Henry Stanton's return to New York was not marked by any special
outburst of joy on the part of the large retinue of dependents that
constituted the machinery of his household. He was feared rather than
loved by his servants, and this feeling, as has been indicated, was
shared by his daughter in common with others. It was not that he did
not want to be loved, or that he was indifferent to the feelings and
opinion of others concerning him. On the contrary, he, of all men, was
most anxious that others should think well of him. But his manner was
stern, harsh and repellent, and he did not seem to have the capacity to
gain the confidence or sympathy of those around him. Although generous
even to extravagance where it gratified his vanity, of broad-minded
charity in its higher and nobler sense the man knew nothing. He gave
not because he loved, but because his charities reflected lustre on his
name; and here was the man's most vulnerable point, his sensitiveness
as to name, fame, honour, reputation dignity, public opinion. "What
will the world think?" stood out in blazing letters on a glittering
signpost pointing to the motive of all he did. And so when Mr. Stanton
told his daughter, the day after his arrival, that he approved of her
engagement to Beverly Cruger and that it gave him great happiness, the
utter absence of genuine fatherly tenderness in his manner showed the
girl plainly that his happiness was brought about mainly by the fact
that it advanced him several rungs in the social ladder, and not
because she was going to marry a man who would make her happy.
"He is a splendid catch," were Mr. Stanton's words on first hearing the
news. "He belongs to a fine solid family and you will have _entrée_
into the first establishments in America and Europe."
Hélène was instinctively repelled by the manner of his congratulations.
Not one solitary word was uttered as to love, happiness, or the sacred
nature of marriage itself, not a regret at parting with her; nothing
but an adding up of the advantages that would accrue to him from a
social point of view.
"The Van Nesses and the de Morelles can't refuse to meet us now. We
can snap our fingers at them! Bravo, my girl, you have achieved a
splendid victory. They can't dig up hidden and dead scandals now."
Hélène had never known that the Van Nesses and the de Morelles had
refused to meet them. She knew that several of the historic New York
families did not make it a point to ask them to their functions, but
she had always thought it was because her father was personally
unpopular with the more exclusive set. His reference to hidden and
dead scandals she did not in the least understand, for she had heard
nothing.
"At a moment like this," Hélène thought, "if he had only opened his
heart, if he would only let me love him!" But no, he had not shown the
slightest encouragement, not a particle of sentiment.
"With your husband's people and my money back of you," he said, "you
ought to become a leader, nothing less than a leader! I'd give half a
million to see you take Julia Van Ness's place."
Hélène was disappointed. "Oh, father, please don't speak of those
things now! It's not a question of social advantage. It's my whole
future happiness; my whole life itself is Involved."
"Do you know, Hélène, you are rather selfish in your love affair as I
suppose you call it," cried Mr. Stanton angrily. "My ambition is for
you, not for myself."
"I have no ambition," said Hélène, stifling a tendency to burst into
tears, "that is, no social ambition. I love my friends and they love
me. Indeed, father, I have no desire to extend my circle of
acquaintances; I can't do justice to those I know now! If it is for my
sake you are trying to----"
At these words Mr. Stanton completely lost his temper. "Of course it
is for your sake, don't you believe me when I say so? Please remember
that I am your father, and it is your duty to believe me whether my
statement convinces you or not. It is your duty to believe me and to
love me!"
"God knows I try hard enough," broke from the girl, and now she too
lost control of herself. "I hate myself for saying it, but it's true,
father, it's true! I don't seem to love you, not as most girls love
their fathers, and I want to, I do so want to! You believe that, don't
you, father?"
Mr. Stanton was silent, and Hélène went on: "I always feel that there
is something between us. I think of myself only as one of your
possessions. You were so good, so gentle to mother; why aren't you
more kind, more loving to me?"
"Is there anything you want that you do not get?" demanded Mr. Stanton.
"Yes," cried Hélène, "there is love, love! I do not get it! Your
manner is cold, hard, repellent!"
"How dare you!" shouted her father.
"I repeat it!" cried Hélène, now utterly regardless of consequences.
