THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER.
Before the first of April came, Hannibal sailed. During the winter he
had taken lessons in French of a city teacher, until he believed he
could get along after a fashion with that language. He announced to
Daisy that he would go on the third of March, then he changed it to the
tenth, and again to the seventeenth. Each time, when the date
approached, he seemed to have a weakening of purpose, a dread of
actually plunging into the tide that set toward foreign shores. The girl
had interviews with him on each of these occasions, at which what passed
was known only to themselves. And each time, when she had reached her
own room, she threw herself on her bed and wept bitterly.
But, at last, on the twenty-fourth, he went. With his overcoat on his
arm, his satchel and umbrella in his hands, he said "Good-by" to the
little party that gathered at the door. He had been treated with great
consideration in that home. Perhaps he realized this to some extent as
he was about to turn his back upon it. Certain it is that he could not
hide the choking in his throat, as he said the words of farewell. Archie
Weil, who stood there with the rest, thought he saw a strange look in
those black orbs as they dwelt a moment on the younger daughter; but it
passed so quickly he could not be sure.
Mr. Fern was there, and Roseleaf. Millicent had responded, when a
servant went to inform her that Hannibal was going, that she was very
glad. Did she wish to go down? By no means. She hoped she was not such a
fool.
Weil, who watched everybody, saw an unmistakable relief in the careworn
countenance of Mr. Fern, when the tall form of his late servant
disappeared at the gate.
"I hope you will do well," had been the last words of the merchant, and
Daisy had added, "So do we all, I am sure." Roseleaf had not spoken. He
had stood a little apart from the others, his mind filled with varying
emotions. It was he who had furnished the money to carry out this plan,
and if it made one hour of Daisy's life happier he would be content.
Within an hour it was evident that a cloud had been lifted from the
entire household. Everybody felt brighter and better. Roseleaf eyed Mr.
Fern with surprise, and had half a mind to go to his office the next day
and tell him how dearly he loved his daughter. It was the first time
anything like a smile had been upon that face since he had known its
lineaments.
Archie Weil devoted his attention, as usual, to Millicent. He did not
talk to her about Hannibal, knowing how distasteful was the subject. He
discussed her novel, of which she never seemed to tire, and asked her
about another, which she had begun to map out. She told him she was sure
she could do better the next time, and spoke of the assistance Mr.
Roseleaf would furnish if needed, quite as if that was a matter already
arranged between her and the young novelist.
Archie wondered if Millicent knew the extent of the attachment that had
grown up between Shirley and her sister. She seemed to feel sure that he
would be at hand when wanted. Could it be that she believed he would
ultimately become her brother-in-law? The negro's guess had almost been
blotted out of his mind. There had been absolutely nothing in his
observation to confirm it.
A day or two after the departure of Hannibal, Mr. Fern had a
conversation with Daisy, in which he dwelt with more stress than she
could account for on a special theme. He was talking of Walter Boggs and
Archie Weil, and he cautioned her earnestly to treat both gentlemen with
the greatest consideration. The girl detected something strange in his
voice, and she stole apprehensive glances at him, hoping to read the
cause in his eyes.
"Why, papa, I never see Mr. Boggs," she said. "It is weeks and weeks
since he came here. As for Mr. Weil, we all treat him nicely, I am sure,
and are glad to have him come."
"Yes," he admitted. "You use him quite right, my child. I am not
complaining; only, if you could show him _particular_ attention,
something more than the ordinary--" He paused, trying to finish what he
wished to say. "There may be a time when he will be of great value to
me--and--I want him to feel--you observe things so cleverly--do you
think Millicent cares for him?"
Daisy looked up astonished.
"Cares--for--Mr. Weil?"
Her father nodded.
"He has been here several times a week for months, and most of his time
here has been spent with her. I thought--I hoped that she cared for
him."
