IV.

The fact that few days elapsed before Tristrem Varick availed himself of

Miss Raritan's invitation, and that thereafter he continued to avail

himself of it with frequence and constancy, should surprise no one.

During the earliest of these visits he met Miss Raritan's mother, and

was unaccountably annoyed when he heard that lady address her daughter

as Viola. He had been so sure that her baptismal name was Madeleine that

the one by which he found she was called sounded false as an alias, and

continued so to sound until he accustomed himself to the syllables and

ended by preferring it to the Madeleine of his fancy. This, however, by

the way. Mrs. Raritan was a woman who, in her youth, must have been very

beautiful, and traces of that beauty she still preserved. When she spoke

her voice endeared her to you, and in her manner there was that

something which made you feel that she might be calumniated, as good

women often are, but yet that she could never be the subject of gossip.

She did not seem resolute, but she did seem warm of heart, and Tristrem

felt at ease with her at once.

Of her he saw at first but little. In a city like New York it is

difficult for anyone to become suddenly intimate in a household, however

cordial and well-intentioned that household may be. And during those

hours of the winter days when Miss Raritan was at home it was seldom

that her mother was visible. But it was not long before Tristrem became

an occasional guest at dinner, and it was in the process of breaking

bread that a semblance of intimacy was established. And at last, when

winter had gone and the green afternoons opposed the dusk, Tristrem now

and then would drop in of an evening, and in the absence of Miss Raritan

pass an hour with her mother. Truly she was not the rose, but did she

not dwell at her side?

Meanwhile, Miss Raritan's attitude differed but little from the one

which she had first adopted. She treated Tristrem with exasperating

familiarity, and kept him at arm's length. She declined to see him when

the seeing would have been easy, and summoned him when the summons was

least to be expected. He was useful to her as a piece of furniture, and

she utilized him as such. In the matter of flowers and theatres he was a

convenience. And at routs and assemblies the attention of an heir

apparent to seven million was a homage and a tribute which Miss Raritan

saw no reason to forego.

In this Tristrem had no one but himself to blame. He had been, and was,

almost canine in his demeanor to her. She saw it, knew it, felt it, and

treated him accordingly. And he, with the cowardice of love, made little

effort at revolt. Now and then he protested to Mrs. Raritan, to whom he

had made no secret of his admiration for her daughter, and who consoled

him as best she might; but that was all. And so the winter passed and

the green afternoons turned sultry, and Tristrem was not a step further

advanced than on the day when he had left the girl at the milliner's. On

the infrequent occasions when he had ventured to say some word of that

which was nearest his heart, she had listened with tantalizing

composure, and when he had paused for encouragement or rebuke, she would

make a remark of such inappositeness that anyone else would have planted

her there and gone. But Tristrem was none other than himself; his nature

commanded and he obeyed.

It so happened that one May morning a note was brought him, in which

Miss Raritan said that her mother and herself were to leave in a day or

two for the country, and could he not get her something to read on the

way. Tristrem passed an hour selecting, with infinite and affectionate

care, a small bundle of foreign literature. In the package he found room

for Balzac's "Pierrette" and the "Curé de Tours," one of Mme. Craven's

stupidities, a volume of platitude in rhyme by François Coppée, a copy

of De Amicis' futile wanderings in Spain--a few samples, in fact, of the

_pueris virginibusque_ school. And that evening, with the bundle under

his arm, he sought Miss Raritan.

The girl glanced at the titles and put the books aside. "When we get in

order at Narragansett," she said, "I wish you would come up."

Had she kissed him, Tristrem could not have revelled more. "There are

any number of hotels," she added, by way of douche.

"Certainly, if you wish it, but--but----"

"Well, but what?"

"I don't know. You see--well, it's this way: You know that I love you,

and you know also that you care for me as for the snows of yester-year.

There is no reason why you should do otherwise. I don't mean to

complain. If I am unable to make you care, the fault is mine. I did

think--h'm--no matter. What I wanted to say is this: there is no reason

why you should care, and yet----. See here; take two slips of paper,

write on one, I will marry you, and, on the other, Put a bullet through

your head, and let me draw. I would take the chance so gladly. But that

chance, of course, you will not give. Why should you, after all? Why

should I give everything I own to the first beggar I meet? But why

should you have any other feeling for me than that which you have? And

yet, sometimes I think you don't understand. Any man you meet could be

more attractive than I, and very easy he would find it to be so; but no

one could care for you more--no one----"

Miss Raritan was sitting opposite to him, her feet crossed, her head

thrown back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. One arm lay along the back

of the lounge which she occupied, the other was pendant at her side. And

while he still addressed her, she arose with the indolence of a panther,

crossed the room, picked up a miniature from a table, eyed it as though

she had never seen it before and did not particularly care to see it

again, and then, seating herself at the piano, she attacked the _Il

segreto per esser felice_, the brindisi from "Lucrezia Borgia."

