Produced by Charles Aldarondo
The Works of E. P. ROE
FROM JEST TO EARNEST
DEDICATION.
This book is dedicated in fraternal affection to the friend of my
youth and maturer years--the REV. A. MOSS MERWIN, who, with every
avenue of earthly ambition open to him at home, and with every
motive urged upon him to remain at home, has been for years, and
is now, a faithful missionary in a foreign land.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. A PRACTICAL JOKE
CHAPTER II. THE VICTIM
CHAPTER III. PUZZLED AND INTERESTED
CHAPTER IV. A LITTLE PAGAN
CHAPTER V. PLAIN TALK
CHAPTER VI. A SLEIGH-RIDE AND SOMETHING MORE
CHAPTER VII. ANOTHER SPELL THAN BEAUTY'S
CHAPTER VIII. FINDING ONE'S LEVEL
CHAPTER IX. "THE OTHER SET"
CHAPTER X. HUMAN NATURE
CHAPTER XI. A POSSIBLE TRAGEDY
CHAPTER XII. MISS MARSDEN ASKS SOMBRE QUESTIONS
CHAPTER XIII. A LOVER QUENCHED
CHAPTER XIV. LOTTIE A MYSTERIOUS PROBLEM
CHAPTER XV. HEMSTEAD SEES "OUR SET"
CHAPTER XVI. HOW WOMAN MAKES OR MARS
CHAPTER XVII. MIDNIGHT VIGILS
CHAPTER XVIII. HEMSTEAD'S HEAVY GUN AND ITS RECOIL
CHAPTER XIX. THE PREACHER TAUGHT BY THE PAGAN
CHAPTER XX. THE DAWNING LIGHT
CHAPTER XXI. MISUNDERSTOOD
CHAPTER XXII. "YOU MUST WAIT AND SEE"
CHAPTER XXIII. A RATIONALIST OF THE OLD SCHOOL
CHAPTER XXIV. THE TERROR OF A GREAT FEAR
CHAPTER XXV. A TRUE KNIGHT
CHAPTER XXVI. ON A CRUMBLING ICE-FLOE
CHAPTER XXVII. THE MEETING AND GREETING
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE TRIAL OF LOVE
CHAPTER XXIX. HEMSTEAD'S ADVICE, AND LOTTIE'S COLORS
CHAPTER XXX. AROUND THE YULE-LOG
CHAPTER XXXI. UNDER THE MISTLETOE
CHAPTER XXXII. THE CHRISTMAS SUNDAY
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE END OF THE "JEST"
CHAPTER XXXIV. LOYAL
CHAPTER XXXV. MR. DIMMERLY CONCLUDES TO "MEDDLE"
CHAPTER XXXVI. A NIGHT IN THE SNOW
CHAPTER XXXVII. IN EARNEST
FROM JEST TO EARNEST.
CHAPTER I.
A PRACTICAL JOKE.
On a cloudy December morning a gentleman, two ladies, and a boy
stepped down from the express train at a station just above the
Highlands on the Hudson. A double sleigh, overflowing with luxurious
robes, stood near, and a portly coachman with difficulty restrained
his spirited horses while the little party arranged themselves for
a winter ride. Both the ladies were young, and the gentleman's
anxious and almost tender solicitude for one of them seemed hardly
warranted by her blooming cheeks and sprightly movements. A close
observer might soon suspect that his assiduous attentions were
caused by a malady of his own rather than by indisposition on her
part.
The other young lady received but scant politeness, though seemingly
in greater need of it. But the words of Scripture applied to
her beautiful companion, "Whosoever hath, to him shall be given,
and he shall have more abundance." She had been surfeited all her
life with attention, and though she would certainly have felt its
absence, as she would the loss of wealth, life-long familiarity
with both led her to place no special value upon them.
Therefore during the half-hour's ride her spirits rose with the
rapid motion, and even the leaden sky and winter's bleakness could
not prevent the shifting landscape from being a source of pleasure
to her city eyes, while the devotion of her admirer or lover was
received as a matter of course.
The frosty air brought color into her companion's usually pale
face, but not of an attractive kind, for the north-east wind that
deepened the vermilion in the beauty's cheek could only tinge that
of the other with a ghastly blue. The delicate creature shivered
and sighed.
"I wish we were there."
"Really, Bel, I sometimes think your veins are filled with water
instead of blood. It's not cold to-day, is it, Mr. De Forrest?"
