Margaret had been, from the first, eager to hear Decourcy’s criticism
of the Gastons, and when she found herself seated by her cousin’s
side, in the train on the way to Baltimore, with the prospect of an
hour’s _tête-à-tête_ before her, she felt sure he would volunteer his
impressions. She only hoped that he would remember that, in spite of
all, she really liked them, and that he would refrain from speaking
too resentfully on the subject. She was full of unuttered criticism
herself, but a feeling of loyalty to the friends who had shown her
so much kindness deterred her from introducing the topic. It soon
appeared, however, that Mr. Decourcy had no intention of speaking of
it at all. Of course they talked about the Gastons, but it was only in
incidental allusions, and, after all, it was Margaret who invited his
criticism by saying directly:
“What do you think of them, Alan?”
“Oh, pretty well,” he answered lightly. “The General is a little heavy,
but his wife has vivacity enough to counterbalance him, and I should
say the brother is a fine fellow.”
Margaret’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. Forgetting all her good
resolutions, now that she and her cousin had so decidedly shifted
positions, she said excitedly:
“Why, Alan, I supposed you thought him simply intolerable.”
Her cousin, in his turn, looked surprised.
“You know him better than I,” he said, “and it may be that that is
his real character; but I met him at the club the other night and
was rather struck with him. It may be all surface, however. He is a
good-looking fellow--and has very good manners.”
“Good manners! Oh, Alan! His conduct, the first time you met him, was
really terrible; it filled me with shame for him.”
“Oh yes; I remember that very well,” said Decourcy, quietly; “but I
rather fancied, from certain signs, that that was mostly due to his
being at odds with you, in some way. Yes,” he went on, looking faintly
amused at the reminiscence, “he evidently intended to annihilate me,
but when he saw that he had better not think of it, I must say he
gave up with a good grace, and since then he has done everything in
his power to manifest an intention to be civil. In this condition of
affairs, I find him a very likeable, intelligent fellow.”
“And you bear him no grudge for the manner in which he treated you?”
“My dear Daisy! what’s the use of bearing grudges? Life is much too
short. And besides, a great many people are like that.”
“What sort of people? Vulgar people and ignorant people, I suppose!”
“Well, not necessarily. I have often seen such conduct from people whom
I could not, on the whole, call either ignorant or vulgar. It seems to
be the instinct with some men to consider every stranger a blackguard,
until he has proved himself not to be one.”
“It is abominable,” said Margaret; “perfectly barbarous! Such people
have no right to claim to be civilized.”
“In point of fact, it is only a very small class, my dear, who can
justly lay claim to that estate. I understand your feeling. How it
carries me back! I used to feel much as you do, before I went out into
the world.”
“I should think a knowledge of the world would make one more fastidious
instead of less so,” said Margaret, sturdily.
“I think you are wrong in that. One learns to take things as they come,
and loses the notion of having all things exactly to one’s taste.”
“But surely such flagrant impoliteness as Mr. Gaston’s would be
condemned anywhere,” said Margaret. “You should have seen his treatment
of Major King.”
She then proceeded to give a spirited account of that episode, to her
cousin’s manifest interest and amusement.
“And how your hot Southern blood did tingle!” he commented, as she
ended her recital. “You felt as if a crime had been committed in your
sight, which it was your sacred duty to avenge--did you not? I had
such feelings once myself, and perhaps, in both our cases, they may be
traced to the same cause. Constant observation of such a model as your
father presents would put most of the world at a disadvantage. There
is a fineness of grain in him that one meets with but rarely anywhere.
With him the feeling is that every man must be regarded and treated as
a gentleman, until he has proved himself not to be one. It is a better
way. But I think, after all, Margaret, that absolute good-breeding is a
thing we must look for in individuals, and not in classes. It certainly
does not exist in any class with which I have been thrown, and I cannot
quite see how it could, as long as our social system of standards and
rewards remains what it is. Do you remember a clever squib in _Punch,
àpropos_ of all this?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I very rarely see _Punch_,” she said.
