John Ralston had given his word to Katharine and he intended to keep it.
Whenever he was assailed by doubts he recalled by an act of will the
state of mind to which the young girl had brought him on Monday evening,
and how he had then been convinced that there was no harm in the secret
marriage. He analyzed his position, too, in a rough and ready way, with
the intention of proving that the clandestine ceremony could not be of
any advantage to himself, that it was therefore not from any selfish
motive that he had undertaken to have it performed, and that,
consequently, since the action itself was to be an unselfish one, there
could be nothing even faintly dishonourable in it. For he did not really
believe that old Robert Lauderdale would do anything for him. On the
contrary, he thought it most likely that the old man would be very angry
and would bid the young people abide by the consequences of their
doings. He would blame Ralston bitterly. He would not believe that he
had been disinterested. He would say that he had married Katharine, and
had persuaded her to the marriage in the hope of forcing his uncle to
help him, out of consideration for the girl. And he would refuse to do
anything whatsoever. He might even go so far as to strike the names of
both from his will, if he had left them a legacy, which was probable.
But, to do Ralston justice, so long as he was sure of his own motives he
had never cared a straw for the opinions others might form of them, and
he was the last man in the world to assume a character for the sake of
playing on the feelings of a rich relation. If Robert Lauderdale should
send for him, and be angry, and reproach him with what he had done, John
was quite capable of answering that he had acted from motives which
concerned himself only, that he was answerable to no one but Katharine
herself and that uncle Robert might make the best of it at his leisure.
The young man possessed that sort of courage in abundance, as every one
knew, and being aware of it himself, he suspected, not without grounds
of probability, that the millionaire was aware of it also, and would
simply leave him alone to his own devices, refusing Katharine’s request,
and never mentioning the question again. That the old man would be
discreet, was certain. With a few rare exceptions, men who have made
great fortunes unaided have more discretion than other people, and can
keep secrets remarkably well.
The difficulty which presented itself to Ralston at once was a material
one. He did not in the least know how such an affair as a secret
marriage should be managed. None of his close acquaintances had ever
done anything so unusual, and although he knew of two cases which had
occurred in New York society, the one in recent years and the other long
ago, he had no means of finding out at short notice how the actual
formalities necessary had been fulfilled in either case. He knew,
however, that a marriage performed by a respectable clergyman of any
denomination was legal, and that a certificate signed by him was
perfectly valid. He had heard of marriages before a Justice of the
Peace, and even of declarations made before respectable witnesses and
vouched for, which had been legal marriages beyond dispute, but he did
not like the look of anything in which there was no religious ceremony,
respectfully indifferent though he was to all religion. The code of
honour, which was his only faith, is connected, and not even very
distantly, with Christianity. There are honourable men of all religions
under the sun, including that of Confucius, but we do not associate the
expression ‘the code of honour’ with non-Christians--which is singular
enough, considering the view the said code takes of some moral
questions.
There must be a marriage service, therefore, thought Ralston, and it
must be performed in New York. There was no possibility of taking
Katharine into a neighbouring State, and he had no wish to do so for
many reasons. He was not without foresight, and he intended to be able
to prove at any future time that the formality, the whole formality, and
nothing but the formality of the ceremony had been fulfilled. It was not
easy. He racked his recollections in vain, and he read all the
newspapers published that morning with an interest he had certainly
never felt in them before, in the hope of finding some account of a case
similar to his own. He thought of going to a number of clergymen, of the
social type, with whom he had a speaking acquaintance, and of laying the
facts before each in turn, until one of them consented to marry him. But
though many of them were excellent men, he had not enough confidence in
their discretion. He laughed to himself when he thought that the only
men he knew who seemed to possess the necessary qualities for such a
delicate affair were Robert the Rich himself and Hamilton Bright, whom
Ralston secretly suspected of being somewhat in love with Katharine on
his own account. It was odd, he thought, that of all the family Bright
alone should resemble old Robert, physically and mentally, but the
resemblance was undeniable, though the relationship only consisted in
the fact that Bright was descended from old Robert Lauderdale’s
grandfather, the primeval Alexander often mentioned in these pages.