"Something in you repels me. I came to you this morning with the news
of my engagement of marriage. I came to you with earnest longing to
have you take me into your arms and kiss me, to have you congratulate
me on my happiness. Instead of this you repelled me with cold
calculations as to the effect the marriage would have on your own
social position. Oh, father, father! is that the way to sympathise
with a girl? I have no mother; you should supply her place. All the
luxuries in this palace don't make up to me for the lack of love I find
in it."
"Is it my fault that your mother died when you were eight years old?"
said Mr. Stanton in a milder tone. The reference to his dead wife had
had a softening influence upon him.
"No, no, father; no, no! I can't help thinking of her now, that's all!
I need her now, so much. I have no one to go to but you, and--" the
girl shook her head helplessly. "I can just remember her, so delicate,
so beautiful! She was an angel, wasn't she?"
He nodded assent. "I remember that she was always in tears, always
afraid to go out in the streets, afraid to be seen," said Hélène
somewhat irrelevantly. "You did love her, didn't you? I always feel
you did! Why, why can't you love me as you did her? Why am I not as
near to you as she was? Your own flesh and blood should be very near
and very dear to you; especially at such a time as this."
He regarded her more tenderly. "You are near me," he said and kissed
her. "Poor little thing," he muttered to himself. "I suppose I am
selfish," he said aloud, "but you'll have my money some day. Surely
that should give you a great deal of comfort!"
Hélène smiled sadly. Her father seemed incapable of understanding her.
She could only shake her head and say, "That's nothing, nothing!"
"You'll find it a great deal, my girl," he said.
That afternoon when her music master came he was astonished to find her
pensive and downcast instead of joyful and happy, as he expected.
"There has been a lovers' quarrel," he said to himself. "Little missie
wanted her way and young master wanted his. It is nothing," he
decided, as he opened the music books.
"Have you studied your lesson?" he asked.
"No," replied Hélène, without thinking.
"Well, do the best you can," he said. To his utter astonishment she
played the whole exercise through without looking at the music, without
any effort and without playing a single false note.
To say that Von Barwig was astounded is putting it mildly. He simply
gasped for breath.
"Gott in Himmel, Fräulein! Ach, du lieber Gott! what style, what
touch, what progress! Ah," and then it came to him all at once, "your
father has come back; you want to show him progress, is it not? You
have practised on the sly, eh? Ah--" and he shook his finger
reproachfully at her.
Hélène looked at him and laughed. "If father was only like you," she
thought.
"Yes," she said aloud. "I suppose I wanted to show my father the
progress I have made, so I practised on the sly."
"Let us continue," said Von Barwig, who was now very anxious to see
what new surprise his pupil was going to give him.
"Have you arranged with Mrs. Cruger about giving her nieces lessons?"
asked Hélène, carelessly striking a few chords on the piano.
"Not yet," replied Von Barwig, "I am to go next week." Then he added
with a little laugh, "The young ladies postpone me as long as possible."
Here they were interrupted by the entrance of Denning, the
under-butler, who informed Miss Stanton that her father wished to see
her in the library. Von Barwig saw a downcast expression on Hélène's
face as she left the room. "Perhaps he does not approve of the
marriage, this Mr. Stanton. Well, I do!" he said with emphasis. "I
do, and I am determined that she shall marry the man of her choice. He
is a splendid fellow, fully worthy of her. If this father interferes,
I shall-- Let me see, what shall I do?"
Von Barwig laughed at his own foolishness in allowing his thoughts to
run on unchecked. Somehow they always led him into a ridiculous
position from which he could never extricate himself.
"I shall tell this father," he went on in a more compromising vein of
thought, "I shall tell him that his daughter's happiness is at stake,
and that he must not allow personal considerations to interfere with
that happiness. Then he will have me flung out of his house. No,
thank you, Barwig, you will not speak; but none the less that is what I
think! Her happiness first, last and all the time. Let me tell you a
secret, Mr. Stanton," said Von Barwig mentally. His thoughts rushed
him along pell-mell now and he followed them, thoroughly enjoying the
mental pictures they brought up. "Let me tell you my secret, Mr.
