The rest of the voyage was performed swiftly and uneventfully. Mordaunt
Ballinger walked the quarter-deck for hours with certain American men,
whom he encouraged to talk of their various interests and enterprises,
and believed he was gaining a vast store of useful information thereby.
The acquaintances brought together in Mrs. Courtly's cabin saw more
or less of each other, according to their proclivities; and in some
cases intimacies were formed which could hardly die the natural death
which is the common lot of close companionship on board ship. This was
especially so in the friendship which Miss Ballinger had established
with the Barhams, and though they lay more out of her path, so to
speak, than the others, she resolved not to let the threads of her
intercourse with mother and son drop on landing. She felt really
interested in the young man; she should be sorry to think this was to
be the end of their long talks and discussions, pacing the deck, or
watching the moonlight upon the sea, on warm nights, as they leaned
over the bulwarks.
Quintin Ferrars also she had grown to know, and to like better. That
is to say, she liked some parts of him better and disliked other parts
less, recognized his ability and made more allowances for his cynicism,
as all women do for the cynicism of a man who is never cynical at their
expense. Conversation with him stimulated thought; and, though it
generally roused opposition, left something behind it to be pondered
over and re-discussed with that other self which only makes itself
heard very often when both speakers are silent.
Mrs. Courtly Grace admired and liked more and more. She had expected
to find the gracious little lady too much of "a man's woman" to take
much thought for her, an English girl. They could have but a small
community of interest, she thought; and "men's women" were, as a rule,
distasteful to her. But, whatever her faults might be, Mrs. Courtly,
she felt sure, was a really kind woman; and, moreover, so appreciative,
so amusing, and so many-sided, that Grace found it impossible to resist
her charm. What a blessed gift (taking too low a stand among the
virtues--indeed, not regarded as a virtue at all by some) is tact! Mrs.
Courtly possessed it in a conspicuous degree. She never said anything
to wound the susceptibilities of her audience; whereas Mrs. Van Winkle,
clever as she was, never seemed to have any perception of when she
might, with impunity, astonish her audience, and when it would be wiser
to sacrifice that keen but momentary enjoyment. Vanity, and a desire to
maintain her reputation for audacious wit, rendered her case-hardened
against shocked looks. She said to Grace,
"You know, the very last person with whom one should be seen in New
York society is one's husband. Now, _I_ started very badly; I began
married life by being really in love with mine, and, socially, it
nearly ruined me. It has taken me fifteen years to live it down, and I
am only just recovering from the fatal mistake I made."
The girl knew exactly what value to attach to such utterances as these.
She never gratified the speaker by looking surprised.
Grace stood on the deck with Saul Barham as the _Teutonic_ slowly,
almost imperceptibly, neared the landing-wharf. A thick fog had
shrouded the great Statue of Liberty, the shores of New Jersey, Staten
Island, and all the features of the beautiful sea-avenue to New York.
"I am angry," said Barham, "that you should not have a better
impression of the city on landing. It is too bad to have a fog here to
greet you that is worthy of London."
"A delicate attention on the part of America to make us Britishers feel
'at home.'"
"I hope you will appreciate _all_ such attentions," he returned,
smiling, "and not be too much influenced by first impressions. Ladies,
I believe, generally are."
"And men?"
"Well, a man--at all events an American--is slower in forming any
in his intercourse with foreigners. You see, English manners are
different in some ways from ours. It wouldn't do for us to trust first
impressions very often."
"Has your remark any personal application?" asked Grace, laughing. "Did
my manners repel you at first?"
"No," he replied, quietly; "I had never met a young lady like you,
and yet I can't exactly say why; for your manners have more of the
frankness of our nicest American girls than those of most Englishwomen
I have met. And English_men_--well, as I say--they require to be known."
Miss Ballinger was silent. She felt sure that her brother's
free-and-easy, rather _de-haut-en-bas_ manner was in the sensitive
young American's mind. She knew also what a good fellow Mordaunt
really was at heart, and how either man if he could discard his husk
would appreciate the other. But the husk of manner is as necessary
a protection to the Englishman, who is habitually on the defensive,
as the unfashionable clothes worn by the American were to his body.
She hoped these two would draw nearer to each other by and by, but at
present there was nothing to be done. Presently he said,
"That Lady Clydesdale--is she really a great lady? Her opinions and her
manners seem to us rather odd."
"I wish I could say she is not well-born, but she is. I shouldn't mind
her opinions if she had only better manners. Such an incendiary should
at least offer her firebrands with some persuasive charm, not fling
them in your face; pray don't regard her as a typical Englishwoman. I
am ashamed of my countrywoman."