Ralston turned the case over and over in his mind. He thought of going
to some dissenting minister quite unknown to him, and trying what
eloquence could do. He had heard that some of them were men of heart to
whom one could appeal in trouble. But he knew very well that every one
of them would tell him to do the thing openly, or not at all, and the
mere idea revived his own scruples. He wondered whether there were not
churches where the marrying was done by batches of four and five couples
on a certain Sunday in the month, as babies are baptized in some parts
of the world, and whether he and Katharine could not slip in, as it were
by mistake, and be married by a man who did not even know their names.
But he laughed at the idea a moment later, and went on studying the
problem.
Another of his ideas was to consult a detective, from a private office.
Such men would, in all likelihood, know a good deal about runaway
couples. And this seemed one of the wisest plans which had suggested
itself, though it broke down for two reasons. He hated the thought of
getting at his result by the help of a man belonging to what he
considered a mean and underhand profession; and he reflected that such
men were always on the lookout for private scandals, and that he should
be putting himself in their power. At last he decided to consult a
lawyer. Lawyers and doctors, as a rule, were discreet, he thought,
because their success depended on their discretion. He could easily find
a man whom he had never seen, honest and able to keep a secret, who
would give him the information he wanted in a professional way and take
a fee for the trouble. This seemed to him honourable and wise. He wished
everything to be legal, and the best way to make it so was to follow a
lawyer’s directions. There was not even a doubt but that the said
lawyer, if requested, would make a memorandum of the case, and take
charge of the document which was to prove that Katharine Lauderdale had
become the lawful wife of John Ralston. There were lists and directories
in which he could find the names of hundreds of such men. He was in his
native city, and between the names and the places of business he thought
he could form a tolerably accurate opinion of the reputation and
standing of some, if not of all, of the individuals.
In the course of a couple of hours he had found what he wanted--a lawyer
whose name was known to him as that of a man of good reputation and a
gentleman, one whom he had never seen and who had probably never seen
him, old enough, as he knew, to have a wide experience, yet not so old
as to be justified in assuming airs of vast moral superiority in order
to declare primly that he would never help a young man to commit an act
of folly. For folly it was, as Ralston knew very well in his heart.
He lost no time, and within half an hour was interviewing the authority
he had selected, for, by a bit of good luck, he was fortunate enough to
meet the lawyer at the door of his office, just returning from luncheon.
Otherwise he might have had some difficulty in gaining immediate
admittance. He found him to be a grave, keen personage of uncertain age,
who laid his glasses beside him on his desk whenever he spoke, and put
them on again as soon as he had done. He wiped them carefully when
Ralston had explained what he wanted, and then paused a moment before
replying. Ralston was by no means prepared for what he said.
“I presume you are a novelist.”
The lawyer looked at him, smiled pleasantly, looked away and turned his
glasses over again.
The young man was inclined to laugh. No one had ever before taken him
for a man of letters. He hesitated, however, before he answered,
wondering whether he had not better accept the statement in the hope of
getting accurate information, rather than risk a refusal if he said he
was in earnest. The lawyer took his hesitation for assent.
“Because, in that case, it would not be at all difficult to manage,” he
continued, without waiting any longer for a reply. “Lots of things can
happen in books, you see, and you can wind up the story and publish it
before the people in the book who are to be kept in the dark have found
out the secret. In real life, it is a little different, because, though
it’s very easy to be married, it’s the duty of the person who marries
you to send a certificate or statement of the marriage to the office
where the record of statistics is kept.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Ralston, and his face fell. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yes. That’s necessary, on pain of a fine. And yet the marriage may
remain a secret a long while--for a lifetime under favourable
circumstances. So that if you are writing a story you can let the young
couple take the chances, and you can give them in their favour.”
“Well--how, exactly?” asked John. “That sort of thing isn’t usual, I
fancy.”
