“WHAT do you think of the evening, Aunt Ruth?” Ethel was in her
aunt’s room, comfortably wrapped in a pink kimono, when she asked this
question.
“What do you think of it, Ethel?”
“I am not sure.”
“The dinner was well served.”
“Yes. Who was the little dark man you talked with, aunt?”
“He was a Mr. Marriot, a banker, and a friend of Bryce Denning’s. He is
a fresh addition to society, I think. He had the word ‘gold’ always on
his lips; and he believes in it as good men believe in God. The general
conversation annoyed him; he could not understand men being entertained
by it.”
“They were, though, for once Jamie Sayer forgot to talk about his
pictures.”
“Is that the name of your escort?”
“Yes.”
“And is he an artist?”
“A second-rate one. He is painting Dora’s picture, and is a great
favorite of Mrs. Denning’s.”
“A strange, wild-looking man. When I saw him first he was lying,
dislocated, over his ottoman rather than sitting on it.”
“Oh, that is a part of his affectations. He is really a childish,
self-conscious creature, with a very decided dash of vulgarity. He only
tries to look strange and wild, and he would be delighted if he knew you
had thought him so.”
“I was glad to see Claudine Jeffrys. How slim and graceful she is! And,
pray, who is that Miss Ullman?”
“A very rich woman. She has Bryce under consideration. Many other men
have been in the same position, for she is sure they all want her money
and not her. Perhaps she is right. I saw you talking to her, aunt.”
“For a short time. I did not enjoy her company. She is so mercilessly
realistic, she takes all the color out of life. Everything about her,
even her speech, is sharp-lined as the edge of a knife. She could make
Bryce’s life very miserable.”
“Perhaps it might turn out the other way. Bryce Denning has capacities
in the same line. How far apart, how far above every man there, stood
Basil Stanhope!”
“He is strikingly handsome and graceful, and I am sure that his luminous
serenity does not arise from apathy. I should say he was a man of very
strong and tender feelings.”
“And he gives all the strength and tenderness of his feelings to Dora.
Men are strange creatures.”
“Who directed Dora’s dress this evening?”
“Herself or her maid. I had nothing to do with it. The effect was
stunning.”
“Fred thought so. In fact, Fred Hostyn----”
“Fell in love with her.”
“Exactly. ‘Fell,’ that is the word--fell prostrate. Usually the lover
of to-day walks very timidly and carefully into the condition, step
by step, and calculating every step before he takes it. Fred
plunged headlong into the whirling vortex. I am very sorry. It is a
catastrophe.”
“I never witnessed the accident before. I have heard of men getting
wounds and falls, and developing new faculties in consequence, but we
saw the phenomenon take place this evening.”
“Love, if it be love, is known in a moment. Man who never saw the
sun before would know it was the sun. In Fred’s case it was an
instantaneous, impetuous passion, flaming up at the sight of such
unexpected beauty--a passion that will probably fade as rapidly as it
rose.”
“Fred is not that kind of a man, aunt. He does not like every one and
everything, but whoever or whatever he does like becomes a lasting part
of his life. Even the old chairs and tables at Mostyn are held as sacred
objects by him, though I have no doubt an American girl would trundle
them off to the garret. It is the same with the people. He actually
regards the Rawdons as belonging in some way to the Mostyns; and I do
not believe he has ever been in love before.”
“Nonsense!”
“He was so surprised by the attack. If it had been the tenth or
twentieth time he would have taken it more philosophically; besides, if
he had ever loved any woman, he would have gone on loving her, and we
should have known all about her perfections by this time.”
“Dora is nearly a married woman, and Mostyn knows it.”
“Nearly may make all the difference. When Dora is married he will be
compelled to accept the inevitable and make the best of it.”
“When Dora is married he will idealize her, and assure himself that her
marriage is the tragedy of both their lives.”
“Dora will give him no reason to suppose such a thing. I am sure she
will not. She is too much in love with Mr. Stanhope to notice any other
lover.”
“You are mistaken, Ethel. Swiftly as Fred was vanquished she noticed
it, and many times--once even while leaning on Mr. Stanhope’s arm--she
turned the arrow in the heart wound with sweet little glances and
smiles, and pretty appeals to the blind adoration of her new lover. It
was, to me, a humiliating spectacle. How could she do it?”
“I am sure Dora meant no wrong. It is so natural for a lovely girl to
show off a little. She will marry and forget Fred Mostyn lives.”
“And Fred will forget?”
“Fred will not forget.”
“Then I shall be very sorry for your father and grandmother.”
“What have they to do with Fred marrying?”
“A great deal. Fred has been so familiar and homely the last two or
three weeks, that they have come to look upon him as a future member
of the family. It has been ‘Cousin Ethel’ and ‘Aunt Ruth’ and even
‘grandmother’ and ‘Cousin Fred,’ and no objections have been made to the
use of such personal terms. I think your father hopes for a closer tie
between you and Fred Mostyn than cousinship.”
“Whatever might have been is over. Do you imagine I could consent to be
the secondary deity, to come after Dora--Dora of all the girls I have
ever known? The idea is an insult to my heart and my intelligence.
Nothing on earth could make me submit to such an indignity.”
“I do not suppose, Ethel, that any wife is the first object of her
husband’s love.”
“At least they tell her she is so, swear it an inch deep; and no woman
is fool enough to look beyond that oath, but when she is sure that she
is a second best! AH! That is not a position I will ever take in any
man’s heart knowingly.”
“Of course, Fred Mostyn will have to marry.”
“Of course, he will make a duty of the event. The line of Mostyns must
be continued. England might go to ruin if the Mostyns perished off the
English earth; but, Aunt Ruth, I count myself worthy of a better fate
than to become a mere branch in the genealogical tree of the Mostyns.
And that is all Fred Mostyn’s wife will ever be to him, unless he
marries Dora.”
“But that very supposition implies tragedy, and it is most unlikely.”
“Yes, for Dora is a good little thing. She has never been familiar
with vice. She has even a horror of poor women divorced from impossible
husbands. She believes her marriage will be watched by the angels, and
recorded in heaven. Basil has instructed her to regard marriage as a
holy sacrament, and I am sure he does the same.”
“Then why should we forecast evil to their names? As for Cousin Fred, I
dare say he is comfortably asleep.”
“I am sure he is not. I believe he is smoking and calling himself names
for not having come to New York last May, when father first invited him.
Had he done so things might have been different.”
“Yes, they might. When Good Fortune calls, and the called ‘will not when
they may,’ then, ‘when they will’ Good Fortune has become Misfortune.
Welcome a pleasure or a gain at once, or don’t answer it at all. It was
on this rock, Ethel, the bark that carried my love went to pieces. I
know; yes, I know!”
“My dear aunt!”
“It is all right now, dear; but things might have been that are not. As
to Dora, I think she may be trusted with Basil Stanhope. He is one of
the best and handsomest men I ever saw, and he has now rights in Dora’s
love no one can tamper with. Mostyn is an honorable man.”
“All right, but--
“Love will venture in,
Where he daurna well be seen;
O Love will venture in,
Where Wisdom once has been--
and then, aunt, what then?”
PART SECOND -- PLAYING WITH FIRE