The two black horses attached to the light buggy were chafing in the
crisp October air. Their groom was holding them stiffly, as if bolted
to the ground, in the approved fashion insisted upon by the mistress of
the house. Old Stuart eyed them impatiently from the tower window of
the breakfast-room where he was smoking his first cigar; Mrs. Stuart
held him in a vise of astounding words.
"They will need not only the lease of a house in London for two years,
but a great deal of money besides," she continued in even tones,
ignoring his impatience.
"I've done enough for 'em already," the old fellow protested, drawing
on his driving gloves over knotted hands stained by age.
Mrs. Stuart rustled the letter that lay, with its envelope, beside her
untouched plate. It bore the flourishes of a foreign hotel and a
foreign-looking stamp.
"My mother writes that their summer in Wiesbaden has made it surer that
Lord Raincroft is interested in Helen. It is evidently a matter of
time. I say two years--it may be less."
"Well," her husband broke in. "Haven't they enough to live on?"
"At my marriage," elucidated Mrs. Stuart, imperturbably, "you settled
on them securities which yield about five thousand a year. That does
not give them the means to take the position which I expect for my
family in such a crisis. They must have a large house, must entertain
lavishly," she swept an impassive hand toward him in royal emphasis,
"and do all that that set expects--to meet them as equals. You could
not imagine that Lord Raincroft would marry Helen out of a pension?"
"I don't care a damn how he marries her, or if he marries her at all."
He rose, testily. "I guess my family would have thought five thousand a
year enough to marry the gals on, and to spare, and it was more'n you
ever had in your best days."
"Naturally," her voice showed scorn at his perverse lack of
intelligence. "Out contract was made with that understanding."
"Let Helen marry a feller who is willing to go half way for her without
a palace. Why didn't you encourage her marrying Blake, as smart a young
man as I ever had? She was taken enough with him."
"Because I did not think it fit for my sister to marry your junior
partner, who, five years ago, was your best floor-walker."
"Well, Blake is a college-educated man and a hustler. He's bound to get
on if I back him. If Blake weren't likely enough, there's plenty more
in Chicago like me--smart business men who want a handsome young wife."
"Perhaps we have had enough of Stuart, Hodgson, and Blake. There are
other careers in the world outside Chicago."
"Tut, tut! I ain't going to fight here all day. What's the figure?
What's the figure?" He slapped his breeches with the morning paper.
"You will have to take the house in London (the Duke of Waminster's is
to let, mamma writes), and give them two hundred thousand dollars in
addition to their present income for the two years." She let her eyes
fall on his toast and coffee. The old man turned about galvanically and
peered at her.
"You're crazy! two hundred thousand these times, so's your sister can
get married?"
"She's the last," interposed Mrs. Stuart, deftly.
"I tell you I've done more than most men. I've paid your old bills,
your whole family's, your brothers' in college, to the tune of five
thousand a year (worthless scamps!) and put 'em in business. You've had
all of 'em at Newport and Paris, let alone their living here off and on
nearly twenty years. Now you think I can shell out two hundred thousand
and a London house as easily as I'd buy pop-corn."
"It was our understanding." Mrs. Stuart began on her breakfast.
"Not much. I've done better by you than I agreed to, because you've
been a good wife to me. I settled a nice little fortune on you
independent of your widder's rights or your folks."
"Your daughter will benefit by that," Mrs. Stuart corrected.
"Well, what's that to do with it?" He seemed to lose the scent.
"What was our understanding when I agreed to marry you?"
"I've done more'n I promised, I tell you."
"As you very well know, I married you because my family were in
desperate circumstances. Our understanding was that I should be a good
wife, and you were to make my family comfortable according to my views.
Isn't that right?"
The old man blanched at this businesslike presentation; his voice grew
feebler.
"And I have, Beatty. I have! I've done everything by you I promised.
And I built this great house and another at Newport, and you ain't
never satisfied."
"That was our agreement, then," she continued, without mercy. "I was
just nineteen, and wise, for a girl, and you had forty-seven pretty
wicked years. There wasn't any nonsense between us. I was a stunning
girl, the most talked about in New York at that time. I was to be a
good wife, and we weren't to have any words. Have I kept my promise?"
"Yes, you've been a good woman, Beatty, better'n I deserved. But won't
you take less, say fifty thousand?" He advanced conciliatorily. "That's
an awful figure!"
His wife rose, composed as ever and stately in her well-sustained forty
years.
"Do you think _any_ price is too great in payment for these twenty-one
years?" Contempt crept in. "Not one dollar less, two hundred thousand,
and I cable mamma to-day."
Stuart shrivelled up.
"Do you refuse?" she remarked, lightly, for he stood irresolutely near
the door.
"I won't stand that!" and he went out.
When he had left Mrs. Stuart went on with her breakfast; a young woman
Came in hastily from the hall, where she had bade her father good-by.
She stood in the window watching the coachman surrender the horses to
the old man. The groom moved aside quickly, and in a moment the two
horses shot nervously through the ponderous iron gateway. The delicate
wheels just grazed the stanchions, lifting the light buggy in the air
to a ticklish angle. It righted itself and plunged down the boulevard.
Fast horses and cigars were two of the few pleasures still left the old
store-keeper. There was another--a costly one--which was not always
forthcoming.
Miss Stuart watched the groom close the ornate iron gates, and then
turned inquiringly to her mother.
"What's up with papa?"
Mrs. Stuart went on with her breakfast in silence. She was superbly
preserved, and queenly for an American woman. It seemed as if something
had stayed the natural decay of her powers, of her person, and had put
her always at this impassive best. Something had stopped her heart to
render her passionless, and thus to embalm her for long years of
mechanical activity. She would not decay, but when her time should come
she would merely stop--the spring would snap.
The daughter had her mother's height and her dark coloring. But her
large, almost animal eyes, and her roughly moulded hands spoke of some
homely, prairie inheritance. Her voice was timid and hesitating.
At last Mrs. Stuart, her mail and breakfast exhausted at the same
moment, Rose to leave the room.
"Oh, Edith," she remarked, authoritatively, "if you happen to drive
down town this morning, will you tell your father that we are going to
Winetka for a few weeks? Or telephone him, if you find it more
convenient. And send the boys to me. Miss Bates will make all
arrangements. I think there is a train about three."
"Why, mamma, you don't mean to stay there! I thought we were to be here
all winter. And my lessons at the Art Institute?"
Mrs. Stuart smiled contemptuously. "Lessons at the Art Institute are
not the most pressing matter for my daughter, who is about to come out.
You can amuse yourself with golf and tennis as long as they last. Then,
perhaps, you will have a chance to continue your lessons in Paris."
"And papa!" protested the daughter, "I thought he couldn't leave this
winter?"