He smiled.
"And yet I fancy she will have great success with some of our advanced
women. When are you coming to Boston, Miss Ballinger?"
"I have no idea; but I shall let you know as soon as we arrive. I have
promised Mrs. Barham to go out and spend a day at your father's house.
It will interest me to see something of your New England village life."
"Well," he began, hesitatingly, "I will not discourage you. Mother
will love dearly to receive you, but you must not expect anything like
an English village, or--or the comforts of an English rectory. Things
are much simpler with us and quite different."
"I am prepared for that. If they were not different they would not
interest me; though, indeed, all that concerns your mother would
interest me. I took to her at once--I told you so--and, in that case,
my first impressions have strengthened more and more."
He replied, gravely,
"Our having met you, Miss Ballinger--your having spoken to my mother
has made a great difference in our voyage. I shall never forget it.
When we meet again it will probably not be on the same terms. How can
it be in a great city? I shall call, and you will be kind enough to say
you are glad to see me; but the informal intimacy of our long talks on
deck--can it be renewed on shore? I think not. Still, I shall always
look back to those hours as some of the most delightful in my life."
"I hope they will be renewed. I assure you I shall always remember them
with the greatest pleasure."
"Ah! you have many such pleasant memories, no doubt. I have very few."
The crowd, the shouts of porters, emissaries from hotels, and
friends of passengers, who now rushed on board, put an end to further
conversation. Grace had only time to bid him and his mother good-by
(she had already taken leave of her other friends), when she was
hurried off by her brother to the carriage which was waiting to take
them to the hotel.
And here I will seize the opportunity, while our travellers are
landing, of saying a few words as to the Ballinger family, which will
make the position of this brother and sister more easily understood.
Sir Henry Ballinger, who died only two years ago, was, as every one
knows, a remarkable man: prominent in politics, he had been twice
a cabinet minister, distinguished as an author upon currency and
international law, absorbed in the frigid, more than in the burning,
questions of the day, but still so much absorbed as to have little
leisure to bestow upon his children. Their mother died when Mordaunt
was sixteen and Grace was twelve; and what they would have done without
Mrs. Frampton, their father's sister, who almost took Lady Ballinger's
place in the household from that time forward, it is hard to say.
Mordaunt was at Eton; he was an impressionable lad, who stood too much
in awe of his father ever to make a friend of him, and to whom the
loss of a mother's sympathy meant more than it would to many boys. He
was much less clever than his sister, but possessed far more "worldly
wisdom," as it is called, which, from a high standpoint, is probably
nearer akin to foolishness. Nevertheless, he had a capacity for strong
attachment; and as a boy his mother had been everything to him. He was
very fond of his sister, and as years advanced she became more and
more prominent in his life; but at this time she was too young to be
his companion, still less his confidante. Happily, Mordaunt and his
aunt had always been great friends. He used to say he could talk more
easily with her than with any one--her plane of wisdom was not too far
above him. Soon after Lady Ballinger's death, Mrs. Frampton arrived on
a long visit; and from that time filled the vacant place at the head
of the table during several months each year. She had her own house in
London, and when resident there the two establishments were separate;
but when Sir Henry moved to the country, or if he took Grace abroad,
Mrs. Frampton always accompanied them. Between the aunt and the niece
there was also a strong affection; but, Grace's nature being less
plastic than her brother's, Mrs. Frampton's influence was less than it
was upon Mordaunt. As the girl grew up, the difference of opinion on
many points between her aunt and herself grew more marked. It did not
prevent them being the best of friends, but their way of looking at
many questions was diametrically opposed. Intellectually, Mrs. Frampton
and her niece had much in common; but Mordaunt had that respect for his
aunt's judgment which led him to consult her upon points where Grace
would have decided for herself, and decided differently.
Grace's education had been a broken one: now sent to a foreign
school for a year, when her father went to Australia, now left in
her aunt's charge, to the tuition of governesses and masters. It is
doubtful whether she had profited much by either. What she was she
had made herself, more than had been made by instruction. She was not
accomplished; but her bright, quick intelligence, and keen delight in
books, stood her in good stead in her intercourse with all the clever
men who flocked to her father's house. She had been in the world five
years when he died, and was now nearly six-and-twenty. Early youth
had had for her its usual illusions, its usual disappointments, but
they had not embittered, they had only strengthened, the sweet, fresh
nature, which retained a healthy capacity for enjoyment.