“Not usual--no.” The lawyer smiled. “But there are more secret marriages
than most people dream of. If your hero and heroine must be married in
New York, it is easy enough to do it. Nobody will marry them without
afterwards making out the certificate, which is recorded. If anybody
suspects that they are married, it is the easiest thing in the world to
find out that the marriage has been registered. But if nobody looks for
it, the thing will never be heard of. It’s a thousand to one against
anybody’s finding it out by accident.”
“But if it were done in that way it would be absolutely legal and could
never be contested?”
“Of course--perfectly legal. But it’s not so in all States, mind you.”
“I wanted to know about New York,” said Ralston. “It couldn’t possibly
take place anywhere else.”
“Oh--well--in that case, you know all there is to be known.”
“I’m very grateful,” said John, rising. “I’ve taken up a great deal of
your valuable time, sir. May I--”
In considerable doubt as to what he should do, he thrust his hand into
his breast-pocket and looked at the lawyer.
“My dear sir!” exclaimed the latter, rising also. “How can you think of
such a thing? I’m very glad indeed to have been of service to--a young
novelist.”
“You’re exceedingly kind, and I thank you very much,” said Ralston,
shaking the outstretched hand, and making for the door as soon as
possible.
He had not even given his name, which had been rather rude on his part,
as he was well aware. At all events, the lawyer would not be able to
trace him, which was a point to his advantage.
Oddly enough he felt a sense of satisfaction when he thought over what
he had learned. He could tell Katharine that a really secret marriage
was wholly impossible, and perhaps when she knew that she was running a
risk of discovery she would draw back. He should be glad of that.
Realizing the fact, he was conscious for the first time that he was
seeking a way out of the marriage and not a way into it, and a conflict
arose in his mind. On the one hand he had given Katharine his word that
he would do what she asked, and his word was sacred, unless she would
release him from the promise. On the other side stood that intimate
conviction of his own that, in spite of all her arguments, it was not a
perfectly honourable thing to do, on its own merits. He could not help
feeling glad that a material difficulty stood in the way of his doing
what she required of him.
In any case he must see her as soon as possible. He ascertained without
difficulty that they need not show evidence that they had resided in New
York during any particular period, nor were there any other formalities
to be fulfilled. He went home to luncheon with his mother--it was on the
day after he had given his promise to Katharine, for he had lost no
time--and he went out again before three o’clock, hoping to find the
young girl alone.
To his annoyance he found her with her mother in the library. Mrs.
Lauderdale was generally at work at that hour, if she was at home, but
to-day she, who was always well, had a headache and was nervous and
altogether different from herself. Katharine saw that she was almost
ill, and insisted upon staying at home with her, to read to her, or to
talk, as she preferred, though Mrs. Lauderdale begged her repeatedly to
go away and make visits, or otherwise amuse herself as she could. But
the young girl was obstinate; she saw that her mother was suffering and
she had no intention of leaving her that afternoon. Alexander Junior was
of course at his office, and the philanthropist was in his own quarters
upstairs, probably dozing before the fire or writing reports about
idiots.
It was clear to Ralston in five minutes that Mrs. Lauderdale was not
only indisposed, but that she was altogether out of temper, a state of
mind very unusual with her. She found fault with little things that
Katharine did in a way John had never noticed before, and as for
himself, she evidently wished he had not come. There was a petulance
about her which was quite new. She was not even sitting in her usual
place, but had taken the deep arm-chair on the other side of the
fireplace, and turned her back to the light.
“You seem to be as busy as usual, Jack,” she observed, after exchanging
a few words.
“I’m wishing I were, at all events,” he answered. “You must take the
wish for the deed.”
“They say that there’s always plenty of work for any one who wants it,”
answered Mrs. Lauderdale, coldly.
“If you’ll tell me where to find it--”
“Why don’t you go to the West, as young Bright did, and try to do
something without help? Other men do.”
“Bright took money with him,” answered Ralston.
