lease of anticipation. When he did come she might
soon learn that all hope was vain. Besides, the delay gave her time to
familiarize herself with the region and its most beautiful walks and
drives. The mountains, woods, and rocks should all be pressed into
her service. They would not reveal her secret, and they might engender
thoughts and words with which Miss Wildmere would be out of harmony.
"I've been thinking," Mr. Muir at last remarked.
"Nonsense! you've been asleep," Madge replied.
"No; I've thought profoundly."
"Not even a penny for any thoughts of yours since supper."
"They would be worth fortunes, life, health, happiness, to half the
world."
"Then keep still till you have a patent, copyright, or something,"
said his wife.
"No. I rise simply to remark--also to retire--that a little oil keeps
machinery from wearing out and going to pieces. Come now, old lady"
(pulling his wife to her feet), "you are the better to-night, as I
am, for the oil that Madge has slipped in here and there. I fear the
machinery to-day would have run badly without it."
The group that gathered at the breakfast-table next morning bore early
testimony to the tonic of the hills. Jack only was not so well, and
Mrs. Muir remained with him, while Madge and Mr. Muir wended their
way to a little chapel whose spire was the only summons to worship.
A short, genial, middle-aged man met them at the door, with such
hospitable cordiality as to suggest that he was receiving friends at
his own home, and conducted them to seats. A venerable clergyman sat
in the pulpit with a face full of quiet benignity. Every one who came
appeared to receive an almost personal welcome; and Madge and Mr. Muir
looked enviously at the self-appointed usher. It was as evident that
he was not a professional sexton as that the little congregation could
not afford such a luxury. No care clouded his brow. Evidently his
future did not depend on fluctuations in the maelstrom of commerce,
nor had he one hope so predominant over all others that his life was
one of masked suspense, as was the case with poor Madge. He was rather
like the rugged, sun-lighted mountains near, solid, stable, simple. No
matter what happened, he would remain and appear much the same.
Such was the tenor of Madge's thoughts as she waited for the opening
of service. Fanciful and imaginative to a great degree, she found a
certain mental enjoyment in observing the impressions made upon her by
strangers.
The service was brief and simple; the good old clergyman preached the
gospel of hope, and his words calmed and strengthened the young girl's
mind. She was made to feel that there is something more and better
than present happiness--that there are remedies for earthly ills.
When she returned to the hotel she found that Mrs. Muir was worried
about Jack, who was worse, and that a Dr. Sommers had been sent for.
She could not help smiling when, a little later, the hospitable usher
of the chapel came briskly in. She eventually learned that the doctor
provoked smiles wherever he went, as a breeze raises ripples on the
surface of a stream. He smiled himself when he met people, and every
one took the contagion. He examined the baby, said the case would
require a little watching until certain teeth came through, and
then that there would be no further trouble. He spoke with the same
confidence with which he would announce that July was near.
"You watch the case, then," said Mr. Muir, decisively. "I must be in
town. If you can look after the child and save my wife from worry, my
mind will be easy as regards this end of the line at least."
"All right, sir. We'll manage it. Healthy boy. No trouble."
"Have you lived long among the mountains, doctor?" Madge ventured to
ask.
"I should think so. As long as I have lived. Was born and brought up
among 'em."
"It must be dreary here in the winter," Mrs. Muir remarked.
"Not a bit of it. It's never dreary."
"How far among the hills does your practice extend?" Madge pursued.
"As far as I'll go, and I'm usually going."
"Perhaps you can give us, then, some advice as to drives and walks."
"Oh, lots, free gratis. I can tell Mr. Muir of a trout-stream or two,
also."
"Doctor," said Madge, laughing, "I am very ill. I shall need much
advice, and prescriptions of all the romantic walks and drives in the
vicinity."
"And like most of the advice from doctors, it won't be taken. A stroll
on the piaza is about all that most ladies are equal to. You look,
however, as if you should not fear a steep path or a rough road."
"You shall see," cried Madge.
"Yes, I will see," said the doctor, laughing, and bowing himself out.
"I've seen a great many ladies who could dance miles, but were as
afraid of a mountain as of a bear."
At the dinner-table Mrs. Muir said, laughingly, "In Dr. Sommers, Madge
has found a kindred spirit--another oiler of machinery. If between him
and Madge things don't go smoothly, the fates are indeed against us."
