OLD TIES BROKEN
"Madge," said Graydon, rejoining her on the piazza, and giving her
his arm, while Mrs. Muir sat down to wait for her husband, "you wear
a rose like the one you sent me when we parted so long ago. Oh, but my
heart was heavy then! Did you make this choice to-night by chance?"
"You have a good memory."
"You have not answered me."
"I shall admit nothing that will increase your vanity."
"You will now of necessity make my pride overweening."
"How is that? I hope to have a better influence over you."
"As I look at you I regard my pride as most pardonable and natural. My
old thoughts and hopes are realized beyond even imagination, although,
looking at your eyes, in old times, I always had a high ideal of your
capabilities. I should be a clod indeed if I were not proud of such a
sister to champion in society."
Madge's hearty laugh was a little forced as she said, "You have a
delightfully cool way of taking things for granted. I'm no longer a
little sick girl, but, to vary Peggotty's exultant statement, a young
lady 'growed.' You forgot yourself, sir, in your greeting; but that
was pardonable in your paroxysm of surprise.
"What, Madge! Will you not permit me to be your brother?"
"What an absurd question!" she answered, still laughing. "You are
not my brother. Can I permit water to run up hill? You were like
a brother, though, when I was a sick child in the queer old
times--kinder than most brothers, I think. But, Graydon, I am grown
up. See, my head comes above your shoulder."
"Well, you are changed."
"For the better, in some respects, I hope you will find."
"I don't at all like the change you suggest in our relations, and am
not sure I will submit to it. It seems absurd to me."
"It will not seem so when you come to think of it," she replied,
gravely and gently. "You think of me still as little Madge; I am no
longer little Madge, even to myself. A woman's instincts are usually
right, Graydon."
"Oh, thank you! I am glad I am still 'Graydon.' Why do you not call me
'Mr. Muir?'"
"Because I am perfectly rational. Because I regard you as almost the
best friend I have."
"Break up that confabulation," cried Mr. Muir to the young people, who
had paused and were confronting each other at the further end of the
piazza. "If you think Madge can explain herself in a moment or a week
you are mistaken. Come to supper."
"My brother is right--you are indeed an enigma," he said,
discontentedly.
"An enigma, am I?" she responded, smiling. "Please remember that most
of the world's enigmas were slowly found out because so simple."
As they passed from the dusky piazza to the large, brilliantly lighted
supper-room, with nearly all its tables occupied, he was curious to
observe how she would meet the many critical eyes turned toward her.
Again he was puzzled as well as surprised. She walked at his side as
though the room were empty. There was no affectation of indifference,
no trace of embarrassed or of pleased self-consciousness. From the
friendly glances and smiles that she received it was also apparent
that she had already made acquaintances. She moved with the easy,
graceful step of perfect good breeding and assured confidence, and was
as self-possessed as himself. Was this the little ghost who had once
been afraid of her own shadow, which was scarcely less substantial
than herself?
They had been seated but a moment when Miss Wildmere entered alone. To
Graydon this appeared pathetic. He did not know that her mother was
so worn out from the journey, and so embarrassed by unaided efforts to
get settled while still caring for her half-sick child, that she
had decided to make a slight and hasty repast in her own room. Miss
Wildmere cared little for what took place behind the scenes, but was
usually superb before the footlights. Nothing could have been more
charming or better calculated to win general good-will than her
advance down the long room. In external beauty she was more striking
at first than Madge. She did not in the least regret that she must
enter alone, for she was not proud of her mother, and nothing drew
attention from herself. She assumed, however, a slight and charming
trace of embarrassment and perplexity, which to Graydon was perfectly
irresistible, and he mentally resolved that she should not much longer
want a devoted escort. Madge saw his glance of sympathy and strong
admiration, his smile and low bow as she passed, ushered forward by
the obsequious headwaiter, and her heart sank. In spite of all she
had attempted and achieved, the old cynical assurance came back to
her--"You are nothing to Graydon, and never can be anything to him."
