should be," said poor Nan at last. "If I have good reasons against all
that, would you have me bury the talent God has given me, and choke
down the wish that makes itself a prayer every morning that I may do
this work lovingly and well? It is the best way I can see of making
myself useful in the world. People must have good health or they will
fail of reaching what success and happiness are possible for them; and
so many persons might be better and stronger than they are now, which
would make their lives very different. I do think if I can help my
neighbors in this way it will be a great kindness. I won't attempt to
say that the study of medicine is a proper vocation for women, only
that I believe more and more every year that it is the proper study
for me. It certainly cannot be the proper vocation of all women to
bring up children, so many of them are dead failures at it; and I
don't see why all girls should be thought failures who do not marry. I
don't believe that half those who do marry have any real right to it,
at least until people use common sense as much in that most important
decision as in lesser ones. Of course we can't expect to bring about
an ideal state of society all at once; but just because we don't
really believe in having the best possible conditions, we make no
effort at all toward even better ones. People ought to work with the
great laws of nature and not against them."
"You don't know anything about it," said Mrs. Fraley, who hardly knew
what to think of this ready opposition. "You don't know what you are
talking about, Anna. You have neither age nor experience, and it is
easy to see you have been associating with very foolish people. I am
the last person to say that every marriage is a lucky one; but if you
were my daughter I should never consent to your injuring your chances
for happiness in this way."
Nan could not help stealing a glance at poor Miss Eunice, behind her
fragile battlement of the tea-set, and was deeply touched at the
glance of sympathy which dimly flickered in the lonely eyes. "I do
think, mother, that Anna is right about single women's having some
occupation," was timidly suggested. "Of course, I mean those who have
no special home duties; I can see that life would not"--
"Now Eunice," interrupted the commander in chief, "I do wish you
could keep an opinion of your own. You are the last person to take up
with such ideas. I have no patience with people who don't know their
own minds half an hour together."
"There are plenty of foolish women who marry, I'll acknowledge," said
Miss Prince, for the sake of coming to the rescue. "I was really angry
yesterday, when Mrs. Gerry told me that everybody was so pleased to
hear that Hattie Barlow was engaged, because she was incapable of
doing anything to support herself. I couldn't help feeling that if
there was so little power that it had never visibly turned itself in
any practical direction, she wasn't likely to be a good housekeeper. I
think that is a most responsible situation, myself."
Nan looked up gratefully. "It isn't so much that people can't do
anything, as that they try to do the wrong things, Aunt Nancy. We all
are busy enough or ought to be; only the richest people have the most
cares and have to work hardest. I used to think that rich city people
did nothing but amuse themselves, when I was a little girl; but I
often wonder nowadays at the wisdom and talent that are needed to keep
a high social position respected in the world's eyes. It must be an
orderly and really strong-minded woman who can keep her business from
getting into a most melancholy tangle. Yet nobody is afraid when the
most foolish girls take such duties upon themselves, and all the world
cries out with fear of disaster, if once in a while one makes up her
mind to some other plan of life. Of course I know being married isn't
a trade: it is a natural condition of life, which permits a man to
follow certain public careers, and forbids them to a woman. And since
I have not wished to be married, and have wished to study medicine, I
don't see what act of Parliament can punish me."
"Wait until Mr. Right comes along," said Mrs. Fraley, who had pushed
back her chair from the table and was beating her foot on the floor in
a way that betokened great displeasure and impatience. "I am only
thankful I had my day when women were content to be stayers at home. I
am only speaking for your good, and you'll live to see the truth of
it, poor child!"
"I am sure she will get over this," apologized Miss Prince, after they
had reached the parlor, for she found that her niece had lingered with
Miss Fraley in the dining-room.