"When life does go smoothly, it is because of just such good, cheery
common-sense," Mr. Muir remarked, sententiously. "I'm in the financial
centre of this part of the world, and schemes involving millions and
the welfare of States--indeed of whole sections of the country--are
daily brought to my consideration, and I tell you again men are often
in no condition to act wisely or well because the wear and tear of
their life is greater after business hours than during them. Business
maniac as Madge thinks me to be, little Jack is of more consequence
than a transcontinental railway. I must face the music--the discord,
rather--of Wall Street to-morrow. There is no use in protesting or
coaxing; I must be there; but it's a great thing to be able to return
with my nerves soothed, rested, and quieted. Heaven help the men who,
after the strain of the day, must go home to be pricked half to death
with pin-and-needle-like worries, if not worse."
"Please imagine Madge and myself making a profound courtesy for the
implied compliment," said Mrs. Muir. "But can you not spend part of
the week with us?"
"No. Graydon will soon be here, and there is much to be seen to. He
writes that he has worked very hard to get things in shape so that
he can leave them, and that he wishes to take a vacation. As far as
possible I shall gratify him. He can be with you here, and come to
town occasionally as I need him. It's all turning out very well, and I
am better off than many in these troublous times."
The remainder of his stay passed quietly in absolute rest, and on the
following morning he was evidently strengthened for the renewal of the
struggle.
* * * * *
"Stella!"
Miss Wildmere remained absorbed in her novel.
"Stella!" repeated Mr. Wildmere, impatiently.
"What is it?" she asked, fretfully. "I'm in an exciting scene. Can't
you wait awhile?"
"Oh, throw down your confounded novel! You should be giving your mind
to real life and exciting scenes of your own. No, I can't wait and
don't propose to, for I must go out."
The words were spoken in a small but elegant house, furnished in an
ultra-fashionable style. Mr. Wildmere was a stout, florid man, who
looked as if he might be burning his candle at both ends. His daughter
was dressed to receive summer evening calls at her own home, for she
was rarely without them. If the door-bell had rung she would have
dismissed her exciting scene without hesitation, but it was only her
father who asked her attention.
"Very well," she said, absently, turning down a leaf.
Her father observed her listless air and averted face for a moment
with contracted brow, then quietly remarked, "Graydon Muir may return
at any time now."
Her apathy disappeared at once, and a faint color stole into her face.
"Haven't you had enough of general attention and flirtation? I know
that my wishes have little weight; you have refused not a few good
offers and one on which I had set my heart; but let the past go. The
immediate future may require careful and decisive action. I speak in
view of your own interests, and to such considerations I know you
will not be indifferent. If you were taking a natural and intelligent
interest in my affairs you would have some comprehension of my
difficulties and dangers. The next few months will decide whether I
can keep up or not. In the meantime you have your opportunity. Graydon
Muir will share in the fortunes of his brother, who has had the
reputation of being very wealthy and eminently conservative. I have
learned, however, that he has invested largely in one enterprise that
now appears to be very dubious--how largely no one but himself knows.
If this affair goes through all right you couldn't do better than
develop Graydon Muir into an impatient suitor; and you had better keep
him well in hand for a time, anyway. He is a good business man and far
more to be depended upon than rich young fellows who have inherited
wealth, with no ability except in spending it. If the Muirs pass
through these times they will become one of the strongest and safest
houses in the country. Remember that the _if_ is to be considered. Mr.
Arnault, too, is a member of a strong, wealthy house. I would advise
you to make your choice between these two men speedily. You are not
adapted to a life of poverty, and would not enjoy it. An alliance with
either of these men might also aid in sustaining me."
Miss Wildmere listened attentively, but made no comment, and her
father evidently did not require any, for he went out immediately.
He understood his daughter sufficiently to believe that she needed
no further advice. He was right. The exciting crisis in her novel
was forgotten, and her fair face took on an expression that did not
enhance its beauty. Calculation on the theme uppermost in her mind
produced a revery in which an artist would not have cared to paint
her. It was evident that the time had come when she must dispose of
herself, and the question was, how to do it to the best advantage.
To Graydon she gave her preference. He was remarkably fine looking,
and could easily be a leader in society if he so desired--"and
certainly shall be," she thought, "if I take his name." As far as her
heart spoke in the matter it declared for him, also. Other men had
wooed and pleaded, but she had ever mentally compared them with
Graydon, and they had appeared insignificant. She had felt sure for a
long time that he would eventually be at her feet, and she had never
decided to refuse him. Now she was ready to accept but for this
ominous "if," which her father had emphasized. She could not think of
marrying him should he become a poor man.