He thought! He hoped! Daisy had never had such an idea in her head until
that moment. She had a dim idea that her father would give up either of
his daughters with great regret, although she could not help knowing
that the relations between him and Millicent were not as cordial as
those between him and herself. And he "hoped" that Millie would marry,
and that she would marry Mr. Weil! Her mind dwelt upon this strange
thought. She tried to find a reason for it. Was there any stronger
incentive in her father's mind than a desire to see Millie well settled
in life, with a good husband?
Had he a fear that the time might soon come when he could not provide
for her?
Or was there a worse fear--the kind of fear that had haunted him in
relation to Hannibal?
Every time Mr. Weil came to the house after that the young girl watched
him as closely as he had ever watched her. He did not exchange a word
with her father that did not engage her attention. And the conclusion
she came to was that, whatever the object of Mr. Fern in this matter,
Mr. Weil was honor itself.
Daisy had never made much of a confidant of Millicent, and the latter
had the habit of keeping her affairs pretty closely to herself. It was
no easy task, then, that the young sister had in view when she came to
a decision to talk with Millie about Mr. Weil.
Her father had expressed a hope that Millie and Weil would marry. Mr.
Fern had some strong reason for his wish. Whatever it was, Daisy, with
her strong filial love, wanted it gratified.
"Millie, what do you think of marriage?" she asked, one day, when the
opportunity presented itself.
"I suppose it's the manifest destiny of a woman," replied her sister,
quietly.
Much encouraged, Daisy proceeded to allude to Mr. Weil, praising him in
the highest terms, and saying that any girl might be proud to be honored
with his addresses. Millie answered with confirmatory nods of the head,
as if she fully agreed with all she uttered. But when her sister spoke,
the words struck Daisy like a blow.
"I am glad to hear this," she said, in a voice more tender than usual.
"I think Mr. Weil would have proposed to you long ago, but that he
feared the result."
Daisy gasped for breath.
"Millie!" she cried. "Do you mean that Mr. Weil--that--why, I do not
understand! He has hardly spoken to me, while he has spent nearly every
minute he has been here, with you!"
"Of course he has," responded the other. "What could be more like a case
of true love? If ever a man lost his head over a woman he has lost his
over you, Daisy. And, at any rate, you must know that _I_ care nothing
for him. You certainly could see where _my_ affections were engaged."
Daisy pressed her hand dreamily to her forehead. She had never known her
sister to show the least partiality to any other man.
"I understand you less than ever," she faltered.
"Are you so blind?" exclaimed Millicent, with superior wisdom. "Did you
think Mr. Roseleaf had been so closely engaged all this time in my
literary work without learning to care for me? I presume you will think
I ought to blush, but that is not my way. The strangest thing is that I
should have to explain what I thought every one knew."
Poor little Daisy! She was so crushed by these statements that she did
not know what reply to make, which way to turn for consolation.
"He has told you that he loves you?" she managed to articulate.
"He has shown it, at least," was the answer. "He had not been here a
week before he tried to put his arms around me. I had to let him hold my
hand to avoid an absolute quarrel. He is not an ordinary man, Daisy, and
does not act like others, but we understand each other. He is waiting
for something better in his business prospects, and as I am so busy on
my new book I am glad to be left to myself for the present."
It was the old story. Daisy could not doubt her sister's version of her
relations with Mr. Roseleaf. When he called the next time there was a
red spot in both her cheeks. He told her with happy eyes that he had at
last secured something which made it possible to speak to her father.
He had been offered a position on the Pacific Quarterly, at a good
salary, and another periodical had engaged him to write a series of
articles.
"They tell me I have no imagination," he explained, "but that I do very
good work on anything that contains matters of fact. I have some money
of my own, but I did not want to tell your father I was an idle fellow,
without brains enough to make myself useful in the world. The novel on
which I base such great hopes might not seem to him worth considering
seriously, you know. So I can go with a better account of myself, and I
am going this very week."
The bright light that shone from the face at which she looked made her
waver for a moment, but she found strength to answer that he must not
speak to Mr. Fern about her--now, or at any other time. She did not want
to marry, or to be engaged. She wanted to live with her father, and take
care of him, and she wanted nothing else.