In the wonder of her voice Tristrem forgot the discourtesy of the

action. He listened devoutly. And, as he listened, each note was an

electric shock. _Il segreto per esser felice_, indeed! The secret of

happiness was one which she alone of all others in the world could

impart. And, as the measures of the song rose and fell, they brought him

a transient exhilaration like to that which comes of champagne, dowering

him with factitious force wherewith to strive anew. And so it happened

that, when the ultimate note had rung out and the girl's fingers

loitered on the keys, he went over to her with a face so eloquent that

she needed but a glance at it to know what he was seeking to say.

With a gesture coercive as a bit, she lifted one hand from the keys and

stayed his lips. Then, she stood up and faced him. "Tristrem," she

began, "when I first saw you I told you that I was married to my art.

And in an art such as mine there is no divorce. It may be that I shall

go on the stage. After all, why should I not? Is society so alluring

that I should sacrifice for it that which is to me infinitely

preferable? If I have not done so already it is because of my mother.

But should I decide to do so, there are years of study before me yet. In

which case I could not marry, that is self-evident, not only because I

would not marry a man who would suffer me to sing in public--don't

interrupt--but also because--well, you told me that you understood the

possibilities of the human voice, and you must know what the result

would be. But even independent of that, you said a moment ago that I did

not love you. Well, I don't. I don't love you. Tristrem, listen to me. I

don't love you as you would have me. I wish I did. But I like you. I

like you as I can like few other men. Tristrem, except my mother, I have

not a friend in the world. Women never care for me, and men--well, save

in the case of yourself, when their friendship has been worth the

having, it belonged to someone else. Give me yours."

"It will be hard, very hard."

Miss Raritan moved from where she had been standing and glanced at the

clock. "You must go now," she said, "but promise that you will try."

She held her hand to him, and Tristrem raised it to his lips and kissed

the wrist. "You might as well ask me to increase my stature," he

answered. And presently he dropped the hand which he held and left the

house.

It was a perfect night. The moon hung like a yellow feather in the sky,

and in the air was a balm that might have come from fields of tamaris

and of thyme. The street itself was quiet, and as Tristrem walked on,

something of the enchantment of the hour fell upon him. On leaving Miss

Raritan, he had been irritated at himself. It seemed to him that when

with her he was at his worst; that he stood before her dumb for love,

awkward, embarrassed, and ineffectual of speech. It seemed to him that

he lacked the tact of other men, and that, could she see him as he

really was when unemotionalized by her presence, if the eloquence which

came to him in solitude would visit him once at her side, if he could

plead to her with the fervor with which he addressed the walls, full

surely her answer would be other. She would make no proffer then of

friendship, or if she did, it would be of that friendship which is born

of love, and is better than love itself. But as he walked on the

enchantment of the night encircled him. He declined to accept her reply;

he told himself that in his eagerness he had been abrupt; that a girl

who was worth the winning was slow of capture; that he had expected

months to give him what only years could afford, and that Time, in which

all things unroll, might yet hold this gift for him. He resolved to put

his impatience aside like an unbecoming coat. He would pretend to be but

a friend. As a friend he would be privileged to see her, and then, some

day the force and persistence of his affection would do the rest. He

smiled at his own cunning. It was puerile as a jack-straw, but it seemed

shrewdness itself to him. Yes, that was the way. He had done wrong; he

had unmasked his batteries too soon. And such batteries! But no matter,

of his patience he was now assured. On the morrow he would go to her and

begin the campaign anew.

He had reached the corner and was on the point of turning down the

avenue, when a hansom rattled up and wheeled so suddenly into the street

through which he had come, that he stepped back a little to let it pass.

As he did so he looked in at the fare. The cab was beyond him in a

second, but in the momentary glimpse which he caught of the occupant, he

recognized Royal Weldon. And as he continued his way, he wondered where

Royal Weldon could be going.

The following evening he went to dine at the Athenæum Club. The house in

Waverley Place affected him as might an empty bier in a tomb. The bread

that he broke there choked him. His father was as congenial as a

spectre. He only appeared when dinner was announced, and after he had

seated himself at the table he asked grace of God in a low, determined

fashion, and that was the end of the conversation. Tristrem remembered

that in the infrequent vacations of his school and college days, that

was the way it always had been, and being tolerably convinced that that

was the way it always would be, he preferred, when not expected

elsewhere, to dine at the club.