“It represents a conversation on the deck of an ocean steamer,
between a beautiful American girl, returning from Europe, and several
Englishmen, who are grouped about her. One of these is saying: ‘Now,
Miss ----, do tell us. You’ve travelled a great deal, and seen the
world, where have you met with the most elegant, refined, and high-bred
men and women?’ ‘Among your British aristocracy,’ replies the young
lady, frankly. Her response is greeted with a flutter of delight by
the group, and their spokesman puts another question: ‘Now tell us,
on the other hand,’ he says, ‘where you have met with the greatest
ill-breeding and vulgarity.’ The answer comes as promptly as before:
‘Among your British aristocracy.’ That,” proceeded Decourcy, after
waiting for Margaret’s ready tribute of appreciation, “according to
my own small experience, states the case exactly, and, with certain
limitations, the same thing is true of the aristocracy of every
country. A low-born ignoramus could never be the finished snob that a
man of some enlightenment may be; he wouldn’t know how. But confess,
Margaret,--hot little rebel as you are!--have you never encountered the
elements of snobbishness among your own people?”
“Yes; but I always supposed it came from ignorance and was greatly
due to the fact that, since the war, our people have had so little
opportunity of seeing the world, and have become insulated and
prejudiced in consequence.”
“There is something in that; but it was always so, I fancy, more
or less. We are by nature and habit a self-opinionated race, with
certain honorable exceptions, of course. But this I will say--by way
of a little private swagger between ourselves--that I think we are a
courteous people, indeed the most courteous I have known, with more
inherent good-feeling for others. That ought to comfort you.”
“Yes,” said Margaret, rather wistfully; “but there are so many other
things. Our people are so indolent, it seems to me--at least since the
war.”
“You always make me laugh, Daisy, when you introduce that little
phrase, ‘since the war.’ You seem to find in it a satisfactory excuse
for all the delinquencies of your beloved people. But the South, my
sweet cousin, has never been a Utopia, any more than other lands. Wheat
and tares must grow together everywhere.”
“I am glad you call them my beloved people,” said Margaret, after a
little silence. “At home they do not think me very patriotic.”
“Whom do you mean by ‘they’?”
“I was thinking of Charley Somers----”
“Oh, by-the-way, I meant to ask about that pretty young fellow,” said
Decourcy. “I used to make him very angry by telling him he ought to
induce Bassett to take a newspaper, and suggesting that the name of the
town should be changed to Cosmopolis. I am afraid Charley never loved
me. I shudder still at the remembrance of the scowls he would cast
upon me whenever I went near you. How is he?”
“Very well,” said Margaret; “not changed at all.”
“He hasn’t followed my advice about the paper, then? How about his
voice? It bid fair to be superb. I hope it has developed well.”
“I don’t think it has developed at all,” said Margaret. “Certainly it
has had no training worthy the name. It is a shame to see him throwing
that magnificent gift away. I have thought of it so much, in hearing
Mr. Gaston sing. He has no voice at all, compared to Charley’s, but
he has spent such patient labor on its cultivation that his method is
exquisite, and his singing would charm any one. Isn’t it a fine thing
to think how he worked over it, while all the time he was studying hard
at his profession too.”
“So Gaston is lucky enough to have won your approbation, in one
quarter, at least, though he does come under your ban in another,”
said Decourcy. “You are exacting, Margaret, and severe in your ideals:
I foresee that I shall be afraid of you. It would be interesting to
make the acquaintance of the lucky man who is destined to command your
entire approval, and win your fair hand.”
Margaret laughed brightly:
“Cousin Eugenia says I shall never marry,” she answered; “she says
I expect as much as if I were an heiress, and a beauty, and an
intellectual prodigy, all in one. But I tell her my comfort is that
the sort of man I should care for invariably falls in love with his
inferior.”
At this point the train glided into the station, and the conversation
between the cousins came to an end.