"Millie will marry," she added, as a parting thrust, meant to be very
direct and bitter. "One of us ought to stay with papa."
For a while he was too overwhelmed by her changed attitude to make a
sensible reply. When it dawned on him that she meant what she said, he
appealed to her to take it back. He could not bear the thought of giving
her up, or even of waiting much longer for the fulfillment of his hopes.
He spoke in the most passionate tone, and his whole being seemed wrought
up by his earnestness. The girl was constantly thinking, however, that
this was the same way he had addressed Millicent, and that there was no
trust to be placed in him.
"Calm yourself," she said, when he grew violent. "I have tried to be
honest with you. I have thought of this matter a great deal. You will
admit that it is of some importance to me."
"To you!" he echoed. "Yes, and to me! I do not care whether I live or
die, if I am to lose you!"
She wanted to ask him if he had told Millie the same thing, but she
could not without making an explanation she did not like to give.
"There are others," was all she said. "Others, who will make you
happier, and be better fitted for you--in your career as a writer."
He never thought her allusion had reference to any particular person,
and he answered that there was no one, there never could be any one, for
him, but her. He had never loved before, he never should love again. And
she listened, thinking what a capacity for falsehood and tragic acting
he had developed.
After two hours of this most disagreeable scene, Roseleaf left the
house, moody and despondent. It would have taken little at that moment
to make him throw himself into the bosom of the Hudson, or send a bullet
through his brain.
On the way to the station he met Mr. Weil, who could not help asking
what was the matter.
"Oh, it's all up!" he answered. "She has refused me, and I am going to
the devil as quick as I can."
"What are you talking about?" exclaimed the other, staring at him. "You
don't mean--Daisy!"
"That's just what I mean. I went there to tell her of my good luck, and
to say I was going to ask her father's consent; and she met me as cold
as an iceberg, and said she had decided not to marry. So I'm going back
to town without a single reason left for living."
Mr. Weil stood silent and nonplussed for a few seconds. Then a bright
idea came into his head.
"Look here, Mr. Impetuousness," said he. "I know this can be arranged,
and I'm going to see that it's done. My God, the same thing happens in
half the love affairs the universe over! Give me a few days to
straighten it out. Go home and go to work, and I'll fix this, I promise
you."
It took some time to persuade Roseleaf to follow this advice, but he
yielded at last. Weil pleaded his warm friendship, begged the young man
to do what he asked if only to please him, and finally succeeded. A few
minutes later Archie had secured an audience with Daisy.
Too shrewd to risk the danger of plunging directly into the subject he
had in mind, Mr. Weil talked on almost everything else. It happened that
Millicent was away, which enabled him to devote his attention to the
younger sister without appearing unduly to seek her. But Daisy, only
half listening to what he said, was pondering the strange revelation her
sister had made, and thinking at each moment that a declaration of love
might be forthcoming.
She remembered her father's injunction to treat this man with
particular courtesy, and was in a quandary what to do in case he came to
the crucial point. But to her surprise, instead of pressing his own
suit, Mr. Weil began to support in a mild manner the cause of Mr.
Roseleaf.
"I met Shirley leaving here," he said, in a sober tone, "and he was in a
dreadful state. You didn't say anything cross to him, I hope."
With these words there seemed to come to Daisy a new revelation of the
true character of this man. Loving her himself, he was yet loyal to his
friend, who he believed had a prior claim. As this thought took root it
raised and glorified its object, until admiration became paramount to
all other feelings.
"Why should I be cross to him?" she asked, evading the point. "There are
no relations between us that would justify me in acting as his monitor
or mentor."
Mr. Weil shook his head.
"He loves you," he said. "You cannot afford, my child, to trifle with a
heart as noble as his."
The expression, "my child," touched the girl deeply. It had a protective
sound, mingled with a tinge of personal affection.
"I hope you do not think I would trifle with the feelings of any
person," she said. "Still, I cannot marry every man who may happen to
ask me. You know so much about this matter that I feel justified in
saying this; and I earnestly beg that you will ask no more."