"Well, all I can say with certainty," he replied, "is that I have
been in a glow for the last two hours. I thought it was chilly
before that."
"You are near to 'glory' then," cried the boy saucily, from his
perch on the driver's box.
"Of course I am," said Mr. De Forrest in a low tone, and leaning
towards the maiden.
"You are both nearer being silly," she replied, pettishly. "Dan,
behave yourself, and speak when you are spoken to."
The boy announced his independence of sisterly control by beginning
to whistle, and the young lady addressed as "Bel" remarked, "Mr.
De Forrest is no judge of the weather under the circumstances. He
doubtless regards the day as bright and serene. But he was evidently
a correct judge up to the time he joined you, Lottie."
"He joined you as much as he did me."
"O, pardon me; yes, I believe I was present."
"I hope I have failed in no act of politeness, Miss Bel," said De
Forrest, a little stiffly.
"I have no complaints to make. Indeed, I have fared well, considering
that one is sometimes worse than a crowd."
"Nonsense!" said Lottie, petulantly; and the young man tried not
to appear annoyed.
The sleigh now dashed in between rustic gate-posts composed of rough
pillars of granite; and proceeding along an avenue that sometimes
skirted a wooded ravine, and again wound through picturesque groupings
of evergreens, they soon reached a mansion of considerable size,
which bore evidence of greater age than is usual with the homes in
our new world.
They had hardly crossed the threshold into the hall before they
were hospitably welcomed by a widowed lady, whose hair was slightly
tinged with gray, and by her eldest daughter.
The greetings were so cordial as to indicate ties of blood, and
the guests were shown to their rooms, and told to prepare for an
early dinner.
In brief, Mrs. Marchmont, the mistress of the mansion, had gratified
her daughter's wish (as she did all her fancies) by permitting her
to invite a number of young friends for the Christmas holidays.
Both mother and daughter were fond of society, and it required no
hospitable effort to welcome visitors at a season when a majority
of their friends had fled from the dreariness of winter to city
homes. Indeed, they regarded it as almost an honor that so prominent
a belle as Charlotte Marsden had consented to spend a few weeks
with them at a time when country life is at a large discount with
the fashionable. They surmised that the presence of Mr. De Forrest,
a distant relative of both Miss Marsden and themselves, would be
agreeable to all concerned, and were not mistaken; and to Miss
Lottie the presence of a few admirers--she would not entertain the
idea that they were lovers--had become an ordinary necessity of
life. Mr. De Forrest was an unusually interesting specimen of the
genus,--handsome, an adept in the mode and etiquette of the hour,
attentive as her own shadow, and quite as subservient.
His love-making would equal his toilet in elegance. All would be
delicately suggested by touch of hand or glance of eye, and yet he
would keep pace with the wild and wayward beauty in as desperate
a flirtation as she would permit.
Miss Lottie had left her city home with no self-sacrificing purpose
to become a martyr for the sake of country relatives. She had
wearied of the familiar round of metropolitan gayety; but life on
the Hudson during midwinter was an entire novelty. Therefore, as
her little brother had been included in the invitation, they had
started on what was emphatically a frolic to both.
Bel Parton, her companion, was another city cousin of the Marchmonts,
with whom they were in the habit of exchanging visits. She was
also an intimate of Lottie's, the two being drawn together by the
mysterious affinity of opposites.
She was indeed a very different girl from Lottie Marsden, and many
would regard her as a better one. Her face and character were of a
type only too familiar to close observers of society. She was the
beginning of several desirable things, but the pattern was in no
instance finished, and was always ravelling out on one side or the
other. She had the features of a pretty girl, but ill health and
the absence of a pleasing expression spoiled them. She had a fine
education, but did not know what to do with it; considerable talent,
but no energy; too much conscience, as she had not the resolution
to obey it. Her life was passed mainly in easy chairs, chronic
dyspepsia, and feeble protest against herself and all the world.
Lottie often half provoked but never roused her by saying: "Bel,
you are the most negative creature I ever knew. Why don't you do
something or be something out and out? Well, ''Tis an ill wind
that blows nobody any good.' You make an excellent foil for me."
And gloriously rich and tropical did Lottie appear against the
colorless background of her friend. Bel felt that she suffered
by the comparison so frankly indicated, but was too indolent and
irresolute to change for the better or avoid companionship with
one whose positive and full-blooded nature seemed to supplement
her own meagre life.
