the whole volume of her ambition, which had absorbed so great a part
of her life, had come, in all its might, against the massive rock of
Barney's will. He would never yield, she knew well. “What shall I do?”
she cried aloud, beginning to pace the room. “Margaret will tell me. No,
she would be sure to side with Barney. She would think it was wicked to
go on Sunday, anyway, and, besides, she has Barney's rigid notions about
things. I wish I could see Dick. Dick will understand. He has seen more
of this life and--oh, he's not so terribly hidebound. And I'll get Dick
to see Barney.” She would not acknowledge that she was grateful that
Barney could not come to see her, but she could write him a note and
she could send Dick to him, and in the meantime she would accept the
invitation. “I will accept at once. I wish I had before I read Barney's
note. I really had accepted in my mind, and, besides, the arrangements
were all made. I'll write the letters now.” She hastened to burn her
bridges behind her so that retreat might be impossible. “There,” she
cried, as she sealed, addressed, and stamped the letters, “I wish they
were in the box. I'm awfully afraid I'll change. But I can't change! I
cannot let this chance go! I have worked too long and too hard! Barney
should not ask it!” A wave of self-pity swept over her, bringing her
temporary comfort. Surely Barney would not cause her pain, would not
force her to give up her great opportunity. She sought to prolong this
mood. She pictured herself a forlorn maiden in distress whom it was
Barney's duty and privilege to rescue. “I'll just go and post these
now,” she said. Hastily she put on her hat and ran down with the
letters, fearing lest the passing of her self-pity might leave her to
face again the thought of Barney's inevitable and immovable opposition.
“There, that's done,” she said to herself, as the lid of the post box
clicked upon her letters. “Oh, I wonder--I wish I hadn't!” What she
had feared had come to pass. She had committed herself, and now her
self-pity had evaporated and left her face to face with the inevitable
results. With terrible clearness she saw Barney's dark, rugged face with
the deep-seeing eyes. “He always makes you feel in the wrong,” she said
impatiently. “You can never think what to say. He always seems right,
and,” she added honestly, “he is right generally. Never mind, Dick will
help me.” She shook off her load and ran on. At her door she met Dr.
Foxmore.
“Ah, good-morning,” smiled the doctor, showing a double row of white
teeth under his waxed mustache. “And how does the fair Miss Lane find
herself this fine morning?”
It took the whole force of Iola's self-mastery to keep the disgust which
was swelling her heart from showing in her face. Here was one of Dr.
Bulling's friends, one of his toadies--and he had a number of them--who
represented to her all that was most loathsome in her life. The effort
to repress her disgust, however, only made her smile the sweeter.
Foxmore was greatly encouraged. It was one of his fixed ideas that his
manner was irresistible with “the sex.” Bulling might hold over him,
by reason of his wealth and social position, but give him a fair field
without handicap and see who would win out!
“I was about to do myself the honour and the pleasure of calling upon
you this morning.”
“Oh, indeed. Well--ah--come in.” Iola was fighting fiercely her loathing
of him. It was against this man and his friends that Barney had defended
her name. She led the way to her studio, ignoring the silly chatter
of the man following her upstairs, and by the time he had fairly got
himself seated she was coolly master of herself.
“Just ran in to give you the great news.”
“To wit?”
“Why, don't you know? The Philharmonic thing is settled. You've got it.”
Iola looked blank.
“Why, haven't you heard that the Duff Charringtons have surrendered?”
Iola recognized Dr. Bulling's words.
“Surrendered? Just what, exactly?”
“Oh, d-dash it all! You know the big fight that has been going on, the
Duff Charringtons backing that little Redd girl.”
“Oh! So the Duff Charringtons have been backing the little Redd girl?
Miss Evelyn Redd, I suppose? It sounds a little like a horse race or a
pugilistic encounter.”
“A horse race!” he exclaimed. “Ha, ha, ha! A horse race isn't in it with
this! But Bulling pulled the wires and you've got it.”
“But this is extremely interesting. I was not aware that the soloists
were chosen for any other reason than that of merit.”