Within the past year she had suffered the keenest trouble she had yet
known, and consequent upon this, and upon their divergent views, had
occurred the nearest approach to estrangement between aunt and niece
which they had ever known. It is not necessary in this place to enter
into the nature of the cloud which had arisen, and had darkened the sky
in that small household. Of course, Mordaunt Ballinger sided with his
aunt--he always did in any family discussion--and Grace consequently
pent up her hopes and her disappointments in silence, and with a brave
face that told nothing. She did not go quite so much into the world
during the following months, neither would she altogether shun society;
and when the suggestion came from Mordaunt that she and Mrs. Frampton
should accompany him to America, she hailed the idea. Change of scene,
change of people, change of thought--she felt that all this was the
best thing for her just now.
Mrs. Frampton was an odd combination of the child of nature and the
woman of the world. Clever, impulsive, strong in her affections, unjust
and implacable in her hatreds, often humorous, sometimes sarcastic,
even at her own expense, she possessed an extraordinarily sound, clear
judgment in all business matters, and such as concerned temporal
welfare and advancement. There was no sacrifice she would not have made
for her nephew and her niece; but her devotion to Grace was perhaps
even greater than to Mordaunt, though between him and herself there
had never been a difference, and between her and Grace so many. This
last subject of division, and the withdrawal of Grace's confidence, the
feeling that there was one forbidden subject between them, had tried
the elder woman sorely. She had been very bitter about it until Grace's
demeanor had shown her that there could no longer be any discussion;
if she attempted to renew it her niece left the room. In her inward
heart she admired the noble-minded, resolute girl all the more for her
attitude, though she never admitted that she did so. She spoke of it
to Mordaunt as "reprehensible folly," which was justly punished--"but,
thank goodness! there is an end, once and forever, to all _that_." She
was delightfully inconsistent--it made her the amusing and provoking
person she was--in all that did not pertain to hard-headed calculation
and worldly perspicacity.
Mordaunt Ballinger found himself, at his father's death, with all the
expensive habits that are bred in the life he was leading, and but
very moderate means. Sir Henry's pension, of course, died with him;
so did a considerable income, which he had enjoyed as chairman of
certain railway and other companies. His son resolved to rent his
country-house, which was too expensive for him to keep up, and he
left the Guards. The constituency which his father had represented
offered to nominate him in the late baronet's place, and after a little
hesitation he accepted the proposal, and was elected. These steps
he had not taken without consulting Mrs. Frampton, whose influence
had also been wisely exercised in restraining him from embarking in
sundry speculations. His thoughts had now been turned for some time
past to America, as an Eldorado, where he might improve his fortunes,
as certain friends of his had done. Not that he meant to give up
Parliament, leave England and all its pleasures, and live upon a ranch.
That would not have suited Mordaunt at all. But there was "real estate"
in some of the rising cities, silver mines, shares in canned-meat
companies--railways, tramways, waterworks; surely in some of these
he might find a good investment that would bring him in eight or ten
per cent. Mrs. Frampton's present terror was that her nephew would be
induced by some designing person to risk considerable sums in that land
of reckless speculation. When he proposed, therefore, that she and
Grace should accompany him on a visit to the United States, she jumped
at the suggestion. To see the Americans _chez eux_ was the thing of
all others she had always wished. It was odd that she had never been
heard to express the wish before, but no one was surprised at anything
Mrs. Frampton said. She suddenly remembered that she had some dear
friends, the Hurlstones, in New York. It was eight years since she
had seen or heard of them, but she would write to them at once; she
felt sure they would do all in their power to make New York pleasant
to herself and her belongings. But, as to that, her brother's--Sir
Henry's--name was sure to secure them a warm welcome in a country where
he had been so well known, and Mordaunt's being in Parliament would be
an additional reason. It would be charming, too, for Grace; it would
change the current of her thoughts. She only said this to Mordaunt, but
the alacrity with which his sister acceded to the proposition told him
and his aunt that she felt this to be true.
Unfortunately, within a week of their sailing, just before Christmas,
Mrs. Frampton was summoned by telegram to Geneva, by a sister of her
late husband. The message stated that Miss Frampton was dying, and
desired her sister-in-law's presence. Mrs. Frampton felt she had no
choice but to obey. It was unfortunate. Had it only come a few days
later! As it was, there was nothing for it but to start by the next
train, and let Mordaunt and Grace sail for New York without her. She
promised to follow them, if Mordaunt resolved to remain all the winter
in the States. And, on the other hand, she exacted a promise from him
to embark in no scheme without consulting her. With this understanding
they parted, hurriedly and sorrowfully, and a fortnight from the day
when they had seen her into the train at Charing Cross they landed at
New York.