IV

GARNETT had always foreseen that Mrs. Newell might some day ask him to

do something he should greatly dislike. He had never gone so far as to

conjecture what it might be, but had simply felt that if he allowed his

acquaintance with her to pass from spectatorship to participation he

must be prepared to find himself, at any moment, in a queer situation.

The moment had come; and he was relieved to find that he could meet it

by refusing her request. He had not always been sure that she would

leave him this alternative. She had a way of involving people in her

complications without their being aware of it, and Garnett had pictured

himself in holes so tight that there might not be room for a wriggle.

Happily in this case he could still move freely. Nothing compelled him

to act as an intermediary between Mrs. Newell and her husband, and it

was preposterous to suppose that, even in a life of such perpetual

upheaval as hers, there were no roots which struck deeper than her

casual intimacy with himself. She had simply laid hands on him because

he happened to be within reach, and he would put himself out of reach

by leaving for London on the morrow.

Having thus inwardly asserted his independence, he felt free to let his

fancy dwell on the strangeness of the situation. He had always supposed

that Mrs. Newell, in her flight through life, must have thrown a good

many victims to the wolves, and had assumed that Mr. Newell had been

among the number. That he had been dropped overboard at an early stage

in the lady's career seemed probable from the fact that neither his

wife nor his daughter ever mentioned him. Mrs. Newell was incapable of

reticence, and if her husband had still been an active element in her

life he would certainly have figured in her conversation. Garnett, if

he thought of the matter at all, had concluded that divorce must long

since have eliminated Mr. Newell; but he now saw how he had underrated

his friend's faculty for using up the waste material of life. She had

always struck him as the most extravagant of women, yet it turned out

that by a miracle of thrift she had for years kept a superfluous

husband on the chance that he might some day be useful to her. The day

had come, and Mr. Newell was to be called from his obscurity. Garnett

wondered what had become of him in the interval, and in what shape he

would respond to the evocation. The fact that his wife feared he might

not respond to it at all, seemed to show that his exile was voluntary,

or had at least come to appear preferable to other alternatives; but if

that were the case it was curious that he should not have taken legal

means to free himself. He could hardly have had his wife's motives for

wishing to maintain the vague tie between them; but conjecture lost

itself in trying to picture what his point of view was likely to be,

and Garnett, on his way to the Hubbards' dinner that evening, could not

help regretting that circumstances denied him the opportunity of

meeting so enigmatic a person. The young man's knowledge of Mrs.

Newell's methods made him feel that her husband might be an interesting

study. This, however, did not affect his resolve to keep clear of the

business. He entered the Hubbards' dining-room with the firm intention

of refusing to execute Mrs. Newell's commission, and if he changed his

mind in the course of the evening it was not owing to that lady's

persuasions.

Garnett's curiosity as to the Hubbards' share in Hermione's marriage

was appeased before he had been seated five minutes at their table.

Mrs. Woolsey Hubbard was an expansive blonde, whose ample but

disciplined outline seemed the result of a well-matched struggle

between her cook and her corset-maker. She talked a great deal of what

was appropriate in dress and conduct, and seemed to regard Mrs. Newell

as a final arbiter on both points. To do or to wear anything

inappropriate would have been extremely mortifying to Mrs. Hubbard, and

she was evidently resolved, at the price of eternal vigilance, to prove

her familiarity with what she frequently referred to as "the right

thing." Mr. Hubbard appeared to have no such preoccupations. Garnett,

if called upon to describe him, would have done so by saying that he

was the American who always pays. The young man, in the course of his

foreign wanderings, had come across many fellow-citizens of Mr.

Hubbard's type, in the most diverse company and surroundings; and

wherever they were to be found, they always had their hands in their

pockets. Mr. Hubbard's standard of gentility was the extent of a man's

capacity to "foot the bill"; and as no one but an occasional compatriot

cared to dispute the privilege with him, he seldom had reason to doubt

his social superiority.

