A DRAWN BATTLE
"And all the time the marble _belonged_ in the coffee-pot spout!"
"How do you know? Who told you?"
Rufe and Cousin Eunice looked up from the grape-fruit which had been
absorbing their attention. They always sleep late on Sunday morning,
and, on account of the headache and croup of the night before, they
had slept later than usual this morning. I had been up for hours and
had already had a walk out in the brilliant October sunshine.
"Your Cousin Richard told me!"
My words were quietly spoken, with only a tiny smile that insisted
upon creeping around the corners of my mouth, out of sheer happiness
from speaking his name. But, quiet as they were, they electrified the
two at the table.
"Ann! _What?_"
"'Tis true. The marble is placed in there, when the pot is being
made--to keep in the heat, you understand. Richard always makes the
coffee himself on hunting-trips, and--"
"Ann! _Will_ you hush talking about coffee-pots? Tell us what you
mean! Are you already engaged to Richard Chalmers?"
"Yes. _Engaged!_"
"Well, upon my word! And this is how the shy young creatures feel
about the matter when the man's back is turned," Rufe said, starting
up and pulling out my chair for me. "You ought to have your eyes cast
down, and whisper the news with blushes and tears, you horribly modern
young woman!"
But he patted my shoulder affectionately and said Chalmers always had
been a lucky devil. Cousin Eunice stared at me a moment in silence.
"And you are very happy?" she asked.
"Yes. _Very_ happy."
"Then I congratulate you both." But she did not come and kiss me, for
which I was very thankful. I have a masculine dislike for scenes. It
was for this reason that I sprung the news of the marble in the spout
first.
She asked a few questions as to how it had come about, but, while she
manifested no great enthusiasm, she was too humane to make any
kill-joy reference to her request of me last night.
We finished breakfast and I pushed back my chair.
"Well, I must hurry and dress for church," I said, looking
nonchalantly out the window, for I knew that this would be another
bomb. I have always been a notorious heathen in my family circles. I
usually spend Sunday morning in the woods with a book of poetry or
philosophy--sometimes with two or three children from the village--but
I _never_ go to church.
The bomb exploded.
"Rufe, listen! Did you hear that? Going to church with her young man!"
"Well, it was his first request of me. I couldn't refuse it, could I?"
"Chalmers always has had a way of making people do exactly what he
wishes," Rufe said, coming up to Cousin Eunice to kiss her good-by.
"I shall do as he wishes when I think it is right," I answered with
some spirit, for it aroused me to think they should consider me an
incipient "doormat wife." "But of course he will soon learn that I am
not like his mother and Evelyn."
"God forbid that he should ever make you like them!" Cousin Eunice
said, with so much fervor that I looked at her in surprise.
"You don't think that he made them--what they are?" I asked.
"I--don't know," she said, looking at me gravely. "He is masterful;
but that is far from being a bad trait. I imagine that his attitude
toward you will be just what you make it. Be frank and sincere with
him always--just as you are with the rest of the world. And never let
him make you do anything that will lower your self-respect. Many wives
do not know the meaning of that word."
"But Richard will always exalt his wife."
"Yes. He will exalt everything that is _his_--simply because he
possesses self-respect himself, raised to the n-th power. You will be
the best-dressed, the best-housed, the best-established woman in your
set. And that set will be wherever he chooses to place you. If he
rises politically you will have a brilliant course marked out before
you; if he does not you will still have a life of luxury, leading the
smart set in Charlotteville."
"_Don't_," I begged, for she had spoken half in earnest about the life
in Charlotteville. "You know how I hate just plain society--the kind
that Mrs. Chalmers and Evelyn love. It would be the extinction of me.
Above everything else on earth I love freedom. But I also love the
'paths of glory.'"
"And, don't you see, dear child, that if you tread these paths with a
man as much older than yourself as Richard Chalmers is, and especially
a man whose disposition tends toward tyranny, that you will march to
the music that _he_ directs?"
"Well, if it's the music of his voice I shall bow my head and face the
east whenever I hear it."
"Don't think that I am a croaker, but I am a married woman and older
than you," she kept on, ignoring the extravagance of my last sentence,
"and I may be able to give you some advice that will help you. You are
a girl of an _intense_ nature, very candid, very kind-hearted, but
alas, very impractical. Having been reared as you were you are
naturally self-centered and visionary, with a capacity for
development, but as yet you have not reached any very high degree of
serenity or _strength_, in spite of all the pencil-marks you put in
your little volume of _Marcus Aurelius_. You have never had to
practise sacrifice, patience, endurance--any of the virtues which make
a _woman_, and without which life is a vain thing."
