XI.

For a man on his wedding journey Braine seemed to have an extraordinary

amount of business to attend to from the first hour of his arrival in

New York. Sometimes it occupied his mornings, and sometimes his down

town engagements stretched far into the afternoon, though he avoided

that as much as possible, and managed almost always to have his evenings

free.

In his hours of freedom he threw off care so completely that if Helen

had been capable of doubting anything he said, she would not have

believed in his business engagements at all.

He took her to the theatres, where light summer plays of no possible

interest were running, and joined in the poor sport with the relish of a

boy, and apparently without once thinking of the affairs with which he

was toiling down town every day. He sought out all the places where

summer music was to be heard. He went to the sea side, and would sit on

the sands for hours with Helen, idly listening to the lazy swash of the

surf as it surged in from the indolent summer sea. He watched even the

merry-go-rounds with a contagious interest in the joy the children

seemed to get out of them.

And yet all this time Braine was playing a great game, with success or

failure for the stakes; a game mainly of skill, at which he was a

novice, while his adversaries were veterans. If he succeeded, nothing

was beyond his reach. If he failed--but he did not contemplate failure.

It had never been his habit.

At first, Helen enjoyed the privacy of a stranger in the great town,

going and coming at will, knowing nobody and expecting attention from

nobody. But this was of brief duration, and signs that it was destined

speedily to end appeared when men of wealth and social prominence began

to show themselves at the hotel with Braine, and to seek presentation to

herself in her private parlor.

It was during this blissful period of obscurity that Helen wrote in the

diary:

* * * * *

We have been in the city now three days. I am happy, but tired out with

a rush of new experiences. I am still in the daze occasioned by the

suddenness with which events have occurred. Married, and seeing New

York, all in six days, is too much for any woman, even a Western woman.

And my wardrobe! Until this evening I have had no time to think of it.

But at this moment it comes to me with terrible and tragic force that I

have just three presentable dresses to my name, and these are not so

presentable as they seemed before we went down to dinner that first

evening.

By the way, dinner means that of which I have never dreamed before,--and

means it at six o'clock. In Thebes, dinner meant a sort of juggling at

noon; and supper, a scrabble at six. Dinner here means science, art, and

awesome ability in some one.

For just one moment I was ready to sink through the floor when I entered

the dining-room--no, we dined in the cafe. (These little distinctions

must not escape me, nor be neglected.) But in an instant I glanced at

Edgar, who seemed so unconcerned with surrounding things, and so

preoccupied with some weighty matter, that everything but him seemed to

sink into insignificance, and by the time I was seated at the table, and

remembered the strangeness and magnificence of it all, I had forgotten

to be overpowered.

I noticed that Edgar was looking at me with a smile and very earnestly

once, and when I said, "What is it?" he replied:

"Any other woman who had never eaten terrapin would have said that she

didn't like it. This dinner has convinced me that you are a wonderful

woman."

I half understood him, and my happiness at having unconsciously pleased

him made me blush. The blush itself seemed to delight him, and he said:

"Good heavens! a woman who has had time to enjoy terrapin, and is still

able to blush so beautifully!"

I left the dining-room in a state of mind almost bordering on

exaltation.

People stare very rudely here. Every one looked at us. Edgar did not

seem to observe it, but somehow I could not help being conscious of it.

I first thought that they looked at Edgar, but I found they were staring

at me too. That was because I was with him. I am more than ever

determined to keep up with him as well as I can, that I may be no drag

upon his advancement--or rather on his efforts to advance others.

I experience a little suspicion of regret now and then. Edgar and I

cannot possibly seem so near to each other while we are amid such

startling surroundings, and one has to bear in mind, to an extent, that

she must not appear too much surprised.

He has hardly been in the room half an hour at a time since our arrival.

He no sooner comes in and gets ready to talk to me, than he receives a

card from some one and goes to the parlor--he will have no one come to

our private parlor. He says "Not yet," and laughs.