“Did he? Not much, then, I fancy. I know he lived a hard life and drove
cattle--”
“And bought land in wild places which he found in the course of his
cattle driving. The driving was a means of getting about--not
unpleasant, either--and he had some money to invest. I could do the
same, if I had any.”
“You know it’s quite useless, mother,” said Katharine, interposing
before Mrs. Lauderdale could make another retort. “You all abuse him for
doing nothing, and yet I hear you all say that every profession is
overcrowded, and that nobody can do anything without capital. If uncle
Robert chose, he could make Jack’s fortune by a turn of his hand.”
“Of course--he could give him a fortune outright and not feel it--unless
he cared what became of it.”
There was something so harsh about the way in which she spoke the last
words that Ralston and Katharine looked at each other. Ralston did not
lose his temper, however, but tried to turn the subject with a laugh.
“My dear cousin Emma,” he said, “I’m the most hopeless case living.
Please talk about somebody who is successful. There are lots of them.
You’ve mentioned Bright already. Let us praise him. That will make you
feel better.”
To this Mrs. Lauderdale said nothing. After waiting a moment Ralston
turned to Katharine.
“Are you going out this afternoon?” he asked, by way of hinting that he
wanted to see her alone.
“No,” said Mrs. Lauderdale, answering for her. “She says she means to
stay at home and take care of me. It’s ever so good of her, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” answered Ralston, absently.
It struck Katharine that, considering that her mother had been trying
for half an hour to persuade her to go out, it would have been natural
to propose that she should go for a short walk with John, and that the
answer had come rather suddenly.
“But you can’t stay at home all day,” said Ralston, all at once. “You’ll
be having a headache yourself. Won’t you let Katharine come with me for
half an hour, cousin Emma? We’ll walk twice round Washington Square and
come right back. She looks pale.”
“Does she?” Mrs. Lauderdale glanced at the girl’s face. “I don’t think
so,” she continued. “Besides--”
“What is it?” asked Ralston, as she hesitated and stopped. “Isn’t it
proper? We’ve often done it.”
Mrs. Lauderdale rose from her chair and stood up, tall and slim, with
her back to the mantelpiece. The light fell upon her face now, and
Ralston saw how tired and worn she looked. Immediately she turned her
back to the window again, and looked at him sideways, resting her elbow
on the shelf.
“What is the use of you two going on in this way?” she asked suddenly.
There was an awkward silence, and again Katharine and Ralston looked at
one another. They were momentarily surprised out of speech, for Mrs.
Lauderdale had always taken their side, if not very actively, at least
in a kindly way. She had said that Katharine should marry the man she
loved, rich or poor, and that if she chose to wait for a poor man, like
Ralston, to be able to support her, that was her own affair. The violent
opposition had come from Katharine’s father when, a year previously, the
two had boldly told him that they loved each other and wished to be
married. Alexander Junior did not often lose his temper, but he had lost
it completely on that occasion, and had gone so far as to say that
Ralston should never enter the house again, a verdict which he had been
soon forced to modify. But he had said that he considered John an idle
good-for-nothing, who would never be able to support himself, let alone
a wife and children; that his, Alexander’s, daughter should never marry
a professional dandy, who was content to let his widowed mother pay his
extravagant tailor’s bills, and who played poker at the clubs as a
source of income; that it was not enough of a recommendation to be half
a Lauderdale and to skim the cream from New York society in the form of
daily invitations--and to have the reputation of being a good polo
player with other people’s horses, a good yachtsman with other people’s
yachts, and of having a strong head for other people’s wines. Those were
not the noble qualities Alexander Junior looked for in a son-in-law. Not
at all, sir. He preferred Benjamin Slayback of Nevada. The Lauderdales
were quite able to make society accept Benjamin Slayback of Nevada,
because Benjamin Slayback of Nevada was quite able to stand upon his own
feet anywhere, having worked for all he had, like a man, and having
pushed himself into the forefront of political life by sheer energy and
ability, and having as good a right and as good a chance in every way as
any man in the country. No, he was certainly not a Lauderdale. If
Lauderdales were to go on marrying Lauderdales and no one else, there
would soon be an end of society. He advised John Ralston to go to Nevada
and marry Benjamin Slayback’s sister, if she would look at him, which
was more than doubtful, considering that he was the most atrociously
idle young ne’er-do-weel--here Alexander’s Scotch upper lip snapped like
a steel trap--that ever wasted the most precious years of life between
the society of infatuated women by day, sir, and the temptations of the
card-table and the bottle by night--the favourite of fine ladies, the
boon companion of roisterers and the sport of a London tailor.
