ANGELICA
At a quarter of eight o'clock, when Caroline was waiting to be called,
Mrs. Timberlake came in to ask if she might fasten her dress.
"Oh, you're all hooked and ready," she remarked. "I suppose nurses learn
to be punctual."
"They have to be, so much depends on it."
"Well, you look sweet. I've brought you a red rose from the table. It
will lighten up that black dress a little."
"I don't often go to dinner parties," said Caroline while she pinned on
the rose. "Will there be many people?" There was no shyness in her voice
or manner; and it seemed to Mrs. Timberlake that the black gown, with
its straight, slim skirt, which had not quite gone out of fashion, made
her appear taller and more dignified. Her hair, brushed smoothly back
from her forehead, gave to her clear profile the look of some delicate
etching. There was a faint flush in her cheeks, and her eyes were richer
and bluer than they had looked in the afternoon. She was a woman, not a
girl, and her charm was the charm not of ignorance, but of intelligence,
wisdom, and energy.
"Only twelve," answered the housekeeper, "sometimes we have as many as
twenty." There was an expression of pain in her eyes, due to chronic
neuralgia, and while she spoke she pressed her fingers to her temples.
"Is Mr. Wythe coming?" asked Caroline.
"He always comes. It is so hard to find unattached men that the same
ones get invited over and over. Then there are Mr. and Mrs. Chalmers.
They are from New York and the dinner is given to them--and the
Ashburtons and Robert Colfax and his wife--who was Daisy Carter--she is
very good looking but a little flighty--and Mr. Peyton, old Mrs.
Colfax's brother."
"I know--'Brother Charles'--but who are the Ashburtons?"
"Colonel Ashburton is very amusing. He is on Mr. Blackburn's side in
politics, and they are great friends. His wife is dull, but she means
well, and she is useful on committees because she is a good worker and
never knows when she is put upon. Well, it's time for you to go down, I
reckon. I just ran up from the pantry to see if I could help you."
A minute later, when Caroline left her room, Mary Blackburn joined her,
and the two went downstairs together. Mary was wearing a lovely gown of
amber silk, and she looked so handsome that Caroline scarcely recognized
her. Her black hair, piled on the crown of her head, gave her, in spite
of her modern dash and frankness, a striking resemblance to one of the
old portraits at The Cedars. She was in high spirits, for the ride with
Alan had left her glowing with happiness.
"We'd better hustle. They are waiting for us," she said. "I was late
getting in, so I tossed on the first dress I could find."
Then she ran downstairs, and Caroline, following her more slowly, found
herself presently shaking hands with the dreaded David Blackburn. He was
so quiet and unassuming that only when he had taken her hand and had
asked her a few conventional questions about her trip, did she realize
that she was actually speaking to him. In evening clothes, surrounded by
the pink silk walls of Angelica's drawing-room, his face looked firmer
and harder than it had appeared in the motor; but even in this
extravagant setting, he impressed her as more carefully dressed and
groomed than the average Virginian of her acquaintance. She saw now that
he was younger than she had at first thought; he couldn't, she surmised,
be much over forty. There were deep lines in his forehead; his features
had settled into the granite-like immobility that is acquired only
through grim and resolute struggle; and his dark, carefully brushed hair
showed a silvery gloss on the temples--yet these things, she realized,
were the marks of battles, not of years. What struck her most was the
quickness with which the touch of arrogance in his expression melted
before the engaging frankness of his smile.
"I'm glad you've come. I hope you will get on with Letty," he said; and
then, as he turned away, the vision of Angelica, in white chiffon and
pearls, floated toward her from a group by the fireplace.
"Colonel Ashburton is an old friend of your mother's, Miss Meade. He
took her to her first cotillion, and he is eager to meet her daughter."
There followed swift introductions to the Ashburtons, the Chalmers, and
the Colfaxes; and not until Caroline was going into the dining-room on
the arm of Mrs. Colfax's "Brother Charles," was she able to distinguish
between the stranger from New York, who looked lean and wiry and
strenuous, and the white-haired old gentleman who had taken her mother
to the cotillion. She was not confused; and yet her one vivid impression
was of Angelica, with her pale Madonna head, her soft grey eyes under
thick lashes, and her lovely figure in draperies of chiffon that flowed
and rippled about her.
