Two young men were waiting at the depot, evidently prepared by telegram
for Miss Planter's arrival. In the course of the evening several more
appeared at the Palace Hotel, among them Mr. Bloxsome. And during the
Planters' stay at San Francisco their rooms were scarcely ever free
from her admirers, who came there sometimes "single spies," sometimes
in "battalions."
These half-dozen young men were, one and all, beginning with John
Bloxsome, unfavorable specimens of San Franciscan youth. One or two of
them were handsome; one or two were apparently not ill-educated--but
they had enjoyed few social advantages; they were loud and familiar;
their standards of conduct were low; and they moved in a circumscribed
orbit, outside which they neither knew, nor cared for, anything. Their
attitude towards Mordaunt Ballinger was not openly inimical.
Civility, which would have been overpowering but that it lacked the
ring of sincerity, was the rule. They were always offering Mordaunt
"drinks" at the bar, whenever he passed through the hall, or inviting
him to go to a gambling-saloon, or to other resorts, all of which he
rather loftily declined. Nor did they fare much better with Grace. She
marvelled at Miss Planter's toleration. But early association, custom,
and that wonderful adaptability of hers accounted for it, she supposed.
This only partially interfered with the intimacy, which chance had done
so much to forward, between the Ballingers and the Planters, by the
fact of their travelling those three days together. Mrs. Frampton would
certainly have declined the drives to the Seal Rocks and the Presidio,
the theatre-parties and the expeditions by night to the Chinese
Quarter, in which she and her niece joined, had her mind not been
gradually inured to accept the idea of the Planters as of something
which it was useless to try and avoid. And indeed, personally, she
had no wish to avoid them. She was indisposed to accept the handsome
American girl as a fitting wife for Mordaunt, but, short of this, she
liked her fairly well; and with Père Planter she was now great friends.
The mother and she had not much in common, and the young men annoyed
her--perhaps too evidently. But, on the whole, there was no denying
that the Planters' being in the same hotel, and being so cordially
disposed towards the English trio, made their stay at San Francisco
far more agreeable than it would otherwise have been. That this
should be so in the case of Mordaunt was a foregone conclusion. Yet,
strange to say, he was the one who seemed least happy. What his aunt
called the "braying chorus" disturbed his equanimity even more than
it did hers. His manner towards these noisy young men had, it must be
confessed, that exasperating superiority which is calculated to inflame
animosity more than anything else. Clare--perhaps of set purpose--was
occasionally capricious in her demeanor towards him. As a rule, she
certainly showed more preference for the society of her English admirer
than for that of any other man. But, now and again, she would, almost
ostentatiously, choose Bloxsome or one of the "braying chorus" to walk
with, or retire to a corner of the room with, and converse with in
whispers, to Mordaunt's utter distraction. He did his best not to let
his wretchedness be seen at such times, but to his aunt and sister it
was only too apparent. This irritation was further aggravated by the
receipt of letters which he burned, without naming them, at the time,
but the effect of which was apparent to both Mrs. Frampton and Grace.
The former was not altogether displeased. If, by suffering, the evil
she dreaded could be averted, why, then, it was better so. But each,
after her own fashion, acknowledged the obligations they were all under
to the Planters.
"They certainly are very kind," said Mrs. Frampton; "much kinder
than English people would be to three Americans of whom they knew so
little. And what surprises me is that Mr. Planter should not avoid us
altogether if he does not wish his daughter to marry Mordy. To _our_
ideas it seems very odd--letting a man be with your daughter so much if
you want to discourage him."
"That is because you do not understand the American character, and way
of bringing up. Clare has never been controlled; she doesn't know what
it means. She likes Mordy's devotion--up to a certain point--as she
likes these other young men dangling after her. Whether it means more
than this, as regards Mordy, I can't say. I doubt if she knows herself.
She seems to me, every now and then, to be afraid; to be determined to
make a stand; not to be hurried, and therefore to go on as she does
with the others."
"I am very glad she does," said her aunt, decisively. "I like the
girl, but she is an outrageous flirt; and Mordy's eyes had much better
be open to the fact. All the same, it is not humanly possible she
can prefer any of those creatures to Mordy, and therefore I can't
understand the father letting them be so much together."
