THEIR "RANK IS BUT THE GUINEA'S STAMP."
"And what does our Diogenes find to say?" said Mrs. Gower, gaily, as on
the night of the 9th November she gathered a few friends to supper,
after an evening at the Grand Opera House. "Come, Mr. Dale, like a good
man, confess that Mrs. Langtry is worth letting your tub go to staves
for."
"Well, on the whole, yes. I think she has improved."
"Improved! but I suppose one must be content with even such admission
from you."
"But, my dear lady, when a man has seen the best that London, Paris, and
New York can put on their theatre boards, what you in Canada offer is
merely _pour passez le temp_."
"Yes, I suppose one grows to feel like that; but I am glad I have yet a
few sights to see, if, by seeing everything, one loses one's zest for
anything."
"But you surely do not admire her choice of plays?"
"No; but I do really deem her a born actress, as clever as she is
charming."
"One could easily see, Mrs. Gower, that you got the worth of your ticket
in emotional feeling," said Mr. Smyth, laughingly, "for you visibly
trembled when 'ex-Captain Fortinbras' made his triumphant _expose_."
"Malevolent wretch! a thrill of horror did run through me, as well as of
pity for his unfortunate victim."
"My feelings are not so easily acted upon," said Mrs. Dale. "I was very
coolly watching to see if she could disentangle herself from the
villain's clutches, and her arms from her odious lace sleeves."
"The latter absorbed me," said lively Mrs. Smyth; "if I had such arms I
should never cover them, not even in mid-winter; you ought to pay more
for your ticket than we do, Elaine, you get more--more feelings--than we
do."
"Yes, I must trouble you for some more oysters, Mr. Dale; 'nerve tissue
is expensive,'" she laughingly answered.
"Her gowns, her robings, were in perfect taste," said Buckingham.
"Yes, Oscar Wilde would have breathed a sigh of satisfaction," said Mrs.
Gower.
"Speaking of our color-blending pet," said Mrs. Dale, "he wishes his
baby was a girl; he says girls drape so much better."
"Just fancy a thing like that living in our stirring times, and calling
itself a man," said Dale, contemptuously; "picture him beside the two
liberated Chicago Anarchists."
"Poor fellow! he would feel badly had the Communists the control of his
wardrobe," said Mrs. Gower.
"His would be a capital garb for a surveyor," said Mrs. Smyth; "I wish
Will would adopt it."
"Then would surveyors be on the increase when his measure would be
taken," laughed Mrs. Gower.
"Lilian has vivid recollections of my last home-coming, when I was a
mass of sticky York mud to my knees," said Smyth.
"I remember, Dale, you were disgusted at the Emma-Juch concert by reason
of large hats and small chatter," said Buckingham. "What did you think
of the manner of the audience to-night?"
"I think that, on the whole, when one considers the antecedents of the
moneyed people of Toronto, that they behaved themselves better, showed
more consideration for the feelings of others, in fact, ignored their
fine feathers--remembering that they were not the only occupants of the
theatre--better than at any other gathering of 'beauty and fashion' (in
newspaper parlance), that I have made one at."
"Yes; so I thought," said Buckingham; "and at the theatre, one escapes
the worrying nuisance of recalls, as felt at Toronto."
"I wish some star in the concert world would have the courage to insert
after her name, no encore," said Mrs. Gower, "for though we do recall,
it is astonishing how _ennuyeux_ the best numbers are in repetition."
"Will did an awfully daring thing at the Carreno-Juch concert," said
Mrs. Smyth, eagerly; "we had seats immediately behind the Cawsons; and
you know, Elaine, what a rude, boisterous----"
"My dear," said her friend, in mock reproof; "they are in society! have,
of course, the dollar, and, perforce, are fashionable! what in poor
people we should designate as rude and underbred, we must call in the
Cawsons, and that ilk, 'quite the thing, you know;' but proceed, _ma
chere_."
"Well, Will fidgetted, and they chattered across each other in audible
remarks, on acquaintances in the audience, on a luncheon they were to
give, as to the war-paint of a lady friend who had been presented to
Queen Victoria, when I, the meanest of her subjects (I use the words
figuratively, as Burdette says), pitied royalty; but the climax was
reached when in Raff's 'Ever of Thee,' a particular favorite of Will's,
the 'unruly member' was heard with renewed vigor, when this husband of
mine rose in his might, and to his feet, saying audibly, 'Come, let us
try if the low price seats hold better-bred people.'"
"Bravo! bravo!" cried Buckingham.