Though the house was an inappropriate setting for David Blackburn, it
was, for all its newness and ornate accessories, the perfect frame for
his wife's beauty. She reminded Caroline of the allegorical figure of
Spring in one of the tapestries on the dining-room walls--only she was
so much softer, so much more ethereal, as if the floral image had come
to life and been endowed with a soul. It was the rare quality of Mrs.
Blackburn's beauty that in looking at her one thought first of her
spirit--of the sweetness and goodness which informed and animated her
features. The appeal she made was the appeal of an innocent and
beautiful creature who is unhappy. Against the background of an
unfortunate marriage, she moved with the resigned and exalted step of a
Christian martyr.
Sitting silently between the flippant "Brother Charles" and the imposing
Colonel Ashburton, who was still talking of her mother, Caroline tried
to follow the conversation while she studied the faces and the dresses
of the women. Mrs. Chalmers, who was large and handsome in a superb gown
of green velvet, appeared heavy and indifferent, and Mrs. Ashburton, an
over-earnest middle-aged woman, with a classic profile and a look of
impersonal yet hungry philanthropy, was so detached that she seemed,
when she spoke, to be addressing an invisible audience. In spite of her
regular features and her flawless complexion, she was as devoid of charm
as an organized charity. On her right sat Allan Wythe, a clean-cut,
good-looking chap, with romantic eyes and the air of a sportsman.
Though Caroline had heard that he wrote plays, she thought that he
needed only a gun and a dog to complete his appearance. "He is the only
good-looking man here," she concluded. "Some people might think Mr.
Blackburn good-looking, but I suppose I know too much about him." And
she remembered that her father had said a man's character always showed
in his mouth.
Next to Alan there was Mrs. Robert Colfax--a beautiful Spanish-looking
creature, straight as a young poplar, and as full of silvery lights and
shadows. She had no sooner sat down than she began to ask Angelica, with
an agreeable though flighty animation, if she had seen somebody since he
had come back from his wedding trip? For the next quarter of an hour
they kept up an excited interchange of gossip, while Mr. Chalmers
listened with polite attention, and Caroline tried in vain to discover
who the unknown person was, and why his wedding trip should interest
anybody so profoundly.
"Well, I never thought he'd get another wife after his last
misadventure," rippled Mrs. Colfax, "but they tell me he had only to
wink an eyelash. I declare I don't know a more discouraging spectacle
than the men that some women will marry."
At the other end of the table, Mrs. Blackburn was talking in a low voice
to Mr. Chalmers, and the broken clauses of her conversation were
punctuated by the laughter of the irrepressible Daisy, who was never
silent. Though Angelica was not brilliant, though she never said
anything clever enough for one to remember, she had what her friends
called "a sweet way of talking," and a flattering habit, when she was
with a man, of ending every sentence with a question. "I'm sure I don't
see how we are to keep out of this war, do you, Mr. Chalmers?" or "I
think the simplest way to raise money would be by some tableaux, don't
you, Colonel Ashburton?"; and still a little later there floated to
Caroline, "I tell Mary she rides too much. Don't you think it is a pity
for a woman to spend half her life in the saddle? Of course if she
hasn't anything else to do--but in this age, don't you feel, there are
so many opportunities of service?"
"Oh, when it comes to that," protested Mrs. Colfax, in the tone of airy
banter she affected, "There are many more of us trying to serve than
there are opportunities of service. I was telling mother only the other
day that I couldn't see a single war charity because the vice-presidents
are so thick."
A lull fell on the table, and for the first time Caroline heard
Blackburn's voice. Mrs. Chalmers was asking him about the house, and he
was responding with a smile that made his face almost young and
sanguine. His mouth, when he was not on guard, was sensitive and even
emotional, and his eyes lost the sharpness that cut through whatever
they looked at.
