Grant’s first visit to the home of his private stenographer was not his
last, and the news leaked out, as it is sure to do in such cases. The
social set confessed to being on the point of being shocked. Two schools
of criticism developed over the five o’clock tea tables; one held that
Grant was a gay dog who would settle down and marry in his class when he
had had his fling, and the other that Phyllis Bruce was an artful hussy
who was quite ready to sell herself for the Grant millions. And there
were so many eligible young women on the market, although none of them
were described as artful hussies!
Grant’s behavior, however, placed him under no cloud in so far as social
opportunities were concerned; on the contrary, he found himself being
showered with invitations, most of which he managed to decline on the
grounds of pressure of business. When such an excuse would have been too
transparent he accepted and made the best of it, and he found no lack
of encouragement in the one or two incipient amorous flurries which
resulted. From such positions he always succeeded in extricating
himself, with a quiet smile at the vagaries of life. He had to admit
that some of the young women whom he had met had charms of more
than passing moment; he might easily enough find himself chasing the
rainbow....
Mrs. LeCord carried the warfare into his own office. The late Mr. LeCord
had left her to face the world with a comfortable fortune and three
daughters, of whom the youngest was now married and the oldest was a
forlorn hope. To place the second was now her purpose, and the best
bargain on the market was young Grant. Caroline, she was sure, would
make a very acceptable wife, and the young lady herself confessed a
belief that she could love even a bold Westerner whose bank balance was
expressed in seven figures.
The fact that Grant avoided social functions only added zest to the
determination with which Mrs. LeCord carried the war into his own
office. She chose to consult him for advice on financial matters and she
came accompanied by Caroline, a young woman rather prepossessing in her
own right. The two were readily admitted into Grant’s private office,
where they had opportunity not only to meet the young man in person, but
to satisfy their curiosity concerning the Bruce girl.
“I am Mrs. LeCord, Mr. Grant,” the lady introduced herself. “This is my
daughter Caroline. We wish to consult you on certain financial matters,
privately, if you please.”
Grant received them cordially. “I shall be glad to advise you, if I
can,” he said.
Mrs. LeCord cast a significant glance at Phyllis Bruce.
“Miss Bruce is my private stenographer. You may speak with perfect
freedom.”
Mrs. LeCord took up her subject after a moment’s silence. “Mr. LeCord
left me not entirely unprovided for,” she explained. “Almost a million
dollars in bonds and real estate made a comfortable protection for me
and my three daughters against the buffetings of a world which, as you
may have found, Mr. Grant, is not over-considerate.”
“The buffetings of the world are an excellent training for the world’s
affairs.”
“Maybe so, maybe so,” his visitor conceded. “However, there are other
trainings--trainings of finer quality, Mr. Grant--than those which have
to do with subsistence. I have been able to give my daughters the best
education that money could command, and, if I do say it, I permit myself
some gratification over the result. Gretta is comfortably and happily
married,--a young man of some distinction in the financial world--a Mr.
Powers, Mr. Newton Powers--you may happen to know him; Madge, I think,
is always going to be her mother’s girl; Caroline is still heart-free,
although one can never tell--”
“Oh, mother!” the girl protested, blushing daintily.
“I said you could never tell, Mr. Grant,--while handsome young men like
yourself are at large.” Mrs. LeCord laughed heartily, as much as to say
that her remark must be regarded only as a little pleasantry. “But you
will think I am a gossipy old body,” she continued briskly. “I really
came to discuss certain financial matters. Since Mr. LeCord’s death
I have taken charge of all the family business affairs with, if I
may confess it, some success. We have lived, and my girls have been
educated, and our little reserve against a rainy day has been almost
doubled, in addition to giving Gretta a hundred thousand in her own
right on the occasion of her marriage. Caroline is to have the same, and
when I am done with it there will be a third of the estate for each. In
the meantime I am directing my investments as wisely as I can. I want my
daughters to be provided for, quite apart from any income marriage may
bring them. I should be greatly humiliated to think that any daughter of
mine would be dependent upon her husband for support. On the contrary,
I mean that they shall bring to their husbands a sum which will be an
appreciable contribution toward the family fortune.”
“If I can help you in any way in your financial matters--” Grant
suggested.
“Oh, yes, we must get back to that. How I wander! I’m afraid, Mr. Grant,
I must be growing old.”
Grant protested gallantly against such conclusion, and Mrs. LeCord,
after asking his opinion on certain issues shortly to be floated, arose
to leave.
“You must find life in this city somewhat lonely, Mr. Grant,” she
murmured as she drew on her gloves. “If ever you find a longing for a
quiet hour away from business stress--a little domesticity, if I may say
it--our house--”
“You are very kind. Business allows me very few intermissions. Still--”
She extended her hand with her sweetest smile. Caroline shook hands,
too, and Grant bowed them out.
On other occasions Mrs. LeCord and her daughter were fortunate enough
to find Grant alone, and at such times the mother’s conversation became
even more pointed than in their first interview. Grant hesitated to
offend her, mainly on account of Caroline, for whom he admitted to
himself it would not be at all difficult to muster up an attachment.