"Very well put," said Dale; "short a time as I have been in Toronto, I
have observed that for culture and refinement one must look to the
people who live on modest incomes, or salaries; middle class is a phrase
I find no use for. In this country there are the 'vulgar rich,' whose
'rank is but the guinea's stamp,' and well-bred poor; there are
impoverished gentry, with an innate refinement showing in their too
often struggling descendants; there are the moneyed people, lacking what
filthy lucre cannot buy, namely, good breeding, and who never weary in
parading their jewels, furniture and fine clothes."
"Very true," said Mrs. Gower; "I have frequently thought at some of our
large social gatherings, that it is a pity one's blood cannot be
analyzed instead of one's gown."
"What a resurrection there would be," said Buckingham; "not a few would
long to pocket their own heads."
"A sympathetic artiste must feel any want of oneness in her audience,"
said Mrs. Dale; "I should throw my roll of music at them and retire."
"At which, dear, they would only give their unwearied cry of 'encore,'"
said her hostess; "it is very evident we are all at one in a very
decided distaste for mongrels; but, Mr. Buckingham, during your run on
the Kingston and Pembroke rail you missed hearing the Rev. Jackson
Wray."
"Yes; did he please you?"
"Extremely; both in his sermonizing and in his lecture on George
Whitefield; he is eloquent, and his imagery and figurative language
charmed me."
"Indeed; in that case I regret to have missed him. Did you hear him,
Dale?"
"Yes, and though I regret the not being at one with Mrs. Gower in all
things," he said, smilingly, "must say he pleased me not."
"Pleased you not!" echoed his hostess; "then I abandon you to your tub;
the scholarly, the literary world, would be a desert did your sweeping
criticisms prevail."
"But how so, Dale? one would almost make sure of finding in him a rather
superior excellence, knowing that he holds a pulpit in such a city as
your London."
"Granted, Buckingham; but not only at London, but over the whole
Christianized world, mistakes are to be found in the pulpit."
"Oh, no, Dale, I cannot go with you; 'tis in the pew that mistakes
exist."
"I go with you there, Buckingham," he replied, wilfully misunderstanding
him; "the pew system is selling out the Gospel by the square foot," at
which his friend laughed.
"Mr. Dale," asked Mrs. Gower, "do you never allow the critic within you
to go to sleep, allow your really generous nature full play, and give
yourself up to enjoyment?"
"I do; for instance, now, here is a real enjoyment; but, pray, do not
dub me a critic."
"I fear I must in some of your moods; but see, the mere word, or the
silvery chimes of midnight, are lending wings to your wife, and Mrs.
Smyth: they are deserting us. Are you examining the heavens, dear?" she
says, following Mrs. Dale to a window.
"Look quick, Mrs. Gower, he won't see you if you peer through the slats;
and how awful! in among the bushes, out in that torrent of rain, there
is a----"
"Don't alarm Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham, quietly, who had neared them
unnoticed; "if there is anyone loitering about, let me open the shutters
and window, and step out."
"Good night, Mrs. Gower," called Smyth, from the hall; "our carriage
stops the way, and if I don't make a move, Lil never will," he says,
meeting her.
"Mr. Dale is too fascinating," laughed his wife. "Good night, Elaine;
Will thinks he hears baby crying, or he would not stir."
"Nice little baby, don't get in a fury 'cause mamma's gone to a play at
the theatre," sang Smyth, jokingly.
"Did you _really_ see anyone, Mrs. Dale?" had asked Buckingham, in a
grave whisper.
"I really did; the--but hush, she returns."
"You look pale, Mrs. Gower," he said, kindly, "put me up anywhere to
mount guard over you for to-night."
"Oh, no, I thank you, not for worlds," she said, nervously; but
recovering herself, added, "you know I have Thomas, and Mrs. Dale may
only have seen a shadow, like a cloud which will pass."
"Clouds sometimes precede a storm."
"But not always," she says, with a sudden resolve, "for if Mrs. Dale
will stay with me all night, she will be its silver lining."
"Indeed, I shall with pleasure," she said, eagerly, adding, in mock
condescension, "Good night, Mr. Dale."
"What do you mean, Ella; our cab is here?"
"I am going to stay with Mrs. Gower, Henry, so good night, dear; an
extra blanket and night-cap must be my substitute," she said, as he
kissed her good night.
"Good night, Mr. Dale; you are keeping up your character for
generosity," said Mrs. Gower.
"Come along, Dale," said Buckingham, glad of the arrangement; "I shall
be with you as far as the Rossin House."
