“A millionaire with a title--with established social position at the
very top--that couldn’t be taken away. That’s the truth, Godfrey.”
“I’ll not contradict you,” said I.
“And,” she went on, “I’ve brought up our daughter so that she could
realize the highest ambition within our reach. Haven’t I brought her up
well?”
“Perfectly, for the purpose,” said I.
“When we came over here, I examined the ground carefully. I was at
first inclined to one of the big Continental titles. They are much
older, much more high sounding than the English titles--and so far as
birth goes they mean something, while the English titles mean really
nothing at all. The English aristocracy isn’t an aristocracy of birth.”
“That’s, no doubt, the reason why it still has some say in affairs,”
said I.
“Its talk about birth is almost entirely sham,” proceeded she, not
interested in my irrelevant comment. “But I found that it was the most
substantial aristocracy, the only one that was respected everywhere,
just as the English money circulates everywhere. And it’s the only
one that makes much of an impression at home. We are so ignorant that
we think England is all that it pretends to be--the powerful part of
Europe. Of course, it isn’t, but--no matter. I decided for an English
title.”
“And Margot?”
“I have brought her up to respect my judgment,” said Edna.
“I wonder what will become of her,” said I, reflectively, “when she
hasn’t you at her elbow to tell her what to do.... But why a marquis?
Why not a duke?”
She smiled, blushed a little. “The only duke we could have got--and he
was a nice young fellow--but he was in love with an English girl of
wealth--and he wanted too much to change to an American. Is that frank
enough to suit you?”
“If you’d only keep to that key,” said I.
“He wanted double the American dowry that he was willing to take with
an English girl.”
“His being in love with another girl might have made it unpleasant for
Margot,” I suggested.
“That wouldn’t have amounted to anything,” replied she. “Over here the
right sort of people bring up their children as I brought up Margot--to
give their hearts where their hands should go. They are not shallow and
selfish. They think of the family dignity and honor before they think
of their personal feelings.”
“That’s interesting--and new--at least to me,” said I.
“You have been judging these things without knowing, Godfrey,” said
she. “You have attacked me for narrowness, when in fact you were the
narrow one.”
“Yes? What next?” said I.
“I found that the Massingfords--that’s the family name of the Marquis
of Crossley--I found they ranked higher as a family than any of the
ducal families except one. Of course I don’t include the royal dukes.”
“Of course not,” said I gravely.
“I might possibly have got one of the royal dukes--if not in England,
then here on the Continent. But I decided-- You see, Godfrey, I looked
into everything.”
“You certainly have been thorough,” said I. “I should have said it was
impossible in so short a time.”
“But it wasn’t difficult. All the Americans over here are well informed
about these things.”
“I can readily believe it,” said I. “But why did you turn down the poor
royal dukes?”
“Because the other women would have made it dreadfully uncomfortable
for Margot. They’d have hated her for taking precedence over them by
such a long distance. Then, too--the dowry. I was afraid you couldn’t
afford the dowry--or wouldn’t think the title worth the money. Indeed,
I didn’t think so, myself.”
“A royal duke comes high?”
“The least dowry would be seventy-five million francs.”
“Fifteen million dollars!” I exclaimed. “Whew!”
“Mrs. Sinkers tried to get one for her daughter for ten millions--all
she could scrape together. They agreed to a morganatic marriage for
that, but not a full marriage. So, she and poor Martha gave it up.
Martha’s heart is broken. The duke made love to her so wonderfully. I
can’t imagine what Mrs. Sinkers was about, to allow such a thing before
the affair was settled. Poor Martha was so excited that she would have
accepted the morganatic marriage--she ranking merely as the duke’s
head mistress. But while he was willing to take other mistresses for
nothing, and even to pay them, he wouldn’t take _her_ for less than
fifty million francs.”
“Poor Martha!” said I.
“I was too wise to trifle with royal dukes,” pursued Edna, so
interested in her own narrative and so eager to show how sagacious she
had been that she forgot her pose and her doubts as to my sympathies.
“I weighed the advantages and disadvantages of about a dozen eligible
men. Only three stood the test, and it finally narrowed down to
Crossley. Margot was so happy when I told her. She wanted to love
him--and now she is loving him.”
A long pause while Edna calmed down to earth from her European
soarings, and while I, too, returned to the normal from an excursion in
the opposite direction. “How much does he want?” said I. “Let’s get to
bed rock.”
“He loves her so that he is willing, so I hear-- Of course, nothing has
been said-- You will not believe how refined and----”
“How much?” interrupted I.
Edna winced at my rudeness, then again presented an unruffled front of
happy loving serenity. “Enough to pay off the mortgages and to provide
them with a suitable income.”
“How much?” I persisted, laughing.
She looked tenderly remonstrant. “I don’t know, Godfrey----”
“You know _about_ how much. What’s the figure--the price of this marked
down marquis?”
“I should say the whole thing would not cost more than three or four
million dollars.”
“Three--or four.” I laughed aloud. “Not much difference there. Now
which is it--three or four?”
“Perhaps nearer four. Margot must have a _good_ income.”
“To be sure,” said I.
“The whole object would be defeated if she hadn’t the means----”
“The money,” I suggested. “Why use these evasive words? We’re talking a
plain subject. Let’s use its language.”
“The money, then,” acquiesced she, resolutely good-humored. “If she
hadn’t the money to make a proper appearance.”
“Naturally, to lead in society you must lead in spending money....
Well--it can’t be done.”
She paled, half started from her chair, sank back again. There was a
long silence. Then she said, “You have never been cruel, Godfrey. You
won’t be cruel now. You won’t destroy my life work. You won’t shatter
Margot’s happiness.”
“The whole thing is--is nauseating to me,” said I.
Her short, pretty upper lip quivered. Her eyes filled. “If you didn’t
approve, dear, why didn’t you stop me long ago? Why did you let me go
on until there was no turning back?”