There were, however, three barriers to such a development. One was the
obvious purpose of Mrs. LeCord to arrange a match; a purpose which, as
a mere matter of the game, he could not allow her to accomplish. One was
Zen Transley. There was no doubt about it. Zen Transley stood between
him and marriage to any girl. Not that he ever expected to take her
into his life, or be admitted into hers, but in some way she hedged him
about. He felt that everything was not yet settled; he found
himself entertaining a foolish sense that everything was not quite
irrevocable.... And then there was--perhaps--Phyllis Bruce.
When at length, for some reason, Mrs. LeCord visited him alone he
decided to be frank with her.
“You have thought me clever enough to advise you on financial matters?”
he queried, when his visitor had discussed at some length the new loan
in which she was investing.
“Why, yes,” she returned, detecting the personal note in his voice. “I
sometimes think, Mr. Grant, you hardly do yourself justice. Even the
hardest old heads on the Exchange are taking notice of you. I have heard
your name mentioned--”
“Then it may be presumed,” he interrupted, “that I am clever enough to
know the real purpose of your visits to this office?”
She turned a little in her chair, facing him squarely. “I hardly
understand you, Mr. Grant.”
“Then I possess an advantage, because I quite clearly understand you.
I have hesitated, out of consideration for your daughter, to show any
resentment of your behavior. But I must now tell you that when I marry,
if ever I do, I shall choose my wife without the assistance of her
mother, and without regard to her dowry or the size of the family bank
account.”
“Oh, I protest!” exclaimed Mrs. LeCord, who had grown very red. “I
protest against any such conclusion. I have seen fit to intrust
my financial affairs to your firm; I have visited you on
business--accompanied at times by my daughter, it is true--but only on
business; recognizing in you a social equal I have invited you to my
house, a courtesy which, so far, you have not found yourself able to
accept; but in all this I have shown toward you surely nothing but
friendliness and a respect amounting, if I may say it, to esteem. But
now that you are frank, Mr. Grant, I too will be frank. You cannot be
unaware of the rumors which have been associated with your name?”
“You mean about Miss Bruce?”
“Ah, then you know of them. You are a young man, and we older people are
disposed to make allowance for the--for that. But you must realize the
great mistake you would be making should you allow this matter to become
more than--a rumor.”
“I do not admit your right to question me on such a subject, Mrs.
LeCord, but I shall not avoid a discussion of it. Suppose, for the sake
of argument, that I were to contemplate marriage with Miss Bruce; if
she and her relatives were agreeable, what right would anyone have to
object?”
“It would be a great mistake,” Mrs. LeCord insisted, avoiding his
question. “She is not in your class--”
“What do you mean by ‘class’?”
“Why, I mean socially, of course. She lives in a different world. She
has no standing, in a social way. She works in an office for a living--”
“So do I,” he interrupted, “and your daughters do not. It would
therefore appear that I am more in Miss Bruce’s ‘class’ than in theirs.”
“Ah, but you are an employer. You direct things. You work because you
want to, not because you have to. That makes a difference.”
“Apparently it does. Well, if I had my way, everybody would work,
whether he wanted to or not. I would not allow any healthy man to
spend money which he had not earned by the sweat of his own brow. I am
convinced that that is the only economic system which is sound at
the bottom, but it would destroy ‘class,’ as at present organized, so
‘class’ must fight it.”
“I am afraid you are rather radical, Mr. Grant. You may be sure that a
system which has served so long and so well is a good system.”
“That introduces the clash between East and West. The East says because
things are so, and have always been so, they must be right. The West
says because things are so, and have always been so, they are in all
probability wrong. I guess I am a Westerner.”
“You should not allow your theories of economics to stand in the way of
your success,” Mrs. LeCord pursued. “Suppose I admit that Caroline would
not be altogether deaf to your advances. Suppose I admit that much.
Allowing for a mother’s prejudice, will you not agree with me that
Caroline has her attractions? She is well bred, well educated, and not
without appearance. She belongs to the smartest set in town. Her circle
would bring you not only social distinction, but valuable business
connections. She would introduce that touch of refinement--”
But Grant, now thoroughly angry, had risen from his chair. “You speak
of refinement,” he exclaimed, in the quick, sharp tones which alone
revealed the fighting Grant;--“you, who have been guilty of--I could use
a very ugly word which I will give you the credit of not understanding.
When I decide to buy myself a wife I will send to you for a catalogue of
your daughter’s charms.”
Grant dismissed Mrs. LeCord from his office with the confident
expectation that he soon would have occasion to know something of the
meaning of the proverb about hell’s furies and a woman scorned. She
would strike at him, of course, through Phyllis Bruce. Well--
But his attention was at once to be turned to very different matters.
A stock market, erratic for some days, went suddenly into a paroxysm.
Grant escaped with as little loss as possible for himself and his
clients, and after three sleepless nights called his staff together.