"Oh, Henry," called his wife, as he was entering the cab, "don't forget
the schools are on for to-morrow; Mrs. Gower says to come up at one, to
luncheon; don't forget Garfield and Miss Crew; and tell Miss Crew to
send me first thing, by electric despatch, 82 Yonge Street, my plum
walking dress, and bonnet to match, and----"
"No more, dear, please; you should have given it to me in manuscript
form, I fear I shall not remember it."
"Poor Capt. Cuttle, when found make a note on," said Mrs. Gower,
jokingly, but rather nervously, peering out, in and among the dark
bushes.
"I'll coach him," laughed Buckingham.
"Etc., etc., etc.," called out Mrs. Dale, as the hack rolls away.
As the friends turn from the door, Mrs. Gower herself seeing to the
fastenings and putting the chain on, Thomas said:
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but can you step this way, please?"
"But, Thomas," she said, trying in vain to battle with her fate.
"Yes ma'am, I know it's a shame to be a pestering of you at this hour,
but it's----"
"Very well, Thomas, I shall attend to it; excuse me, dear Mrs. Dale, for
a few moments, and then we must really go to bed."
"That's all right; I know what the calls upon a housekeeper are."
Quick as a flash, on the exit of her hostess, the portiere hangings are
drawn, the gas at one end turned out, the window flown to.
"Yes, my lady crouches there still, and--yes, that is he on the kitchen
steps; the light from the window points you out to me, my dear
cupid--done up by a west-end tailor; the door opens, which shows me my
kind hostess; and now for the woman--for ferret out this mystery I
shall--for in some way, unknown to me, this gentleman and follower are
worrying the life out of my friend."
With a waterproof on, noiselessly she opens the window and shutters; a
step and the veranda is reached; with beckoning hand she endeavors to
attract the attention of the woman, but without success, as she is
wholly absorbed in watching the door by which the man entered. Afraid of
attracting attention by calling out, she twists a couple of buttons off
her waterproof, throwing them on to the gravel walk; her object is
gained and defeated simultaneously, for the woman, taking fright, makes
for the gate, at which Tyr, who had made his exit on the man making his
_entree_, swift as a deer, ran barking after her; but she is safe
outside the gate, at which Mrs. Dale quiets Tyr, who has come up to her,
rubbing his cold nose to her still colder hands. And now to make another
attempt. In a few moments the gate is reached; yes, the woman is
standing under the shade of a tree on the boulevard, the lamplight
falling full upon Mrs. Dale.
"Down, Tyr, be quiet; down, I say. Come here, young woman; don't fear, I
only wish to speak to you."
"I won't go there; let me alone, for I warn you, I am a desperate
woman," she growled, in threatening tones, Tyr making a dash to be at
her.
"Come here, Tyr, it's all right. But what is your trouble? If you will
only trust me, I feel sure I can help you," she says, breathlessly, for
she does not wish her friend to miss her.
"_You help me!_ go away with your smooth serpent tongue; away to that
other hussy, in her silks and jewels, robbing an honest woman of
her----"
But her sentence was never finished, for the man is coming; and quick as
a deer she is out of sight.
Mrs. Dale is quietly seated by the cheerful grate, apparently absorbed
in "Cleveland's winning card," as given in _Judge_, when her hostess
returns, looking sad and troubled.
"I don't know how it is I feel so nervous to-night, dear," she said,
seeing to the window fastenings; "I am so glad you are with me, but you
will find me very doleful."
"Not a bit of it, Mrs. Gower; I am no relation to an acquaintance of
mine, who is not content unless one is making a buffoon of oneself for
her especial delectation."
"I fear she would cut my acquaintance in my present mood. I am going to
ask you a favor, dear; it is to call me Elaine; I shall feel less alone
in this big world, and can talk to you more freely, hearing my Christian
name. I dare say it is a childish fancy for a woman of my age, but----"
"But me--no buts. Elaine, we are true friends, and you have some secret
trouble which I ought to share, else, what use is my friendship to you;
you will tell it me, dear?" and the pretty Irish eyes look up into the
dark ones bending over her with a questioning look.
"Tell me first, dear, did you recognize anyone in the garden to-night?"
"I did, Elaine."
At this, covering her face with her coldly nervous hands, she said,
brokenly:
"God help me, I am driven by the winds, and tossed; I must sleep on it
to-night, and if I feel strong enough, tell you all to-morrow."
"That's right, and to insure your being brave enough, you must take the
best tonic, sleep; so let us mount," she said affectionately, rising and
taking her friend's arm.
"Very well, dear; and the dropping rain shall be my lullaby in wooing
the god of slumber."