MRS. TALBOT GIVES HER LITTLE DINNER PARTY, AND MR. BELCHER MAKES AN
EXCEEDINGLY PLEASANT ACQUAINTANCE.
Mrs. Talbot had a very dear friend. She had been her dear friend ever
since the two had roomed together at boarding-school. Sometimes she had
questioned whether in reality Mrs. Helen Dillingham was her dear friend,
or whether the particular friendship was all on the other side; but Mrs.
Dillingham had somehow so manipulated the relation as always to appear
to be the favored party. When, therefore, the dinner was determined
upon, Mrs. Dillingham's card of invitation was the first one addressed.
She was a widow and alone. She complemented Mr. Belcher, who was also
alone.
Exactly the position Mrs. Dillingham occupied in society, it would be
hard to define. Everybody invited her, and yet everybody, without any
definite reason, considered her a little "off color." She was beautiful,
she was accomplished, she talked wonderfully well, she was _au fait_ in
art, literature, society. She was superficially religious, and she
formed the theater of the struggle of a black angel and a white one,
neither of whom ever won a complete victory, or held whatever advantage
he gained for any considerable length of time. Nothing could be finer
than Mrs. Dillingham in her fine moods; nothing coarser when the black
angel was enjoying one of his victories, and the white angel had sat
down to breathe. It was the impression given in these latter moments
that fixed upon her the suspicion that she was not quite what she ought
to be. The flowers bloomed where she walked, but there was dust on them.
The cup she handed to her friends was pure to the eye, but it had a
muddy taste. She was a whole woman in sympathy, power, beauty, and
sensibility, and yet one felt that somewhere within she harbored a
devil--a refined devil in its play, a gross one when it had the woman at
unresisting advantage.
Next came the Schoonmakers, an elderly gentleman and his wife, who dined
out a great deal, and lived on the ancient respectability of their
family. They talked much about "the old New Yorkers," and of the inroads
and devastations of the parvenu. They were thoroughly posted on old
family estates and mansions, the intermarriages of the Dutch
aristocracy, and the subject of heraldry. Mr. Schoonmaker made a hobby
of old Bibles, and Mrs. Schoonmaker of old lace. The two hobbies
combined gave a mingled air of erudition and gentility to the pair that
was quite impressive, while their unquestionably good descent was a
source of social capital to all of humbler origin who were fortunate
enough to draw them to their tables.
Next came the Tunbridges. Mr. Tunbridge was the president of a bank, and
Mrs. Tunbridge was the president of Mr. Tunbridge--a large, billowy
woman, who "brought him his money," according to the speech of the town.
Mr. Tunbridge had managed his trust with great skill, and was glad at
any time, and at any social sacrifice, to be brought into contact with
men who carried large deposit accounts.
Next in order were Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish. Mr. Cavendish was a lawyer--a
hook-nosed, hawk-eyed man, who knew a little more about everything than
anybody else did, and was celebrated in the city for successfully
managing the most intractable cases, and securing the most princely
fees. If a rich criminal were brought into straits before the law, he
always sent for Mr. Cavendish. If the unprincipled managers of a great
corporation wished to ascertain just how closely before the wind they
could sail without being swamped, they consulted Mr. Cavendish. He was
everywhere accounted a great lawyer by those who estimated acuteness to
be above astuteness, strategy better than an open and fair fight, and
success more to be desired than justice.
It would weary the reader to go through with a description of Mrs.
Talbot's dinner party in advance. They were such people as Mr. and Mrs.
Talbot naturally drew around them. The minister was invited, partly as a
matter of course, and partly to occupy Mr. Schoonmaker on the subject of
Bibles. The doctor was invited because Mrs. Talbot was fond of him, and
because he always took "such an interest in the family."
When Mr. Belcher arrived at Talbot's beautiful but quiet house, the
guests had all assembled, and, clothing their faces with that veneer of
smile which hungry people who are about to dine at another man's expense
feel compelled to wear in the presence of their host, they were chatting
over the news of the day.
It is probable that the great city was never the scene of a personal
introduction that gave more quiet amusement to an assemblage of guests
than that of the presentation of Mr. Belcher. That gentleman's first
impression as he entered the room was that Talbot had invited a company
of clergymen to meet him. His look of surprise as he took a survey of
the assembly was that of a knave who found himself for the first time in
good company; but as he looked from the gentlemen to the ladies, in
their gay costumes and display of costly jewelry, he concluded that they
could not be the wives of clergymen. The quiet self-possession of the
group, and the consciousness that he was not _en regle_ in the matter of
dress, oppressed him; but he was bold, and he knew that they knew that
he was worth a million of dollars.
