THE rector of St Blank’s Church dined at the Cheney table or drove in the
Cheney establishment every week, beside which there were always one or
two confidential chats with the feminine Cheneys in the parsonage on
matters pertaining to the welfare of the church, and occasionally to the
welfare of humanity.
That Alice Cheney had conceived a sudden and consuming passion for the
handsome and brilliant rector of St Blank’s, both her mother and the
Baroness knew, and both were doing all in their power to further the
girl’s hopes.
While Alice resembled her mother in appearance and disposition,
propensities and impulses occasionally exhibited themselves which spoke
of paternal inheritance. She had her father’s strongly emotional nature,
with her mother’s stubbornness; and Preston Cheney’s romantic tendencies
were repeated in his daughter, without his reasoning powers. Added to
her father’s lack of self-control in any strife with his passions, Alice
possessed her mother’s hysterical nerves. In fact, the unfortunate child
inherited the weaknesses and faults of both parents, without any of their
redeeming virtues.
The passion which had sprung to life in her breast for the young rector,
was as strong and unreasoning as the infatuation which her father had
once experienced for Berene Dumont; but instead of struggling against the
feeling as her father had at least attempted to do, she dwelt upon it
with all the mulish persistency which her mother exhibited in small
matters, and luxuriated in romantic dreams of the future.
Mabel was wholly unable to comprehend the depth or violence of her
daughter’s feelings, but she realised the fact that Alice had set her
mind on winning Arthur Stuart for a husband, and she quite approved of
the idea, and saw no reason why it should not succeed. She herself had
won Preston Cheney away from all rivals for his favour, and Alice ought
to be able to do the same with Arthur, after all the money which had been
expended upon her wardrobe. Senator Cheney’s daughter and Judge
Lawrence’s granddaughter, surely was a prize for any man to win as a
wife.
The Baroness, however, reviewed the situation with more concern of mind.
She realised that Alice was destitute of beauty and charm, and that
Arthur Emerson Stuart (it would have been considered a case of high
treason to speak of the rector of St Blank’s without using his three
names) was independent in the matter of fortune, and so dowered with
nature’s best gifts that he could have almost any woman for the asking
whom he should desire. But the Baroness believed much in propinquity;
and she brought the rector and Alice together as often as possible, and
coached the girl in coquettish arts when alone with her, and credited her
with witticisms and bon-mots which she had never uttered, when talking of
her to the young rector.
“If only I could give Alice the benefit of my past career,” the Baroness
would say to herself at times. “I know so well how to manage men; but
what use is my knowledge to me now that I am old? Alice is young, and
even without beauty she could do so much, if she only understood the art
of masculine seduction. But then it is a gift, not an acquired art, and
Alice was not born with the gift.”
While Mabel and Alice had been centring their thoughts and attentions on
the rector, the Baroness had not forgotten the rector’s mother. She knew
the very strong affection which existed between the two, and she had
discovered that the leading desire of the young man’s heart was to make
his mother happy. With her wide knowledge of human nature, she had not
been long in discerning the fact that it was not because of his own
religious convictions that the rector had chosen his calling, but to
carry out the lifelong wishes of his beloved mother.
Therefore she reasoned wisely that Arthur would be greatly influenced by
his mother in his choice of a wife; and the Baroness brought all her vast
battery of fascination to bear on Mrs Stuart, and succeeded in making
that lady her devoted friend.
The widow of Judge Lawrence was still an imposing and impressive figure
wherever she went. Though no longer a woman who appealed to the desires
of men, she exhaled that peculiar mental aroma which hangs ever about a
woman who has dealt deeply and widely in affairs of the heart. It is to
the spiritual senses what musk is to the physical; and while it may often
repulse, it sometimes attracts, and never fails to be noticed. About the
Baroness’s mouth were hard lines, and the expression of her eyes was not
kind or tender; yet she was everywhere conceded to be a universally
handsome and attractive woman. Quiet and tasteful in her dressing, she
did not accentuate the ravages of time by any mistaken frivolities of
toilet, as so many faded coquettes have done, but wisely suited her
vestments to her appearance, as the withering branch clothes itself in
russet leaves, when the fresh sap ceases to course through its veins.