"I am quite sure opposition would do no good. If she was curbed she
would kick. Mr. Planter shows his wisdom in giving her her head."
"What a horsy illustration, my dear! What you say makes me feel more
and more that the girl, attractive as she is--and I really _do_ like
her now--is not fitted for English domestic life. A woman who doesn't
know what yielding means, and who wants a chorus of idiots, or of
vulgarians like Mr. Bloxsome, round her, is not our ideal of a wife."
"She would be quite different when she married, aunt. That is the
peculiarity of these Americans. They take their fun out as girls. When
the serious business of life begins, and they are put into double
harness--I declare I am getting horsy again!--they give up kicking and
rearing, and settle down into a steady trot."
"Well, I shall never understand them--never! How a girl who knows what
an English gentleman is like can for a moment tolerate such a set of
men as I see round her! It passes all belief. How long does Mordy mean
to stay here? As to business, it is all nonsense. He has left none of
the introductions to business men which he brought. The sooner we can
get him away, the better."
"It will not make much difference. We are to go to Monterey, and so are
the Planters."
Mrs. Frampton gave a gesture of impatience. "Do they do it on purpose?"
"No. Mordy does it on purpose. I knew it all along. But we are
powerless, aunty. There is nothing for it but to yield with a good
grace. If this thing is to be, it will be, and we must make the best of
it. Neither Mr. Planter nor you will be able to prevent it. But I don't
feel at all sure that the girl means to marry him."
"I hope to Heaven she doesn't!" ejaculated her aunt, and at the same
moment Mordaunt entered with an open letter in his hand.
"This is the third blackguard anonymous letter I have received about
the Planters," he said, as he pitched it into the fire. "Of course, it
doesn't affect me one way or another. It is curious the writer should
think an Englishman would pay any attention to such cowardly attacks on
his friends. I should like to tell old Planter, but, of course, it's
better not." Then he poked fiercely at the fire. There was a pause.
Neither his aunt nor Grace chose to ask what the letters contained.
But, after a moment, Mrs. Frampton said,
"When are you going on to Monterey? Soon, I hope?"
"Well, the Planters talk of going next week. I thought, if you don't
mind, we might as well wait, and travel down with them."
"Why not go before them? I don't like arriving and departing together
like a travelling troupe. And I don't like your being herded with all
those men who crowd round Miss Planter. It is not dignified. You had
far better leave the young lady a few days' uninterrupted enjoyment of
her Californian admirers."
Mordaunt winced. "Miss Planter cares nothing for them or their
admiration, I am sure. She has known many of them since she was a
child. It is their way. It seems odd to you, aunt, but it means
nothing."
"Oh! I don't pretend to understand their ways, only I don't admire
them, that is all. And I particularly dislike your being mixed up with
men who are as likely as not to pick a quarrel with you. They are
all jealous of you. Under their smiling manner I can see that. That
dreadful Bloxsome is the only one who has the courage to be downright
rude. If you take my advice you will not prolong the situation."
Mordaunt took one or two turns through the room. "Do you think one of
those fellows can have written this letter?"
"How can I tell? I should think it not unlikely. I imagine from what
you say it must be written by some one whose object it is to detach
you from your friends. And certainly nothing that any of those men did
would surprise me."
By an odd coincidence that same evening, as Mrs. Frampton sat in close
confab with Mr. Planter, while the young people, under Mrs. Planter's
chaperonage, were gone to the theatre, the American drew from his
pocket two letters, and said, rather suddenly,
"Do you know a New-Yorker named John Reid?"
"Yes; a very nice man. I knew him in Boston, where his mother lives."
"Is he a great friend of Sir Mordaunt's?"
"I think he may be called so. They have not known each other very long,
but Mr. Reid was very kind to my nephew in New York, and useful in
giving him advice."
"They had no quarrel? You have no reason to suppose he would abuse your
nephew?"
"Abuse Mordaunt? Good gracious! No. Why should he?"