In spite of herself Iola had adopted a cool and somewhat lofty manner.
“Oh, well, certainly on merit, of course. But you know how these things
go.” Dr. Foxmore was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The lofty air of
this struggling, as yet unrecognized, country girl was both baffling and
exasperating. “Oh, come, Miss Lane,” he continued, making a desperate
effort to recover his patronizing tone, “you know just what we all think
of your ability.”
“What do you think of it?” Iola's tone was calmly curious.
“Why, I think--well--I know you can do the work infinitely better than
Evelyn Redd.”
“Have you heard Miss Redd in oratorio? I know you have never heard me.”
“No, can't say I have; but I know your voice and your style and I'm
confident it will suit the part.”
“Thank you so much,” said Iola sweetly; “I am so sorry that Dr. Bulling
should have given so much time, and he is such a busy man.”
“Oh, that's nothing,” waved Dr. Foxmore, recovering his self-esteem, “we
enjoyed it.”
“How nice of you! And you were pulling wires, too, Dr. Foxmore?”
“Ah, well, we did a little work in a quiet way,” replied the doctor,
falling into his best professional tone.
“And this yachting party, I suppose Dr. Bulling and you worked that,
too? Really, Dr. Foxmore, you have no idea what a relief it is to
have one's affairs taken charge of in this way. It quite saves one the
trouble of making up one's mind. Indeed, one hardly needs a mind at
all.” Iola's face and smile were those of innocent childhood. Dr.
Foxmore shot a suspicious glance at her and hastened to change the
subject.
“Well, you will go next Saturday, will you not?”
“I am really a little uncertain at present,” replied Iola.
“Oh, you must, you know! Mrs. Duff Charrington will be awfully cut up,
not to speak of Bulling. He had no end of trouble to bring it off.”
“You mean, to persuade Mrs. Duff Charrington to invite me?”
“Oh, well,” said the doctor, plunging wildly, “I wouldn't put it that
way. But the whole question of the Philharmonic was involved, and this
invitation was a flag of truce, as it were.”
“Your metaphors certainly have a warlike flavour, Dr. Foxmore; I cannot
pretend to follow the workings of your mind. But seeing that this
invitation has been secured at the expense of such effort on the part of
Dr. Bulling and yourself, I rather think I shall decline it.” In spite
of all she could do, Iola could not keep out of her voice a slightly
haughty tone. Dr. Foxmore's sense of superiority was fast deserting him.
“And as to the Philharmonic solos,” continued Iola, “if the directors
see fit to make me an offer of the part I shall consider it.”
“Consider it!” gasped Dr. Foxmore. It was time this young girl with her
absurd pretensions were given to understand the magnitude of the favour
that Dr. Bulling and himself were seeking to confer upon her. He became
brutal. “Well, all I say is that if you know when you are well off,
you'll take this chance.”
Iola rose with easy grace and stood erect her full height. Dr. Foxmore
had not thought her so tall. Her face was a shade paler than usual, her
eyes a little wider open, but her voice was as smooth as ever, and with
just a little ring as of steel in it she inquired, “Did you come here
this morning to make this threat, Dr. Foxmore?”
“I came,” he said bluntly, “to let you know your good fortune and to
warn you not to allow any of your friends to persuade you against your
own best interests.”
“My friends?” Iola threw her head slightly backward and her tone became
frankly haughty.
“Oh, I know your friends, and especially--I may as well be plain--that
young medical student, Boyle, don't like Dr. Bulling, and might persuade
you against this yacht trip.”
Iola was furiously aware that her face was aflame, but she stood without
speaking for a few moments till she was sure her voice was steady.
“My FRIENDS would never presume to interfere with my choosing.”
“Well, they presume, or at least that young Boyle presumed, to interfere
once too often for his own good. But he'll probably be more careful in
future.”
“Mr. Boyle is a gentleman in whom I have the fullest confidence. He
would do what he thought right.”
“He will probably correct his judgments before he interferes with Dr.