Which was a tremendous speech when delivered at close quarters in
Alexander Junior’s metallic voice, and in his most irately emphatic
manner, while the grey veins swelled at his grey temples, and one iron
hand was clenched ready to strike the palm of the other when the end of
the peroration was reached. He allowed himself, as a relation, even more
latitude in his language than he would have arrogated to himself as
Katharine’s father. He met John Ralston not only as the angry stage
father meets the ineligible and determined young suitor, but as one
Lauderdale meeting another--the one knowing himself to be
irreproachable, upbraiding the other as the disgrace of the family, the
hardened young sinner, and the sport of his tailor. That last expression
had almost brought a smile to Ralston’s angry face.
He had behaved admirably, however, under such very trying circumstances,
and afterwards secretly took great credit to himself for not having
attacked him whom he wished for a father-in-law with the furniture of
the latter’s own library, the chairs being the only convenient weapons
in the room. Alexander the Safe, as his own daughter called him, could
probably have killed John Ralston with one back-hander, but John would
have liked to try him in fight, nevertheless. Instead of doing anything
of the kind, however, John drew back two steps, and said as much as he
could trust himself to say without foaming at the mouth and seeing
things in scarlet. He said that he did not agree with his cousin
Alexander upon all the points the latter had mentioned, that he did not
care to prolong a violent scene, and he wished him good morning.
Thereupon he had left the house, which was quite the wisest thing he
could do, for when Alexander was alone he found to his extreme annoyance
that he had a distinct sensation of having been made almost ridiculous.
But he soon recovered from that, for whatever the secret mainspring of
his singular character might be, it was certainly not idle vanity.
Mrs. Lauderdale had consoled Katharine, and Ralston too, for that
matter, as well as she could, and with sincere sympathy. Ralston
continued to come to the house very much as he pleased, and Mr.
Lauderdale silently tolerated his presence on the rare occasions of
their meeting. He had certainly said more than enough to explain his
point of view, and he considered the matter as settled. It was really
not possible to keep a man who was his cousin altogether away, and he
suffered also from a delusion common to many fathers, which led him to
think that no one would ever dare to act against his once clearly
expressed wishes.
Between Katharine and her mother and Ralston there remained a sort of
tacit understanding. There was no formal engagement, of course, which
would have had to be concealed from Mr. Lauderdale, but Mrs. Lauderdale
meant that the two young people should be married if they continued to
love one another, and she generally left them as much together as they
pleased when Ralston came.
It was, therefore, not strange that they should both be surprised by the
nature of her sudden question as she stood by the fireplace looking
sideways at Ralston, with her back to the light.
“What is the use?” asked Katharine, repeating the words in astonishment
and emphasizing the last one.
“Yes. What is the use? It is leading to nothing. You never can be
married, and you know it by this time. You had much better separate at
once. It will be easier for you now, perhaps, than by and by. You are
both so young!”
“Excuse me, cousin Emma,” said Ralston, “but I think you must be
dreaming.”
He spoke very quietly, but the light was beginning to gleam in his
eyes. His mother was said to have a very bad temper, and John was like
her in many respects. But Mrs. Lauderdale continued to speak quite
calmly.
“I have been thinking about you two a great deal lately,” she said. “I
have made a mistake, and I may as well say so at once, now that I have
discovered it. You wouldn’t like me to go on letting you think that I
approved of your engagement, when I don’t--would you? That wouldn’t be
fair or honest.”