"Why, yes, I built it before my marriage," he was saying. "Dodson drew
the plans. You know Dodson?"
Mrs. Chalmers nodded. "He has done some good things in New York. And
this lovely furniture," she was plainly working hard to draw him out.
"Where did you find it?"
He met the question lightly. "Oh, I had a lot of stuff here that
Angelica got rid of."
From the other end of the table Mrs. Blackburn's voice floated
plaintively, "There isn't a piece of it left," she said. "It made the
house look exactly like an Italian hotel."
The remark struck Caroline as so unfortunate that she turned, with a
start of surprise, to glance at her hostess. Could it be that Mrs.
Blackburn was without tact? Could it be that she did not realize the
awkwardness of her interruption? Yet a single glance at Angelica was
sufficient to answer these questions. A woman who looked like that
couldn't be lacking in social instinct. It must have been a casual slip,
nothing more. She was probably tired--hadn't old Mrs. Colfax said that
she was delicate?--and she did not perceive the effect of her words.
Glancing again in Blackburn's direction, Caroline saw that his features
had hardened, and that the hand on the tablecloth was breaking a piece
of bread into crumbs.
The change in his manner was so sudden that Caroline understood, even
before she saw the twitching of his eyebrows, and the gesture of
irritation with which he pushed the bread crumbs away, that, in spite of
his reserve and his coldness, he was a bundle of over-sensitive nerves.
"He was behaving really well," she thought. "It is a pity that she
irritated him." Though she disliked Blackburn, she was just enough to
admit that he had started well with Mrs. Chalmers. Of course, no one
expected him to appear brilliant in society. A man who had had no
education except the little his mother had taught him, and who had
devoted his life to making a fortune, was almost as much debarred from
social success as a woman who knew only trained nursing. Yet, in spite
of these defects, she realized that he appeared to advantage at his own
table. There was something about him--some latent suggestion of
force--which distinguished him from every other man in the room. He
looked--she couldn't quite define the difference--as if he could do
things. The recollection of his stand in politics came to her while she
watched him, and turning to Mr. Peyton, who was a trifle more human than
Colonel Ashburton, she asked:
"What is this new movement Mr. Blackburn is so much interested in? I've
seen a great deal about it in the papers."
There was a bluff, kind way about Charles Peyton, and she liked the
natural heartiness of the laugh with which he answered. "You've seen a
great deal more than you've read, young lady, I'll warrant. No, it isn't
exactly a new movement, because somebody in the North got ahead of
him--you may always count on a Yankee butting in just before you--but he
is organizing the independent voters in Virginia, if that's what you
mean. At least he thinks he is, though even way down here I've a
suspicion that those Yankees have been meddling. Between you and me,
Miss Meade, it is all humbug--pure humbug. Haven't we got one party
already, and doesn't that one have a hard enough time looking after the
negroes? Why do we want to go and start up trouble just after we've got
things all nicely settled? Why does David want to stir up a hornet's
nest among the negroes, I'd like to know?"
On the other side of Caroline, Colonel Ashburton became suddenly
audible. "Ask that Rip Van Winkle, Miss Meade, if he was asleep while we
made a new constitution and eliminated the vote of the negroes? You
can't argue with these stand-patters, you know, because they never read
the signs of the times."
"Well, there isn't a better way of proving it's all humbug than by
asking two questions," declared the jovial Charles--a plethoric,
unwieldy old man, with a bald head, and a figure that was continually
brimming over his waistcoat. "What I want to know, Billy Ashburton, is
just this--wasn't your father as good a man as you are, and wasn't the
Democratic Party good enough for your father? I put the same to you,
Miss Meade, wasn't the Democratic Party good enough for your father?"
"Ah, you're driven to your last trench," observed the Colonel, with
genial irony, while Caroline replied slowly: "Yes, it was good enough
for father, but I remember he used to be very fond of quoting some lines
from Pope about 'principles changing with the times.' I suppose the
questions are different from what they were in his day."