Garnett, nevertheless, did not believe that this lavish pair were, as

Mrs. Newell would have phrased it, "putting up" Hermione's _dot_. They

would go very far in diamonds, but they would hang back from

securities. Their readiness to pay was indefinably mingled with a dread

of being expected to, and their prodigalities would take flight at the

first hint of coercion. Mrs. Newell, who had had a good deal of

experience in managing this type of millionaire, could be trusted not

to arouse their susceptibilities, and Garnett was therefore certain

that the chimerical legacy had been extracted from other pockets. There

were none in view but those of Baron Schenkelderff, who, seated at Mrs.

Hubbard's right, with a new order in his button-hole, and a fresh glaze

upon his features, enchanted that lady by his careless references to

crowned heads and his condescending approval of the champagne. Garnett

was more than ever certain that it was the Baron who was paying; and it

was this conviction which made him suddenly feel that, at any cost,

Hermione's marriage must take place. He had felt no special interest in

the marriage except as one more proof of Mrs. Newell's extraordinary

capacity; but now it appealed to him from the girl's own stand-point.

For he saw, with a touch of compunction, that in the mephitic air of

her surroundings a love-story of surprising freshness had miraculously

flowered. He had only to intercept the glances which the young couple

exchanged to find himself transported to the candid region of romance.

It was evident that Hermione adored and was adored; that the lovers

believed in each other and in every one about them, and that even the

legacy of the defunct aunt had not been too great a strain on their

faith in human nature.

His first glance at the Comte Louis du Trayas showed Garnett that, by

some marvel of fitness, Hermione had happened upon a kindred nature. If

the young man's long mild features and short-sighted glance revealed no

special force of character, they showed a benevolence and simplicity as

incorruptible as her own, and declared that their possessor, whatever

his failings, would never imperil the illusions she had so miraculously

preserved. The fact that the girl took her good fortune naturally, and

did not regard herself as suddenly snatched from the jaws of death,

added poignancy to the situation; for if she missed this way of escape,

and was thrown back on her former life, the day of discovery could not

be long deferred. It made Garnett shiver to think of her growing old

between her mother and Schenkelderff, or such successors of the Baron's

as might probably attend on Mrs. Newell's waning fortunes; for it was

clear to him that the Baron marked the first stage in his friend's

decline. When Garnett took leave that evening he had promised Mrs.

Newell that he would try to find her husband.

V

IF Mr. Newell read in the papers the announcement of his daughter's

marriage it did not cause him to lift the veil of seclusion in which

his wife represented him as shrouded.

A round of the American banks in Paris failed to give Garnett his

address, and it was only in chance talk with one of the young

secretaries of the Embassy that he was put on Mr. Newell's track. The

secretary's father, it appeared, had known the Newells some twenty

years earlier. He had had business relations with Mr. Newell, who was

then a man of property, with factories or something of the kind, the

narrator thought, somewhere in Western New York. There had been at this

period, for Mrs. Newell, a phase of large hospitality and showy

carriages in Washington and at Narragansett. Then her husband had had

reverses, had lost heavily in Wall Street, and had finally drifted

abroad and been lost to sight. The young man did not know at what point

in his financial decline Mr. Newell had parted company with his wife

and daughter; "though you may bet your hat," he philosophically

concluded, "that the old girl hung on as long as there were any

pickings." He did not himself know Mr. Newell's address, but opined

that it might be extracted from a certain official at the Consulate, if

Garnett could give a sufficiently good reason for the request; and here

in fact Mrs. Newell's emissary learned that her husband was to be found

in an obscure street of the Luxembourg quarter.

In order to be near the scene of action, Garnett went to breakfast at

his usual haunt, determined to despatch his business as early in the

day as politeness allowed. The head waiter welcomed him to a table near

that of the transatlantic sage, who sat in his customary corner, his

head tilted back against the blistered mirror at an angle suggesting

that in a freer civilization his feet would have sought the same level.