"Don't talk to me about the Princes changing their minds," answered
the scornful old hostess. "You ought to know them better than that by
this time." But just at that moment young Gerry came tapping at the
door, and the two ladies quickly softened their excited looks and
welcomed him as the most powerful argument for their side of the
debate. It seemed quite a thing of the past that he should have
fancied Mary Parish, and more than one whisper had been listened to
that the young man was likely to have the Prince inheritance, after
all. He looked uncommonly well that evening, and the elder women could
not imagine that any damsel of his own age would consider him
slightingly. Nan had given a little shrug of impatience when she heard
his voice join the weaker ones in the parlor, and a sense of
discomfort that she never had felt before came over her suddenly. She
reminded herself that she must tell her aunt that very night that the
visit must come to an end. She had neglected her books and her drives
with the doctor altogether too long already.
XIX
FRIEND AND LOVER
In these summer days the young lawyer's thoughts had often been busy
elsewhere while he sat at the shaded office window and looked out upon
the river. The very housekeeping on the damaged ship became more
interesting to him than his law books, and he watched the keeper's
wife at her various employments on deck, or grew excited as he
witnessed the good woman's encounters with marauding small boys, who
prowled about hoping for chances of climbing the rigging or solving
the mysteries of the hold. It had come to be an uncommon event that a
square-rigged vessel should make the harbor of Dunport, and the elder
citizens ignored the deserted wharves, and talked proudly of the days
of Dunport's prosperity, convicting the railroad of its decline as
much as was consistent with their possession of profitable stock. The
younger people took the empty warehouses for granted, and listened to
their grandparents' stories with interest, if they did not hear them
too often; and the more enterprising among them spread their wings of
ambition and flew away to the larger cities or to the westward. George
Gerry had stayed behind reluctantly. He had neither enough desire for
a more active life, nor so high a purpose that he could disregard
whatever opposition lay in his way. Yet he was honestly dissatisfied
with his surroundings, and thought himself hardly used by a hindering
fate. He believed himself to be most anxious to get away, yet he was
like a ship which will not be started out of port by anything less
than a hurricane. There really were excuses for his staying at home,
and since he had stopped to listen to them they beguiled him more and
more, and his friends one by one commended his devotion to his mother
and sisters, and sometimes forgot to sympathize with him for his
disappointments as they praised him for being such a dutiful son. To
be sure, he might be a great lawyer in Dunport as well as anywhere
else; he would not be the first; but a more inspiring life might have
made him more enthusiastic and energetic, and if he could have been
winning his way faster elsewhere, and sending home good accounts of
himself, not to speak of substantial aid, there is no question whether
it would not have given his family greater happiness and done himself
more good. He was not possessed of the stern determination which wins
its way at all hazards, and so was dependent upon his surroundings for
an occasional stimulus.
But Dunport was very grateful to him because he had stayed at home,
and he was altogether the most prominent young man in the town. It is
so easy to be thankful that one's friends are no worse that one
sometimes forgets to remember that they might be better; and it would
have been only natural if he thought of himself more highly than he
ought to think, since he had received a good deal of applause and
admiration. It is true that he had avoided vice more noticeably than
he had pursued virtue; but the senior member of the firm, Mr.
Sergeant, pronounced his young partner to have been a most excellent
student, and not only showed the greatest possible confidence in him,
but was transferring a good deal of the business to him already. Miss
Prince and her old lawyer had one secret which had never been
suspected, and the townspeople thought more than ever of young Mr.
Gerry's ability when it was known that the most distinguished legal
authority of that region had given him a share of a long established
business. George Gerry had been led to think better of himself, though
it had caused him no little wonder when the proposal had been made. It
was possible that Mr. Sergeant feared that there might be some
alliance offered by his rivals in Dunport. To be sure, the younger
firm had been making a good deal of money, but it was less respected
by the leading business men. Mr. Sergeant had even conferred with his
young friend one morning upon the propriety of some new investments;
but Mr. Gerry had never even suspected that they were the price of his
own new dignity and claim upon the public honor. Captain Walter Parish
and Mr. Sergeant had both been aids and advisers of Miss Prince; but
neither had ever known the condition of all her financial affairs, and
she had made the most of a comfortable sense of liberty. To do young
Gerry justice, he had not hesitated to express his amazement; and
among his elders and betters, at any rate, he had laid his good
fortune at the door of Mr. Sergeant's generosity and kindness instead
of his own value.