"I'd like to see any questions the Democrats aren't able to handle,"
persisted Charles. "They always have handled them to my satisfaction,
and I reckon they always will, in spite of Blackburn and Ashburton."
"I wish Blackburn could talk to you, Miss Meade," said Colonel
Ashburton. "He doesn't care much for personalities. He has less small
talk than any man I know, but he speaks well if you get him started on
ideas. By-the-way, he is the man who won me over. I used to be as
strongly prejudiced against any fresh departure in Virginia politics as
our friend Charles there, but Blackburn got hold of me, and convinced
me, as he has convinced a great many others, against my will. He proved
to me that the old forms are worn out--that they can't do the work any
longer. You see, Blackburn is an idealist. He sees straight through the
sham to the truth quicker than any man I've ever known----"
"An idealist!" exclaimed Caroline, and mentally she added, "Is it
possible for a man to have two characters? To have a public character
that gives the lie to his private one?"
"Yes, I think you might call him that, though, like you, I rather shy at
the word. But it fits Blackburn, somehow, for he is literally on fire
with ideas. I always say that he ought to have lived in the glorious
days when the Republic was founded. He belongs to the pure breed of
American."
"But I understood from the papers that it was just the other way--that
he was--that he was----"
"I know, my child, I know." He smiled indulgently, for she looked very
charming with the flush in her cheeks, and after thirty years of happy
companionship with an impeccable character, he preferred at dinner a
little amiable weakness in a woman. "You have seen in the papers that he
is a traitor to the faith of his fathers. You have even heard this
asserted by the logical Charles on your right."
She lifted her eyes, and to his disappointment he discovered that
earnestness, not embarrassment, had brought the colour to her cheeks.
"But I thought that this new movement was directed at the Democratic
Party--that it was attempting to undo all that had been accomplished in
the last fifty years. It seems the wrong way, but of course there must
be a right way toward better things."
For a minute he looked at her in silence; then he said again gently, "I
wish Blackburn could talk to you." Since she had come by her ideas
honestly, not merely borrowed them from Charles Colfax, it seemed only
chivalrous to treat them with the consideration he accorded always to
the fair and the frail.
She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to have Mr. Blackburn
talk to her. "I thought all old-fashioned Virginians opposed this
movement," she added after a pause. "Not that I am very old-fashioned.
You remember my father, and so you will know that his daughter is not
afraid of opinions."
"Yes, I remember him, and I understand that his child could not be
afraid either of opinions or armies."
She smiled up at him, and he saw that her eyes, which had been a little
sad, were charged with light. While he watched her he wondered if her
quietness were merely a professional habit of reserve which she wore
like a uniform. Was the warmth and fervour which he read now in her face
a glimpse of the soul which life had hidden beneath the dignity of her
manner?
"But Blackburn isn't an agitator," he resumed after a moment. "He has
got hold of the right idea--the new application of eternal principles.
If we could send him to Washington he would do good work."
"To Washington?" She looked at him inquiringly. "You mean to the Senate?
Not in the place of Colonel Acton?"
"Ah, that touches you! You wouldn't like to see the 'Odysseus of
Democracy' dispossessed?"
Laughter sparkled in her eyes, and he realized that she was more girlish
than he had thought her a minute ago. After all, she had humour, and it
was a favourite saying of his that ideas without humour were as bad as
bread without yeast.
"Only for another Ajax," she retorted merrily. "I prefer the strong to
the wise. But does Mr. Blackburn want the senatorship?"
"Perhaps not, but he might be made to take it. There is a rising tide in
Virginia."
"Is it strong enough to overturn the old prejudices?"
"Not yet--not yet, but it is strengthening every hour." His tone had
lost its gallantry and grown serious. "The war in Europe has taught us a
lesson. We aren't satisfied any longer, the best thought isn't
satisfied, with the old clutter and muddle of ideas and sentiments. We
begin to see that what we need in politics is not commemorative
gestures, but constructive patriotism."
As he finished, Caroline became aware again that Blackburn was speaking,
and that for the first time Mrs. Chalmers looked animated and
interested.
