"It has artistic possibilities. You should have seen my hair-dresser's
face when I told her to do it up. Her face and Zora's were a pantomime
for the gods. Yet it was done. It lay in some great twisted cloud and in
that black net gown of mine Zora was simply magnificent. Her form is
perfect, her height is regal, her skin is satin, and my jewels found a
resting place at last. Jewels, you know, dear, were never meant for
white folk. I was tempted to take her to the box at the opera and let
New York break its impudent neck."
Mary was shocked.
"But, Mrs. Vanderpool," she protested, "is it right? Is it fair? Why
should you spoil this black girl and put impossible ideas into her head?
You can make her a perfect maid, but she can never be much more in
America."
"She is a perfect maid now; that's the miracle of it--she's that deft
and quick and quiet and thoughtful! The hotel employees think her
perfect; my friends rave--really, I'm the most blessed of women. But do
you know I like the girl? I--well, I think of her future."
"It's wrong to treat her as you do. You make her an equal. Her room is
one of the best and filled with books and bric-a-brac. She sometimes
eats with you--is your companion, in fact."
"What of it? She loves to read, and I guide her while she keeps me up on
the latest stuff. She can talk much better than many of my friends and
then she piques my curiosity: she's a sort of intellectual sauce that
stirs my rapidly failing mental appetite. I think that as soon as I can
make up my mind to spare her, I'll take her to France and marry her off
in the colonies."
"Well, that's possible; but one doesn't easily give up good servants. By
the way, I learn from Miss Smith that the boy, Bles Alwyn, in whom Zora
was so interested, is a clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington."
"Indeed! I'm going to Washington this winter; I'll look him over and see
if he's worth Zora--which I greatly doubt."
Mrs. Cresswell pursed her lips and changed the subject.
"Have you seen the Easterlys?"
"The ladies left their cards--they are quite impossible. Mr. Easterly
calls this afternoon. I can't imagine why, but he asked for an
appointment. Will you go South with Mr. Cresswell? I'm glad to hear he's
entering politics."
"No, I shall do some early house hunting in Washington," said Mrs.
Cresswell, rising as Mr. Easterly was announced.
Mr. Easterly was not at home in Mrs. Vanderpool's presence. She spoke a
language different from his, and she had shown a disconcerting way, in
the few times when he had spoken with her, of letting the weight of the
conversation rest on him. He felt very distinctly that Mrs. Vanderpool
was not particularly desirous of his company, nor that of his family.
Nevertheless, he needed Mrs. Vanderpool's influence just now, and he was
willing to pay considerable for it. Once under obligation to him her
services would be very valuable. He was glad to find Mrs. Cresswell
there. It showed that the Cresswells were still intimate, and the
Cresswells were bound to him and his interests by strong ties. He bowed
as Mrs. Cresswell left, and then did not beat around the bush because,
in this case, he did not know how.
"Mrs. Vanderpool, I need your aid."
Mrs. Vanderpool smiled politely, and murmured something.
"We are, you know, in the midst of a rather warm presidential campaign,"
continued Mr. Easterly.
"Yes?" with polite interest.
"We are going to win easily, but our majority in Congress for certain
matters will depend on the attitude of Southerners and you usually spend
the winters in Washington. If, now, you could drop a word here and
there--"
"But why should I?" asked Mrs. Vanderpool.
"Mrs. Vanderpool, to be frank, I know some excellent investments that
your influence in this line would help. I take it you're not so rich but
that--"
Mrs. Vanderpool smiled faintly.
"Really, Mr. Easterly, I know little about such matters and care less. I
have food and clothes. Why worry with more?"
Mr. Easterly half expected this and he determined to deliver his last
shot on the run. He arose with a disappointed air.
"Of course, Mrs. Vanderpool, I see how it is: you have plenty and one
can't expect your services or influence for nothing. It had occurred to
me that your husband might like something political; but I presume not."
"Something political?"
"Yes. You see, it's barely possible, for instance, that there will be a
change in the French ambassadorship. The present ambassador is old
and--well, I don't know, but as I say, it's possible. Of course though,
that may not appeal to you, and I can only beg your good offices in
charity if--if you see your way to help us. Well, I must be going."
"What is--I thought the President appointed ambassadors."
"To be sure, but we appoint Presidents," laughed Mr. Easterly.
"Good-day. I shall hope to see you in Washington."
"Good-day," Mrs. Vanderpool returned absently.
After he had gone she walked slowly to Zora's room and opened the door.
For a long time she stood quietly looking in. Zora was curled in a chair
with a book. She was in dreamland; in a world of books builded
thoughtfully for her by Mrs. Vanderpool, and before that by Miss Smith.
Her work took but little of her time and left hours for reading and
thinking. In that thought-life, more and more her real living centred.
Hour after hour, day after day, she lay buried, deaf and dumb to all
else. Her heart cried, up on the World's four corners of the Way, and to
it came the Vision Splendid. She gossiped with old Herodotus across the
earth to the black and blameless Ethiopians; she saw the sculptured
glories of Phidias marbled amid the splendor of the swamp; she listened
to Demosthenes and walked the Appian Way with Cornelia--while all New
York streamed beneath her window.
She saw the drunken Goths reel upon Rome and heard the careless Negroes
yodle as they galloped to Toomsville. Paris, she knew,--wonderful,
haunting Paris: the Paris of Clovis, and St. Louis; of Louis the Great,
and Napoleon III; of Balzac, and her own Dumas. She tasted the mud and
comfort of thick old London, and the while wept with Jeremiah and sang
with Deborah, Semiramis, and Atala. Mary of Scotland and Joan of Arc
held her dark hands in theirs, and Kings lifted up their sceptres.
She walked on worlds, and worlds of worlds, and heard there in her
little room the tread of armies, the paeans of victory, the breaking of
hearts, and the music of the spheres.
Mrs. Vanderpool watched her a while.
"Zora," she presently broke into the girl's absorption, "how would you
like to be Ambassador to France?"
_Twenty-four_