FIFTH AVENUE AND NEWPORT.
"What about Madame Socani?" Rachel, as she said this, abandoned for
the moment her look against the wall, and shook herself instantly
free of all her dowdiness. She flashed fire at him from her eyes, and
jumping up from her seat, took hold of her father by his shoulder. He
encircled her waist with his arm, but otherwise sat silent, looking
Mr. Moss full in the face. It must be acknowledged on the part of
Rachel that she was prepared to make her accusation against Mr. Moss
on perhaps insufficient grounds. She had heard among the people at
the theatre, who did not pretend to know much of Mr. Moss and his
antecedents, that there was a belief that Madame Socani was his wife.
There was something in this which offended her more grossly than
ever,--and a wickedness which horrified her. But she certainly knew
nothing about it; and Madame Socani's proposition to herself had come
to her from Madame Socani, and not from Mr. Moss. All she knew of
Madame Socani was that she had been on the boards in New York, and
had there made for herself a reputation. Rachel had on one occasion
sung with her, but it had been when she was little more than a child.
"What is Madame Socani to me?" said Mr. Moss.
"I believe her to be your wife."
"Oh, heavens! My wife! I never had a wife, Miss O'Mahony;--not yet!
Why do you say things so cruel to me?"
He, at any rate, she was sure, had sent her that message. She thought
that she was sure of his villainous misconduct to her in that
respect. She believed that she did know him to be a devil, whether he
was a married man or not.
"What message did you send to me by Madame Socani?"
"What message? None!" and again he laid his hand upon his waistcoat.
"He asked me to be--" But she could not tell her father of what
nature was the message. "Father, he is a reptile. If you knew all,
you would be unable to keep your hands from his throat. And now he
dares to come here and talk to me of his affection. You had better
bid him leave the room and have done with him."
"You hear what my daughter says, Mr. Moss."
"Yes, I hear her," answered the poor innocent-looking tenor. "But
what does she mean? Why is she so fierce?"
"He knows, father," said Rachel. "Have nothing further to say to
him."
"I don't think that I do quite know," said Mr. O'Mahony. "But you can
see, at any rate, Mr. Moss, that she does not return your feeling."
"I would make her my wife to-morrow," said Mr. Moss, slapping his
waistcoat once more. "And do you, as the young lady's papa, think
of what we two might do together. I know myself, I know my power.
Madame Socani is a jealous woman. She would wish to be taken into
partnership with me,--not a partnership of hearts, but of theatres.
She has come with some insolent message, but not from me;--ah, not
from me!"
"You never tried to kiss me? You did not make two attempts?"
"I would make two thousand if I were to consult my own heart."
"When you knew that I was engaged to Mr. Jones!"
"What was Mr. Jones to me? Now I ask your respectable parent, is
Miss Rachel unreasonable? When a gentleman has lost his heart in
true love, is he to be reproached because he endeavours to seize one
little kiss? Did not Mr. Jones do the same?"
"Bother Mr. Jones!" said Rachel, overcome by the absurdity of the
occasion. "As you observed just now, Mr. Jones and I are two. Things
have not turned out happily, though I am not obliged to explain all
that to you. But Mr. Jones is to me all that a man should be; you,
Mr. Moss, are not. Now, father, had he not better go?"
"I don't think any good is to be done, I really don't," said Mr.
O'Mahony.
"Why am I to be treated in this way?"
"Because you come here persevering when you know it's no good."
"I think of what you and I might do together with Moss's theatre
between us."
"Oh, heavens!"
"You should be called the O'Mahony. Your respectable papa should keep
an eye to your pecuniary interest."
"I could keep an eye myself for that."
"You would be my own wife, of course--my own wife."
"I wouldn't be anything of the kind."
"Ah, but listen!" continued Mr. Moss. "You do not know how the
profits run away into the pockets of _impresarios_ and lessees and
money-lenders. We should have it all ourselves. I have L30,000 of
my own, and my respectable parent in New York has as much more. It
would all be the same as ours. Only think! Before long we would have
a house on the Fifth Avenue so furnished that all the world should
wonder; and another at Newport, where the world should not be
admitted to wonder. Only think!"
"And Madame Socani to look after the furniture!" said Rachel.
"Madame Socani should be nowheres."
"And I also will be nowheres. Pray remember that in making all your
little domestic plans. If you live in the Fifth Avenue, I will live
in 350 Street; or perhaps I should like it better to have a little
house here in Albert Place. Father, don't you think Mr. Moss might go
away?"
"I think you have said all that there is to be said." Then Mr.
O'Mahony got up from his chair as though to show Mr. Moss out of the
room.
"Not quite, Mr. O'Mahony. Allow me for one moment. As the young
lady's papa you are bound to look to these things. Though the
theatre would be a joint affair, Miss O'Mahony would have her fixed
salary;--that is to say, Mrs. Moss would."
"I won't stand it," said Rachel getting up. "I won't allow any man to
call me by so abominable a name,--or any woman." Then she bounced out
of the room.