On entering the Athenæum on this particular evening, he put his hat and

coat in the vestiary and was about to order dinner, when he was accosted

by Alphabet Jones.

"I say, Varick," the novelist exclaimed--(during the winter they had

seen much of each other), "do you know who was the originator of the

cloak-room? Of course you don't--I'll tell you; who do you suppose now?

Give it up? Mrs. Potiphar! How's that? Good enough for Theodore Hook,

eh? Let's dine together, and I'll tell you some more."

"Let's dine together" was a formula which Mr. Jones had adopted.

Literally, it meant, I'll order and you pay. Tristrem was aware in what

light the invitation should be viewed, he had heard it before; but,

though the novelist was of the genus _spongia_, he was seldom tiresome,

often entertaining, and moreover, Tristrem was one who would rather pay

than not. As there were few of that category in the club, Mr. Jones made

a special prey of him, and on this particular evening, when the ordering

had been done and the dinner announced, he led him in triumph to the

lift.

As they were about to step in, Weldon stepped out. He seemed hurried and

would have passed on with a nod, but Tristrem caught him by the arm. Of

late he had seen little of him, and it had seemed to Tristrem that the

fault, if fault there were, must be his own.

"I caught a glimpse of you last night, didn't I, Royal?" he asked.

Weldon raised his eyebrows for all response. Evidently he was not in a

conversational mood. But at once an idea seemed to strike him. "I dare

say," he answered, "I roam about now and then like anyone else. By the

way, where are you going to-night? Why not look in on my wife? She says

you neglect her."

"I would like it, Royal, but the fact is I am going to make a call."

"In Thirty-ninth Street?"

Tristrem looked at him much as a yokel at a fair might look at a wizard.

He was so astonished at Weldon's prescience that he merely nodded.

"You can save yourself the trouble then--I happened to meet Miss Raritan

this afternoon. She is dining at the Wainwarings. Look in at Gramercy

Park." And with that he turned on his heel and disappeared into the

smoking-room.

"Didn't I hear Weldon mention Miss Raritan?" Jones asked, when he and

Tristrem had finished the roast. "There's a girl I'd like to put in a

book. She has hell in her eyes and heaven in her voice. What a heroine

she would make!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically; and then in a complete

change of key, in a tone that was pregnant with suggestion, he added,

"and what a wife!"

"I don't understand you," said Tristrem, in a manner which, for him, was

defiant.

Whether or not Jones was a good sailor is a matter of small moment. In

any event he tacked at once.

"Bah! I am speaking in the first person. I don't believe in matrimony

myself, I am too poor. And besides, I never heard of but one happy

marriage, and that was between a blind man and a deaf-mute. Though even

then it must have been difficult to know what the woman thought. Now, in

regard to Miss Raritan, half the men in the city are after her, _pour le

bon motif, s'entend_; but when a girl has had the _dessus du panier_ at

her feet, no fellow can afford to ask her to take a promenade with him

down the aisle of Grace Church, unless he has the Chemical Bank in one

pocket and the United States Trust Company in the other. _Et avec ça!_"

And Jones waved his head as though not over-sure that the coffers of

those institutions would suffice.

"I don't see what that has to do with it," Tristrem indignantly

interjected.

"Isn't that odd now?" was Jones' sarcastic reply. "Dr. Holmes says that

no fellow can be a thorough-going swell unless he has three generations

in oil. And mind you, daguerreotypes won't do. There are any number of

your ancestors strung along the walls of the Historical Society, and how

many more you may have in that crypt of yours in Waverley Place, heaven

only knows. Imprimis, if you accept Dr. Holmes as an authority, you are

a thorough-going swell. In the second place, you look like a Greek

shepherd. Third, you are the biggest catch in polite society. Certainly

it's odd that with such possibilities you should see no reason for not

marrying a girl who will want higher-stepping horses than Elisha's, and

who, while there is a bandit of a dressmaker in Paris, will decline to

imitate the lilies of the field. Certainly----"

"I never said anything about it, I never said anything about marrying or

not marrying----"

"Oh, didn't you? I thought you did." And Jones leaned back in his chair

and summoned a waiter with an upward movement of the chin. "Bring

another pint of this, will you."

"I think I won't take anything more," said Tristrem, rising from the

table as he spoke. "It's hot in here. I may see you down-stairs." And

with that he left the room.

Mr. Alphabet Jones looked after him a second and nodded sagaciously to

himself. "Another man overboard," he muttered, as he toyed with his

empty glass. "_Ah! jeunesse, jeunesse!_"