"All those things will come with--marriage," I said.
"With marriage where the man recognizes an equal partnership," she
amended.
"Cousin Eunice, you have no idea of what Richard thinks of me," I
explained, feeling very grave myself by this time, but wishing to set
her right in regard to my standing with my lover. "Of course all of
you still think of me as being ridiculously _young_ and irresponsible,
somehow, just because I have never, as you say, been put to any test.
But Richard knows that I am a woman, capable of knowing my own
mind--and he adores me--just as I do him."
"Dear," our voices had sunk low, and she came over and laid her hand
upon my arm, "an adoring husband is a delightful thing--between the
pages of a book. But you will need a man who loves and _trusts_ you."
"I am sure Richard does that."
"I hope so. It may be that you can be a power for good in his life,
taking a sincere interest in his work, and letting your own honesty be
a kind of bulwark to him in the corruption which will be sure to
assail him in his career. Never _hedge_ with him, Ann, in the little
things; then he will have an ideal of his wife which will keep _him_
from ever being tempted to hedge in the big things."
"You know it is not my nature to hedge," I replied, rather
emphatically.
"You have never been tempted to," she answered. "I know that you would
never come down to lying about the price of a fur coat, but luxuries
happen not to be your weak point."
"Fortunately not," I said, with a little laugh, for the discussion
seemed a waste of time to me. Still I know that newly engaged girls
and brides have to listen to a lot of admonishing from their female
relatives. I wished, upon this occasion, that I could take mine as
indifferently as I once saw a bride take hers. I was a child at the
time, but even then I was impressed by the absurdity of a conventional
aunt giving, in a well-modulated voice, the usual advice about "bear
and forbear," as the pretty little bride-niece sat by and allowed big,
conventional tears to roll down her cheeks, while she kept on
industriously cleaning her diamond rings!
"What is my weak point?"
I asked the question, half hoping that the talk would be steered away
from the radiant subject, but to my surprise I found that I was
moving around in a circle.
"Your weak point is Richard Chalmers--now and for the rest of your
life!"
"You mean?"
"I mean that you idealize him and worship him."
"I do," I answered proudly.
"And he thinks you are the prettiest little creature he ever saw, so
he wants you for his," she kept on, analyzing my feelings and his with
such a persistent accuracy that I found myself hoping my bridal advice
would be given me by some one with less power of character delineation
than is possessed by a lady novelist.
"Ann, when a middle-aged man marries a young woman, especially if the
man has money, he is likely to treat his wife less like a wife than
a--mistress. He showers her with violets, kisses, diamonds; but he
neither burdens her with his troubles nor calls upon her for help.
Now, this may be pleasant for the woman, if she be a certain type of
woman, who marries a man to be 'taken care' of, but it is not
conducive to character development. If the man is poor and the woman
has to _cook_ she has a better chance to enter the kingdom of heaven;
but this is a rare opportunity, for a young woman seldom marries a
middle-aged _poor_ man."
"But surely you don't think that I am marrying Richard for his money?"
There was no reproach in my tone; I was simply astounded that any one
could take such a view of the matter.
"Certainly not in cold-blood," she answered. "I think you are
bewildered--hypnotized by the halo which you have placed upon his
head; and the glitter of the man's amazing good looks."
"The halo was already there," I corrected, but not so staunchly as my
conscience made me feel that I should have done. Cousin Eunice has a
disagreeably convincing tone in argument.
"His good looks, while undeniably _there_, are enhanced by the luxury
with which he surrounds himself--his handsome clothes are a distinct
asset. Can you deny it?"
"Certainly not! And his cigars are a joy. When I shook out my hair
last night it was fragrant with the odor. He smoked, you know, out on
the balcony."
"Ah, and then you thought that your hair was a halo--because it had
the odor of his cigars in it!"
"Well, let's not get away from the subject of _his_ halo. I believe
you said that I placed it around his head?"
"You have done so, Ann! That halo has lain all the years of your life
in your imaginative mind. You have kept it in a sacred chamber of your
thoughts, while every tale of chivalry and every record of noble deeds
has sent you to that chamber with more golden virtues to weave into
the beautiful crown. Then one day you suddenly storm that room and
snatch up the halo to place it triumphantly upon the head of the first
startlingly handsome man you meet!"
"If I have had a halo I have placed it upon the head of Richard
Chalmers, who wears it so gracefully," I defended.
"I admit the grace," she said, still speaking gravely. "But--_does it
fit_?"
"Well, he will be here in less than an hour," I replied, looking up at
the clock in some alarm, for I felt that I must be very beautifully
and carefully dressed upon this occasion. "I want you to come in and
talk with him every time he comes, and maybe you will tell me if you
think I need to take any tucks in the halo!"