But at certain seasons of the year, like this, there was no excitement
in the office, and after an attendance at court and the proper
adjustment, whether temporary or permanent, of the subsequent
business, the partners had returned to a humdrum fulfilling of the
minor duties of their profession, and the younger man worked at his
law books when there were no deeds or affidavits to engage his
attention. He thought of many things as he sat by his window; it was a
great relief to the tiresomeness of the dull rooms to look at the
river and at the shores and hills beyond; to notice carelessly whether
the tide came in or went out. He was apt to feel a sense of
dissatisfaction in his leisure moments; and now a new current was
bringing all its force to bear upon him in his quiet anchorage.
He had looked upon Miss Prince as a kind adviser; he was on more
intimate terms with her than with any woman he knew; and the finer
traits in his character were always brought out by some compelling
force in her dignity and simple adherence to her somewhat narrow code
of morals and etiquette. He was grateful to her for many kindnesses;
and as he had grown older and come to perceive the sentiment which had
been the first motive of her affection toward him, he had
instinctively responded with a mingling of gallantry and sympathy
which made him, as has been already said, appear at his very best. The
gossips of Dunport had whispered that he knew that it was more than
worth his while to be polite to Miss Prince; but he was too manly a
fellow to allow any trace of subserviency to show itself in his
conduct. As often happens, he had come back to Dunport almost a
stranger after his years of college life were over, and he had a
mingled love and impatience for the old place. The last year had been
very pleasant, however: there were a few young men whose good comrade
and leader he was; his relations with his fellow-citizens were most
harmonious; and as for the girls of his own age and their younger
sisters, who were just growing up, he was immensely popular and
admired by them. It had become a subject of much discussion whether he
and Mary Parish would not presently decide upon becoming engaged to
each other, until Miss Prince's long-banished niece came to put a new
suspicion into everybody's mind.
Many times when George Gerry had a new proof that he had somehow
fallen into the habit of walking home with the pleasant girl who was
his friend and neighbor, he had told himself abruptly that there was
no danger in it, and that they never could have any other feeling for
each other. But he had begun to think also that she belonged to him in
some vague way, and sometimes acknowledged that it might be a thing to
consider more deeply by and by. He was only twenty-six, and the world
was still before him, but he was not very sympathetic with other
people's enthusiasm over their love affairs, and wondered if it were
not largely a matter of temperament, though by and by he should like
to have a home of his own.
He was somewhat attracted toward Miss Prince, the younger, for her
aunt's sake, and had made up his mind that he would be very attentive
to her, no matter how displeasing and uninteresting she might be: it
was sure to be a time of trial to his old friend, and he would help
all he could to make the visit as bearable as possible. Everybody knew
of the niece's existence who had known the Prince family at all, and
though Miss Prince had never mentioned the unhappy fact until the day
or two before her guest was expected, her young cavalier had behaved
with most excellent discretion, and feigning neither surprise nor
dismay, accepted the announcement in a way that had endeared him still
more to his patroness.
But on the first Sunday morning, when a most admirable young lady had
walked up the broad aisle of St. Ann's church, and Mr. Gerry had
caught a glimpse of her between the rows of heads which all looked
commonplace by contrast, it seemed to begin a new era of things. This
was a welcome link with the busier world outside Dunport; this was
what he had missed since he had ended his college days, a gleam of
cosmopolitan sunshine, which made the provincial fog less attractive
than ever. He was anxious to claim companionship with this fair
citizen of a larger world, and to disclaim any idea of belonging to
the humdrum little circle which exaggerated its own importance. He
persuaded himself that he must pay Miss Prince's guest an early visit.
It was very exciting and interesting altogether; and as he watched the
flicker of light in our heroine's hair as she sat on the straight sofa
in her aunt's parlor on the Sunday evening, a feeling of great delight
stole over him. He had known many nice girls in his lifetime, but
there was something uncommonly interesting about Miss Anna Prince;
besides, who could help being grateful to her for being so much nicer
than anybody had expected?
