THE MEETING
Graydon had completed his final transactions abroad with more
expedition than he had anticipated, and, having been favored by a
quick passage, had arrived several days sooner than he was expected.
Therefore he decided to accompany his brother to the Catskills
on Saturday, spending the intervening time in business and such
arrangements as would leave him free to remain in the country for a
week or two. The second evening after his arrival again found him in
Miss Wildmere's parlor, and before he left he was given to understand
that Mrs. Wildmere had decided upon the Under-Cliff House also, and
that they would depart on Saturday.
"Then you will be _compagnon de voyage_," said Graydon, with
undisguised pleasure.
Somewhat to Mrs. Wildmere's surprise, her husband quietly acquiesced
in his daughter's wishes, telegraphed for rooms, and desired his wife
to be ready.
She was a quiet, meek little woman, whose life had somehow become
entangled in a sphere which was not in harmony with her nature. Her
beauty had faded early, and she had little force of character with
which to maintain her influence over her husband. His life was amid the
fierce excitements of Wall Street; hers, as far as she had a life,
was a weary effort to keep up appearances and meet the expenses of a
fashionable daughter, on an uncertain and greatly fluctuating income.
Mr. Wildmere informed her that his affairs would keep him in town
until late in the following week, but that, as the house to which she
was going was a quiet family hotel, she would have no trouble.
Mr. Muir had telegraphed the arrival of his brother, and the latter
had written a few cordial but hasty lines to both his sister-in-law
and Madge. Where he spent his evenings was unknown to Mr. Muir, but
that gentleman had little trouble in guessing when he saw his brother
greet the Wildmeres as if he understood their plans, and laughingly
promise Mr. Wildmere that he would see the ladies and their belongings
safely established in the Under-Cliff House. Graydon observed the
slight cloud on his brother's face, but ignored it, feeling that
his preference was an affair of his own. He believed that the
long-wished-for opportunity to press his suit with vigor had come,
and had no hesitation as to his purpose. He did not intend to act
precipitately, however. He would first learn just how Mr. Arnault
stood, and become reasonably assured by Miss Wildmere's manner toward
himself that her preference was not a hope, but a reality.
The enterprise in which Mr. Muir had engaged, and which now so taxed
his financial strength, was outside of his regular business, and
Graydon knew nothing of it. The young man believed that his own means
and exceptionally good prospects were sufficient to warrant the step
he proposed to take. He assuredly had the right to please himself in
his choice, and he felt that he would be fortunate indeed could he win
one whom so many had sought in vain.
It never entered Mr. Muir's mind to interpose any authority or undue
influence. He merely felt in regard to the matter a repugnance natural
to one so alien in disposition to Mr. Wildmere and his daughter,
and it was a source of bitter mortification to him that he now found
himself in a position not unlike that of the broker, in what
would appear, in the present aspect of affairs, to be an outside
speculation. During the ride to the mountains he mentally compared
Miss Wildmere's behavior with that of Madge a week before. Witnessing
Graydon's evident infatuation, he would have been glad to recognize
any manifestation of traits that promised well for his future; but the
young lady was evidently altogether occupied with the attentions
she received, her own beauty, and the furtive admiration of
fellow-passengers. Poor Mrs. Wildmere and the nurse were left to
manage the cross baby as best they could. Graydon once or twice tried
to do something, but his strange face and voice only frightened the
child.
To Madge it had seemed an age since the telegram announcing Graydon's
arrival had thrilled every nerve with hope and fear. Then had come his
hasty note, proving conclusively his affectionate indifference. She
was simply Madge to him, as of old. He was the one man of all the
world to her, and no calculating "if" would be the source of her
restraint.
True to her old tactics, however, she had spent no time in idle
dreaming. She had cultivated Dr. Sommers's acquaintance, and he had
already accompanied her and her sister through a wild valley, on the
occasion of a visit to one of his patients. Little Jack had improved
under his care, and Mrs. Muir was growing serene, rested, and eager
for Saturday. Madge shared her impatience, and yet dreaded the hour
during which she felt that a glimpse of the future would be revealed.