He greeted Garnett affably and the two exchanged their usual

generalizations on life till the sage rose to go; whereupon it occurred

to Garnett to accompany him. His friend took the offer in good part,

merely remarking that he was going to the Luxembourg gardens, where it

was his invariable habit, on good days, to feed the sparrows with the

remains of his breakfast roll; and Garnett replied that, as it

happened, his own business lay in the same direction.

"Perhaps, by the way," he added, "you can tell me how to find the rue

Panonceaux where I must go presently. I thought I knew this quarter

fairly well, but I have never heard of it."

His companion came to a sudden halt on the narrow sidewalk, to the

confusion of the dense and desultory traffic which marks the old

streets of the Latin quarter. He fixed his mild eye on Garnett and gave

a twist to the cigar which lingered in the corner of his mouth.

"The rue Panonceaux? It _is_ an out of the way hole, but I can tell you

how to find it," he answered.

He made no motion to do so, however, but continued to bend on the young

man the full force of his interrogative gaze; then he added abruptly:

"Would you mind telling me your object in going there?"

Garnett looked at him with surprise: a question so unblushingly

personal was strangely out of keeping with his friend's usual attitude

of detachment. Before he could reply, however, the other had quietly

continued: "Do you happen to be in search of Samuel C. Newell?"

"Why, yes, I am," said Garnett with a start of conjecture.

His companion uttered a sigh. "I supposed so," he said resignedly; "and

in that case," he added, "we may as well have the matter out in the

Luxembourg."

Garnett had halted before him with deepening astonishment. "But you

don't mean to tell me--?" he stammered.

The little man made a motion of assent. "I am Samuel C. Newell," he

said drily; "and if you have no objection, I prefer not to break

through my habit of feeding the sparrows. We are five minutes late as

it is."

He quickened his pace without awaiting any reply from Garnett, who

walked beside him in unsubdued wonder till they reached the Luxembourg

gardens, where Mr. Newell, making for one of the less frequented

alleys, seated himself on a bench and drew the fragment of a roll from

his pocket. His coming was evidently expected, for a shower of little

dusky bodies at once descended on him, and the gravel fluttered with

battling wings and beaks as he distributed his dole with impartial

gestures.

It was not till the ground was white with crumbs, and the first frenzy

of his pensioners appeased, that he turned to Garnett and said: "I

presume, sir, that you come from my wife."

Garnett coloured with embarrassment: the more simply the old man took

his mission the more complicated it appeared to himself.

"From your wife--and from Miss Newell," he said at length. "You have

perhaps heard that she is to be married."

"Oh, yes--I read the _Herald_ pretty faithfully," said Miss Newell's

parent, shaking out another handful of crumbs.

Garnett cleared his throat. "Then you have no doubt thought it natural

that, under the circumstances, they should wish to communicate with

you."

The sage continued to fix his attention on the sparrows. "My wife," he

remarked, "might have written to me."

"Mrs. Newell was afraid she might not hear from you in reply."

"In reply? Why should she? I suppose she merely wishes to announce the

marriage. She knows I have no money left to buy wedding-presents," said

Mr. Newell astonishingly.

Garnett felt his colour deepen: he had a vague sense of standing as the

representative of something guilty and enormous, with which he had

rashly identified himself.

"I don't think you understand," he said. "Mrs. Newell and your daughter

have asked me to see you because they are anxious that you should

consent to appear at the wedding."

Mr. Newell, at this, ceased to give his attention to the birds, and

turned a compassionate gaze upon Garnett.

"My dear sir--I don't know your name--" he remarked, "would you mind

telling me how long you have been acquainted with Mrs. Newell?" And

without waiting for an answer he added judicially: "If you wait long

enough she will ask you to do some very disagreeable things for her."

This echo of his own thoughts gave Garnett a sharp twinge of

discomfort, but he made shift to answer good-humouredly: "If you refer

to my present errand, I must tell you that I don't find it disagreeable

to do anything which may be of service to Miss Hermione."

Mr. Newell fumbled in his pocket, as though searching unavailingly for

another morsel of bread; then he said: "From her point of view I shall

not be the most important person at the ceremony."