"I don't know; only I have had a letter sent me purporting to come from
him, and forwarded by an anonymous correspondent. In that letter he
says some very hard things of Sir Mordaunt. I like all that is open and
fair, Mrs. Frampton. I don't much care about anonymous letters. But I
get a lot of them, all the time."
"Oh! It is a common practice here, is it? My nephew had one about you
to-day, which he threw into the fire at once, Mr. Planter. He has had
several, I believe. Any one who pays attention to an anonymous letter
deserves to receive plenty, that is all I can say. But this other
letter, abusing my nephew, is _not_ anonymous, you say? If it pretends
to be from Mr. Reid, it must be something worse."
"Yes. I strongly suspect, from what you tell me, it is a forgery. There
it is. You can show it to your nephew. If he thinks it worth while, he
can wire to Reid."
She gave Mordaunt the letter on his return that night.
When he opened it he was startled. The writing so closely resembled
John Reid's, several of whose notes, referring to business matters, he
had preserved, that it was difficult at first to pronounce this to be
a forgery. He read it aloud to his aunt. There was no direction, nor
indication as to whom the letter was addressed.
It ran thus:
"DEAR GEORGE,--You ask for my opinion of the Englishman, Sir
Mordaunt Ballinger, whom you say you believe is a friend of
mine. He _was_ a friend of mine, until I discovered that he was
a scoundrel, who ought not to be received into any respectable
American house. His character is too well known in his own country
for him to have any chance of retrieving his broken fortunes
there by marrying an heiress. Therefore he has come here, laden
with debt and dishonor, to try and induce some rich girl, for the
sake of becoming 'My lady,' to marry him. On arrival, he first
made up to Miss Hurlstone, but they soon saw that he was only a
fortune-hunter, and showed him the door. Now I understand that he
is pursuing Miss Planter. If you know the family, it would be but
kind to warn them as to this Englishman's real character. He is a
thorough profligate, and he has a contempt at heart for all that is
American which he tries to conceal. It would be a sad day for any
of our nice girls, in which she became his wife.
"I am, dear George, yours cordially,
"JOHN REID."
Mrs. Frampton was the first to speak.
"What do you mean to do? Wire at once?"
"Yes, for Mr. Planter's satisfaction, not mine. Of course I know Reid
couldn't have written that. But of all the cowardly, damnable tricks--!"
"What did I tell you this morning? Some of these men, in their mad
jealousy and envy, are capable of anything."
"I couldn't have believed it! I hope old Planter attached no weight to
this precious communication?"
"No, or he would not have shown it to me. He suggested that it was a
forgery with a calmness which showed that he regarded it as an everyday
occurrence."
And a forgery it proved to be. The reply to Mordaunt's telegram came in
these words:
"Have no correspondent named George. Have written no letter
concerning you to any one."
Mordaunt took it to Mr. Planter.
"Is there no means of tracing the perpetrator of this vile fraud?"
The American shook his head, and smiled. "These lies are of no account
with us, sir."
"So I should hope, but they are not the less disgraceful."
"I have thought it better to show the document to my daughter, sir.
She is the person most concerned. It is but fair that she should judge
whether what is here said of you is likely to be true."
"The only part she might possibly believe is that about Miss Hurlstone.
Well, it is a lie, Mr. Planter. She was the first pretty girl I saw in
New York, and I flirted with her once or twice, as any fellow might.
She was never anything to me, and from the moment I saw your daughter
I never thought of any other girl. I have asked her to marry me, and
she has refused. But I'm not discouraged. I'm still in hopes of getting
her to alter her mind, and--and of getting your consent, Mr. Planter."
"Well, sir, I will be frank with you. I let Clare do pretty much as
she likes, and I have no objection to you personally. You seem to me a
straightforward sort of man, who are only a bit spoiled, I reckon, by
the life you have led. I don't want my child to marry an Englishman, or
any other sort of foreigner. She is the only thing I have got in the
world, and I want her to settle right down here in America, near me and
her mother, when she marries. There now, you have it plain. I like you
better than the men who are fooling around here. But they don't amount
to much. She would never have one of _them_. Our girls like amusing
themselves; it don't mean anything. And if you come right along with us
to Monterey, you must do it at your own risk, sir--as I told your aunt.