New York City is a vast sepulchre of “past careers,” and the adventurous
life of the Baroness was quietly buried there with that of many another
woman. In the mad whirl of life there is small danger that any of these
skeletons will rise to view, unless the woman permits herself to strive
for eminence either socially or in the world of art.
While the Cheneys were known to be wealthy, and the Senator had achieved
political position, there was nothing in their situation to challenge the
jealousy of their associates. They moved in one of the many circles of
cultured and agreeable people, which, despite the mandate of a
M‘Allister, formed a varied and delightful society in the metropolis;
they entertained in an unostentatious manner, and there was nothing in
their personality to incite envy or jealousy. Therefore the career of
the Baroness had not been unearthed. That the widow of Judge Lawrence,
the stepmother of Mrs Cheney, was known as “The Baroness” caused some
questions, to be sure, but the simple answer that she had been the widow
of a French baron in early life served to allay curiosity, while it
rendered the lady herself an object of greater interest to the majority
of people.
Mrs Stuart, the rector’s mother, was one of those who were most impressed
by this incident in the life of Mrs Lawrence. “Family pride” was her
greatest weakness, and she dearly loved a title. She thought Mrs
Lawrence a typical “Baroness,” and though she knew the title had only
been obtained through marriage, it still rendered its possessor
peculiarly interesting in her eyes.
In her prime, the Baroness had been equally successful in cajoling women
and men. Though her day for ruling men was now over, she still possessed
the power to fascinate women when she chose to exert herself. She did
exert herself with Mrs Stuart, and succeeded admirably in her design.
And one day Mrs Stuart confided her secret anxiety to the ear of the
Baroness; and that secret caused the cheek of the listener to grow pale
and the look of an animal at bay to come into her eyes.
“There is just one thing that gives me a constant pain at my heart,” Mrs
Stuart had said. “You have never been a mother, yet I think your
sympathetic nature causes you to understand much which you have not
experienced, and knowing as you do the great pride I feel in my son’s
career, and the ambition I have for him to rise to the very highest
pinnacle of success and usefulness, I am sure you will comprehend my
anxiety when I see him exhibiting an undue interest in a girl who is in
every way his inferior, and wholly unsuited to fill the position his wife
should occupy.”
The Baroness listened with a cold, sinking sensation at her heart
“I am sure your son would never make a choice which was not agreeable to
you,” she ventured.
“He might not marry anyone I objected to,” Mrs Stuart replied, “but I
dread to think his heart may be already gone from his keeping. Young men
are so susceptible to a pretty face and figure, and I confess that Joy
Irving has both. She is a good girl, too, and a fine musician; but she
has no family, and her alliance with my son would be a great drawback to
his career. Her father was a grocer, I believe, or something of that
sort; quite a common man, who married a third-class actress, Joy’s
mother. Mr Irving was in very comfortable circumstances at one time, but
a stroke of paralysis rendered him helpless some four years ago. He died
last year and left his widow and child in straitened circumstances. Mrs
Irving is an invalid now, and Joy supports her with her music. Mr Irving
and Joy were members of Arthur Emerson’s former church (Mrs Stuart always
spoke of her son in that manner), and that is how my son became
interested in the daughter—an interest I supposed to be purely that of a
rector in his parishioner, until of late, when I began to fear it took
root in deeper soil. But I am sure, dear Baroness, you can understand my
anxiety.”
And then the Baroness, with drawn lips and anguished eyes, took both of
Mrs Stuart’s hands in hers, and cried out:
“Your pain, dear madam, is second to mine. I have no child, to be sure,
but as few mothers love I love Alice Cheney, my dear husband’s
granddaughter. My very life is bound up in her, and she—God help us, she
loves your son with her whole soul. If he marries another it will kill
her or drive her insane.”
The two women fell weeping into each other’s arms.