She had driven out daily with her sister, and familiarized herself
with the topography of the region. Having formed the acquaintance of
some pleasant and comparatively active people in the house, she had
joined such walking expeditions as they would venture upon. In rowing
the children upon a small lake she also disposed of some of her
superabundant vitality and the nervous excitement which anticipation
could not fail to produce. In the evening there was more or less
dancing, and her hand was eagerly sought by such of the young men as
could obtain the right to ask it. Mrs. Muir's remark that she would
become a belle in spite of herself proved true; but while she affected
no exclusive or distant airs, the most callow and forward youth
felt at once the restraint of her fine reserve. Her sensitive nature
enabled her, in a place of public resort, to know instinctively whom
to keep at a distance, and who, like Dr. Sommers, not only invited but
justified a frank and friendly manner.
As the time for the gentlemen to arrive approached, Mrs. Muir showed
more restless interest than Madge. The one anticipated a bit of
amusement over Graydon's surprise; the other looked forward to meeting
her fate. Mrs. Muir was garrulous; Madge was comparatively silent, and
maintained the semblance of interest in a book so naturally that her
sister exclaimed, "I expect you will die with a book in your hand! I
could no more read now than preach a sermon. Come, it's time to
make your toilet. Let me help you, and I want you to get yourself up
'perfectly regardless.' You must outshine them all at the hop this
evening."
"Nonsense, Mary! They won't be here for an hour and a half. I'm
going to lie down;" and she went to her room. When her sister sought
admittance half an hour later the door was locked and all was quiet.
At last, in her impatience, she knocked and cried, "Wake up. They will
be here soon."
"I'm not asleep, and it will not take me long to dress."
"Well, you are the coolest young woman I ever knew," Mrs. Muir called
out, finding that admittance was denied her.
Madge had determined to spend the final hour of her long separation
alone. Her nature had become too deep and strong to seek trivial
diversion from the suspense that weighed upon her spirit. As she
thought of the possibility of failure, and its results, her courage
faltered a little, and a few tears would come. At last, with a glance
heavenward which proved that there was nothing in her heart to keep
her from looking thither for sanction, she left her room, serene and
resolute. She had taken her woman's destiny into her own hand, to mold
it in her own way, but in no arrogant and unbelieving spirit.
Mrs. Muir uttered a disappointed protest. "Oh, Madge, how plainly you
are dressed!"
"I knew you wouldn't like it at first," was the quiet reply. By the
time they had reached the parlor door opposite the office, near which
they proposed to wait for the travellers, now momentarily expected,
Mrs. Muir was compelled to acknowledge the correctness of Madge's
taste. Her costume no more distracted attention from herself than
would the infolding calyx of a rosebud. In its exquisite proportions
her fine figure was outlined by close white drapery, which made her
appear taller than she really was. A single half-open Jacqueminot
rose, like the one she had sent to Graydon at their parting over two
years since, was fastened on her bosom. Her dark eyes burned with a
suppressed excitement. Her complexion, if not so white as that of Miss
Wildmere, was pure, and had a richer hue of health. But she was
pale now. Her red lips half destroyed their exquisite curves in firm
compression. The moment had not quite come for action, when those lips
must be true to herself, true to her purpose, even while they spoke
words which might be misleading to others.
Mrs. Muir, with triumph, saw the glances of strong admiration turned
toward her sister from every side. Madge saw them also, but only to
read in them the verdict she hoped to obtain from the kind blue eyes
for whose coming she waited.
Standing with Mrs. Muir, facing the long hall down which Graydon must
advance, she knew she would see him before he could recognize her.
How much of longing, of breathless interest, would be concentrated
in those moments of waiting, she herself had never imagined till they
were passing.
The stages began to arrive, with consequent bustle, and the hasty
advance toward the office of men seeking to register their names
early, in order to secure a choice of rooms. At last she saw Graydon's
tall form and laughing face, and for a second something approaching
to faintness caused her to close her eyes. When she opened them again
they rested upon Miss Wildmere.
This young lady understood the art of making an impressive and almost
triumphal entry on new scenes. Therefore she had been in no haste.
Indeed, haste had no place among her attributes: it was ungraceful and
usually not effective. When, therefore, the crowd had passed on, and
there was a comparatively clear space in the hall, she advanced down
it at Graydon's side as if her mind was wholly engrossed with their
lively chat. Never for a second was she unconscious of the attention
they attracted. Graydon was one at whom even men would turn and look
as he passed, and she believed that there was none other who could
keep step with him like herself. So thought the self-appointed
committee of reception who always regard curiously the new-comers at a
summer resort, and there were whispered notes of admiration as the two
paused for a moment before the register and looked back. Then it
was seen that a meek-looking little lady and a nurse and child were
straggling after them, while Mr. Muir brought up the rear. Graydon
had some light wraps thrown gracefully over his arm, but the merchant
carried the less ornamental _impedimenta_ of the party, for the
earlier guests had already overladened the office-boys. He now handed
the valise--a sort of tender upon the baby--to a porter, and rather
grimly acknowledged Mrs. Wildmere's mingled thanks and feeble
protestations.