When all appeared in the dining-room the shades and contrasts in
character became more evident. At the head of the table sat a gentleman
as yet not introduced, Mr. Dimmerly by name, a bachelor brother
of Mrs. Marchmont who resided with her. He was a quaint-appearing
little man, who in a greater degree than his age required seemed
to belong to a former generation. His manners were too stately for
his stature, and he was embarrassed by his elaborate efforts at
politeness as his movements might have been by too ample garments.
He and his sister were representatives of one of the "old families"
of the State, and, like their mansion, reminded one of the past.
Indeed, they seemed to cherish, as a matter of pride and choice,
their savor of antiquity, instinctively recognizing that their
claims upon society were inherited rather than earned.
Old families do not always appear to accumulate the elements of
greatness to such a degree that there is an increasing and almost
irresistible impetus of force and genius. Successive generations
are not necessarily born to a richer dower of mind and morals.
Too often it would seem that the great qualities that in the first
place launched a family on a brilliant career expend themselves,
until the latest scion, like a spent arrow, drops into insignificance.
Mrs. Marchmont was regarded by society as an elegant woman, and
she was, in all externals. The controlling principle of her life
was precedent. What had been customary, and still obtained among
the "good old families," had a flavor of divine right in it.
Alas for the Marchmont family, for the young lady of the house
seemed inclined to maintain and perpetuate nothing save her own
will, and had no special development in any respect, save a passion
for her own way. Still she was one of those girls whom society calls
a "pretty little thing," and was predestined to marry some large,
good-natured man who would imagine that she would make a nice
little pet, a household fairy, but who might learn to his dismay
that the fairy could be a tormenting elf. She would not marry
the young gentleman with whom her name was at present associated
by the gossips, and who had driven over that morning to help her
entertain the expected guests. Mr. Harcourt and Miss Marchmont
understood each other. He was a distant relative of her mother's,
and so under the disguise of kinship could be very familiar.
The tie between them was composed of one part friendship and two
parts flirtation. He had recently begun the practice of law in a
neighboring town, and found the Marchmont residence a very agreeable
place at which to spend his leisure. It was Miss Marchmont's
purpose that he should form one of the gay party that would make
the holiday season a prolonged frolic. He, nothing loath, accepted
the invitation, and appeared in time for dinner. To many he seemed
to possess a dual nature. He had a quick, keen intellect, and,
during business hours, gave an absorbed attention to his profession.
At other times he was equally well known as a sporting man, with
tendencies somewhat fast.
Mrs. Marchmont's well-appointed dining-room was peculiarly attractive
that wintry day. Finished off in some dark wood on which the ruddy
hickory fire glistened warmly, it made a pleasing contrast to the
cold whiteness of the snow without. A portly colored waiter in dress
coat seemed the appropriate presiding genius of the place, and in
his ebon hands the polished silver and crystal were doubly luminous.
And yet the family, with its lack of original force, its fading
traditions of past greatness, made rather a dim and neutral tint,
against which such a girl as Charlotte Marsden appeared as the
glowing embodiment of the vivid and intense spirit of the present
age. Her naturally energetic and mercurial nature had been cradled
among the excitements of the gayest and giddiest city on the continent.
A phlegmatic uncle had remarked to her, in view of inherited and
developed characteristics, "Lottie, what in ordinary girls is a
soul, in you is a flame of fire."
As she sat at the table, doing ample justice to the substantial
viands, she did appear as warm and glowing as the coals of hard-wood,
which, ripened in the sunshine, lay upon the hearth opposite.
The bon-vivant, Julian De Forrest, found time for many admiring
glances, of which Lottie was as agreeably conscious as of the other
comforts and luxuries of the hour. They were all very much upon
the same level in her estimation.
But De Forrest would ask no better destiny than to bask in the light
and witchery of so glorious a creature. Little did he understand
himself or her, or the life before him. It would have been a woful
match for both. In a certain sense he would be like the ambitious
mouse that espoused the lioness. The polished and selfish idler,
with a career devoted to elegant nothings, would fret and chafe
such a nature as hers into almost frenzy, had she no escape from
him.
