The Uncertain Future
"Have you ever wished some days that you were nine years old instead of
nineteen, Miss Adams--Margaret?" Polly O'Neill corrected herself
hastily.
The girl and the older woman were sitting out in the yard in front of
their funny little German cottage one afternoon just before twilight.
Polly had been reading aloud until the dusk had settled down too
thickly, and since then had been silent, gazing pensively at the far
line of hills toward the west.
Margaret Adams looked closely at the girl before replying. For the past
few days she had seen that there was something unusual weighing upon
Polly's mind, since she was never able to conceal her emotions, and had
wondered whether she was feeling homesick or if something had occurred
to worry her. But she only answered lightly: "No, Polly, I am afraid
when one is thirty-five one is more apt to wish to be nineteen than
nine. But would you like to tell me, dear, what special objection there
is to your present age? Don't, if you feel that you would rather not, or
if you would be betraying a confidence."
But Polly gave a characteristic shrug. "No," she returned, "I would not
be betraying a confidence, only an imagination, and since the
imagination happens to be my own, I suppose I have the right to betray
it."
Not comprehending exactly what the younger girl was trying to say and
yet understanding that she would make herself plain later on, the woman
quietly waited. She was interested in the processes of Polly's mind and
liked to see them work themselves out.
"Do you like foreign men?" was the girl's next apparently irrelevant
question.
But by this time Miss Adams had begun to have a faint suspicion of what
might be at the end of her companion's confession. For in the past two
weeks since Polly's, Betty's and Esther's visit to the German forest,
she too had become interested in some of its consequences. Yet she
answered with entire truthfulness:
"Why, of course, Polly child, I like foreign men. Why should not one? It
is absurd and prejudiced to like or dislike a person because of his
nationality; it is the man's own character that counts."
"Oh, yes, I know that is what one should feel and say. I don't mean to
be rude," Polly added quickly, blushing over her fatal habit of saying
whatever was uppermost in her mind. "I was just wondering whether it was
actually true. Don't most of us really in the end like best the kind of
people and life to which we have been accustomed. Now, for example, just
suppose that we take a girl who has been brought up in the United States
almost all her life, where she has had boy acquaintances and friends
whom she has known in a simple, intimate way, without thinking of any
one of them seriously. Then bring her to a foreign country, take
Germany, just when she is about grown. All of a sudden imagine a young
fellow turning up entirely unlike her old boy friends, handsome,
charming and behaving as though he were falling in love with her. Do you
believe that the girl could honestly care for him? Don't you think that
it would just be a mistaken fancy on her part and that some day when she
grew older she would want her old friends and associations again. Why,
she might even meet one of her former acquaintances and find that she
liked him best, because after all he was also an American and thought
about life and women and lots of other things more in the way that she
did."
Margaret Adams covered both ears with her hands. "My dear Polly," she
began, "if you think I have imagination enough to follow all those
supposings and all those mixed-up sentences and ideas, you must consider
me cleverer than I am. But as long as I happen to be able to guess whom
you are talking about, don't you think we might be straightforward. We
will never speak of it to any one else, nor to each other if it seems
wiser not. But of course you mean----"
"Betty!" finished Polly. And then sighing profoundly: "You see, ever
since our meeting in the woods the other day with Carl von Reuter he has
been coming to see Betty. He brought his father, the old count, to call
on Mrs. Ashton and has been sending Betty flowers and they have been
riding together and he does not even pretend not to admire her
tremendously. He makes Esther and me perfectly miserable, for you see
Germans seem so different from Americans, so sentimental and silly, I
think. Why, I overheard Lieutenant von Reuter calling Betty Brunhilde,
and instead of being bored she actually appeared pleased. Esther and I
can't understand it. Of course we realize that it is absurd to believe
that people can learn to care for each other in two weeks, yet just the
same Betty is behaving strangely. And Esther wonders if it is her duty
to speak to Richard Ashton before things go any further. Mrs. Ashton
would be no good; she is too pleased over Betty's being admired by a
member of the German nobility. She would never be able to see all the
mischief that might result from it. But then Esther and Dick Ashton are
not friends as they once were. Dick has hardly anything to do with
Esther nowadays--even leaves on an earlier train the mornings that she
has to go into Berlin for her music lessons. And yet when Esther first
came to live with Mrs. Ashton, when she was a hundred times less
attractive than she is now, why he was kinder to her than any of the
rest of us. Oh me, oh my, it is a strange world!" And down went Polly's
chin into the palm of her hand in a characteristic manner.
For a moment Margaret Adams did not reply. For perhaps a good deal
better than Polly she appreciated the disaster that might result from
the present circumstances. Betty was only nineteen and of course Polly
was right in presuming that she could hardly know her own mind. And yet
the romance and beauty of her surroundings, the good looks of the young
lieutenant with the glamour of his title and position, were sufficiently
strong influences to affect a much older person.
Yet notwithstanding Betty's beauty and charm, Miss Adams did not have
the same uneasiness that Esther and Polly suffered. For she did not
believe that Lieutenant von Reuter could marry a girl without a dower,
no matter what his personal inclination might be. And Betty had no money
and so far as any one knew no chance of receiving any amount except what
her brother and sister might some day be able to earn. The danger that
the older woman dreaded was that Betty herself might possibly
misunderstand the young foreigner's attentions and that she might learn
to care for him more than would be wise for her happiness.