The "stiff upper lip" was placed at its stiffest in the midst of his
florid expanse of face, as, standing still, in the center of the room,
he greeted one after another to whom he was presented, in a way
peculiarly his own.
He had never been in the habit of lifting his hat, in courtesy to man or
woman. Even the touching its brim with his fingers had degenerated into
a motion that began with a flourish toward it, and ended with a suave
extension of his palm toward the object of his obeisance. On this
occasion he quite forgot that he had left his hat in the hall, and so,
assuming that it still crowned his head, he went through with eight or
ten hand flourishes that changed the dignified and self-contained
assembly into a merry company of men and women, who would not have been
willing to tell Mr. Belcher what they were laughing at.
The last person to whom he was introduced was Mrs. Dillingham, the lady
who stood nearest to him--so near that the hand flourish seemed absurd
even to him, and half died in the impulse to make it. Mrs. Dillingham,
in her black and her magnificent diamonds, went down almost upon the
floor in the demonstration of her admiring and reverential courtesy, and
pronounced the name of Mr. Belcher with a musical distinctness of
enunciation that arrested and charmed the ears of all who heard it. It
seemed as if every letter were swimming in a vehicle compounded of
respect, veneration, and affection. The consonants flowed shining and
smooth like gold-fish through a globe of crystal illuminated by the sun.
The tone in which she spoke the name seemed to rob it of all vulgar
associations, and to inaugurate it as the key-note of a fine social
symphony.
Mr. Belcher was charmed, and placed by it at his ease. It wrought upon
him and upon the company the effect which she designed. She was
determined he should not only show at his best, but that he should be
conscious of the favor she had won for him.
Before dinner was announced, Mr. Talbot made a little speech to his
guests, ostensibly to give them the good news that Mr. Belcher had
purchased the mansion, built and formerly occupied by Mr. Palgrave, but
really to explain that he had caught him in town on business, and taken
him at the disadvantage of distance from his evening dress, though, of
course, he did not say it in such and so many words. The speech was
unnecessary. Mrs. Dillingham had told the whole story in her own
unapproachable way.
When dinner was announced Mr. Belcher was requested to lead Mrs. Talbot
to her seat, and was himself placed between his hostess and Mrs.
Dillingham. Mrs. Talbot was a stately, beautiful woman, and bore off her
elegant toilet like a queen. In her walk into the dining-room, her
shapely arm rested upon the proprietor's, and her brilliant eyes looked
into his with an expression that flattered to its utmost all the fool
there was in him. There was a little rivalry between the "dear friends;"
but the unrestricted widow was more than a match for the circumspect and
guarded wife, and Mr. Belcher was delighted to find himself seated side
by side with the former.
He had not talked five minutes with Mrs. Dillingham before he knew her.
The exquisite varnish that covered her person and her manners not only
revealed, but made beautiful, the gnarled and stained wood beneath.
Underneath the polish he saw the element that allied her with himself.
There was no subject upon which she could not lead or accompany him with
brilliant talk, yet he felt that there was a coarse under-current of
sympathy by which he could lead her, or she could lead him--where?
The courtly manners of the table, the orderly courses that came and went
as if the domestic administration were some automatic machine, and the
exquisite appointments of the board, all exercised a powerful moral
influence upon him; and though they did not wholly suppress him, they
toned him down, so that he really talked well. He had a fund of small
wit and drollery that was sufficient, at least, for a single dinner;
and, as it was quaint and fresh, the guests were not only amused, but
pleased. In the first place, much could be forgiven to the man who owned
Palgrave's Folly. No small consideration was due to one who, in a quiet
country town, had accumulated a million dollars. A person who had the
power to reward attention with grand dinners and splendid receptions was
certainly not a person to be treated lightly.
Mr. Tunbridge undertook to talk finance with him, but retired under the
laugh raised by Mr. Belcher's statement that he had been so busy making
money that he had had no time to consider questions of finance. Mr.
Schoonmaker and the minister were deep in Bibles, and on referring some
question to Mr. Belcher concerning "The Breeches Bible," received in
reply the statement that he had never arrived any nearer a Breeches
Bible than a pocket handkerchief with the Lord's Prayer on it. Mr.