They crowded into the board-room, curious, apprehensive, almost
frightened, and he looked over them with an emotion that was quite new
to his experience. Even in the aloofness which their standards had made
it necessary for him to adopt there had grown up in his heart, quite
unnoticed, a tender, sweet foliage of love for these men and women who
were a part of his machine. Now, as he looked in their faces he
realized how, like little children, they leaned on him--how, like little
children, they feared his power and his displeasure--how, perhaps, like
little children, they had learned to love him, too. He realized, as he
had never done before, that they WERE children; that here and there in
the mass of humanity is one who was born to lead, but the great mass
itself must be children always, doing as they are bid.
“My friends,” he managed to say, “we suddenly find ourselves in
tremendous times. Some of you know my attitude toward this business
in which we are engaged. I did not seek it; I did not approve of it;
I tried to avoid it; yet, when the responsibility was forced upon me
I accepted that responsibility. I gave up the life I enjoyed, the
environment in which I found delight, the friends I loved. Well--our
nation is now in a somewhat similar position. It has to go into a
business which it did not seek, of which it does not approve, but which
fate has thrust upon it. It has to break off the current of its life and
turn it into undreamed-of channels, and we, as individuals who make up
the nation, must do the same. I have already enlisted, and expect that
within a few hours I shall be in uniform. Some of you are single men of
military age; you will, I am sure, take similar steps. For the rest--the
business will be wound up as soon as possible, so that you may be
released for some form of national service. You will all receive three
months’ salary in lieu of notice. Mr. Murdoch will look after the
details. When that has been done my wealth, or such part of it as
remains, will be placed at the disposal of the Government. If we win it
will be well invested in a good cause; if we lose, it would have been
lost anyway.”
“We are not going to lose!” It was one of the younger clerks who
interrupted; he stood up and for a moment looked straight at his chief.
In that instant’s play of vision there was surely something more than
can be told in words, for the next moment he rushed forward and seized
one of Grant’s hands in both his own. There was a moment’s handclasp,
and the boy had become a man.
“I’m going, Grant,” he said. “I’m going--NOW!”
He turned and made his way out of the room, leaving his chief breathless
in a rapture of joy and pride. Others crowded up. They too were
going--NOW. Even old Murdoch tried to protest that he was as good a man
as ever. It seemed to Grant that the drab everyday costumings of his
staff had fallen away, and now they were heroes, they were gods!
No one knew just how the meeting broke up, but Grant had a confused
remembrance of many handclasps and some tears. He was not sure that he
had not, perhaps, added one or two to the flow, but they were all
tears of friendship and of an emotion born of high resolve.... The most
wonderful thing was that the youngster had called him Grant!
As he stood in his own office again, trying to get the events of these
last few days into some sort of perspective, Phyllis Bruce entered. He
motioned dumbly to a chair, but she came and stood by his desk. Her face
was very white and her lips trembled with the words she tried to utter.
“I can’t go,” she managed to say at length.
“Can’t go? I don’t understand?”
“Hubert has joined,” she said.
“Hubert, the boy! Why, he is only in school--”
“He is sixteen, and large for his age. He came home confessing, and
saying it was his first lie, and the first important thing he ever did
without consulting mother. He said he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand
it if he told her first.”
“Foolish, but heroic,” Grant commented. “Be proud of him. It takes more
than wisdom to be heroic.”
“And Grace is going to England. She was taking nursing, you know, and so
gets a preference. We can’t ALL leave mother.”
He found it difficult to speak. “You wanted to go to the Front?” he
managed.
“Of course; where else?”
Her hand was on the desk; his own slipped over until it closed on it.
“You are a little heroine,” he murmured.
“No, I’m not. I’m a little fool to tell you this, but how can I
stay--why should I stay--when you are gone?”
She was looking down, but after her confession she raised her eyes to
his, and he wondered that he had never known how beautiful she was.
He could have taken her in his arms, but something, with the power of
invisible chains, held him back. In that supreme moment a vision swam
before him; a vision of a mountain stream backed by tawny foothills,
and a girl as beautiful as even this Phyllis who had wrapped him in her
arms... and said, “We must go and forget.” And he had not forgotten....
When he did not respond she drew herself slowly away. “You will hate
me,” she said.
“That is impossible,” he corrected, quickly. “I am very sorry if I
have let you think more than I intended. I care for you very, very much
indeed. I care for you so much that I will not let you think I care for
you more. Can you understand that?”
“Yes. You like me, but you love someone else.”
He was disconcerted by her intuition and the terse frankness with which
she stated the case.
“I will take you into my confidence, Phyllis, if I may,” he said at
length. “I DO like you; I DID love someone else. And that old attachment
is still so strong that it would be hardly fair--it would be hardly
fair--”
“Why didn’t you marry her?” she demanded.
“Because some one else did.”
“Oh!”
Her hands found his this time. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Sorry I
brought this up--sorry I raised these memories. But now you--who have
known--will know--”
“I know--I know,” he murmured, raising her fingers to his lips....
“Time, they say, is a healer of all wounds. Perhaps--”
“No. It is better that you should forget. Only, I shall see you off; I
shall wave my handkerchief to YOU; I shall smile on YOU in the crowd.
Then--you will forget.”...