At half-past ten he came. I was still up-stairs when I heard the gate
click, but I ran to the window and gazed down upon him in silent
satisfaction. He threw away his cigar and swung briskly up the walk,
the morning sun shining down upon his glossy hat, and changing it into
an absurd kind of halo.
"How is my little girl?" he asked in a low tone as I met him in the
hall. "Has it seemed a long time since last night?"
We passed into the drawing-room and found chairs that would not be
directly in the line of vision of any one who might be crossing the
hall in front of the door. He caught my hand and pressed it, but there
was no sudden attempt at a stolen kiss. This was exactly to my liking,
for, above all things, I am _artistic_, and I should not care for a
lover who came in and kissed me before there had been time for any
display of feeling to warrant it. Yet I am saying nothing against this
habit in _husbands_.
"Have you been waiting long?" he asked, his eyes wandering approvingly
over my dressed-up, Sunday attire. I wore a pretty pink foulard silk,
with a tiny white figure in it, the cream lace yoke and bit of black
velvet ribbon at the collar managing some way to bring out the best
there is in my eyes and complexion, for when pink and I are left
alone we are not congenial. I felt a sudden sense of gratitude toward
the woman who had made the dress and put that yoke and collar to it,
for I realized that Richard would be quick to detect any
incompatibility of colors. His eyes were still approving when they
strayed down to my high-heeled black suede shoes! and I felt sinfully
proud of my instep.
"I've been dressed half an hour. Do I please you, Coeur de Lion?"
"You are so entirely perfect that I know now I can never find jewels
that will be worthy of you."
"Jewels?"
"Guess what I've been doing this morning!" He had leaned over closer
to my chair as he spoke, and he again caught my hand and pressed it.
I smiled and shook my head.
"I've been buying my sweetheart an engagement ring."
"Oh!"
"That's what detained me. I couldn't find a stone that I exactly cared
for."
He drew a little brown kid box from his pocket and touched the tiny
pearl clasp.
"See if you think this will do," he said, handing me the opened box.
On the rich satin lining lay a big blue diamond; it caught the gleams
of morning sunlight to its heart, then sent them back, with a dazzling
radiance, to my eyes.
I looked up at him and had begun to speak when there was the swish of
skirts at the door and Cousin Eunice came into the room. I closed the
box in my hand and listened to what she might say to him in greeting.
"I came to warn you two benighted young people that it is high time
for you to start to church, if you are still in the notion of going,"
she said, after she had shaken hands with Richard and remarked upon
the beauty of the morning. "You can't rely upon Ann to know anything
about church time," she continued, as he wheeled up a chair for her
and we all three sat down again. "She hasn't been to church since she
was in the infant class at Sunday-school."
"Ah! So I shall have missionary work to do--the first thing," he said,
answering her light banter. Then, after a moment he reached over and
took my hand, which was lying on the arm of my chair, in his. The
gesture was infinitely chivalrous and caressing.
"Mrs. Clayborne, Ann has told you of our happiness?"
"Yes. And I congratulate you sincerely." Her blue eyes were suddenly
grave and tender. She arose and extended her hand to him in frank
fellowship. He towered above her a moment as he gratefully pressed the
welcoming hand, then she turned and put her arm around my shoulder.
"Ann is my little sister," she said, looking into his eyes with a
steady glance. "You must always be very good to her."
"I expect to be," he answered gravely.
We showed her the ring and she admired its brilliant beauty.
"But, you conceited man," she said, with a really cousinly laugh as
she turned upon him, "you must have bought this before she accepted
you! She told me that the wonderful event happened only last night!
This is Sunday."
"Oh, I happen to know Harper pretty well," he explained, mentioning
the name of the best-known jeweler in the city. "I called him early
this morning and he went down and we took a look through the vaults
together. This was rather the best stone I could find, so I waited for
him to set it for me."
"Well, I must admit that I admire both your taste and
your--precipitation," she said, smiling on him in the friendliest
fashion.
I had not had time before to give the matter a thought, but it dawned
upon me then that nobody save my imperial Richard would have had the
temerity to call a rich diamond merchant from his warm bed on a Sunday
morning and have him go forth with tools in hand to set a jewel.
Surely he could do anything he wished! He possesses an undoubted power
over men, and a high-handed, yet charming way of having people do as
he desires them to. Cousin Eunice was already showing signs of
weakening from her harsh judgment of the earlier morning. I remembered
suddenly the slim, satiny horse he was driving the day I first saw
him, and how he spoke only a word to her when she became frightened at
Alfred's car. She at once obeyed the influence of his voice. Tyrant?