She neither liked nor disliked Mr. Arnault. He was a man of the world,
reported wealthy, established in a large but not very conservative
business. He had the name of being a little fast and speculative, but
she was accustomed to that style of man. He was an open suitor who
would take no rebuff, and had laughingly told her so. After his
refusal, instead of going away in despondency or in a half-tragic
mood, he had good-naturedly declared his intentions, and spent the
remainder of the evening in such lively chat that she had been pleased
and amused by his tactics. Since that time he had made himself useful,
was always ready to be an escort with a liberal purse, and never
annoyed her with sentiment. She understood him, and he was aware that
she did. He took his chances for the future, and was always on hand
to avail himself of any mood or emergency which he could turn to
his advantage. In various unimportant ways he was of service to Mr.
Wildmere, but hoped more from the broker's embarrassments than from
the girl's heart.
"I might do worse," muttered the beauty--"I might do worse. If it were
not for Graydon Muir, I'd decide the question at once."
The door-bell rang, and Graydon was announced. Even her experienced
nerves had a glad tingle of excitement, she was so genuinely pleased
to see him. And well she might be, for he was a man to light any
woman's eyes with admiration. If something of his youth had passed,
his face had gained a rich compensation in the strong lines of
manhood, and his manner a courtly dignity from long contact with the
best elements of life. One saw that he knew the world, but had not
been spoiled by it. That he had not become cynical was proved by his
greeting of Miss Wildmere. He was capable of hoping that her continued
freedom, in spite of her remarkable beauty, might be explained on the
ground of a latent regard for him, which had kept her ready for his
suit after an absence so unexpectedly prolonged. Through a friend he
had, from time to time, been informed about her; and there was no ring
on her hand to forbid his ardent glances.
Never before had she appeared so alluringly attractive. He was a
thorough American, and had not been fascinated by foreign types of
beauty. In his fair countrywoman he believed that he saw his ideal.
Her beauty was remarkable for a fullness, a perfection of outline,
combined with a fairness and delicacy which suggested that she was not
made of ordinary clay. Miss Wildmere prided herself upon giving the
impression that she was remote from all that was common or homely in
life. She cultivated the characteristic of daintiness. In her dress,
gloves, jewelry, and complexion she would be immaculate at any cost.
Graydon's fastidious taste could never find a flaw in her, as regarded
externals, and she knew the immense advantage of pleasing his eye with
a delicacy that even approached fragility in its exquisite fairness,
while at the same time her elastic step in the dance or promenade
proved that she had abundance of vitality.
Nothing could have been more auspicious than his coming to-night--the
very first evening after his arrival. It assured her of the place she
still held in his thoughts; it gave her the chance to renew, in the
glad hours of his return, the impression she had made; and she saw in
his admiring eyes how favorable that impression was. She exulted that
he found her so well prepared. Her clinging summer costume revealed
not a little of her beauty, and suggested more, while she permitted
her eyes to give a welcome more cordial even than her words.
He talked easily and vivaciously, complimented her openly, yet with
sincerity, and rallied her on the wonder of wonders that she was still
Miss Wildmere.
"Not so great a marvel as that you return a bachelor. Why did you not
marry a German princess or some reduced English countess?"
"I was not driven to that necessity, since there were American queens
at home. I am delighted that you are still in town. What are your
plans for the summer?"
"We have not fully decided as yet."
"Then go to the Catskills. Our ladies are there at the Under-Cliff
House, and I am told that it is a charming place."
"I will speak to mamma of it. She must come to some decision soon.
Papa says that he will be too busy to go out of town much."
"Why, then, the Catskills is just the place--accessible to the city,
you know. That is the reason we have chosen it. I propose to take
something of a vacation, but find that I must go back and forth a good
deal, and so shall escape the bore of a long journey."
"You have given two good reasons for our going there. The place cannot
be stupid, since we may see you occasionally, and papa could come
oftener."
"Persuade Mrs. Wildmere into the plan by all means, and promise me
your first waltz after your arrival;" and there was eagerness in his
tone.
"Will you also promise me your first?"
"Yes, and last also, if you wish."
"Oh, no! I do not propose to be selfish; Miss Alden will have her
claims."
"What, Sister Madge? She must have changed greatly if she will dance
at all. She is an invalid, you know."
"I hear she has returned vastly improved in health--indeed, that she
is quite a beauty."
