IMPRESSIONS
Graham, smiling at his aunt and still more amused at himself, started
to pay his morning visit. "Yesterday afternoon," he thought, "I
expected to make but a brief call on an aunt who was almost a stranger
to me, and now I am domiciled under her roof indefinitely. She has
introduced me to a charming girl, and in an ostensible warning shrewdly
inserted the strongest incentives to venture everything, hinting at the
same time that if I succeeded she would give me more than her blessing.
What a vista of possibilities has opened since I crossed her threshold!
A brief time since I was buried in German libraries, unaware of the
existence of Miss St. John, and forgetting that of my aunt. Apparently
I have crossed the ocean to meet them both, for had I remained abroad a
few days longer, letters on the way would have prevented my returning.
Of course it is all chance, but a curious chance. I don't wonder that
people are often superstitious; and yet a moment's reasoning proves the
absurdity of this sort of thing. Nothing truly strange often happens,
and only our egotism invests events of personal interest with a trace
of the marvellous. My business man neglected to advise me of my
improved finances as soon as he might have done. My aunt receives me,
not as I expected, but as one would naturally hope to be met by a
relative. She has a fair young neighbor with whom she is intimate, and
whom I meet as a matter of course, and as a matter of course I can
continue to meet her as long as I choose without becoming 'all eye and
all memory.' Surely a man can enjoy the society of any woman without
the danger my aunt suggests and--as I half believe--would like to bring
about. What signify my fancies of last evening? We often enjoy
imagining what might be without ever intending it shall be. At any
rate, I shall not sigh for Miss St. John or any other woman until
satisfied that I should not sigh in vain. The probabilities are
therefore that I shall never sigh at all."
As he approached Major St. John's dwelling he saw the object of his
thoughts standing by the window and reading a letter. A syringa shrub
partially concealed him and his umbrella, and he could not forbear
pausing a moment to note what a pretty picture she made. A sprig of
white flowers was in her light wavy hair, and another fastened by her
breastpin drooped over her bosom. Her morning wrapper was of the hue of
the sky that lay back of the leaden clouds. A heightened color mantled
her cheeks, her lips were parted with a smile, and her whole face was
full of delighted interest.
"By Jove!" muttered Graham. "Aunt Mayburn is half right, I believe. A
man must have the pulse of an anchorite to look often at such a vision
as that and remain untouched. One might easily create a divinity out of
such a creature, and then find it difficult not to worship. I could go
away now and make her my ideal, endowing her with all impossible
attributes of perfection. Very probably fuller acquaintance will prove
that she is made of clay not differing materially from that of other
womankind. I envy her correspondent, however, and would be glad if I
could write a letter that would bring such an expression to her face.
Well, I am reconnoitring true enough, and had better not be detected in
the act;" and he stepped rapidly forward.
She recognized him with a piquant little nod and smile. The letter was
folded instantly, and a moment later she opened the door for him
herself, saying, "Since I have seen you and you have come on so kind an
errand I have dispensed with the formality of sending a servant to
admit you."
"Won't you shake hands as a further reward?" he asked. "You will find
me very mercenary."
"Oh, certainly. Pardon the oversight. I should have done so without
prompting since it is so long since we have met."
"And having known each other so long also," he added in the same light
vein, conscious meantime that he held a hand that was as full of
vitality as it was shapely and white.
"Indeed," she replied; "did last evening seem an age to you?"
"I tried to prolong it, for you must remember that my aunt said that
she could not get me away; and this morning I was indiscreet enough to
welcome the rain, at which she reminded me of her rheumatism and your
father's wound."
"And at which I also hope you had a twinge or two of conscience. Papa,"
she added, leading the way into the parlor, "here is Mr. Graham. It was
his fascinating talk about life in Germany that so delayed me last
evening."
The old gentleman started out of a doze, and his manner proved that he
welcomed any break in the monotony of the day. "You will pardon my not
rising," he said; "this confounded weather is playing the deuce with my
leg."