Stanton! She is my daughter as well as yours. I have adopted her.
She does not know it, nor do you, but I do! She has taken the place of
my own little one and I love her, Mr. Stanton. I love her just as
much, aye, even more than you do, sir, and this love gives me the right
to speak. You shall not interfere with her happiness! Do you hear me,
sir?"
Von Barwig had now lashed himself into a whirlwind of imaginary
indignation and was pacing up and down the music room; his thoughts
completely engrossing him. They were the only realities in life to him
now, these thoughts, and he treasured them as philosophers do the
truths of existence. All at once his eye caught a pile of music that
lay on the table next to Miss Stanton's dolls' cabinet in the corner of
the room opposite the piano. He observed the Beethoven Concerto for
pianoforte which had Hélène Stanton's name on it, also the C Minor and
F Minor concertos of Chopin, besides other compositions for pianoforte
of an exceedingly difficult character; all this music was marked with
her name and the date.
"There must be some mistake," he thought, as he read the names. "She
cannot play these difficult compositions, surely! It may be her mother
had played them, but no, they are dated within a year or so of the
present day!"
Everything was explained to him now. He was no longer surprised at the
unaccountable unevenness of her playing. She had deceived him. "Why,
why?" he wondered.
Then it came to him. "Of course! Fool, dolt, idiot! she wanted to
benefit you, so she pretends she cannot play and takes lessons she does
not need. But why should she wish to befriend you, why?"
Von Barwig was silent a long time. "Why, why?" he kept asking himself
and his thoughts could get no further. "Am I dreaming?" He looked
around. "Is it all a dream? Do I merely believe these things happen,
or are they real? Sometimes these people seem like phantoms of the
past; phantoms that come and vanish like the thoughts that give them
existence. There seems to be no substance in them. But real or
phantom, dreaming or waking, my love for her is real. That is God's
truth! I feel it, I know it! I love her, I love her! Of that alone I
am certain. That is truth, if nothing else is!"
In the meantime, Hélène found her father awaiting her in the library.
Mr. Stanton was in very excellent spirits.
"Why did you trouble to come down, my dear child? I intended to come
up and see you," he said as she entered the door. "I told Denning to
find out if you could receive me; servants are so stupid!"
"Oh, it doesn't matter! I was only taking a music lesson."
"Yes, so Denning said. I didn't know you'd taken up your musical
studies again," and then before Hélène could reply, he went on:
"Sit down, my dear, I want to ask, no, not ask; I want to make a
suggestion. I want you to do something for my sake. The spring has
fairly set in; in a few weeks it will be summer, and I may want to go
abroad again. Can you arrange to have your marriage take place late in
June or early in July?"
"No, father!" replied Hélène in a somewhat decided tone. "I am sorry,"
she added quickly, as she saw an expression of disappointment in his
face.
"Why not, may I ask?" inquired her father.
"Because Beverly is engaged in Washington at the State Department. The
secretary has promised him an under-secretaryship in one of the
European embassies if his work there is satisfactory, and our marriage
would interrupt his work."
"Not necessarily," said Mr. Stanton. "Besides he doesn't need any
career! He will have plenty of money, and----"
"I don't think all the money in the world would be sufficient to
support Beverly Cruger in idleness," responded Hélène with some spirit.
"The Crugers are not well off, and he refuses to accept anything from
his father; and as for living on my income, it's out of the question,
father! He insists on earning his own living and working out his own
career."
"Well, after all, that shows a good spirit," said Mr. Stanton, "but I
really don't see how an early marriage would interfere with his
resolutions on that point. He could go on working."
"His income is insufficient just at present," said Hélène, "and it will
be until next year. The marriage cannot take place till then. I am
sorry."
"Some time next winter, eh? That's a long time, Hélène; so many things
may happen," said Mr. Stanton thoughtfully.
