Bernard talked of this matter rather theoretically, inasmuch as to
his own sense, he was in a state neither of incipient nor of absorbed
fascination. He got on very easily, however, with Angela Vivian, and
felt none of the mysterious discomfort alluded to by his friend. The
element of mystery attached itself rather to the young lady’s mother,
who gave him the impression that for undiscoverable reasons she avoided
his society. He regretted her evasive deportment, for he found something
agreeable in this shy and scrupulous little woman, who struck him as a
curious specimen of a society of which he had once been very fond. He
learned that she was of old New England stock, but he had not needed
this information to perceive that Mrs. Vivian was animated by the genius
of Boston. “She has the Boston temperament,” he said, using a
phrase with which he had become familiar and which evoked a train of
associations. But then he immediately added that if Mrs. Vivian was a
daughter of the Puritans, the Puritan strain in her disposition had
been mingled with another element. “It is the Boston temperament
sophisticated,” he said; “perverted a little--perhaps even corrupted.
It is the local east-wind with an infusion from climates less tonic.” It
seemed to him that Mrs. Vivian was a Puritan grown worldly--a Bostonian
relaxed; and this impression, oddly enough, contributed to his wish to
know more of her. He felt like going up to her very politely and saying,
“Dear lady and most honored compatriot, what in the world have I done
to displease you? You don’t approve of me, and I am dying to know the
reason why. I should be so happy to exert myself to be agreeable to you.
It ‘s no use; you give me the cold shoulder. When I speak to you, you
look the other way; it is only when I speak to your daughter that you
look at me. It is true that at those times you look at me very hard, and
if I am not greatly mistaken, you are not gratified by what you see.
You count the words I address to your beautiful Angela--you time our
harmless little interviews. You interrupt them indeed whenever you can;
you call her away--you appeal to her; you cut across the conversation.
You are always laying plots to keep us apart. Why can’t you leave me
alone? I assure you I am the most innocent of men. Your beautiful Angela
can’t possibly be injured by my conversation, and I have no designs
whatever upon her peace of mind. What on earth have I done to offend
you?”
These observations Bernard Longueville was disposed to make, and one
afternoon, the opportunity offering, they rose to his lips and came very
near passing them. In fact, however, at the last moment, his eloquence
took another turn. It was the custom of the orchestra at the Kursaal
to play in the afternoon, and as the music was often good, a great many
people assembled under the trees, at three o’clock, to listen to it.
This was not, as a regular thing, an hour of re-union for the little
group in which we are especially interested; Miss Vivian, in particular,
unless an excursion of some sort had been agreed upon the day before,
was usually not to be seen in the precincts of the Conversation-house
until the evening. Bernard, one afternoon, at three o’clock, directed
his steps to this small world-centre of Baden, and, passing along the
terrace, soon encountered little Blanche Evers strolling there under a
pink parasol and accompanied by Captain Lovelock. This young lady was
always extremely sociable; it was quite in accordance with her habitual
geniality that she should stop and say how d’ ye do to our hero.
“Mr. Longueville is growing very frivolous,” she said, “coming to the
Kursaal at all sorts of hours.”
“There is nothing frivolous in coming here with the hope of finding
you,” the young man answered. “That is very serious.”
“It would be more serious to lose Miss Evers than to find her,” remarked
Captain Lovelock, with gallant jocosity.
“I wish you would lose me!” cried the young girl. “I think I should like
to be lost. I might have all kinds of adventures.”
“I ‘guess’ so!” said Captain Lovelock, hilariously.
“Oh, I should find my way. I can take care of myself!” Blanche went on.
“Mrs. Vivian does n’t think so,” said Bernard, who had just perceived
this lady, seated under a tree with a book, over the top of which she
was observing her pretty protege. Blanche looked toward her and gave her
a little nod and a smile. Then chattering on to the young men--
“She ‘s awfully careful. I never saw any one so careful. But I
suppose she is right. She promised my mother she would be tremendously
particular; but I don’t know what she thinks I would do.”
“That is n’t flattering to me,” said Captain Lovelock. “Mrs. Vivian
does n’t approve of me--she wishes me in Jamaica. What does she think me
capable of?”
“And me, now?” Bernard asked. “She likes me least of all, and I, on my
side, think she ‘s so nice.”
“Can’t say I ‘m very sweet on her,” said the Captain. “She strikes me as
feline.”