And so the days went by. Nobody thought there was any objection when
the junior partner of the law firm took holiday after holiday, for
there was little business and Mr. Sergeant liked to keep on with his
familiar routine. His old friends came to call frequently, and they
had their conferences in peace, and were not inclined to object if the
younger ears were being used elsewhere. Young people will be young
people, and June weather does not always last; and if George Gerry
were more devoted to social duties than to legal ones, it was quite
natural, and he had just acquitted himself most honorably at the May
term of court, and was his own master if he decided to take a
vacation.
He had been amused when the announcement had been made so early in
their acquaintance that Nan meant to study medicine. He believed if
there were any fault, it was Dr. Leslie's, and only thought it a pity
that her evident practical talents had not been under the guidance of
a more sensible director. The girl's impetuous defense of her choice
was very charming; he had often heard Mr. Sergeant speak of the rare
insight and understanding of legal matters which his favorite daughter
had possessed, and her early death had left a lonely place in the good
man's heart. Miss Prince's life at Oldfields must have been very dull,
especially since her boarding-school days were over. For himself he
had a great prejudice against the usurpation of men's duties and
prerogatives by women, and had spoken of all such assumptions with
contempt. It made a difference that this attractive young student had
spoken bravely on the wrong side; but if he had thought much about it
he would have made himself surer and surer that only time was needed
to show her the mistake. If he had gone deeper into the subject he
would have said that he thought it all nonsense about women's having
the worst of it in life; he had known more than one good fellow who
had begun to go down hill from the day he was married, and if girls
would only take the trouble to fit themselves for their indoor
business the world would be a vastly more comfortable place. And as
for their tinkering at the laws, such projects should be bitterly
resented.
It only needed a few days to make it plain to this good fellow that
the coming of one of the summer guests had made a great difference in
his life. It was easy to find a hundred excuses for going to Miss
Prince's, who smiled benignantly upon his evident interest in the fair
stranger within her gates. The truth must be confessed, however, that
the episode of the lamed shoulder at the picnic party had given Mr.
George Gerry great unhappiness. There was something so high and
serene in Anna Prince's simplicity and directness, and in the way in
which she had proved herself adequate to so unusual an occasion, that
he could not help mingling a good deal of admiration with his
dissatisfaction. It is in human nature to respect power; but all his
manliness was at stake, and his natural rights would be degraded and
lost, if he could not show his power to be greater than her own. And
as the days went by, every one made him more certain that he longed,
more than he had ever longed for anything before, to win her love. His
heart had never before been deeply touched, but life seemed now like a
heap of dry wood, which had only waited for a live coal to make it
flame and leap in mysterious light, and transfigure itself from
dullness into a bewildering and unaccountable glory. It was no wonder
any longer that poets had sung best of love and its joys and sorrows,
and that men and women, since the world began, had followed at its
call. All life and its history was explained anew, yet this eager
lover felt himself to be the first discoverer of the world's great
secret.
It was hard to wait and to lack assurance, but while the hours when he
had the ideal and the dream seemed to make him certain, he had only to
go back to Miss Prince's to become doubtful and miserable again. The
world did not consent to second his haste, and the persons most
concerned in his affairs were stupidly slow at understanding the true
state of them. While every day made the prize look more desirable,
every day seemed to put another barrier between himself and Nan; and
when she spoke of her visit's end it was amazing to him that she
should not understand his misery. He wondered at himself more and more
because he seemed to have the power of behaving much as usual when he
was with his friends; it seemed impossible that he could always go on
without betraying his thoughts. There was no question of any final
opposition to his suit, it seemed to him; he could not be more sure
than he was already of Miss Prince's willingness to let him plead his
cause with her niece, so many vexed questions would be pleasantly
answered; and he ventured to hope that the girl herself would be glad
to spend her life in dear old Dunport, where her father's people had
been honored for so many years. The good Dr. Leslie must be fast
growing old, and, though he would miss his adopted child, it was
reasonable that he should be glad to see her happily anchored in a
home of her own, before he died. If Nan were friendless and penniless
it would make no difference; but nevertheless, for her sake, it was
good to remember that some one had said that Dr. Leslie, unlike most
physicians, was a man of fortune. And nothing remained but to win an
affection which should match his own, and this impatient suitor walked
and drove and spent the fleeting hours in waiting for a chance to show
himself in the lists of love. It seemed years instead of weeks at
last, and yet as if he had only been truly alive and free since love
had made him captive. He could not fasten himself down to his work
without great difficulty, though he built many a castle in Spain with
his imagined wealth, and laid deep plans of study and acquirement
which should be made evident as time went on.