Cavendish simply sat and criticised the rest. He had never seen anybody
yet who knew anything about finance. The Chamber of Commerce was a set
of old women, the Secretary of the Treasury was an ass, and the Chairman
of the Committee of Ways and Means was a person he should be unwilling
to take as an office-boy. As for him, he never could see the fun of old
Bibles. If he wanted a Bible he would get a new one.
Each man had his shot, until the conversation fell from the general to
the particular, and at last Mr. Belcher found himself engaged in the
most delightful conversation of his life with the facile woman at his
side. He could make no approach to her from any quarter without being
promptly met. She was quite as much at home, and quite as graceful, in
bandying badinage as in expatiating upon the loveliness of country life
and the ritual of her church.
Mr. Talbot did not urge wine upon his principal, for he saw that he was
excited and off his guard; and when, at length, the banquet came to its
conclusion, the proprietor declined to remain with the gentlemen and the
supplementary wine and cigars, but took coffee in the drawing-room with
the ladies. Mrs. Dillingham's eye was on Mrs. Talbot, and when she saw
her start toward them from her seat, she took Mr. Belcher's arm for a
tour among the artistic treasures of the house.
"My dear Kate," said Mrs. Dillingham, "give me the privilege of showing
Mr. Belcher some of your beautiful things."
"Oh, certainly," responded Mrs. Talbot, her face flushing, "and don't
forget yourself, my child, among the rest."
Mrs. Dillingham pressed Mr. Belcher's arm, an action which said: "Oh,
the jealous creature!"
They went from painting to painting, and sculpture to sculpture, and
then, over a cabinet of bric-a-brac, she quietly led the conversation to
Mr. Belcher's prospective occupation of the Palgrave mansion. She had
nothing in the world to do. She should be so happy to assist poor Mrs.
Belcher in the adjustment of her housekeeping. It would be a real
pleasure to her to arrange the furniture, and do anything to help that
quiet country lady in inaugurating the splendors of city life. She knew
all the caterers, all the confectioners, all the modistes, all the city
ways, and all the people worth knowing. She was willing to become, for
Mrs. Belcher's sake, city-directory, commissionaire, adviser, director,
everything. She would take it as a great kindness if she could be
permitted to make herself useful.
All this was honey to the proprietor. How Mrs. Dillingham would shine in
his splendid mansion! How she would illuminate his landau! How she would
save his quiet wife, not to say himself, from the _gaucheries_ of which
both would be guilty until the ways of the polite world could be
learned! How delightful it would be to have a sympathetic friend whose
intelligent and considerate advice would be always ready!
When the gentlemen returned to the drawing-room, and disturbed the
confidential _tete-a-tete_ of these new friends, Mrs. Dillingham
declared it was time to go, and Mr. Belcher insisted on seeing her home
in his own carriage.
The dinner party broke up with universal hand-shakings. Mr. Belcher was
congratulated on his magnificent purchase and prospects. They would all
be happy to make Mrs. Belcher's acquaintance, and she really must lose
no time in letting them know when she would be ready to receive
visitors.
Mr. Belcher saw Mrs. Dillingham home. He held her pretty hands at
parting, as if he were an affectionate older brother who was about to
sail on a voyage around the world. At last he hurriedly relinquished her
to the man-servant who had answered her summons, then ran down the steps
and drove to his hotel.
Mounting to his rooms, he lit every burner in his parlor, and then
surveyed himself in the mirror.
"Where did she find it, old boy? Eh? Where did she find it? Was it the
figure? Was it the face? Hang the swallow tails! Must you, sir, come to
such a humiliation? How are the mighty fallen! The lion of Sevenoaks in
the skin of an ass! But it must be. Ah! Mrs. Belcher--Mrs. Belcher--Mrs.
Belcher! You are good, but you are lumpy. You were pretty once, but you
are no Mrs. Dillingham. By the gods! Wouldn't she swim around my house
like a queen! Far in azure depths of space, I behold a star! Its light
shines for me. It doesn't? It must not? Who says that? Did you address
that remark to me, sir? By the way, how do you think you got along? Did
you make a fool of yourself, or did you make a fool of somebody? Honors
are easy. Let Robert Belcher alone! Is Toll making money a little too
fast? What do you think? Perhaps you will settle that question by and
by. You will keep him while you can use him. Then Toll, my boy, you can
drift. In the meantime, splendor! and in the meantime let Sevenoaks
howl, and learn to let Robert Belcher alone."
From these dizzy heights of elation Mr. Belcher descended to his bed and
his heavy dreams, and the next morning found him whirling away at the
rate of thirty miles an hour, but not northward. Whither was he going?