Blanche Evers gave a little cry of horror.
“Stop, sir, this instant! I won’t have you talk that way about a lady
who has been so kind to me.”
“She is n’t so kind to you. She would like to lock you up where I can
never see you.”
“I ‘m sure I should n’t mind that!” cried the young girl, with a
little laugh and a toss of her head. “Mrs. Vivian has the most perfect
character--that ‘s why my mother wanted me to come with her. And if she
promised my mother she would be careful, is n’t she right to keep her
promise? She ‘s a great deal more careful than mamma ever was, and that
‘s just what mamma wanted. She would never take the trouble herself. And
then she was always scolding me. Mrs. Vivian never scolds me. She only
watches me, but I don’t mind that.”
“I wish she would watch you a little less and scold you a little more,”
said Captain Lovelock.
“I have no doubt you wish a great many horrid things,” his companion
rejoined, with delightful asperity.
“Ah, unfortunately I never have anything I wish!” sighed Lovelock.
“Your wishes must be comprehensive,” said Bernard. “It seems to me you
have a good deal.”
The Englishman gave a shrug.
“It ‘s less than you might think. She is watching us more furiously than
ever,” he added, in a moment, looking at Mrs. Vivian. “Mr. Gordon Wright
is the only man she likes. She is awfully fond of Mr. Gordon Wright.”
“Ah, Mrs. Vivian shows her wisdom!” said Bernard.
“He is certainly very handsome,” murmured Blanche Evers, glancing
several times, with a very pretty aggressiveness, at Captain Lovelock.
“I must say I like Mr. Gordon Wright. Why in the world did you come here
without him?” she went on, addressing herself to Bernard. “You two are
so awfully inseparable. I don’t think I ever saw you alone before.”
“Oh, I have often seen Mr. Gordon Wright alone,” said Captain
Lovelock--“that is, alone with Miss Vivian. That ‘s what the old lady
likes; she can’t have too much of that.”
The young girl, poised for an instant in one of her pretty attitudes,
looked at him from head to foot.
“Well, I call that scandalous! Do you mean that she wants to make a
match?”
“I mean that the young man has six thousand a year.”
“It ‘s no matter what he has--six thousand a year is n’t much! And we
don’t do things in that way in our country. We have n’t those horrid
match-making arrangements that you have in your dreadful country.
American mothers are not like English mothers.”
“Oh, any one can see, of course,” said Captain Lovelock, “that Mr.
Gordon Wright is dying of love for Miss Vivian.”
“I can’t see it!” cried Blanche.
“He dies easier than I, eh?”
“I wish you would die!” said Blanche. “At any rate, Angela is not dying
of love for Mr. Wright.”
“Well, she will marry him all the same,” Lovelock declared.
Blanche Evers glanced at Bernard.
“Why don’t you contradict that?” she asked. “Why don’t you speak up for
your friend?”
“I am quite ready to speak for my friend,” said Bernard, “but I am not
ready to speak for Miss Vivian.”
“Well, I am,” Blanche declared. “She won’t marry him.”
“If she does n’t, I ‘ll eat my hat!” said Captain Lovelock. “What do
you mean,” he went on, “by saying that in America a pretty girl’s mother
does n’t care for a young fellow’s property?”
“Well, they don’t--we consider that dreadful. Why don’t you say so,
Mr. Longueville?” Blanche demanded. “I never saw any one take things so
quietly. Have n’t you got any patriotism?”
“My patriotism is modified by an indisposition to generalize,” said
Bernard, laughing. “On this point permit me not to generalize. I am
interested in the particular case--in ascertaining whether Mrs. Vivian
thinks very often of Gordon Wright’s income.”
Miss Evers gave a little toss of disgust.
“If you are so awfully impartial, you had better go and ask her.”
“That ‘s a good idea--I think I will go and ask her,” said Bernard.
Captain Lovelock returned to his argument.
“Do you mean to say that your mother would be indifferent to the fact
that I have n’t a shilling in the world?”
“Indifferent?” Blanche demanded. “Oh no, she would be sorry for you. She
is very charitable--she would give you a shilling!”
“She would n’t let you marry me,” said Lovelock.
“She would n’t have much trouble to prevent it!” cried the young girl.
Bernard had had enough of this intellectual fencing.
“Yes, I will go and ask Mrs. Vivian,” he repeated. And he left his
companions to resume their walk.