He seems almost fierce sometimes, at the thought of other people even

looking at me. He said, when he saw a man looking after me in the hall:

"It makes me feel murderous! These men are not fit to breathe the same

atmosphere with you. Neither am I, for that matter, any more, but I love

you, that makes it different; and what I do is _because_ I love you."

It delights me cruelly to hear him depreciate himself--not because of

that depreciation, but because it illustrates his extraordinary love for

me.

I wish we were in the little cottage at Thebes. The sweet-williams are

ravishingly sweet now; and I would like to have just my dog near when I

love Edgar so. He would be so sympathetic! There is such an aggressive

feeling of selfishness in the air here. Something not quite sympathetic,

or clean, or good. It is because it is all new and strange to me, of

course, but it certainly seems so. I mentioned this thoughtlessly a

while ago, and Edgar threw his arms around me and stopped the words with

kisses. I know that he did it so that I would say no more, for his face

looked peculiarly pained. His lip quivered for a moment, and that almost

frightened me. Such a thing in Edgar means more than even I can divine.

In a moment he was gravely gay again. Even in his merriest moments there

is a sweet dignity about him that fascinates and commands me. I seem to

demand, but he seems to command. There is no other man living whom I

could have loved.

_New York, July 2._ Until now I have always thought that the day on

which I met Edgar was the most marvellous one of my life. I now think it

is not so. This has been the most eventful one surely.

Last night I said to Ed that this morning I _must_ go out and get

something to wear. He said, "Very well. While I am down town you can do

your shopping." That was all that was said. We breakfasted at nine, and

at ten Ed said we had better go, as he must be down town by 10:30. I had

no idea where to go or just what to do. There was a certain

embarrassment about the situation, but I concealed the fact, and trusted

to Ed's wonderful management and delicacy.

He was equal to the occasion. Nothing was said as to where I should go,

or concerning means with _which_ to go, until we reached the hotel

entrance. He put me into a coupe, and said: "The man will take you to an

establishment where they can tell you what you want without your having

to bother about it," and thrust a roll of bills into my hand, threw me a

kiss, nodded, smiled, and closed the door.

The coupe started before I could recover from astonishment. For a minute

I sat looking at the bills in my hand. They made a terrible roll. When I

found what he had given me I could only gasp and drop them on the floor.

The amount frightened me. I was sure that he had made a mistake, and I

put the bills in a separate compartment of my purse, all but fifty

dollars, to give them back when I returned.

We stopped at a ladies' tailoring establishment of some kind. I was

really too much overcome and disturbed to know what I was about. The

coachman opened the coupe door, and said:

"Blossom's, madame," and my heart quite stopped beating for a moment.

But I suddenly felt the necessity of not displaying my ignorance, for

Edgar's sake, and pretended to be preoccupied, and so gained time to

look about me covertly, and prepare an excuse for any _faux pas_ on my

part.

Well, in about one minute after I entered the parlor, I felt that I had

been born passing judgment on styles and fabrics. I seemed to have

nothing to do. I said rather abstractedly and indifferently "Something

in a street dress. I leave it to you," and made a little inconsequent

gesture. In a minute I found everything taken out of my hands, and a man

and a woman declaring that they knew at once what madame wished; they

would satisfy me, etc., etc., all in a suddenly changed manner that

amazed me. They were treating me like some extraordinary personage. It

was my little gesture of ennui that accomplished this. (By the way, I

did not say "dress" a second time, but "gown," which is now considered

the proper term.)

I felt almost like an impostor at first, but I had a desire that Edgar

might be there to witness the little performance. I felt that I had, at

least, not disgraced him.

Then I said: "Something in a house gown," when they had settled the

street gown. The house gown was decided, and before I knew it they had

the most wonderful designs for dinner and reception gowns before me that

I ever dreamed of.

I seemed to be in a maze, and acquiesced mechanically in what they

proposed. Finally, things seemed to come to an end, and I asked for my

bill. They were to supply the materials, calculate the cost, etc. They

seemed a little surprised, and said I could attend to that at my

convenience--when I came to-morrow. I suddenly felt panic-stricken and

determined to find out the extent of my madness. I insisted in a

peremptory and dignified way--saying I preferred to settle such little

matters on the spot. They kept me waiting half an hour, and then-handed

me the bill.

