Mr. Somers came promptly at eleven, the next morning, and Margaret
received him in the drawing-room alone. She had given orders that she
should be denied to any early visitors who might be coming in, and was
resolved that she would be just and patient with the young man, though
she was also resolved that the nature of their relationship should be
definitely settled and understood, during this interview.
They had not been seated long when Margaret heard Louis Gaston’s voice
speaking to a servant in the hall. She looked up in surprise, as she
had supposed him to be at his office an hour ago. He came in, with his
overcoat on, and his hat in his hand, and when Margaret presented him
to Mr. Somers he cordially offered him his disengaged hand. Margaret
was struck with the contrast between the two general exteriors, as
she had been the night before, but she was not a whit ashamed of her
old friend. She told herself that no man with eyes in his head could
fail to see that Somers was a gentleman, and, for the rest, it did not
matter.
“I learned from my sister-in-law,” said Louis, addressing Mr. Somers,
“that Miss Trevennon was receiving a visit from a friend from home; and
Mrs. Gaston has authorized me to come and engage you for dinner to-day,
if you have no other appointment. I hope you will be able to come.”
Margaret, glancing at Mr. Somers, was distressed to see that he looked
decidedly ungracious. She saw, by his manner, that he suspected that
this smooth-spoken Yankee was going to patronize him, though nothing
could have been franker and less patronizing than Gaston’s whole
bearing.
“Thank you,” Mr. Somers answered, rather curtly, “I have another
engagement.”
Louis expressed the hope that he would give them another day while he
was in Washington, and asked for his address, saying that he would call
upon him.
Mr. Somers, having a hazy impression that to hand his card was the
proper thing, and not wishing to be outdone in _savoir-faire_, fumbled
in his pocket and produced a tumbled envelope, out of which he drew
a visiting-card of imposing proportions. Margaret glanced at it
quickly, and saw, to her horror, that it was printed! In the midst of
a wide expanse of tinted pasteboard was inscribed _C. R. Somers_, in
aggressive German type. She smiled to herself, as she made a swift
mental comparison between this card and another--a pure-white little
affair, with _Mr. Louis Gaston_ engraved on it in quiet script. She
knew well what Gaston was thinking of Charley, as he waited quietly
while the latter wrote his address and handed him the cumbrous card
with rather a bad grace, and she knew as well what Charley, as he
scribbled off the street, and number of his friend’s house, was
thinking of Mr. Gaston. It was all very absurd, and she could not help
feeling and perhaps looking amused.
Louis lingered to make a few more friendly overtures, but these were
so loftily received by Mr. Somers that he soon found it best to take
leave, and, with a pleasant “_Au revoir_” to both, he turned and left
the room.
“A French-talking, phrase-turning dandy!” said Charley, as soon as his
back was turned. “I wonder that you can tolerate such a man, Margaret.”
“It would be interesting to ascertain his opinion of you,” returned
Margaret. “If he puts no higher estimate on your conduct on this
occasion than I do, perhaps it is as well for us to remain in ignorance
of it.”
“And do you suppose I care one penny for his opinion? If you do, you
are much mistaken. I was obliged to give my address when he asked for
it, but I hope he’ll not trouble himself to call. I have no desire to
improve his acquaintance.”
“And yet you might find it not only pleasant but profitable,” said
Margaret. “There are many things that you might, with great benefit,
learn from him.”
“Upon my word, Margaret, this is a little too much,” exclaimed Somers.
“You have abandoned and repudiated your own people in a very short
while, when you can talk of my learning from a conceited Yankee fop
like that.”
“It isn’t the first time I’ve advised you to take lessons from the
Yankees,” said Margaret; “and as to Mr. Gaston’s being conceited,
I really think he’s less so than you are, Charley, though he knows
much more. As to his being a Yankee--well, yes, he is a Yankee, as we
should say, and he’s a very capable and accomplished one. And as to the
third point, of his being a dandy, you know very well he is simply a
remarkably well-dressed man, whose appearance in your heart you admire,
in spite of your tall talking. But what’s the use of all this? It
isn’t dress, nor nationality, nor deportment even, that makes the man.
Superficially, you two are very unlike, but I think the discrepancy as
to your real natures is by no means so great. You are a pair of true
and honorable gentlemen at heart--at least, I believe Mr. Gaston to be
such, and I know you are, Charley.”
She spoke in a tone of great gentleness for she knew that, before this
interview ended, she must say words which would bruise his poor heart
cruelly, and it was a kind and honest heart, which had long cherished
for her a true and steadfast devotion By degrees she led him on to a
quieter mood, and spoke to him gravely and earnestly of their future
lives--his and hers--which, as she gently tried to show him, must needs
lie apart. He had heard her utter these sad words before, but there was
a difference--an absolute resolve in looks and tones that compelled him
to realize that this time they were final. And yet she had never been
so gentle and so kind.
“I think too highly of you, Charley,” she said, when their interview
was drawing to a close, “to believe that you will let this feeling for
me ruin your life. There is so much a man may do! The very thought of
it is tantalizing to a woman sometimes. Oh, Charley, be in earnest. It
is all you lack. Do something--no matter what, so it is _work_, and do
it faithfully and well. I think that, in itself, would make you almost
happy. But don’t think about happiness. Indeed, I think that does not
signify so very much. Think only of filling your place in the world and
doing your duty to God and man, and happiness will come of itself.”
When she sent him from her at last, the hope which had until now lived
in his bosom was quite, quite dead, never to revive again; and yet,
with the relinquishment of that hope, a new life seemed to spring up
within him, which made him resolve, before he left her presence, that
he would win her approval though he could never win her love. He knew
he could not feel that he had ever possessed her entire approbation,
and it was well worth striving for--better, he said to himself,
as many another good man has said, in those first moments of sad
renunciation, than another woman’s love.
That evening Charley Somers formed a sudden resolution. He would not go
back to the South and the old stagnating life, which had already made
its sad impress upon his mind and character. He would set out at once
to South America, to join some resolute fellows who were friends of
his, who had gone to seek their fortunes, and had often urged him to
come to them. He did not see Margaret again, but wrote her a manly note
of farewell, over which she shed tears enough to have recalled him from
the ends of the earth, if, by ill-luck, he could have seen them.
It happened that Louis Gaston, chancing to meet her on her way to her
room with this letter, which she had just been reading, open in her
hand, saw her tearful eyes and pale, distressed face; he further noted
traces of weeping that would have escaped a superficial observer, when
she appeared at dinner an hour later. He could not help associating
these signs with Mr. Somers, and when he took occasion to mention
the latter’s name, in speaking to Mrs. Gaston after dinner, he was
scarcely surprised when she informed him that she had heard, through
Margaret, that Mr. Somers had already left for South America, to be
gone indefinitely.
“He goes to seek his fortune,” said Mrs. Gaston; “therefore I say his
return is indefinite.”
“And if he finds it,” said Louis Gaston to himself, “and the girl he
loves consents to share it with him, a man might well envy him. And if
she consents not, what will the fortune avail him? It may be that she
has already consented! Most likely the sweet pledge has been given,
and he goes to seek his fortune with the knowledge that her hopes and
fears are entwined about him. What mightn’t a man accomplish with such
a reward as his in view?”
These reflections passed through his mind, as he sat quietly on one
side of the room watching Miss Trevennon as she sat talking to his
brother, only her fair, sweet profile turned toward him, and a slightly
distressed look on her face, which his searching eyes alone discovered.