Graham was observant as he joined in a general condemnation of the
weather; and the manner in which Miss St. John rearranged the cushion
on which her father's foot rested, coaxed the fire into a more cheerful
blaze, and bestowed other little attentions, proved beyond a doubt that
all effort in behalf of the suffering veteran would be appreciated. Nor
was he so devoid of a kindly good-nature himself as to anticipate an
irksome task, and he did his utmost to discover the best methods of
entertaining his host. The effort soon became remunerative, for the
major had seen much of life, and enjoyed reference to his experiences.
Graham found that he could be induced to fight his battles over again,
but always with very modest allusion to himself. In the course of their
talk it also became evident that he was a man of somewhat extensive
reading, and the daily paper must have been almost literally devoured
to account for his acquaintance with contemporary affairs. The daughter
was often not a little amused at Graham's blank looks as her father
broached topics of American interest which to the student from abroad
were as little known or understood as the questions which might have
been agitating the inhabitants of Jupiter. Most ladies would have been
politely oblivious of her guest's blunders and infelicitous remarks,
but Miss St. John had a frank, merry way of recognizing them, and yet
malice and ridicule were so entirely absent from her words and ways
that Graham soon positively enjoyed being laughed at, and much
preferred her delicate open raillery, which gave him a chance to defend
himself, to a smiling mask that would leave him in uncertainty as to
the fitness of his replies. There was a subtle flattery also in this
course, for she treated him as one capable of holding his own, and not
in need of social charity and protection. With pleasure he recognized
that she was adopting toward him something of the same sportive manner
which characterized her relations with his aunt, and which also
indicated that as Mrs. Mayburn's nephew he had met with a reception
which would not have been accorded to one less favorably introduced.
How vividly in after years Graham remembered that rainy May morning! He
could always call up before him, like a vivid picture, the old major
with his bushy white eyebrows and piercing black eyes, the smoke from
his meerschaum creating a sort of halo around his gray head, the fine,
venerable face often drawn by pain which led to half-muttered
imprecations that courtesy to his guest and daughter could not wholly
suppress. How often he saw again the fire curling softly from the
hearth with a contented crackle, as if pleased to be once more an
essential to the home from which the advancing summer would soon banish
it! He could recall every article of the furniture with which he
afterward became so familiar. But that which was engraven on his memory
forever was a fair young girl sitting by the window with a background
of early spring greenery swaying to and fro in the storm. Long
afterward, when watching on the perilous picket line or standing in his
place on the battlefield, he would close his eyes that he might recall
more vividly the little white hands deftly crocheting on some feminine
mystery, and the mirthful eyes that often glanced from it to him as the
quiet flow of their talk rippled on. A rill, had it conscious life,
would never forget the pebble that deflected its course from one ocean
to another; human life as it flows onward cannot fail to recognize
events, trivial in themselves, which nevertheless gave direction to all
the future.
Graham admitted to himself that he had found a charm at this fireside
which he had never enjoyed elsewhere in society--the pleasure of being
perfectly at ease. There was a genial frankness and simplicity in his
entertainers which banished restraint, and gave him a sense of
security. He felt instinctively that there were no adverse currents of
mental criticism and detraction, that they were loyal to him as their
invited guest, notwithstanding jest, banter, and good-natured satire.
The hours had vanished so swiftly that he was at a loss to account for
them. Miss St. John was a natural foe to dulness of all kinds, and this
too without any apparent effort. Indeed, we are rarely entertained by
evident and deliberate exertion. Pleasurable exhilaration in society is
obtained from those who impart, like warmth, their own spontaneous
vivacity. Miss St. John's smile was an antidote for a rainy day, and he
was loath to pass from its genial power out under the dripping clouds.
Following an impulse, he said to the girl, "You are more than a match
for the weather."
These words were spoken in the hall after he had bidden adieu to the
major.