It makes me faint now to think of that moment. I sat staring at the

paper. It amounted to one hundred and fifty dollars more than was in

that roll of bills! I felt my hair make an attempt to stand erect. I

mechanically opened my purse, and handed them the money that was to have

been returned to Edgar, and said in a voice that I did not recognize as

my own: "That is all I happen to have with me--I will attend to the

other trifle to-morrow."

Trifle!! The remainder was more than I had ever spent for clothes before

in a year. It never occurred to me that I could countermand the order. I

felt that I was helpless and in the hands of the Philistines. I gave

them my address, fully determined to get back to the hotel and smuggle

Edgar off before the next morning, before the "trifle" could be asked

for.

I kept saying all the way:--"We are just married. We are just married.

Men always forgive things when they are just married!" I said it over

and over.

When we stopped at the hotel entrance some one opened the door at once.

It was Edgar. He was smiling and helping me out, and saying that he had

been smoking and waiting for me. I prayed that I might sink right down

through the coal-hole in the sidewalk.

I did not speak, and Edgar said, anxiously:--"Your shopping has been too

much for you, dear. You look pale and tired out!" I thought of that

trifling balance, and nearly staggered. I said, "No, oh no!" and got

into our rooms in some way.

To think that I, Helen Braine, who never possessed more than three gowns

at once, the wife of a man who had had to wear coats with frayed edges,

should have spent a small fortune in two hours, and that there was still

a "balance"! And it had yet to be told of! That was the worst. I

expected to hear him say every minute:

"By the way, my dear, I made a little mistake this morning, and gave you

the wrong amount of money. I knew you would understand it."

Well, when we were inside our rooms, with the door shut, I leaned up

against the wall. Edgar saw there was something terrible the matter, and

he looked quite pale and said: "What is it?"

I was waiting for him to say: "You haven't spent all the money!" and

kept thinking to myself very hard--"Men always forgive things when they

are just married."

Finally, I said, "Edgar, how much money have you?" And then he stared at

me. He laughed, and said: "How mercenary shopping expeditions do make

women!"

I thought I should drop down in one minute more, and hoped that I should

die. I asked if he had enough to settle our bill and get out of town. He

said afterward that he thought I had suddenly developed a propensity for

shoplifting, and had been discovered, and that he would have to smuggle

me out of the city.

He looked very serious though when I asked the question, and said:

"Certainly, dear. We will not stay a moment longer than you wish to." He

asked what had happened. I managed to gasp that I had spent all the

money. He looked puzzled and said: "Well, go on. What is the matter?"

and I repeated that I had spent all the money. It seemed heartless for

him to torture me by making me repeat it.

He looked still more puzzled, and said: "Yes, well, what about it?" I

said: "And there's a--a balance--a trifle."

He answered: "Of course-well?" And then--I don't know what happened

then. I was sobbing, and Edgar kept frantically pouring cologne over me,

and kissing me and saying: "Don't cry, for heaven's sake, Helen," and by

degrees he managed to understand the situation, and before I knew it he

was lying back in a chair fairly shouting with laughter, and my hair was

dripping wet, and I felt as though I had passed through the

resurrection, and found myself on the right side.

I finally found that there was no mistake, except that I had not spent

the money for the right things; that I was supposed to have purchased

all the little things like gloves and shoes and hats and a hundred other

trifles with that, and that this frightful bill was to have been sent in

to Edgar or me, beside, and settled then.

I may live to be a thousand, but that terrible hour will always be fresh

in my memory. I was not unhappy. I experienced a despair that was truly

tragic. And the reaction that followed!

Edgar Braine was never so dear and great and glorious before to me. He

held me in his arms for two hours and let me cry. He tried to be

sympathetic and serious, but every few moments he would burst out in an

uncontrollable fit of laughter. He, too, says that he will never forget

that hour.