There would be fewer unhappy marriages if the young, instead
of following impulses and passing fancies, would ask, How will
our lives accord when our present tendencies and temperaments are
fully developed? It would need no prophetic eye to foresee in many
cases, not supplemental and helpful differences, but only hopeless
discord. Yet it is hard for a romantic youth to realize that the
smiling maiden before him, with a cheek of peach-bloom and eyes
full of mirth and tenderness, can become as shrewish as Xantippe
herself. And many a woman becomes stubborn and acid, rather than
sweet, by allowing herself to be persuaded into marrying the wrong
man, and then by not having the good sense to make the best of it.
Alas! experience also proves that, of all prosaic, selfish grumblers,
your over-gallant lover makes the worst. And yet, while the world
stands, multitudes will no doubt eagerly seek the privilege of
becoming mutual tormentors.
Lottie thought Mr. De Forrest "very nice." She liked him better than
any one else she had met and flirted with since her school-days,
during which period of sincerity and immaturity she had had several
acute attacks of what she imagined to be the "grand passion." But
as the objects were as absurd as her emotions, and the malady soon
ran, its course, she began to regard the whole subject as a jest,
and think, with her fashionable mother, that the heart was the last
organ to be consulted in the choice of a husband, as it was almost
sure to lead to folly. While her heart slept, it was easy to agree
with her mother's philosophy. But it would be a sad thing for
Charlotte Marsden if her heart should become awakened when her will
or duty was at variance with its cravings. She might act rightly,
she might suffer in patience, but it would require ten times the
effort that the majority of her sex would have to make.
Her mother thought that the elegant and wealthy Mr. De Forrest was
the very one of all the city for her beautiful daughter, and Lottie
gave a careless assent, for certainly he was "very nice." He would
answer, as well as any one she had ever seen, for the inevitable
adjunct of her life. He had always united agreeably the characters
of cousin, playmate, and lover, and why might he not add that of
husband? But for the latter relation she was in no haste. Time
enough for that in the indefinite future. She loved the liberty
and year-long frolic of her maiden life, though in truth she had no
idea of settling down on becoming a matron. In the mean time, while
she laughed at De Forrest's love-making, she did not discourage it,
and the young man felt that his clear understanding with the mother
was almost equal to an engagement to the daughter. He welcomed this
country visit with peculiar satisfaction, feeling that it would
bring matters to a crisis. He was not mistaken.
By the time they were sipping their coffee after dessert, the promise
of the leaden sky of the morning was fulfilled in a snow-storm, not
consisting of feathery flakes that fluttered down as if undecided
where to alight, but of sharp, fine crystals that slanted steadily
from the north-east. The afternoon sleigh-ride must be given up,
and even the children looked ruefully and hopelessly out, and then
made the best of in-door amusements.
Miss Marchmont gathered her guests around the parlor fire, and fancy
work and city gossip were in order. The quiet flow and ripple of
small talk was suddenly interrupted by her petulant exclamation:
"Oh! I forgot to tell you a bit of unpleasant news. Mother,
without consulting me, has invited a poor and poky cousin of ours
to spend the holidays with us also. He is from the West, green as
a gooseberry, and, what's far worse, he's studying for the ministry,
and no doubt will want to preach at us all the time. I don't know
when I've been more provoked, but mother said it was too late, she
had invited him, and he was coming. I fear he will be a dreadful
restraint, a sort of wet blanket on all our fun, for one must be
polite, you know, in one's own house."
"I am under no special obligation to be polite," laughed Lottie.
"Mark my words. I will shock your pious and proper cousin till he
is ready to write a book on total depravity. It will be good sport
till I am tired of it."
"No, Lottie, you shall not give such a false impression of yourself,
even in a joke," said Bel. "I will tell him, if he can't see, that
you are not a sinner above all in Galilee."
"No, my matter-of-fact cousin, you shall not tell him anything.
Why should I care what he thinks? Already in fancy I see his face
elongate, and his eyes dilate, in holy horror at my wickedness. If
there is one thing I love to do more than another, it is to shock
your eminently good and proper people."
"Why, Miss Lottie," chuckled De Forrest, "to hear you talk, one
would think you were past praying for."
"No, not till I am married."
"In that sense I am always at my devotions."
"Perhaps you had better read the fable of the Frogs and King Stork."
"Thank you. I had never dared to hope that you regarded me as good
enough to eat."
"No, only to peck at."
"But listen to Miss Addie's proposal. If I mistake not, there is
no end of fun in it," said Mr. Harcourt.