Frowning, Miss Adams waited for a moment without speaking. And yet she
looked so entirely interested and sympathetic that Polly dropped to the
ground at her feet, taking one of her slim hands in hers and pressing it
softly to her lips. For it was wonderfully kind of this famous lady to
have forgotten herself so completely that she felt as deep a concern
over Betty Ashton as though she had known her all her life.
"It was Betty herself who told me that young Count von Reuter had been
brought up with the idea that he must marry a wealthy girl. Don't you
suppose that she understands that anything else is impossible for him?"
she asked. "The family is deeply in debt and even if the young man had
the faintest knowledge of any kind of work it would be regarded as a
disgrace for him to engage in it. Besides, he has chosen his career of a
soldier, which also requires a fortune back of him. Don't you think we
might be able to make Betty see this, even supposing that she does not
already appreciate it?" Margaret Adams finally inquired.
"I don't know," Polly answered. "For you see, Margaret, it is like this.
All her life Betty Ashton has never known anything but love and
admiration. Why, when we were little children and began having beaux
that nobody knew about except just ourselves, we always expected the
admirers to be Betty's and were surprised when they were not. Oh, I
don't mean that she expected it. The Princess used to be spoiled in lots
of ways before our Camp Fire club and the change in their family
fortunes, but she never has been silly or vain. Then when we grew up
together it was pretty much the same thing. I remember how cross I once
was in Woodford because a young fellow there, who was not Betty's equal
then in any kind of way, in money or family or education, had the
presumption to feel a kind of fancy for her. But now I wish that he or
John Everett or any one of our old friends would turn up here and show
her how much nicer an American fellow is. Any old kind of an American!"
Polly ended almost viciously.
Miss Adams laughed, touching the girl's dark braids of hair and looking
closely into her emotional, sensitive face.
"Don't let us worry before it is necessary," she suggested. "But tell
me, Polly, and I am not asking you for curiosity, with all these
admirers whom you insist your beloved Betty has had, hasn't there ever
been any one who has cared for you and whom you may some day care for?"
For the moment the unexpectedness of this question took Polly's breath.
And then to her deep chagrin she felt herself blushing, even while
vigorously shaking her head in denial.
And yet at the same time in her intense desire to be perfectly
straightforward with her new friend she was wondering if her denial had
been entirely truthful. Or was it her duty to confess Billy Webster's
stupidity?
"There was some one once," she murmured after her little period of
hesitation had passed. "But really, Margaret, he did not care for me a
bit; he only wanted to manage me. And I--I didn't care for him in the
least. I never shall care for anybody," Polly insisted with the absolute
conviction of youth.
Then completely forgetting everybody and everything else, Polly O'Neill
put both arms about her slender knees and there on the grass at the feet
of the great Miss Adams began slowly swaying herself backwards and
forwards as she always had ever since she was a little girl when in the
thrall of some dominant idea.
She did not look at Miss Adams; she did not even look at the hills or
trees, nor feel the summer darkness that was beginning to close about
them like a soft cloak. For Polly was having one of her moments when the
things inside her mind were so much more visible and important to her
than any outside scene. Never since leaving New York had she mentioned
to Miss Adams her own desire to go upon the stage. It had not seemed
fair to take advantage of her friend's kindness by annoying her with her
own ambition. For it might look as though she expected or hoped for aid
and advice from Miss Adams' friendship. But tonight Polly had forgotten
her past resolutions and reserves.
"I shall not care for anyone, Margaret, because you know in another year
I intend either going upon the stage in some little part, or if mother
will give me the money, I shall go to a dramatic school. For I am going
to make the stage my career whether I succeed or fail." There was a
catch in the girl's breath and although it was too dark to see her face,
the older woman could imagine the glow in her cheeks and the light in
her curious blue eyes. She looked like an elf or a sprite, something
born of the woods or the sky and hardly an ordinary flesh-and-blood
girl, as she sat in her curious position, dreamily rocking herself back
and forth in the evening dusk and silence.
"I suppose there are some women great enough to have a career and to
marry besides," she added so solemnly that Miss Adams did not dare
smile, "but I don't believe I am one of them. And I want a career. Yet
it is odd, isn't it? I don't think I have any special talent and Esther
Crippen is so talented we think she is almost a genius. I wish you could
hear her sing, but she is too afraid of you yet. Nevertheless Esther
does not want to be famous one bit and Betty and I don't even dare
mention the word 'career' before her. I am sure she would much rather
marry some day and have babies and sing to her husband and to them, or
perhaps in a church where no one would think much about her. For she
does love her music for itself."
"But why then does she go on working so intensely, if she does not
intend making a profession of her singing? The poor child is actually
wearing herself out," Miss Adams avowed.
"Why, don't you know?" Polly faced her companion and though it was now
almost entirely dark, they could yet catch the outlines of each other's
faces. "Esther Crippen does not care for money for herself, but she
cares for it beyond anything for Betty. You see, she and Betty were
separated during all their childhood and now that they have found each
other again Esther fairly worships her sister. She is going to earn all
the money she can with her voice so as to be able to lavish on Betty the
things that she used to have when the Ashtons were rich. Of course Betty
does not know that this is the chief reason that is urging Esther to
sacrifice everything in the world for her work. For naturally Betty
thinks that Esther has so wonderful a talent that she ought to wish to
cultivate it for its own sake. And so does their father, Herr Crippen. I
believe he has the feeling that he has failed with his own music, but
that if Esther succeeds in some way it will redeem his failure. In a way
it does seem rather hard upon Esther if she should ever happen to fall
in love."
But before Miss Adams could answer her maid had announced an unexpected
visitor.