SWEET DANGER.
"My Dear," said Mrs. Butler, one morning at the breakfast table, ten
days later, as she looked up from her letters to the vision of blonde
loveliness opposite, "here is a note from Mr. Durand--the American
gentleman we met, you remember. He is in Paris, and wishes to call."
"That is pleasant news," Dolores answered, smiling, "and I hope you will
forward our united permission and compliments by return mail."
"Really, Dolores, you quite astonish me!" ejaculated Mrs. Butler. "When
were you ever known to be so amiably disposed toward any gentleman
before? What spell has Mr. Durand exercised over you, I wonder?"
"The spell of sincerity and good sense!" responded Dolores, as she
sipped her coffee. "Two virtues so rare in mankind that it is no wonder
if they left an indelible impression upon me. Mr. Durand is, almost
without exception, the only gentleman I have met since my uncle died who
did not feel it his duty to express, in words or manner, a disbelief in
the sincerity of my views concerning marriage. You very well know, Mrs.
Butler, how discouraging have been my attempts at friendship with the
opposite sex, owing to this fact."
"Owing to your own charms, rather," Mrs. Butler corrected, "and to your
hatred for the sex. Men are not easily satisfied with the cold
indifference which you term friendship of a woman as fair as yourself."
"But I am not cold or indifferent to those who treat my opinions with
respect," Dolores insisted. "And I am not a man-hater. I would like the
companionship of men right well. I enjoy their society more than I enjoy
the society of most women. They have broader views; they get outside of
themselves far more than women do; they dwell less in their own
emotions; and are, consequently, more interesting. But the selfishness,
conceit and sensuality of men render them impossible friends for
unprotected women."
"You must not include all men in that sweeping sarcasm, Dolores. There
are exceptions."
"Possibly. I hope Mr. Durand is one. I speak of men as I have found
them. You remember Clarence Walker, and how positive I was that I had
found a loyal friend in him? And you know the result."
"Yes; he became madly in love with you. I do not see how either of those
three condemnatory terms apply to him, however."
"But I do. Since he knew from the outset my firm resolve to never marry,
he ought not to have allowed himself to think of me as a possible wife.
But in his masculine conceit he really believed he could overcome the
principles of a lifetime. Each man considers himself the Prince
Charming, who holds the key to the enchanted palace of a woman's heart.
Positively, the vanity of the sterner sex is colossal in its magnitude.
Then, you know, there was Count D'Estey, with his really charming sister
and picturesque mother. You remember my experience with him?"
"Certainly. He imagined you to be much wealthier than you are, my dear;
and your fortune and your beauty were great temptations. It is no wonder
he made an effort to win you. Foreign counts are born to be supported by
American heiresses."
"And he ruined three delightful friendships by the futile effort. Yet
that was the selfishness of the man's nature. Last of all, you know the
result of my acquaintance with General Veddars?"
"Pardon me; but I do not. I only know that you returned from their
country seat unexpectedly, joined me in London, and never referred to
the subject of your acquaintance with the family again. I confess that I
have often wondered what occurred to break up the intimacy which seemed
so pleasant at one time."
"Well, then, I will tell you what happened," answered Dolores, with fine
scorn in her face and voice. "Because I was outspoken and frank upon
the subject of marriage, because I repeatedly declared that I should
never be the wife of any man, General Veddars, it seems, imagined I was
utterly lacking in mental and moral balance. At all events, he forgot
himself--forgot that he was old enough to be my father, and that his
wife was my devoted friend; and he embarrassed me with his attentions.
Is it any wonder that I left his house, angry, shocked, and with a
greater contempt for men and husbands than ever?"
Mrs. Butler shook her head. "There is no object in life more
disgusting," she said, "than a man who carries the fires of an
unlicensed youth into old age. I confess you have good cause to feel
disappointed in your masculine friends. Let us hope that Mr. Durand will
prove a success. One thing is certain--he comes of an excellent family;
and he bears the best of reputations among men, and while he is not a
ladies' man, he is very popular with our sex."
Dolores laughed lightly.