"If you meant a compliment it is a very doubtful one," she replied,
laughing. "Do you mean that I am worse than the weather which gives
papa the horrors, and Mrs. Mayburn the rheumatism?"
"And me one of the most delightful mornings I ever enjoyed," he added,
interrupting her. "You were in league with your wood fire. The garish
sunshine of a warm day robs a house of all cosiness and snugness.
Instead of being depressed by the storm and permitting others to be
dull, you have the art of making the clouds your foil."
"Possibly I may appear to some advantage against such a dismal
background," she admitted.
"My meaning is interpreted by my unconscionably long visit. I now must
reluctantly retreat into the dismal background."
"A rather well-covered retreat, as papa might say, but you will need
your umbrella all the same;" for he, in looking back at the archly
smiling girl, had neglected to open it.
"I am glad it is not a final retreat," he called back. "I shall return
this evening reinforced by my aunt."
"Well," exclaimed that lady when he appeared before her, "lunch has
been waiting ten minutes or more."
"I feared as much," he replied, shaking his head ruefully.
"What kept you?"
"Miss St. John."
"Not the major? I thought you went to entertain him?"
"So I did, but man proposes--"
"Oh, not yet, I hope," cried the old lady with assumed dismay. "I
thought you promised to do nothing rash."
"You are more precipitate than I have been. All that I propose is to
enjoy my vacation and the society of your charming friend."
"The major?" she suggested.
"A natural error on your part, for I perceived he was very gallant to
you. After your remarks, however, you cannot think it strange that I
found the daughter more interesting--so interesting indeed that I have
kept you waiting for lunch. I'll not repeat the offence any oftener
than I can help. At the same time I find that I have not lost my
appetite, or anything else that I am aware of."
"How did Grace appear?" his aunt asked as they sat down to lunch.
"Like myself."
"Then not like any one else you know?"
"We agree here perfectly."
"You have no fear?"
"No, nor any hopes that I am conscious of. Can I not admire your
paragon to your heart's content without insisting that she bestow upon
me the treasures of her life? Miss St. John has a frank, cordial manner
all her own, and I think also that for your sake she has received me
rather graciously, but I should be blind indeed did I not recognize
that it would require a siege to win her; and that would be useless, as
you said, unless her own heart prompted the surrender. I have heard and
read that many women are capable of passing fancies of which adroit
suitors can take advantage, and they are engaged or married before
fully comprehending what it all means. Were Miss St. John of this class
I should still hesitate to venture, for nothing in my training has
fitted me to take an advantage of a lady's mood. I don't think your
favorite is given to fancies. She is too well poised. Her serene,
laughing confidence, her more than content, comes either from a heart
already happily given, or else from a nature so sound and healthful
that life in itself is an unalloyed joy. She impresses me as the
happiest being I ever met, and as such it is a delight to be in her
presence; but if I should approach her as a lover, something tells me
that I should find her like a snowy peak, warm and rose-tinted in the
sunlight, as seen in the distance, but growing cold as you draw near.
There may be subterranean fires, but they would manifest themselves
from some inward impulse. At least I do not feel conscious of any power
to awaken them."
Mrs. Mayburn shook her head ominously.
"You are growing very fanciful," she said, "which is a sign, if not a
bad one. Your metaphors, too, are so farfetched and extravagant as to
indicate the earliest stages of the divine madness. Do you mean to
suggest that Grace will break forth like a volcano on some fortuitous
man? If that be your theory you would stand as good a chance as any
one. She might break forth on you."
"I have indeed been unfortunate in my illustration, since you can so
twist my words even in jest. Here's plain enough prose for you. No
amount of wooing would make the slightest difference unless by some law
or impulse of her own nature Miss St. John was compelled to respond."
"Isn't that true of every woman?"
"I don't think it is."
"How is it that you are so versed in the mysteries of the feminine
soul?"
"I have not lived altogether the life of a monk, and the history of the
world is the history of women as well as of men. I am merely giving the
impression that has been made upon me."