"I've thought of something better than shocking him. These Western
men are not easily shocked. They see all kinds out there. What I
suggest would be a better joke, and give us all a chance to enjoy
the sport. Suppose, Lottie, you assume to be the good and pious
one of our party, and in this character form his acquaintance. He
will soon be talking religion to you, and like enough, making love
and wanting you to go with him as a missionary to the Cannibal
Islands."
"If you go, O that I were king of them!" broke in De Forrest.
"You mean, you would have Lottie for dinner, I suppose," continued
Miss Marchmont. "She would be served up properly as a tart."
"No," he retorted, "as sauce piquante. She could make a long life
a highly seasoned feast."
"You evidently are an Epicurean philosopher; all your thoughts seem
to run on eating," said Lottie, sharply.
"But what say you to my suggestion?" asked Addie Marchmont. "I think
it would be one of the best practical jokes I ever knew. The very
thought of such an incorrigible witch as you palming yourself off
as a demure Puritan maiden is the climax of comical absurdity."
Even Lottie joined heartily in the general laugh at her expense,
and the preposterous imposition she was asked to attempt, but
said dubiously: "I fear I could not act successfully the role of
Puritan maiden, when I have always been in reality just the opposite.
And yet it would be grand sport to make the attempt, and a decided
novelty. But surely your cousin cannot be so verdant but that he
would soon see through our mischief and detect the fraud."
"Well," replied Addie, "Frank, as I remember him, is a singularly
unsuspicious mortal. Even as a boy his head was always in the
clouds. He has not seen much society save that of his mother and
an old-maid sister. Moreover, he is so dreadfully pious, and life
with him such a solemn thing, that unless we are very bungling he
will not even imagine such frivolity, as he would call it, until
the truth is forced upon him. Then there will be a scene. You will
shock him then, Lottie, to your heart's content. He will probably
tell you that he is dumbfounded, and that he would not believe that
a young woman in this Christian land could trifle with such solemn
realities,--that is, himself and his feelings."
"But I don't think it would be quite right," protested Bel, feebly.
Mr. Harcourt lifted his eyebrows.
"Nonsense! Suppose it is not," said Lottie, impatiently.
"But, Addie," persisted Bel, "he will be your guest."
"No he won't. He's mother's guest, and I feel like punishing them
both."
"Very well," said Lottie, lightly; "if you have no scruples, I
have none. It will be capital sport, and will do him good. It would
be an excellent thing for his whole theological seminary if they
could have a thorough shaking up by the wicked world, which to him,
in this matter, I shall represent. They would then know what they
were preaching about. What do you say, Julian?"
"When did I ever disagree with you?" he replied, gallantly. "But
in this case I really think we owe Miss Addie a vote of thanks for
having hit upon a joke that may enliven the greater part of our
visit. This embryo parson seems a sort of a scriptural character;
and why should he not blindly, like Samson, make sport for us all?"
"I fear you do not understand your own scriptural allusion,"
sneered Bel. "Like Samson, he may also pull everything down about
our ears in a most uncomfortable manner."
"I hope you won't spoil everything by telling him or mother," said
Addie, petulantly.
"Oh, no! Since you are determined upon it, I will look on and see
the fun, if there is any. But, bah! He will find you all out in
a day. As for Lottie palming herself off as a goodish young woman
to whom any sane man would talk religion,--the very thought is
preposterous!"
"Don't be too confident, Miss Bel," said Lottie, put upon her mettle.
"If you all will only sustain me and not awaken his suspicions with
your by-play and giggling, I will deceive the ingenuous youth in
a way that will surprise you as well as him. Good acting must have
proper support. This is something new,--out of the rut; and I am
bound to make it a brilliant jest that we can laugh over all our
lives. So remember, Julian, you will disconcert me at your peril."
"No fears of me. So long as your jest remains a jest, I will be
the last one to spoil the sport."
With a chime of laughter that echoed to the attic of the old mansion,
Lottie exclaimed, "The idea that I could ever become in earnest!"
"But the young clergyman may become dead in earnest," said Bel, who
seemed the embodiment of a troublesome but weak conscience. "You
know well, Mr. De Forrest, that Lottie's blandishments may be fatal
to his peace."
"That is his affair," replied the confident youth, with a careless
shrug.
Having arranged the details of the plot and been emphatically
cautioned by Lottie, they awaited their victim.