"The fact that his family is excellent, does not necessarily speak well
for him," she said. "Many a low rascal on earth boasts of his noble
ancestors under ground. And that he bears the best of reputations among
men, is no proof that he may not be the worst companion possible for a
woman. I am relieved to hear you say that he is not a ladies' man. That
term always suggests to me a frivolous nature, something even more
intolerable in a man than a woman. But really, _ma chère_, we are
devoting more time to the discussion of this stranger, than is
profitable. If we are to see the World's Fair in detail, as we have
determined, _allons à l'Exhibition_."
A few hours later, as the two ladies sauntered under the gorgeous
Oriental canopies known as the "India House," they came face to face
with the very subject of their morning dissertation--Mr. Percy Durand.
They exchanged cordial greetings, and it seemed to Mrs. Butler that a
tint as delicate as the first faint hue of dawn, colored the creamy
pallor of Dolores's cheek.
"I wonder what it means?" she asked herself. "Marriage no doubt, that
final Nirvana which covers so many theorists with oblivion. Heaven speed
the wooing!"
At the same time Percy was thinking, "How delightful to meet a lovely
and companionable girl who is entirely free to receive your polite
attentions, and whom you positively know expects and desires nothing
more from you. It gives a fellow such a comfortable sensation."
In view of the fact that Mr. Durand had, several times in his life, been
obliged to flee from designing Mammas, and too willing maidens, we can
forgive his somewhat egotistical soliloquy.
Dolores felt an agreeable sense of being perfectly at ease in the
presence of Mr. Durand, and rendered herself unusually charming. Percy
sauntered by the ladies while they visited various departments, and they
finally lunched together. Both he and Dolores were gifted with refined
wit, and ready powers of repartee, and Mrs. Butler was an appreciative
listener to their gay sallies and bright criticisms.
"Positively I feel as if I had known both of you ladies all my life!"
Percy said, as the day wore on. "It would require months, or years, in
our own land to arrive at this pleasant feeling of comradeship. There is
nothing like a rencontre in a foreign country, to break the ice of
reserve."
"Quite true," Mrs. Butler responded. "We enjoy each other's society
better here, too, I think, because we all indulge the vein of
Bohemianism which exists in us, and which we carefully hide from view at
home. For instance: I met a party of staid and respectable men and
matrons from Boston the other day. They had just paid a visit to the
Mabille. 'A very wicked place,' they said; 'yet everybody seems to go,
so we went.' These same people would no sooner visit a concert garden in
America than they would deliberately walk into Purgatory."
"I could relate similar experiences," was Percy's laughing rejoinder.
"When I first came abroad I was accompanied by a very devout young man.
He had often taken me to task for my Club habits. 'A fashionable club is
the ante-room to a gambler's hell,' he said; and so far as I knew, he
lived up to the rigorous code of morals he preached to others. What was
my amazement to find his curiosity fairly unsatiable in regard to the
wicked side of Parisian life.
"Beautiful parks, fine operas, and grand cathedrals and works of art,
were all neglected by him, until he had explored, to his satisfaction,
all the gaming-houses and variety theatres in the city of Paris. It was
very amusing."
When Percy made his adieux to the ladies it was with the understanding
that he should dine with them at their temporary home, on the Avenue
Josephine, the following afternoon, and escort them to the theatre in
the evening.
"Never before, Dolores," said Mrs. Butler, after Percy had taken his
departure, "did I see you so charming as you have been to-day. Mr.
Durand will be a phenomenal sort of man if he remains impervious to your
charms, my dear. But then I have heard that some affair in his early
life quite wrecked his heart. And so, I suppose, he has nothing but
friendship to give any woman, now."
If Mrs. Butler's secret wish was to rouse the woman's desire (latent in
almost every feminine heart), to strive for that which is supposed to be
unattainable, it signally failed. Her remark simply gave Dolores an
added sense of freedom and rest in Mr. Durand's society. "Love is like
measles," she reasoned--"not liable to occur the second time."
Meanwhile Percy was saying to himself:
"She is one of the most beautiful of her sex. She pleases the eye, and
entertains the mind, without touching the heart.
"Yet, it is a dangerous situation for any man to assume--this rôle of
intimate friend to a lovely woman, which seems suddenly to have fallen
to me. It would be wisdom on my part, and save no end of trouble,
probably, if I took refuge in flight at once."
Yet what man ever fled from such sweet danger?