You must not reproach Clare with having led you on, when she meant
nothing. And she would never marry without my consent."
This was plain speaking, and it certainly was not encouraging. Mordaunt
felt that to follow his aunt's suggestion, and precede the Planters to
Monterey, was the only manly course, consistent with his resolve not
to be deterred in his endeavor to win Clare Planter's affections. To
continue to take part in the "braying chorus" could not be profitable,
and would certainly not be dignified. Mrs. Frampton received the
announcement that they were to leave San Francisco the following day
with a satisfaction which she was at no pains to conceal.
That afternoon he had the courage to avoid joining the Planter party,
on the plea that he must go to some shops with his aunt and sister. So,
leaving the lower streets, where the chief traffic of the city is, they
climbed steep ways where the Chinese and Japanese dwell in colonies,
and visited tea-houses and joss-houses, and bought quaint toys and
strange wares unknown to Liberty & Co. And afterwards, still toiling
up, they reached the eminence generally called Nob Hill, crowned with
structures that look like Genoese palaces, until one learns that what
simulates marble is but painted wood. These residences of the wealthy
merchants are all embowered in green. Flowers look out of every gate
and doorway. As to the arum-lilies, they grow like weeds, thrusting
their white, elongated faces through the fences of even the smallest
houses; and wherever there is space to let them stretch their mighty
plumes, palm-trees and yuccas stand between the windows and the dusty
street.
The ladies returned to the hotel, pleased with their last ramble
through the city, of which they had seen more that day than they had
done during all their drives the previous week. But Mordaunt was silent
and depressed. His self-confidence was shaken. Had he made any progress
since they arrived at San Francisco, ten days ago? He could not feel
that he had.
Clare Planter came into their room at dusk, apparently in high spirits.
She looked unusually well in a white tea-gown, with some crimson roses
on her bosom.
"So I hear you go to Monterey to-morrow. What a shame to steal a march
upon us! And what a shame not to have passed the last day here with
us, Mrs. Frampton!" she exclaimed. "But you must really come in this
evening. We are going to dance. Two or three girls are coming, and
I have been to get a pianist. Don't shake your head--I am sure, Sir
Mordaunt, you can persuade your aunt and sister to come, if you like."
"Thank you," he stammered, growing hot and cold as he spoke. "It's
awfully good of you--but--as for myself, I--I promised to go to the
Bohemian Club to-night. Some fellows asked me to supper there--"
"Oh!" she interrupted, with her sweetest smile, "Ask the 'fellows' to
come to us--bring them along with you. You can't refuse me--now can he,
Mrs. Frampton?"
"I should be ashamed of him if I didn't think he could resist
temptation," laughed his aunt.
"You do not mean that you refuse me?" She turned her sweet, smiling
face to him.
"I am sorry I am engaged," he replied, quickly, without looking at her.
"You have so many men--so many more than ladies--you can't want me. My
aunt and my sister must answer for themselves."
She was so little used to contradiction that she seemed literally
struck dumb. Who was this man, whom she regarded as her slave, that he
dared resist her sovereign will and pleasure?
"Grace and I will look in to wish you good-by, after dinner. But it
is not 'good-by' for long, I believe?" said Mrs. Frampton, in high
good-humor at Mordaunt's firmness. He was really behaving better than
she expected.
"Perhaps--I don't know," responded Miss Planter, as she twirled the
tassel that hung from her waist round her finger, and then untwirled
it. "Some of my friends are going to Santa Barbara. Perhaps mamma may
go there instead."
"Your father spoke very distinctly this morning of going to Monterey,"
said Mordaunt, flushing suddenly.
"Oh, yes; but papa will always do as mamma and I ask him. That is
the advantage of having an American husband. Englishmen are not like
that--they can refuse anything!"
She stung him with one sharp look from her beautiful eyes, and, with a
little _au revoir_ to the ladies, swept from the room.
"If they go to Santa Barbara, I shall follow them," said Mordaunt,
recklessly, as soon as the door was closed.
Grace looked up, with a smile.
"They will not go to Santa Barbara."