IMMATURE
"Is she a young lady, or merely a school-girl?" was Haldane's query
concerning the stranger sitting opposite to him; and he addressed to her
a few commonplace but exploring remarks. Regarding himself as well
acquainted with society in general, and young ladies in particular, he
expected to solve the question at once, and was perplexed that he could
not. He had flirted with several misses as immature as himself, and so
thought that he was profoundly versed in the mysteries of the sex. "They
naturally lean toward and look up to men, and one is a fool, or else
lacking in personal appearance, who does not have his own way with
them," was his opinion, substantially.
Modesty is a grace which fine-looking young men of large wealth are
often taught by some severe experiences, if it is ever learned. Haldane,
as yet, had not received such wholesome depletion. His self-approval and
assurance, moreover, were quite natural, since his mother and sisters
had seldom lost an opportunity of developing and confirming these
traits. The yielding of women to his will and wishes had been one of the
most uniform experiences of his life, and he had come to regard it as
the natural order of things. Without formulating the thought in plain
words, he nevertheless regarded Mrs. Arnot's kindness, by which she
sought to gain a helpful influence over him, as largely due to some
peculiar fascination of his own, which made him a favorite wherever he
chose to be. Of course, the young stranger on the opposite side of the
table would prove no exception to the rule, and all he had to do was to
satisfy himself that she was sufficiently pretty and interesting to make
it worth while to pay her a little attention.
But for some reason she did not seem greatly impressed by his
commonplace and rather patronizing remarks. Was it pride or dignity on
her part, or was it mere girlish shyness? It must be the latter, for
there was no occasion for pride and dignity in her manner toward him.
Then came the thought that possibly Mrs. Arnot had not told her who he
was, and that she looked upon him as a mere clerk of low degree. To
remove from her mind any such error, his tones and manner became still
more self-asserting and patronizing.
"If she has any sense at all," he thought, "she shall see that I have
peculiar claims to her respect."
As he proceeded in these tactics, there was a growing expression of
surprise and a trace of indignation upon the young girl's face. Mrs.
Arnot watched the by-play with an amused expression. There was not much
cynicism in her nature. She believed that experience would soon prick
the bubble of his vanity, and it was her disposition to smile rather
than to sneer at absurdity in others. Besides, she was just. She never
applied to a young man of twenty the standard by which she would measure
those of her own age, and she remembered Haldane's antecedents. But Mr.
Arnot went to his library muttering:
"The ridiculous fool!"
When Miss Romeyn rose from the table, Haldane saw that she was certainly
tall enough to be a young lady, for she was slightly above medium
height. He still believed that she was very young, however, for her
figure was slight and girlish, and while her bearing was graceful it had
not that assured and pronounced character to which he had been
accustomed.
"She evidently has not seen much of society. Well, since she is not
gawky, I like her better than if she were blase. Anything but your blase
girls," he observed to himself, with a consciousness that he was an
experienced man of the world.
The piano stood open in the drawing-room, and this suggested music.
Haldane had at his tongue's end the names of half a dozen musicians
whose professional titles had been prominent in the newspapers for a few
months previous, and whose merits had formed a part of the current
chit-chat of the day. Some he had heard, and others he had not, but he
could talk volubly of all, and he asked Miss Romeyn for her opinion of
one and another in a manner which implied that of course she knew about
them, and that ignorance in regard to such persons was not to be
expected.
Her face colored with annoyance, but she said quietly and a trifle
coldly that she had not heard them.
Mrs. Arnot again smiled as she watched the young people, but she now
came to her niece's rescue, thinking also it would be well to disturb
Haldane's sense of superiority somewhat. So she said:
"Laura, since we cannot hear this evening the celebrated artists that
Mr. Haldane has mentioned, we must content ourselves with simple home
music. Won't you play for us that last selection of which you wrote to
me?"
"I hardly dare, auntie, since Mr. Haldane is such a critical judge, and
has heard so much music from those who make it a business to be perfect.
He must have listened to the selection you name a hundred times, for it
is familiar to most lovers of good music."
Haldane had sudden misgivings. Suppose he had not heard it? This would
be awkward, after his assumed acquaintance with such matters.
"Even if Mr. Haldane is familiar with it," Mrs. Arnot replied,
"Steibelt's Storm Rondo will bear repetition. Besides, his criticism may
be helpful, since he can tell you wherein you come short of the skilled
professionals."
Laura caught the twinkle in her aunt's eye, and went to the piano.
The young man saw at once that he had been caught in his own trap, for
the music was utterly unfamiliar. The rondo was no wonderful piece of
intricacy, such as a professional might choose. On the contrary, it was
simple, and quite within the capabilities of a young and well-taught
girl. But it was full of rich melody which even he, in his ignorance,
could understand and appreciate, and yet, for aught that he knew it was
difficult in the extreme.
At first he had a decided sense of humiliation, and a consciousness that
it was deserved. He had been talking largely and confidently of an art
concerning which he knew little, and in which he began to think that his
listener was quite well versed.