"Please register for us," said Miss Wildmere, glancing carelessly yet
observantly around. An intervening group had partially hidden Madge
and her sister. It was also evident that Graydon was too much occupied
with his fair companion to look far away. He complied, thinking,
meantime, "Some day I may register for her again, and then my name
will suffice for us both." The smile which followed the thought
brought out the best lines of his handsome profile to poor Madge, who
permitted no phase of expression on that face to escape her scrutiny.
So true was the clairvoyance of her intense interest that she guessed
the thought which was so agreeable to him, and she grew paler still.
Mr. Muir hastened to greet his wife, and then Graydon recognized her.
He came at once and kissed her in his accustomed hearty way. Madge
stood near, unnoted, unrecognized.
"Where's Madge? Isn't she well enough to come down?" he asked, his
eyes following Miss Wildmere, who had entered the parlor, which
she must cross to reach her room beyond. Mrs. Muir began to laugh
immoderately, and Mr. Muir followed his brother's eyes with vexation.
Graydon was on the _qui vive_ instantly, and Madge drew a step nearer
and began to smile. For once the punctilious and elegant Graydon
forgot his courtesy, and looked at Madge in utter astonishment--an
expression, however, which passed swiftly into admiration and delight.
"Madge!" he exclaimed, seizing both her hands. "I couldn't have
believed it. I wouldn't believe it now but for your eyes;" and before
she could prevent him he had placed a kiss upon her lips.
Miss Wildmere had seen the unknown beauty as she passed, had
inventoried her with woman's instantaneous perception, had paused on
the distant threshold and seen the greeting, then had vanished with a
vindictive flash in her gray eyes.
Graydon's impetuous words and salute had produced smiles and envious
glances, and the family party withdrew into a retired corner of the
apartment, Madge's cheeks, meanwhile, vying, in spite of herself, with
the rose on her breast. Graydon would not relinquish her hand, and,
as Mrs. Muir had predicted, indulged in little more than exclamation
points.
"There now, be rational," cried the young girl, laughing, her heart
for the moment full of gladness and triumph. He was indeed bending
upon her looks of admiration, delight, and affection.
"Why have I been kept in the dark about all this?" he at last asked,
incoherently.
"For the same reason that we were. Madge meant to give us a surprise,
and succeeded. I couldn't get over it, and they were always laughing
at me, so I determined that I should have my laugh at you. Oh, wasn't
it rich? To think of the elegant and travelled society man standing
there staring with his eyes and mouth wide open!"
"I don't think it was quite so bad as that, but if it was there's good
reason for it. Tell me, Madge, how this miracle was wrought!"
"There, that's just what I called it," cried Mrs. Muir, "and it's
nothing less than one, in spite of all that Madge and Henry can say."
"When you are ready for supper I will show you one phase of the
miracle," said Madge, laughing, with glad music in her voice. "Come,
I'm not an escaped member of a menagerie, and there's no occasion for
you to stare any longer."
"Yes, come along," added Mr. Muir; "I've had no roast beef to-day and
a surfeit of sentiment."
The young fellow colored slightly, but said brusquely: "Men's tastes
change with age. I suppose you did not find a little sentiment amiss
once upon a time. Well, Madge, you are not a bit of a ghost now, yet I
fear you are an illusion."
"Illusions will vanish when you come to help me at supper. We will
wait for you on the piazza."
As she paced its wide extent, her illusions also vanished. Graydon had
greeted, her as a brother, and a brother only. When the tumult at
her heart subsided, this truth stood out most clearly. His kiss still
tingled upon her lips. It must be the last, unless followed by a kiss
of love. Their brotherly and sisterly relations must be shattered at
once. No such relations existed for her, and only as she destroyed
such regard on his part could a tenderer affection take its place.
With her as his sister he would be content; he might not readily think
of her in another light, and meantime might drift swiftly into an
engagement with Miss Wildmere.