Bulling again.” The doctor's tone was insolently sarcastic.
“Dr. Bulling?”
“Yes. He was grossly insulting and Dr. Bulling was forced to chastise
him.”
“Chastise! Mr. Boyle!” cried Iola, her anger throwing her off her guard.
“That is quite impossible, Dr. Foxmore! That could not happen!”
“But I am telling you it did! I was present and saw it. It was this
way--”
Iola put up her hand imperiously. “Dr. Foxmore,” she said, recovering
her self-command, “there is no need of words. I tell you it is quite
impossible! It is quite impossible!”
Dr. Foxmore's face flushed a deep red. He flung aside the remaining
shreds of decency in speech.
“Do you mean to call me a liar?” he shouted.
“Ah, Dr. Foxmore, would you also chastise me as well?”
The doctor stood in helpless rage looking at the calm, smiling face.
“I was a fool to come!” he blurted.
“I would not presume to contradict you, nor to stand in the way of
returning wisdom.”
The doctor swore a great oath under his breath and without further words
strode from the room.
Iola stood erect and silent till he had disappeared through the open
door. “Oh!” she breathed, her hands fiercely clenched, “if I were a
man what a joy it would be just now!” She shut the door and sat down to
think. “I wonder what did happen? I must see Dick at once. He'll tell
me. Oh, it is all horribly loathsome!” For the first time she
saw herself from Dr. Bulling's point of view. If she sang in the
Philharmonic it would be by virtue of his good offices and by the
gracious permission of the Duff Charringtons. That she had the voice for
the part and that it was immeasurably better than Evelyn Redd's counted
not at all. How mean she felt! And yet she must go on with it. She would
not allow anything to stand in the way of her success. This was the
first firm stepping-stone in her climb to fame. Once this was taken, she
would be independent of Bulling and his hateful associates. She would go
on this yacht trip. She need not have anything to do with Dr. Bulling,
nor would she, for Barney would undoubtedly be hurt and angry. It
looked terribly like disloyalty to him to associate herself on terms of
friendship with the man who had beaten him so cruelly. Oh, how she hated
herself! But she could not give up her chance. She would explain to
Barney how helpless she was and she would send Dick to him. He would
listen to Dick.
Poor Iola! Without knowing it, she was standing at the cross roads
making choice of a path that was to lead her far from the faith, the
ideals, the friends she now held most dear. Through all her years she
had been preparing herself for this hour of choice. With her, to desire
greatly was to bend her energies to attain. She would deeply wound the
man who loved her better than his own life; but the moment of choice
found her helpless in the grip of her ambition. And so her choice was
made.
XII
HE THAT LOVETH HIS LIFE
Mrs. Duff Charrington at close range was not nearly so formidable
as when seen at a distance. The huge bulk of her, the pronouncedly
masculine dress and manner, the loud voice, the red face with its
dark mustache line on the upper lip, all of which at a distance were
calculated to overawe if not to strike terror to the heart of the
beholder, were very considerably softened by the shrewd, kindly twinkle
of the keen grey eyes which a nearer view revealed. Her welcome of Iola
was bluff and hearty, but she was much too busy ordering her forces
and disposing of her impedimenta, for she was her own commodore, to pay
particular attention in the meantime to her guests. The wharf at which
the Petrel was tied was crowded this Saturday afternoon with various
parties of excursionists making for the steamers, ferries, yachts,
and other craft that lay along the water front. Already the Petrel had
hoisted her mainsail and, under the gentle breeze, was straining upon
her shore lines awaiting the word to cast off. As Iola stood idly gazing
at the shifting scene, wondering how Dick had succeeded on his mission
to his brother, she observed Dr. Bulling approaching with his usual
smiling assurance. Just as he was about to speak, however, she noticed
him start and gaze fixedly toward the farther side of the wharf. Iola's
eye, following his gaze, fell upon the figure of a man pushing his way
through the crowd. It was Barney. She saw him pause, evidently to make
inquiry of a dockhand. With a muttered oath, Bulling sprang to the aft
line.