But as the thought of the composer grew in power and beauty he forgot
himself and his dilemma in his enjoyment. Two senses were finding
abundant gratification at the same time, for it was a delight to listen,
and it was even a greater pleasure to look at the performer.
She gave him a quick, shy glance of observation, fearing somewhat that
she might see severe judgment or else cool indifference in the
expression of his face, and she was naturally pleased and encouraged
when she saw, instead, undisguised admiration. His previous manner had
annoyed her, and she determined to show him that his superior airs were
quite uncalled for. Thus the diffident girl was led to surpass herself,
and infuse so much spirit and grace into her playing as to surprise even
her aunt.
Haldane was soon satisfied that she was more than pretty--that she was
beautiful. Her features, that had seemed too thin and colorless, flushed
with excitement, and her blue eyes, which he had thought cold and
expressionless, kindled until they became lustrous. He felt, in a way
that he could not define to himself, that her face was full of power and
mind, and that she was different from the pretty girls who had hitherto
been his favorites.
As she rose from the piano he was mastered by one of those impulses
which often served him in the place of something better, and he said
impetuously:
"Miss Romeyn, I beg your pardon. You know a hundred-fold more about
music than I do, and I have been talking as if the reverse were true. I
never heard anything so fine in my life, and I also confess that I never
heard that piece before."
The young girl blushed with pleasure on having thus speedily vanquished
this superior being, whom she had been learning both to dread and
dislike. At the same time his frank, impulsive words of compliment did
much to remove the prejudice which she was naturally forming against
him. Mrs. Arnot said, with her mellow laugh, that often accomplished
more than long homilies:
"That is a manly speech, Egbert, and much to your credit. 'Honest
confession is good for the soul.'"
Haldane did not get on his stilts again that evening, and before it was
over he concluded that Miss Romeyn was the most charming young lady he
had ever met, though, for some reason, she still permitted him to do
nearly all the talking. She bade him good-night, however, with a smile
that was not unkindly, and which was interpreted by him as being
singularly gracious.
By this time he had concluded that Miss Romeyn was a "young lady _par
excellence_"; but it has already been shown that his judgment in most
matters was not to be trusted. Whether she was a school-girl or a fully
fledged young lady, a child or a woman, might have kept a closer
observer than himself much longer in doubt. In truth, she was scarcely
the one or the other, and had many of the characteristics of both. His
opinion of her was as incorrect as that of himself. He was not a man,
though he considered himself a superior one, and had attained to manly
proportions.
But there were wide differences in their immaturity. She was forming
under the guidance of a mother who blended firmness and judgment equally
with love. Gentle blood was in her veins, and she had inherited many of
her mother's traits with her beauty. Her parents, however, believed
that, even as the garden of Eden needed to be "dressed and kept," so the
nature of their child required careful pruning, with repression here and
development there. While the young girl was far from being faultless,
fine traits and tendencies dominated, and, though as yet undeveloped,
they were unfolding with the naturalness and beauty of a budding flower.
In Haldane's case evil traits were in the ascendant, and the best hope
for him was that they as yet had not become confirmed.
"Who is this Mr. Haldane, auntie?" Laura asked on reaching her room.
There was a slight trace of vexation in her tone.
"He is the son of an old friend of mine. I have induced my husband to
try to give him a business education. You do not like him."
"I did not like him at all at first, but he improves a little on
acquaintance. Is he a fair sample of your young men proteges?"
"He is the least promising of any of them," replied Mrs. Arnot, sitting
down before the fire. Laura saw that her face had become shadowed with
sadness and anxiety.
"You look troubled, auntie. Is he the cause?"
"Yes."
"Are you very much interested in him?"
"I am, Laura; very much, indeed. I cannot bear to give him up, and yet I
fear I must."
"Is he a very interesting 'case'?" asked the young girl in some
surprise. "Mother often laughingly calls the young men you are trying to
coax to be good by your winning ways, 'cases.' I don't know much about
young men, but should suppose that you had many under treatment much
more interesting than he is."
"Sister Fanny is always laughing at my hobby, and saying that, since I
have no children of my own, I try to adopt every young man who will give
me a chance. Perhaps if I try to carry out your mother's figure, you
will understand why I am so interested in this 'case.' If I were a
physician and had charge of a good many patients, ought I not to be
chiefly interested in those who were in the most critical and dangerous
condition?"
"It would be just like you to be so, auntie, and I would not mind being
quite ill myself if I could have you to take care of me. I hope the
young men whom you 'adopt' appreciate their privileges."