But this Mr. Weil said gently he could not promise. He said further that
Roseleaf was one of his dearest friends, and that he could not without
emotion see him in such distress as he had recently witnessed.
"You don't know how fond I am of that boy," he added. "I would do
anything in my power to make him happy. He loves you. He will make you a
good husband. You must give me some message that will console him."
He could not get it, try as he might; and he said, with a forced smile,
that he should renew the attack at an early date, for the cause was a
righteous one, that he could not give over unsatisfied. He took her arm
and strolled up and down the veranda, in such a way that any visitor
might have taken them to be lovers, if not already married. She liked
him better and better. The touch of his sleeve was pleasant. His low
tones soothed the ache in her bosom, severe enough, God knows! When her
father came from the city he smiled brightly to see them together, and
after hearing that Millicent was away, came to the dinner table with the
gayest air he had worn for months.
Another week passed, during which Mr. Weil went nearly every day to
Midlands, and communicated to Roseleaf on each return the result of his
labors, coloring them with the roseate hues of hope, though there was
little that could legitimately be drawn from the words or actions of
Miss Daisy. The critic for Cutt & Slashem had also been given more than
an inkling of the state of affairs, and had perused with delight the
chapters last written on the famous romance. He saw that the next
experience needed by the author was a severe attack of jealousy, and as
there was no one else to play the part of Iago he himself undertook the
role.
"Archie Weil is pretty popular with the Fern family, isn't he?" was the
way he began, when he called on Roseleaf. "I met the old gentleman the
other day and he seemed absolutely 'gone on' him, as the saying is. They
tell me he's out at Midlands every day. Got his eye on the younger
daughter, too, they intimate."
It takes but little to unnerve a mind already driven to the verge of
distraction. The next time that Weil saw Roseleaf, the latter received
him with a coolness that could not be ignored. When he pressed for a
reason, the young man broke out into invective.
"Don't pretend!" he cried. "You've heard of the case of John Alden.
What's been worked once may go again. I'm not entirely blind."
Mr. Weil, with pained eyes, begged his friend to explain.
"Tell me this," shouted Roseleaf. "Do you love that girl, yourself?"
Unprepared for the question, Archie shrank as from a flash of lightning,
and could not reply.
"I know you _do_!" came the next sentence, sharply. "And I know that it
is owing to the inroads you have made--not only with her but with her
father--that I have been pushed out. Well, go ahead. I've no objection.
Only don't come here every day, with your cock and bull stories of
pleading _my_ cause, for I've had enough of them!"
The novelist turned aside, and Mr. Weil, too hurt to say a word, arose
and silently left the room. His brain whirled so that he was actually
giddy. Not knowing where else to turn he went to see Mr. Gouger, to whom
he unbosomed the result of his call.
"Don't be too serious about it," said Gouger, soothingly. "It's a good
thing for the lad to get his sluggish blood stirred a little. In a day
or two he'll be all right. That novel of his is coming on grandly!"
Weil was in no mood to talk about novels, and finding that he could get
no consolation of the kind he craved, he soon left the office. The
critic laughed silently to himself at the idea of the biter having at
last been bitten, and then took his way to Roseleaf's rooms.
No answer being returned to his knock, he opened the door and entered.
At first he thought the place was vacant, but presently he espied a
still form on the bed. The novelist was stretched out in an attitude
which at first suggested death rather than sleep, and alarmed the
visitor not a little. Investigation, however, showed that he was simply
in a tired sleep, worn out with worry and restless nights.
"What a beauty!" whispered Gouger. "A very dramatic scene could be
worked up if that sweetheart of his were brought here and made to stand
beside the couch when he awakes. Yes, it would be grand, but it would
need his own pen to trace the words!"
The hardly dry pages of the great manuscript that lay on an adjacent
desk caught the eyes of the critic, and he sat down to scan them
closer. As he turned the leaves he grew so delighted as to become almost
uncontrollable.
"He's a genius, nothing less!" he said, rapturously, and then tiptoed
softly from the chamber.