“Let go that line, Murdoff!” he shouted to the man at the bow. “Look
lively, there!”
As he spoke he cast off the stern line and seized the wheel, making
it imperative that Murdoff should execute his command in the liveliest
manner. At once the yacht swung out and began to put a space of blue
water between herself and the dock. She was not a moment too soon, for
Barney, having received his direction, was coming at a run, scattering
the crowd to right and left. As he arrived at the dock edge he caught
sight of Iola and Dr. Bulling. He took a step backwards and made as if
to attempt the spring. Iola's cry, “Don't, Barney!” arrested Mrs. Duff
Charrington's attention.
“What's up?” she shouted. “How's this? We're off! Bulling, what the
deuce--who gave orders?”
Mrs. Duff Charrington for once in her life was, as she would have said
herself, completely flabbergasted. At a single glance she took in the
white face of Iola, and that of Dr. Bulling, no less white.
“What's up?” she cried again. “Have you seen a ghost, Miss Lane? You,
too, Bulling?” She glanced back at the clock. “There's someone left
behind! Who is that young man, Daisy? Why, it's our medallist, isn't it?
Do you know him, Bulling? Shall we go back for him?”
“No, no! For Heaven's sake, no! He's a madman, quite!”
“Pardon me, Dr. Bulling,” said Iola, her voice ringing clear and firm in
contrast with Bulling's agitated tone, “he is a friend of mine, a very
dear friend, and, I assure you, very sane.” As she spoke she waved her
hand to Barney, but there was no answering sign.
“Your friend, is he?” said Mrs. Duff Charrington. “Then doubtless very
sane. Does he want you, Miss Lane? Shall we go back for him?”
“No, he doesn't want me,” said Iola.
“Mrs. Charrington,” said Dr. Bulling, “he has a grudge against me
because of a fancied insult.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Duff Charrington, “I understand. What do you say, Miss
Lane? We can easily go back.”
“Oh, let us not talk about it, Mrs. Charrington,” said Iola hurriedly;
“he is gone.”
“As you wish, my dear. Daisy, take Dr. Bulling down to the cabin. I
declare he looks as if he needed bracing up. I shall take the wheel.”
“Mrs. Charrington,” said Iola in a low voice, as Bulling disappeared
down the companionway, “that was Mr. Boyle, my friend, and I want you to
think him a man of the highest honour. But he doesn't like Dr. Bulling.
He doesn't trust him.”
“My dear, my dear,” said Mrs. Charrington brusquely, “don't trouble
yourself about him. I haven't lived fifty years for nothing. Oh! these
men, these men! They take themselves too seriously, the dear creatures.
But they are just like ourselves, with a little more conceit and
considerably less wit. And they are not really worth all the trouble we
take for them. I must get to know your medallist, my dear. That was a
strong face and an honest face. I have heard John rave about him. John
is my young son, first year in medicine. His judgment, I confess, is not
altogether reliable--worships brawn, and there are traditions afloat as
to that young man's doings when they were initiating him. But I have no
doubt that, however sane on other subjects, he is quite mad about you,
and, hang me! if I can wonder. If I were a young man I'd get my arms
round you as soon as possible.”
As she chattered along, Iola found her heart warm to Mrs. Duff
Charrington, who, with all her sporty manners and masculine ways, was an
honest soul, with a shrewd wit and a kindly heart.
“I'm glad now I came,” said Iola gratefully; “I was afraid you
weren't--” She paused abruptly in confusion.
“Oh, I'm not so bad as I'm painted, I assure you.”
“Oh, dear Mrs. Charrington, it was not you I was afraid of, it was what
Dr. Bulling--” Again Iola hesitated.