"The trouble with most of us, Laura, is that we become wise too late in
life. Young people are often their own worst enemies, and if you wish to
do them good, you must do it, as it were, on the sly. If one tries
openly to reform and guide them--if I should say plainly, Such and such
are your faults; such and such places and associations are full of
danger--they would be angry or disgusted, or they would say I was blue
and strait-laced, and had an old woman's notions of what a man should
be. I must coax them, as you say; I must disguise my medicines, and
apply my remedies almost without their knowing it. I also find it true
in my practice that tonics and good wholesome diet are better than all
moral drugs. It seems to me that if I can bring around these giddy young
fellows refining, steadying, purifying influences, I can do them more
good than if I lectured them. The latter is the easier way, and many
take it. It would require but a few minutes to tell this young Haldane
what his wise safe course must be if he would avoid shipwreck; but I can
see his face flush and lip curl at my homily. And yet for weeks I have
been angling for him, and I fear to no purpose. Your uncle may discharge
him any day. It makes me very sad to say it, but if he goes home I think
he will also go to ruin. Thank God for your good, wise mother, Laura. It
is a great thing to be started right in life."
"Then this young man has been started wrong?
"Yes, wrong indeed."
"Is he so very bad, auntie?" Laura asked with a face full of serious
concern.
Mrs. Arnot smiled as she said, "If you were a young society chit, you
might think him 'very nice,' as their slang goes. He is good-looking and
rich, and his inclination to be fast would be a piquant fact in his
favor. He has done things which would seem to you very wrong indeed. But
he is foolish and ill-trained rather than bad. He is a spoiled boy, and
spoiled boys are apt to become spoiled men. I have told you all this
partly because, having been your mother's companion all your life, you
are so old-fashioned that I can talk to you almost as I would to sister
Fanny, and partly because I like to talk about my hobby."
A young girl naturally has quick sympathies, and all the influences of
Laura's life had been gentle and humane. Her aunt's words speedily led
her to regard Haldane as an "interesting case," a sort of fever patient
who was approaching the crisis of his disease. Curling down on the
floor, and leaning her arms on her aunt's lap, she looked up with a face
full of solicitude as she asked:
"And don't you think you can save him? Please don't give up trying."
"I like the expression of your face now," said Mrs. Arnot, stroking the
abundant tresses, that were falling loosely from the girl's head, "for
in it I catch a glimpse of the divine image. Many think of God as
looking down angrily and frowningly upon the foolish and wayward; but I
see in the solicitude of your face a faint reflection of the 'Not
willing that any should perish' which it ever seems to me is the
expression of His."
"Laura," said she abruptly, after a moment, "did any one ever tell you
that you were growing up very pretty?"
"No, auntie," said the girl, blushing and laughing.
"Mr. Haldane told you so this evening."
"O auntie, you are mistaken; he could not have been so rude."
"He did not make a set speech to that effect, my dear, but he told you
so by his eyes and manner, only you are such an innocent home child that
you did not notice. But when you go into society you will be told this
fact so often that you will be compelled to heed it, and will soon learn
the whole language of flattery, spoken and unspoken. Perhaps I had,
better forewarn you a little, and so forearm you. What are you going to
do with your beauty?"
"Why, auntie, how funny you talk! What should I do with it, granting
that it has any existence save in your fond eyes?"
"Suppose you use it to make men better, instead of to make them merely
admire you. One can't be a belle very long at best, and of all the
querulous, discontented, and disagreeable people that I have met,
superannuated belles, who could no longer obtain their revenue of
flattery, were the worst. They were impoverished, indeed. If you do as I
suggest, you will have much that is pleasant to think about when you
come to be as old as I am. Perhaps you can do more for young Haldane
than I can."
"Now, auntie, what can I do?"
"That which nearly all women can do: be kind and winning; make our safe,
cosey parlor so attractive that he will not go out evenings to places
which tend to destroy him. You feel an interest in him; show it. Ask him
about his business, and get him to explain it to you. Suggest that if
you were a man you would like to master your work, and become eminent in
it. Show by your manner and by words, if occasion offers, that you love
and revere all that is sacred, pure, and Christian. Laura, innocent dove
as you are, you know that many women beguile men to ruin with smiles.
Men can be beguiled from ruin with smiles. Indeed, I think multitudes
are permitted to go to destruction because women are so unattractive, so
absorbed in themselves and their nerves. If mothers and wives, maidens
and old maids, would all commence playing the agreeable to the men of
their household and circle, not for the sake of a few compliments, but
for the purpose of luring them from evil and making them better, the
world would improve at once."
"I see, auntie," said Laura, laughing; "you wish to administer me as a
sugar-coated pill to your 'difficult case.'"
A deep sigh was the only answer, and, looking up, Laura saw that her
words had not been heeded. Tears were in her aunt's eyes, and after a
moment she said brokenly:
"My theories seem true enough, and yet how signally I have failed in
carrying them out! Perhaps it is my fault; perhaps it is my fault; but
I've tried--oh! how I have tried! Laura, dear, you know that I am a
lonely woman; but do not let this prejudice you against what I have
said. Good-night, dear; I have kept you up too long after your journey."
Her niece understood her allusion to the cold, unloving man who sat
alone every evening in his dim library, thinking rarely of his wife, but
often of her wealth, and how it might increase his leverage in his
herculean labors. The young girl had the tact to reply only by a warm,
lingering embrace. It was an old sorrow, of which she had long been
aware; but it seemed without remedy, and was rarely touched upon.