Garnett smiled. "That is hardly a reason--" he began; but he was

checked by the brevity of tone with which his companion replied: "I am

not aware that I am called upon to give you my reasons."

"You are certainly not," the young man rejoined, "except in so far as

you are willing to consider me as the messenger of your wife and

daughter."

"Oh, I accept your credentials," said the other with his dry smile;

"what I don't recognize is their right to send a message."

This reduced Garnett to silence, and after a moment's pause Mr. Newell

drew his watch from his pocket.

"I am sorry to cut the conversation short, but my days are mapped out

with a certain regularity, and this is the hour for my nap." He rose as

he spoke and held out his hand with a glint of melancholy humour in his

small clear eyes.

"You dismiss me, then? I am to take back a refusal?" the young man

exclaimed.

"My dear sir, those ladies have got on very well without me for a

number of years: I imagine they can put through this wedding without my

help."

"You are mistaken, then; if it were not for that I shouldn't have

undertaken this errand."

Mr. Newell paused as he was turning away. "Not for what?" he enquired.

"The fact that, as it happens, the wedding can't be put through without

your help."

Mr. Newell's thin lips formed a noiseless whistle. "They've got to have

my consent, have they? Well, is he a good young man?"

"The bridegroom?" Garnett echoed in surprise. "I hear the best accounts

of him--and Miss Newell is very much in love."

Her parent met this with an odd smile. "Well, then, I give my

consent--it's all I've got left to give," he added philosophically.

Garnett hesitated. "But if you consent--if you approve--why do you

refuse your daughter's request?"

Mr. Newell looked at him a moment. "Ask Mrs. Newell!" he said. And as

Garnett was again silent, he turned away with a slight gesture of

leave-taking.

But in an instant the young man was at his side. "I will not ask your

reasons, sir," he said, "but I will give you mine for being here. Miss

Newell cannot be married unless you are present at the ceremony. The

young man's parents know that she has a father living, and they give

their consent only on condition that he appears at her marriage. I

believe it is customary in old French families--."

"Old French families be damned!" said Mr. Newell with sudden vigour.

"She had better marry an American." And he made a more decided motion

to free himself from Garnett's importunities.

But his resistance only strengthened the young man's. The more

unpleasant the latter's task became, the more unwilling he grew to see

his efforts end in failure. During the three days which had been

consumed in his quest it had become clear to him that the bridegroom's

parents, having been surprised into a reluctant consent, were but too

ready to withdraw it on the plea of Mr. Newell's non-appearance. Mrs.

Newell, on the last edge of tension, had confided to Garnett that the

Morningfields were "being nasty"; and he could picture the whole

powerful clan, on both sides of the Channel, arrayed in a common

resolve to exclude poor Hermione from their ranks. The very inequality

of the contest stirred his blood, and made him vow that in this case at

least the sins of the parents should not be visited on the children. In

his talk with the young secretary he had obtained some glimpses of

Baron Schenkelderff's past which fortified this resolve. The Baron, at

one time a familiar figure in a much-observed London set, had been

mixed up in an ugly money-lending business ending in suicide, which had

excluded him from the society most accessible to his race. His alliance

with Mrs. Newell was doubtless a desperate attempt at rehabilitation, a

forlorn hope on both sides, but likely to be an enduring tie because it

represented, to both partners, their last chance of escape from social

extinction. That Hermione's marriage was a mere stake in their game did

not in the least affect Garnett's view of its urgency. If on their part

it was a sordid speculation, to her it had the freshness of the first

wooing. If it made of her a mere pawn in their hands, it would put her,

so Garnett hoped, beyond farther risk of such base uses; and to achieve

this had become a necessity to him.

The sense that, if he lost sight of Mr. Newell, the latter might not

easily be found again, nerved Garnett to hold his ground in spite of

the resistance he encountered; and he tried to put the full force of

his plea into the tone with which he cried: "Ah, you don't know your

daughter!"