“Don't bother telling me,” said Mrs. Duff Charrington, observing her
confusion. “No doubt Bulling gave you to understand that he worked me
to invite you. Confess now.” There was a shrewd twinkle in her keen grey
eye. “Bulling is a liar, a terrible liar, with large possibilities of
self-appreciation. But he had nothing to do with this invitation, though
he flatters himself he had. He's not without ability, but he can't teach
his grandmother to suck eggs. I'll tell you why you are here. I pride
myself upon having an eye for a winner, and I pick you as one, and
that's why you are to sing in the Philharmonic. Evelyn Redd has a pretty
voice. She is a niece of a very dear friend, and for a time I thought
she might do. But she has no soul, no passion, and music, like a man,
must have passion. Music without passion is a crime against art. So I
just told Duff, he's chairman, you know, of the Board of Directors, that
she was impossible and that we must have you. I have heard you sing, my
dear, and I know the singer's face and the singer's throat and eye. You
have them all. You have the voice and the temperament and the passion.
You'll be great some day, much greater than I, and, with the hope of
sharing your glory, I have decided to put my money on you.”
Iola murmured some words of thanks, not knowing just what to say, but
Mrs. Duff Charrington waved them aside.
“Purely selfish,” she said, “purely selfish, my dear. Now don't let
Bulling worry you. I pick him for a winner, too. He has force. He'll be
a power in the country. Inclines to politics. He's a kind of brute,
of course, but he'll succeed, for he has wealth and social prestige,
neither to be sniffed at, my child. But, especially, he has driving
power. But I'll have my eye on him this trip, so enjoy your outing.”
Mrs. Duff Charrington was as good as her word. She knew nothing of the
finesse of diplomacy in the manipulation of her company. Her method was
straightforward dragooning. Observing the persistent attempts of
Dr. Bulling during the early part of the trip to secure Iola for a
tete-a-tete, she called out across the deck in the ears of the whole
company, “See here, Bulling, I won't have you trying to monopolise our
star. We're out for a good time and we're going to have it. Miss Lane is
not your property. She belongs to us all.” Thenceforth Dr. Bulling, with
what grace he could summon, had to content himself with just so much of
Iola's company as his hostess decided he should have.
It was Iola's first experience of yachting, and it brought her a series
of sensations altogether new and delightful. As the yacht skimmed, like
a great white-winged bird, over the blue waters of Ontario, the humming
breeze, the swift rush through the parting waves, the sense of buoyant
life with which the yacht seemed to be endowed made her blood jump. She
abandoned herself to the joys of the hour and became the life and soul
of the whole party. And were it not for Barney's haunting face, the two
days' outing would have been for Iola among the happiest experiences
of her life. But Barney's last look across the widening strip of water
pursued her and filled her with foreboding. It was not rage; it was more
terrible than rage. Iola shuddered as she recalled it. She read in it
the despair of renunciation. She dreaded meeting him again, and as the
end of her trip drew near her dread increased.
Nor did Mrs. Duff Charrington, who had become warmly interested in the
girl during the short voyage, fail to observe her uneasiness and to
guess the cause. Foremost among the crowd awaiting them at the dock,
Iola detected Barney.
“There he is,” she cried under her breath.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Duff Charrington, who was at her side, “it is not
possible that you are afraid, and of a man! I would give something to
have that feeling. It is many years since a man could inspire me with
any feeling but that of contempt or of kind pity. They are really silly
creatures and most helpless. Let me manage him. Introduce him to me and
leave him alone.”
Mrs. Duff Charrington's confidence in her superior powers was more than
justified. Through the crowd and straight for Iola came Barney, his
face haggard with two sleepless nights. By a clever manoeuvre Mrs.
Duff Charrington swung her massive form fair in his path and, turning
suddenly, faced him squarely. Iola seized the moment to present him.
Barney made as if to brush her aside, but Mrs. Duff Charrington was not
of the kind to be lightly brushed aside by anyone, much less by a young
man of Barney's inexperience.
“Ah, young man,” she exclaimed, “I think I have seen you before.” The
strong grip of her hand and the loud tone of her voice at once arrested
his progress and commanded his attention. “I saw you get your medal
the other day, and I have heard my young hopeful rave about you--John
Charrington, you know, medical student, first year. He is something of a
fool and a hero-worshipper. You, of course, won't have noticed him.”