“Certainly not,” answered Ralston, in a low voice, and he could feel all
his muscles tightening as though for a physical effort. “Have you said
this sort of thing to Katharine before, or is this the first time?”
“No, she hasn’t said a word,” replied Katharine herself.
The girl was standing by the easy chair, her hand resting on the back of
it, her face pale, her great grey eyes staring wide open at her mother’s
profile.
“No, I have not,” said Mrs. Lauderdale. “I thought it best to wait until
I could speak to you together. It’s useless to give pain twice over.”
“It is indeed,” said Ralston, gravely. “Please go on.”
“Why--there’s nothing more to be said, Jack,” answered Mrs. Lauderdale.
“That’s all. The trouble is that you’ll never do anything, and you have
no fortune, nor any prospect of any--until your mother--”
“Please don’t speak of my mother in that connection,” interrupted
Ralston, his lips growing white.
“Well--and as for us, we’re as poor as can be. You see how we live.
Besides, you know. Old Mr. Lauderdale gets uncle Robert to subscribe
thousands and thousands for the idiots, but he never suggests that they
are far better off than we are. However, those are our miseries and not
yours. Yours is that you are perfectly useless--”
“Mother!” cried Katharine, losing control of herself and moving a step
forward.
“It’s all right, dear,” said Ralston. “Go on, cousin Emma. I’m perfectly
useless--”
“I don’t mean to offend you, Jack, and we’re not strangers,” continued
Mrs. Lauderdale, “and I won’t dwell on the facts. You know them as well
as I do, and are probably quite as sorry that they really are facts. I
will only ask one question. What chance is there that in the next four
or five years you can have a house of your own, and an income of your
own--just enough for two people to live on and no more--and--well--a
home for Katharine? What chance is there?”
“I’ll do something before that time,” answered Ralston, with a
determined look.
But Mrs. Lauderdale shook her head.
“So you said last year, Jack. I repeat--I don’t want to be unkind. How
long is Katharine to wait?”
“I’ll wait all my life, mother,” said the young girl, suddenly speaking
out in ringing tones. “I’ll wait till I die, if I must, and Jack knows
it. And I believe in him, if you don’t--against you all, you and papa
and uncle Robert and every one. Jack has never had a chance that
deserves to be called a chance at all. He must succeed--he shall
succeed--I know he’ll succeed. And I’ll wait till he does. I will--I
will--if it’s forever, and I shan’t be tired of waiting--it will always
be easy, for him. Oh, mother, mother--to think that you should have
turned against us! That’s the hard thing!”
“Thank you, dear,” said Ralston, touching her hand lovingly.
Mrs. Lauderdale had turned her face quite away from him now and was
looking at the clock, softly drumming with her fingers upon the
mantelpiece.
“I’m sorry, Katharine,” she said. “But I think it, and I’ve said it--and
I can’t unsay it. It’s far too true.”
There was a dead silence for several seconds. Then Katharine suddenly
pushed Ralston gently toward the door.
“Go, Jack dear,” she said in a low voice. “She has a dreadful
headache--she’s not herself. Your being here irritates her--please go
away--it will be all right in a day or two--”
They had reached the door, for Ralston saw that she was right.
“No,” said Mrs. Lauderdale from the fireplace, “I shan’t change my
mind.”
It was all so sudden and strange that Ralston found himself outside the
library without having taken leave of her in any way. Katharine came out
with him.
“There’s a difficulty,” he whispered quickly as he found his coat and
stick. “After it’s done there has to be a certificate saying that--”
“Katharine! Come here!” cried Mrs. Lauderdale from within, and they
heard her footstep as she left the fireplace.
“Come to-morrow morning at eleven,” whispered Katharine.
She barely touched his hand with hers and fled back into the library. He
let himself out and walked slowly along Clinton Place in the direction
of Fifth Avenue.