She was pale enough now, but her eyes burned with the resolution not
to yield until all hope was slain. She talked freely, and was most
friendly toward Graydon, but there was a slight constraint in his
manner. The beautiful and self-possessed girl who sat opposite him was
not little Madge whom it had been his pleasure to pet and humor. She
evidently no longer regarded herself as his sister, but rather as a
charming young woman abundantly able to take care of herself. She had
indeed changed marvellously in more respects than one, and he felt
aggrieved that he had been kept in ignorance of her progress. He
believed that she had grown away from him and the past, as well as
grown up, according to her declaration. He recalled her apparent
disinclination for correspondence, and now thought it due to
indifference, rather than an indolent shrinking from effort. The
surprise she had given him seemed a little thing--an act due possibly
to vanity--compared with the sisterly accounts she might have written
of her improvement. She had achieved the wonder without aid from him,
and so of course had not felt the need of his help in any way. In
remembrance of the past he felt that he had not deserved to be so
ignored. Her profession of friendship was all well enough--there could
scarcely be less than that--but the Madge he had looked forward to
meeting again as of old no longer existed. Oh, yes, she should have
admiration and exclamation points to her heart's content, but he had
come from his long exile hungry for something more and better
than young lady friends. He had long since had a surfeit of these
semi-Platonic affinities. The girl who apparently had been refusing
scores of men for his sake was more to his taste. His brother's
repugnance only irritated and incited him, and he thought, "I'll carry
out his business policy to the utmost, but away from the office I am
my own man."
As these thoughts passed through his mind, they began to impart to his
manner a tinge of gallantry, the beginning of a departure from his old
fraternal and affectionate ways. He was too well-bred to show pique
openly, or to reveal a sense of injury during the first hours of
reunion, but he already felt absolved from being very attentive to
a girl who not only had proved so conclusively that she could manage
admirably for herself, but who also had been so indifferent that she
had not needed his sympathy in her efforts or thought it worth while
to gladden him with a knowledge of her progress. He had loved her as
a sister, and had given ample proof of this. He had maintained his
affection for the Madge that he remembered. "But I have been told," he
thought, bitterly, "that the young lady before me is a 'friend.' She
has been a rather distant friend, if the logic of events counts for
anything. Not satisfied with the thousands of miles that separated us,
she has also withheld her confidence in regard to changes that would
have interested even a casual acquaintance."
Madge soon detected the changing expression of his eyes, the lessening
of simple, loving truth in his words, and while she was pained she
feared that all this and more would necessarily result from the
breaking up of their old relations. Her task was a difficult one
at best--perhaps it was impossible--nor had she set about it in
calculating policy. Their old relations could not be maintained on her
part. Even the touch of his hand had the mysterious power to send a
thrill to her very heart. Therefore she must surround herself at once
with the viewless yet impassable barriers which a woman can interpose
even by a glance.
As they rose, Graydon remarked, "I have helped you at supper, and yet
one of my illusions has not vanished. The air at Santa Barbara must
have been very nourishing if your appetite was no better there
than here. Your strange 'sea-change' on that distant coast is still
marvellous to me."
"Mary can tell you how ravenous I usually am. I do not meet friends
every day from whom I have been separated so long."
"It is a very ordinary thing for me to meet 'friends,'" he replied,
_sotto voce_, "for I have many. I had hopes that I should meet one who
would be far more than a friend. I'm half inclined to go out to Santa
Barbara and see if my little sister Madge is not still there."
"Do you think me a fraud?"
"Oh, no, only so changed that I scarcely know how to get acquainted
with you."
"Even if I granted so much, which I do not, I might suggest that
one must be uninteresting indeed if she inspires no desire for
acquaintance. But such talk is absurd between us, Graydon."
"Of course it is. You are so changed for the better that I can
scarcely believe my eyes or ears, and my heart not at all. Of course
your wishes shall be my law, and my wishes will lead me to seek your
acquaintance with deep and undisguised interest. You see the trouble
with me is that I have not changed, and it will require a little time
for me to adapt myself to the new order of things. I am now somewhat
stunned and paralyzed. In this imbecile state I am both stupid
and selfish. I ought to congratulate you, and so I do with all the
shattered forces of my mind and reason. You have improved amazingly.
You are destined to become a belle _par excellence_, and probably are
one now--I know so little of what has occurred since we parted."
"You are changed also, Graydon. You used to be kind in the old days;"
and she spoke sadly.