Barney halted, gazed abstractedly at the strong face with the keen grey
eyes compelling his attention, then, with an effort, he collected his
wits.
“Charrington? Yes, of course, I know him. Very decent chap, too. Don't
see much of him.”
“No, rather not. He doesn't haunt the same spots. The dissecting-room
wouldn't recognize him, I fancy. He's straight-going, however, but he
can't pass exams. Good thing, too, for unless he changes considerably,
the Lord pity his patients.” She became aware of a sudden hardening in
Barney's face and a quick flash in his eye. Without turning her head she
knew that Dr. Bulling was approaching Iola from the other side. She
put her hand on Barney's arm. “Mr. Boyle, please take Miss Lane to my
carriage there? Bulling,” she said, turning sharply upon the doctor,
“will you help Daisy to collect my stuff? I am sure things will be
left on the yacht. There are always some things left. Servants are so
stupid.” There was that in her voice that made Bulling stand sharply at
attention and promptly obey. And ere Barney knew, he was leading Iola
and Mrs. Duff Charrington to the waiting carriage.
“So sorry I didn't know you were a friend of Miss Lane's, or we would
have had you on our trip, Mr. Boyle,” said Mrs. Duff Charrington as he
closed the carriage door.
“I thank you. But I am very busy, and, besides, I would not fit in with
some of your party.” There was war in Barney's tone.
“Good Heavens, young man!” cried Mrs. Duff Charrington, in no way
disturbed, “you don't expect to make the world fit in with you or you
with the world, do you? Life consists in adjusting one's self. But you
will be glad to know that Miss Lane has made us all have a very happy
little holiday.”
“Of that I am sure,” cried Barney gravely.
“And we gave her, or we tried to give her, a good time.”
“It is for that some of us have lived.” Barney's deep voice, thrilling
with sad and tender feeling, brought the quick tears to Iola's eyes.
To her, the words had in them the sound of farewell. Even Mrs. Duff
Charrington was touched. She leaned over the carriage door toward him.
“Mr. Boyle, I am taking Miss Lane home to dinner. Come with us.”
Barney felt the kindly tone. “Thank you, Mrs. Charrington, it would give
none of us pleasure, and I have much to do. I am leaving to-morrow for
Baltimore.”
Iola could not check a quick gasp. Mrs. Duff Charrington glanced at her
white face.
“Young man,” she said sternly, leaning out toward him and looking Barney
in the eyes, “don't be a fool. The man that would, from pique, willingly
hurt a friend is a mean and cruel coward.”
“Mrs. Charrington,” replied Barney in a steady voice, “I have just come
from an operation by which a little girl, an only child, has lost her
arm. It was the mother that desired it, not from cruelty, but from love.
It is because it is best, that I go to-morrow. Good-bye.” Then turning
to Iola he said, “I shall see you to-night.” He lifted his hat and
turned away.
“Drive home, Smith,” said Mrs. Charrington sharply; “the others will
find their way.”
“Take me home,” whispered Iola, with dry lips.
“Do you love him?” said Mrs. Duff Charrington, taking the girl's hand in
hers.
“Ah, yes. I never knew how much.”
“Tut! tut! child, the world still moves. Baltimore is not so far and
he is only a man.” Mrs. Duff Charrington's tone did not indicate a high
opinion of the masculine section of humanity. “You'll just come with me
for dinner and then I shall send you home. Thank God, we can still eat.”
For some minutes they drove along in silence.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Charrington, following up the line of her thought,
“that's a man for you--thinks the whole world moves round the axis of
his own life. But I like him. He has a good face. Still,” she mused, “a
man isn't everything, although once I--but never mind, there is always a
way of bringing them to time.”
“You don't know Barney, Mrs. Charrington,” said Iola; “nothing can ever
change him.”
“Pish! You think so, and so, doubtless, does he. But none the less it is
sheer nonsense. Can you tell me the trouble?”
“No, I think not,” said Iola softly.