"What could happen?" asked Hélène in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know; I'm nervous and apprehensive. I want to see you married
and settled," replied her father almost peevishly, as if he didn't want
to go into explanations. "I've a curious notion that I want to see you
married and settled. It's a--a--my anxiety for you, Hélène," added Mr.
Stanton, forcing a smile.
"You're very kind," repeated Hélène. She did not understand her father
in the least. He seemed to be afraid of something, his manner was
distinctly apprehensive. She moved slowly toward the door, deep in
thought.
"Are you going?" asked Mr. Stanton.
"My music master is waiting for me," replied Hélène.
"Your music master? Oh, yes, you said you'd taken up your studies
again."
Hélène smiled. "You can hardly call it taking up my studies," she
said. "Herr Von Barwig just--so to speak--goes over; I hardly know how
to describe it. I think he tries to improve my technique."
Was it imagination or had her father turned ashen pale? He looked at
her, barely able to speak; he seemed to have received an awful shock
and he was gasping for breath. What had happened? There was a pause
during which Hélène wondered why she had not noticed before how pale
and ill her father looked, and how his hands trembled.
"What did you say was his name?" asked Mr. Stanton, barely able to
repress the emotion in his voice.
"Professor Von Barwig. Oh, he's not known here as well as he was in
Germany! What's the matter, father?" she cried out as the man almost
tottered into his chair. "Father, father! what is it?"
"Nothing, nothing; what should be the matter? I--these attacks come
periodically now. A little heart trouble--it will soon pass away.
Ring for Joles!"
She obeyed him instantly.
"Good God, good God! Is it possible? Right under my own roof!"
muttered Stanton, "and with her! Oh, God!"
"I rang for him, father," said Hélène, looking at him anxiously.
"It's Ditson I want to see. Ditson, Ditson! not Joles." Then he added
quickly, "No, I don't want to see any one! I'm better now; these
attacks pass away quickly. Sit down, my dear child; I want to talk to
you. What were you saying?" he asked, anxious to hear and yet not
wishing to arouse her suspicion as to the cause of his anxiety.
"Nothing of any importance, father."
"Yes, yes; I insist! Go right on with our conversation where we left
off. You were speaking of your--your--musical professor, Anton Von
Barwig." Mr. Stanton had almost completely recovered himself now.
"How did you know his first name, father?"
"You mentioned it, you must have done so," said Mr. Stanton quickly.
"Yes, I remember you did! When you first mentioned his name, you
called him Anton. And he is upstairs," added her father with a curious
laugh, "in this house."
Hélène thought his manner most strange. He was regarding her now with
a curious, searching gaze. "He can have told her nothing," he
muttered, "he must be as ignorant of the truth as she is. Good God,
what a coincidence!"
Joles came and Ditson was sent for. When the confidential secretary
arrived, Mr. Stanton and he went into the private study. Hélène
followed them.
"Will you need me any more, father?" she asked anxiously.
"No, no!" replied Mr. Stanton.
Hélène went out and closed the door. As she reached the stairway she
heard the key turn in the lock. "Why does he lock himself in?" she
thought. When Hélène returned to the music room she found her music
master waiting patiently for her.
"Forgive me for keeping you waiting!" she said.
"There is great pleasure even in waiting for those we love; we love to
teach, I should say," he added quickly.
Inwardly Hélène found herself contrasting her father with this man.
"If only he had the tenderness, the lovable qualities of this old
musician," she thought, "how I could love him!" As he was taking his
leave, her eye caught the music on top of the cabinet and in a moment
she saw it had been disturbed. She looked quickly at Von Barwig, but
he gave no sign that he knew of its existence.
"I hope some day to be able to play those compositions for you," she
said, pointing to them.
"Yes," replied Von Barwig with a smile. "I hope so."
"I'll surprise you some day," she added.
"Yes," said Von Barwig simply, and he determined to allow her to
surprise him. "Good-bye!" he said, bowing. She held out her hand.
"Good-bye!" she replied almost tenderly.
"To-morrow at the same time?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes, of course."
Von Barwig breathed a sigh of relief. "She is not angry," he thought.
"And it will very soon be to-morrow!"