"In some respects I am changed," he said, earnestly; "and my affection
for you is of such long standing and so deep that it prompts me to
make another protest." (They had strolled out upon the grounds and
were now alone.) "I have changed in this respect; I am no longer so
young as I was, and am losing my zest for general society. I was weary
of residence abroad, where I could have scarcely the semblance of
a home, and, while I had many acquaintances and friends, I had no
kindred. I'm sorry to say that the word 'friend,' in its reference
to young ladies, does not mean very much to me; or, rather, I have
learned from experience just what it does mean. A few years since I
was proud of my host of young lady friends, and some I thought would
continue to be such through life. Bah! They are nearly all married or
engaged; their lives have drifted completely away from mine, as it was
natural and inevitable that they should. We are good friends still,
but what does it amount to? I rarely think of them; they never of
me, I imagine. We exert no influence on each other's lives, and add
nothing to them. I never had a sister, but I had learned to love you
as if you were one, and when I heard that you were to be of our family
again, the resumption of our old relations was one of my dearest
expectations. It hurt me cruelly, Madge, when you laughed at the
idea as preposterous, and told me that I had forgotten myself when
following the most natural impulse of my heart. It seemed to me the
result of prudishness, rather than womanly delicacy, unless you have
changed in heart as greatly as in externals. You could be so much
to me as a sister. It is a relationship that I have always craved--a
sister not far removed from me in age; and such a tie, it appears to
me, might form the basis of a sympathy and confidence that would be
as frank as unselfish and helpful. That is what I looked forward to in
you, Madge. Why on earth can it not be?"
She was painfully embarrassed, and was glad that his words were spoken
under the cover of night. She trembled, for his question probed deep.
How could she explain that what was so natural for him was impossible
for her? He mistook her hesitation for a sign of acquiescence, and
continued: "Wherein have I failed to act like a brother? During the
years we were together was I not reasonably kind and considerate? You
did not think of yourself then as one of my young lady friends.
Why should you now? I have not changed, and, as I have said, I have
returned hungry for kindred and the quieter pleasures of home. It is
time that I was considering the more serious questions of life, and of
course the supreme question with a man of my years is that of a home
of his own. I have never been able to think of such a home and not
associate you with it. I can invite my sister to it and make her a
part of it, but I cannot invite young lady friends. A sister can be
such a help to a fellow; and it seems to me that I could be of no
little aid to you. I know the world and the men you will meet in
society. Unless you seclude yourself, you will be as great a belle as
Miss Wildmere. You also have a fine property of your own. Will it be
nothing to have a brother at your side to whom you can speak frankly
of those who seek your favor? Come, Madge, be simple and rational. I
have not changed; my frank words and pleadings prove that I have
not. If we do not go back to the hotel brother and sister it will be
because you have changed;" and he attempted to put his arm around her
and draw her to him.
She sprang aloof. "Well, then, I have changed," she said, in a low,
concentrated voice. "Think me a prude if you will. I know I am not.
You are unjust to me, for you give me, in effect, no alternative.
You say, 'Think of me as a brother; feel and act as if you were my
sister,' when I am not your sister. It's like declaring that there
is nothing in blood--that such relations are questions of choice and
will. I said in downright sincerity that I regarded you as almost the
best friend I had, and I have not so many friends that the word means
nothing to me. I do remember all your kindness in the past--when have
I forgotten it for an hour?--but that does not change the essential
instincts of my womanhood, and since we parted I've grown to
womanhood. You in one sense have not changed, and I still am in your
mind the invalid child you used to indulge and fondle. It is not just
to me now to ask that I act and feel as if there were a natural tie
between us. The fact ever remains that there is not. Why should I
deceive you by pretending to what is impossible? Nature is stronger
than even your wishes, Graydon, and cannot be ignored."
She spoke hesitatingly, feeling her way across most difficult and
dangerous ground, but her decision was unmistakable, and he said,
quietly, "I am answered. See, we have wandered far from the house. Had
we not better return?"
After a few moments of silence she asked, "Are you so rich in friends
that you have no place for me?"
"Why, certainly, Madge," he replied, in cordial, offhand tones, "we
are friends. There's nothing else for us to be. I don't pretend to
understand your scruples. Even if a woman refused to be my wife I
should be none the less friendly, unless she had trifled with me. To
my man's reason a natural tie does not count for so much as the years
we spent together. I remember what you were to me then, and what I
seemed to you. I tried to keep up the old feeling by correspondence.
The West is a world of wonders, and you have come from it the greatest
wonder of all."
"I hope I shall not prove to you a monstrosity, Graydon. I will try
not to be one if you will give me a chance."
"Oh, no, indeed; you promise to be one of the most charming young
ladies I ever met."
"I don't promise anything of the kind," she replied, with a laugh that
was chiefly the expression of her intense nervous tension. It jarred
upon his feelings, and confirmed him in the belief that their long
separation had broken up their old relations completely, and that she,
in the new career which her beauty opened before her, wished for no
embarrassing relations of any kind.
"Well," he said, with an answering laugh, "I suppose I must take you
for what you are and propose to be--that is, if I ever find out."
In a few moments more, after some light badinage, he left her with
Mr. and Mrs. Muir on the piazza, and went to claim his waltz with Miss
Wildmere.