All things seemed within his reach in these first days of his
enlightenment: it had been like the rising of the sun which showed him
a new world of which he was lawful master, but the minor events of his
blissful existence began to conspire against him in a provoking way,
and presently it was sadly forced upon his understanding that Anna
Prince was either unconscious or disdainful of his affection. It could
hardly be the latter, for she was always friendly and hospitable, and
took his courtesies in such an unsuspecting and grateful way. There
was something so self-reliant about her and so independent of any
one's protection, that this was the most discouraging thing of all,
for his own instinct was that of standing between her and all
harm,--of making himself responsible for her shelter and happiness.
She seemed to get on capitally well without him, but after all he
could not help being conqueror in so just and inevitable a war. The
old proverb suddenly changed from a pebble to a diamond, and he
thanked the philosopher more than once who had first reminded the
world that faint heart ne'er won fair lady; presently he grew sad, as
lovers will, and became paler and less vigorous, and made his friends
wonder a good deal, until they at last suspected his sweet sorrow, and
ranged themselves in eager ranks upon his side, with all history and
tradition in their favor.
Nan herself was not among the first to suspect that one of her new
friends had proved to be a lover; she had been turned away from such
suspicions by her very nature; and when she had been forced to believe
in one or two other instances that she was unwillingly drawing to
herself the devotion which most women unconsciously seek, she had been
made most uncomfortable, and had repelled all possibility of its
further progress. She had believed herself proof against such
assailment, and so indeed she had been; but on the very evening of her
battle for her opinions at Mrs. Fraley's she had been suddenly
confronted by a new enemy, a strange power, which seemed so dangerous
that she was at first overwhelmed by a sense of her own
defenselessness.
She had waited with Miss Fraley, who was not quite ready to leave the
dining-room with the rest, and had been much touched by her
confidence. Poor Eunice had been very fond of one of her
school-fellows, who had afterward entered the navy, and who had been
fond of her in return. But as everybody had opposed the match, for her
sake, and had placed little reliance in the young man, she had meekly
given up all hope of being his wife, and he had died of yellow fever
at Key West soon after. "We were not even engaged you know, dear,"
whispered the little lady, "but somehow I have always felt in my heart
that I belonged to him. Though I believe every word you said about a
girl's having an independence of her own. It is a great blessing to
have always had such a person as my mother to lean upon, but I should
be quite helpless if she were taken away.... Of course I have had what
I needed and what we could afford," she went on, after another pause,
"but I never can get over hating to ask for money. I do sometimes envy
the women who earn what they spend."
Nan's eyes flashed. "I think it is only fair that even those who have
to spend their husband's or their father's money should be made to
feel it is their own. If one does absolutely nothing in one's home,
and is not even able to give pleasure, then I think it is stealing. I
have felt so strongly about that since I have grown up, for you know
Dr. Leslie, my guardian, has done everything for me. Aunt Nancy gave
me money every year, but I never spent any of it until I went away to
school, and then I insisted upon taking that and what my grandmother
left me. But my later studies have more than used it all. Dr. Leslie
is so kind to me, like an own father, and I am looking forward to my
life with him most eagerly. After the next year or two I shall be at
home all the time, and I am so glad to think I can really help him,
and that we are interested in the same things."