"Listen, Alfred. Sit down and listen. I don't wish you to think
I'm such a ninny as to fancy a young man like Ulick is without his
distractions. Only keep your Doras to yourself----" "Which Ulick can't
accomplish. He shares her with Paul Godard," eagerly broke in Alfred.
"No scandal please," she remonstrated. "His private affairs--the
private affairs of the mercurial Paul--I confess I like Paul, he is
at least well-bred--do not concern me, but what does interest me is
your honest opinion of Ulick Invern's character. As he is your closest
friend you are bound in honour to give him a bad black eye for my
special benefit. But I shall discount your abuse. So go ahead and
get rid of your venom." He was hurt by the flippant manner of this
invitation. He didn't mind the imputation, for he prided himself on
his sharp tongue and epigrammatic slashing at other people's good
names, but like most cynics he feared critical guns trained on his own
sensitive self. She laughed all the more. In a cold sullen irritation
he spoke his little piece with Ulick as thesis.
"You greatly mistake me Mona if you think I underestimate the splendid
qualities of Invern. He is a good friend, a friend in need. Generosity
of spirit he abounds in. It is his strong point, also his weakest.
He is too receptive. He may write well some day, yet I don't believe
the man will go far. Again his procrastination, his receptivity, his
money, will all militate against his achieving what he calls artistic
success, what I call blithering nonsense. Why, if he had a genuine
personality, I mean, of course, an artistic personality, he would not
talk so much about evolving one--which he does about a dozen times
daily. That's number one. Number two is his weakness concerning your
sex." She lifted a deprecating hand. "I shan't bother you with any
stories about the way he shoots off his young fireworks. That is only
a liberation of his surplus energy. If he didn't pursue the Eternal
Feminine, if he didn't go in quest of the elusive girl, he might be
drinking or gambling--like myself. Mind you, I don't give him any
credit for not indulging in the sports of the average male. He saw
too much of dissipation when he was young. The old man drank himself
to death, and would have gambled away his wife's fortune if it had
not been tied up so securely by her father, Bartlett the banker. No,
I don't take any stock in Ulick's negative virtues. If he didn't hate
the taste of alcohol and the smell of tobacco, he would be like the
rest of us; perhaps worse. I only hope he won't take to booze when he
is mature; no hope for him if he does. Late boozers never reform. My
chief criticism, my dear Mona, is directed against his instability of
character. Ulick is true to any wind that blows. He is an emotional
weathercock. Any petticoat that crosses his vision attracts him and the
last becomes the Eternal She who must be obeyed. In speaking for your
good, Mona, just remember his infatuation for Easter, and now--she is
only a year gone and it's out of sight, out of mind with him."
Mona attentively listened. At the casual reference to Easter she
asked: "What sort of a girl is this Easter--what's her real name?"
"Esther Brandès. No. She isn't a Jewess, though I shouldn't be
surprised to learn that her mysterious father--she seldom refers to his
existence--was of the tribe. Danish, they say, a countryman of Georg
Brandes. What sort? A very good sort, I assure you, altogether apart
from her musical and dramatic gifts. Now, there's a woman who will go
far, because she possesses what Ulick lacks; singleness of purpose. She
only sees artistic success, and she goes straight for it. She will get
there with both feet, as the saying is. Esther Brandès in ten years
may be treading in the august footsteps of Lilli Lehmann. Who knows!
Why did she fight a duel with Mary Garden? you ask. Probably because
she saw a chance to get into the cable news. Mary is canny. Esther is
cannier. She would fight with Frida Ash if she thought it would bring
forth a newspaper paragraph. She knows the ropes. Publicity. Notoriety.
Anything scandalous, so that she is not forgotten. That's why I believe
she will win out. Ulick--never. He hasn't the staying power. He won't
take punishment. He is a dreamer and an egotist. He fondly believes
that he is becoming a good American when he is only a deracinated
cosmopolitan. His place is Paris, not New York. In the end he will be
only a spoiled Parisian."
"He complains that everyone advises him to return to Paris,"
interjected Mona, who seemed sleepy. "And jolly good advice it is.
I'm telling you nothing novel, Mona; your brother Milt has discoursed
Ulick, his talents--he has more than one. Did you ever hear him
play Chopin?--his personality; a chameleon, I tell you, a charming
chameleon, intellectually inconstant, and always to be watched. I hope
you haven't fallen too deeply in love with him not to pull out when you
understand his real character--or want of it. He is quite capable of
passing the night with two or three women if the mood is upon him, and
physical circumstances favourable. Pardon me, Mona, if I speak plainly.
I am concerned for your welfare, else"----She rose, rubbed her eyes,
and held out her hand.
"That's the consecrated phrase, Alfred. The most interesting part
of your highly moral discourse was your description of Easter. She
intrigues my curiosity. Do you suppose that Ulick will tumble over when
she returns"? Alfred was surly. "I dare say. But I'm not his keeper.
Good-night, and good-bye, Mona. I go up in the morning. May I run in
on your return"? Mona nodded. "You may. Milt will be with us for his
annual vacation, and you ought to sleep well tonight after demolishing
two reputations." Alfred grunted a farewell.