He is no tyrant. He manages to get his way always by being so lovable
and so charming that it is a pleasure to give in to him.
"Well, shall we be off to church?" he asked as Cousin Eunice went out
into the hall to meet Waterloo, who was just then returning from
Sunday-school.
"If you prefer. I always try to take a long walk on Sunday morning. It
makes me feel so good and _holy_ somehow!"
He smiled. "And don't you feel that way in church?" he asked.
"No--except when the big pipe-organ is playing. I love the feeling of
cathedrals, without any organ, but I know that this is only a revel to
the senses, and it seems wicked to go--just for that."
He laughed outright. "So you think that people ought to get spiritual
upliftment from going to church, do you?"
"I do. And if they get no such upliftment I think they ought to have
respect enough for their Maker to stay away!"
"Their Maker? Are you so old-fashioned as to think that there is much
_worship_ in these churches--with their paid singers and their paid
preachers and their heedless, gossiping throngs?"
"There is _some_ worship. For the sake of those few I feel that the
reverential spirit ought always to be carried there. But I am like
you. I scorn hypocrisy. The sight of a notoriously immoral deacon or
steward sickens me with church-going for months. So I get my spiritual
upliftment from going near to nature's heart. The birds and the bees
are not orthodox--neither are they hypocrites."
"Well, you shall show me some of these temples of yours about the week
after next, when I have packed you off down home, and have speedily
followed you there."
"There are plenty such temples around here," I answered. "We might go
to-day."
"Yes, but we are going to church this morning."
"Why? You have just agreed with me that you gain nothing from
listening to a man who is paid so much a year to explain to you
something of which he knows nothing."
"Good heavens, child! What a sentence from the mouth of a babe! I go
to church because it is good form."
"Then you are the one who needs a missionary."
"Well, I'll promise to quit going altogether after we are married. I
shall expect you and mother and Evelyn to keep up the appearance of
respectability for the family."
"Listen, Richard," I said, standing close to him and lowering my
voice so that I might not be overheard. "I may as well tell you now,
in the beginning, that I could _never_ be a 'religious' woman the way
your mother is. Our ideas on the subject are wholly different. I have
a religion, but your conventional orthodoxy has little to do with it.
And I shall not pretend that it has."
"Ann! I believe I have fallen in love with a little reformer. Will you
be so good, madam, as to set forth your views?" He spoke in the
lightest tone of jest. Evidently he had no idea that a woman possessed
such a thing as views.
"Oh, it is a vague sort of belief; a dawning light of faith in the
Eternal Wisdom, against which orthodoxy seems like a harsh glare which
makes you squint your eyes."
"Upon my word! What would mother say to that?"
"She'll never say anything to it, for I shall never express such a
thought to her. It is a useless waste of breath. But, Richard, if you
love me, you will leave me untrammeled in such matters."
"My dear, you are to be untrammeled in all matters. My only wish is
your happiness. Now run and get your hat."
"I'm not going to church with you for the sake of good form."
"What?"
"My conscience would hurt me all day."
"Of course you are not in earnest," he said, and the smile died away
from his lips. "So hurry, dear. We are late already."
"But I am in earnest."
"Then you are a very foolish little girl, and I'll explain, as we walk
on down the street, why it is well for me to show my face in the
different churches around the city."
"You don't need to explain," I responded, but without stirring to get
my hat. "I know that it will gain votes for you. But I don't approve
of such methods."
"Ann, I have found that it will never do to discuss any kind of
business proposition with a woman. So let us not waste any more time
arguing the matter. Go and get your hat."
I had moved back from him a step or two and had opened my lips to
state my position again, when Cousin Eunice, for the second time,
broke in upon an interesting scene.
"Mr. Chalmers, Rufe has just called me to ask if you were out here.
It seems that there are some important out-of-town voters down at the
_Times_ office. They are anxious to see you, as they are just passing
through the city and will leave at two o'clock. Rufe apologized for
his cruelty, but he says it is important that you should come."
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Clayborne. Of course I shall have to go."
He turned to me with sudden regret. Evidently he had already forgotten
the slight difference of opinion. If he recalled it he would smile
over my "stubbornness."
After he was gone I told Cousin Eunice of the occurrence.
"So soon?" she asked, with a smile for my earnestness. She did not
consider his proposed offense such a crime as I did, but she looked
serious as I told her of our little clash. "If the telephone hadn't
summoned him I wonder which of you would have come off victorious?"
she questioned.
"I--wonder?" I repeated absently, but the big diamond was flashing a
reminder of his love into my eyes and heart, and, as Cousin Eunice
turned and left me, I bent and kissed the stone.