"I hope so," he said, cordially, "but fear that rumor has exaggerated.
My brother said she was better, and added but little more. Have you
seen her?"
"No. I only heard, a short time since, that she had returned."
Madge had not gone into society, and had she met Miss Wildmere face
to face she would not have been recognized, so greatly was she changed
from the pallid, troubled girl over whom the beauty had enjoyed her
petty triumph; but the report of Miss Alden's attractions had aroused
in Miss Wildmere's mind apprehensions of a possible rival.
Graydon's manner was completely reassuring. Whatever Miss Alden might
have become, she evidently had no place in his thoughts beyond
that natural to their relations. No closer ties had been formed by
correspondence during his long absence.
Further tête-à-tête was interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Arnault.
The young men were courteous and even cordial to each other, but
before half an hour had passed they recognized that they were rivals.
Graydon's lips grew firm, and his eyes sparkled with the spirit of one
who had not the faintest idea of yielding to another. Miss Wildmere
was delighted. The game was in her own hands. She could play these two
men off against each other, and take her choice. Mr. Arnault was made
to feel that he was not _de trop_, and, as usual, he was nonchalant,
serene, and evidently meant to stay. Therefore Graydon took his leave,
and was permitted to carry away the impression that his departure was
regretted.
"Mr. Arnault," said Miss Wildmere, quietly, "we have decided to spend
some time at the Under-Cliff House in the Catskills. So you perceive
that I shall be deprived of the pleasure of your calls for a while."
"Not at all. I shall take part of my summering there also. When do you
go?"
"In a few days--sometime before the fourth. How fortunately it all
happens!" she added, laughing. "When did you decide on the Catskills?"
"That's immaterial. When did you?"
"That also is immaterial. Perhaps you would like to ask mamma?"
"I'd rather ask papa--both, I should say," he replied, with a
significant shrug.
"Do so by all means. Meanwhile I would suggest that a great many
people go to the Catskills--thirty thousand, more or less, it is
said."
"I had another question in mind. Is Graydon Muir going there in order
to follow the crowd?"
"If he is going I suppose he will follow his inclinations."
"Or you?"
"Were that possible, I could not prevent it. Indeed, women rarely
resent such things."
"No indeed. It is well you do not, for you would become the embodiment
of resentment. How large is your train now, Stella?"
"You can dimmish it by one if you choose," she replied, smiling
archly.
"I should be little missed, no doubt."
"I didn't say that."
"I'm more afraid of Muir than of all the train together."
"That's natural. The train has little chance collectively."
"Don't pretend to misunderstand me. There was unmistakable meaning in
Muir's eyes."
"I should hope so. He means to help me have a good time. So do you, I
trust."
"Certainly. You may judge of the future from the past," he added,
significantly, as he rose to take his leave.
"Then the future promises well for me," she said, giving him her hand
cordially; "for you have been one of the best of friends."
"And a good deal more. Good-night."
"Mamma," said Miss Wildmere, stopping at the nursery on her way to her
room, "we must get ready to go to the Catskills at once."
"Why, Stella! This is the first I've heard of this plan. Your father
has said that he doesn't see how we can go out of town at all this
summer."
"Nonsense! I'll insure that papa agrees."
"I don't see how I can get ready soon. The baby is fretful, and I'm
all worn out between broken rest and worry. Won't you take Effie for a
little while?"
"Where's the nurse?"
"She's out. Of course she has to have some time to herself."
"You just spoil the servants. It's her business to take care of the
child. What else is she paid for? Why can't one of the other maids
take her?"
"Effie is too nervous to go to strangers to-night."
"Oh, well, give her to me, then."
The sensitive little organization knew at once that it was in the
hands not only of a comparative stranger, but also of one whose touch
revealed little sympathy, and its protest was so great that the tired
mother took it again, while the beautiful daughter, the cynosure of
all eyes in public, went to her room to finish the "exciting scene" at
her leisure.
But the scene had grown unreal. Its hero was but a shadow, and a
distorted one at that. The book fell from her hand; she again saw
Graydon Muir coming forward to greet her with an easy grace which no
prince in story could surpass, and with an expression in his dark blue
eyes which no woman fails to understand. It assured her that neither
in the old world nor in the new had he seen her equal.
"I wish it could be," she murmured; "I hope it can be; were it not for
that 'if' it should be soon."
Thus, after her own fashion, another girl had designs upon Graydon.