"It's no good, you see," said Mr. O'Mahony.
"I by no means see that so certain. Of course a young lady like your
daughter knows her own value, and does not yield all at once."
"I tell you it's no good. I know my own daughter."
"Excuse me, Mr. O'Mahony, but I doubt whether you know the sex."
The two men were very nearly of an age; but O'Mahony assumed the
manners of an old man, and Mr. Moss of a young one.
"Perhaps not," said Mr. O'Mahony.
"They have been my study up from my cradle," said Mr. Moss.
"No doubt."
"And I think that I have carried on the battle not without some
little _eclat_."
"I am quite sure of it."
"I still hope that I may succeed with your sweet daughter."
"Here the battle is of a different kind," not without a touch of
satire in the tone of his voice, whatever there might be in the words
which he used. "In tournaments of love, you have, I do not doubt,
been very successful; but here, it seems to me that the struggle is
for money."
"That is only an accident."
"But the accident rises above everything. It does not matter in the
least which comes first. Whether it be for love or money my daughter
will certainly have a will of her own. You may take my word that she
is not to be talked out of her mind."
"But Mr. Jones is gone?" asked Moss.
"But she is not on that account ready to transfer her affections
at a moment's notice. To her view of the matter there seems to be
something a little indelicate in the idea."
"Bah!" said Mr. Moss.
"You cannot make her change her mind by saying bah."
"Professional interests have to be considered," said Mr. Moss.
"No doubt; my daughter does consider her professional interests every
day when she practises for two hours."
"That is excellent,--and with such glorious effects! She has only now
got the full use of her voice. My G----! what could she not do if she
had the full run of Moss's Theatre! She might choose whatever operas
would suit her best; and she would have me to guide her judgment! I
do know my profession, Mr. O'Mahony. A lady in her line should always
marry a gentleman in mine; that is if she cares about matrimony."
"Of course she did intend to be married to Mr. Jones."
"Oh! Mr. Jones, Mr. Jones! I am sick of Mr. Jones. What could Mr.
Jones do? He is only a poor ruined Irishman. You must feel that Mr.
Jones was only in the way. I am offering her all that professional
experience and capital can do. What are her allurements?"
"I don't in the least know, Mr. Moss."
"Only her beauty."
"I thought, perhaps it was her singing."
"That joined," said Mr. Moss. "No doubt her voice and her beauty
joined together. Madame Socani's voice is as valuable,--almost as
valuable."
"I would marry Madame Socani if I were you."
"No! Madame Socani is,--well a leetle past her prime. Madame Socani
and I have known each other for twenty years. Madame Socani is aware
that I am attached to your daughter. Well; I do not mind telling you
the truth. Madame Socani and I have been on very intimate terms. I
did offer once to make Madame Socani my wife. She did not see her way
in money matters. She was making an income greater than mine. Things
have changed since that. Madame Socani is very well, but she is a
jealous woman. Madame Socani hates your daughter. Oh, heavens, yes!
But she was never my wife. Oh, no! A woman at this profession grows
old quicker than a man. And she has never succeeded in getting a
theatre of her own. She did try her hand at it at New York, but that
came to nothing. If Miss Rachel will venture along with me, we will
have 500,000 dollars before five years are gone. She shall have
everything that the world can offer--jewels, furniture, hangings!
She shall keep the best table in New York, and shall have her own
banker's account. There's no such success to be found anywhere
for a young woman. If you will only just turn it in your mind, Mr.
O'Mahony." Then Mr. Moss brushed his hat with the sleeve of his coat
and took his leave.
He had nearly told the entire truth to Mr. O'Mahony. He had never
married Madame Socani. As far as Madame Socani knew, her veritable
husband, Socani, was still alive. And it was not true that Mr. Moss
had sent that abominable message to Rachel. The message, no doubt,
had expressed a former wish on his part; but that wish was now in
abeyance. Miss O'Mahony's voice had proved itself to him to be worth
matrimony,--that and her beauty together. In former days, when he had
tried to kiss her, he had valued her less highly. Now, as he left the
room, he was fully content with the bargain he had suggested. Mr.
Jones was out of the way, and her voice had proved itself to his
judgment to be worth the price he had offered.
When her father saw her again he began meekly to plead for Mr. Moss.
"Do you mean to say, father," she exclaimed, "that you have joined
yourself to him?"
"I am only telling you what he says."
"Tell me nothing at all. You ought to know that he is an abomination.
Though he had the whole Fifth Avenue to offer to me I would not touch
him with a pair of tongs."
But she, in the midst of her singing, had been much touched by seeing
Frank Jones among the listeners in the back of one of the boxes. When
the piece was over there had come upon her a desire to go to him and
tell him that, in spite of all she had said, she would wait for him
if only he would profess himself ready to wait for her. There was not
much in it,--that a man should wait in town for two or three days,
and should return to the theatre to see the girl whom he professed to
regard. It was only that, but it had again stirred her love. She had
endeavoured to send to him when the piece was over; but he was gone,
and she saw him no more.