"Why, that has occurred to me," he was saying with an earnestness that
swept away his reserve. "But, you see, it is impossible to do anything
in the South with the Republican Party. The memories are too black. We
must think in new terms."
"And you believe that the South is ready for another party? Has the hour
struck?"
"Can't you hear it?" He looked up as he spoke. "The war abroad has
liberated us from the old sectional bondage. It has brought the world
nearer, and the time is ripe for the national spirit. The demand now is
for men. We need men who will construct ideas, not copy them. We need
men strong enough to break up the solid South and the solid North, and
pour them together into the common life of the nation. We want a
patriotism that will overflow party lines, and put the good of the
country before the good of a section. The old phrases, the old gestures,
are childish to-day because we have outgrown them----" He stopped
abruptly, his face so enkindled that Caroline would not have known it,
and an instant later the voice of Mrs. Blackburn was heard saying
sweetly but firmly, "David, I am afraid that Mrs. Chalmers is not used
to your melodramatic way of talking."
In the hush that followed it seemed as if a harsh light had fallen over
Blackburn's features. A moment before Caroline had seen him inspired and
exalted by feeling--the vehicle of the ideas that possessed him--and
now, in the sharp flash of Angelica's irony, he appeared insincere and
theatrical--the claptrap politician in motley.
"It is a pity she spoke just when she did," thought Caroline, "but I
suppose she sees through him so clearly that she can't help herself. She
doesn't want him to mislead the rest of us."
Blackburn's guard was up again, and though he made no reply, his brow
paled slowly and his hand--the nervous, restless hand of the emotional
type--played with the bread crumbs.
"Yes, it is a pity," repeated Caroline to herself. "It makes things very
uncomfortable." It was evident to her that Mrs. Blackburn watched her
husband every instant--that she was waiting all the time to rectify his
mistakes, to put him in the right again. Then, swiftly as an arrow,
there flashed through Caroline's mind, "Only poor, lovely creature, she
achieves exactly the opposite result. She is so nervous she can't see
that she puts him always in the wrong. She makes matters worse instead
of better every time."
From this moment the dinner dragged on heavily to its awkward end.
Blackburn had withdrawn into his shell; Mrs. Chalmers looked depressed
and bored; while the giddy voice of Mrs. Colfax sounded as empty as the
twitter of a sparrow. It was as if a blight had fallen over them, and in
this blight Angelica made charming, futile attempts to keep up the
conversation. She had tried so hard, her eyes, very gentle and pensive,
seemed to say, and all her efforts were wasted.
Suddenly, in the dull silence, Mrs. Colfax began asking, in her
flightiest manner, about Angelica's family. For at least five minutes
she had vacillated in her own mind between the weather and Roane
Fitzhugh, who, for obvious reasons, was not a promising topic; and now
at last, since the weather was too perfect for comment, she recklessly
decided to introduce the unsavoury Roane.
"We haven't seen your brother recently, Angelica. What do you hear from
him?"
For an instant Mrs. Blackburn's eyes rested with mute reproach on her
husband. Then she said clearly and slowly, "He has been away all summer,
but we hope he is coming next week. David," she added suddenly in a
louder tone, "I was just telling Daisy how glad we are that Roane is
going to spend the autumn at Briarlay."
It was at that instant, just as Mrs. Blackburn, smiling amiably on her
husband, was about to rise from the table, that the astounding, the
incredible thing happened, for Blackburn looked up quickly, and replied
in a harsh, emphatic manner, "He is not coming to Briarlay. You know
that we cannot have him here."
Then before a word was uttered, before Mrs. Colfax had time to twitter
cheerfully above the awkwardness, Mrs. Blackburn rose from her chair,
and the women trailed slowly after her out of the dining-room. As
Caroline went, she felt that her heart was bursting with sympathy for
Angelica and indignation against her husband. "How in the world shall I
ever speak to him after this?" she thought. "How shall I ever stay under
the same roof with him?" And glancing pityingly to where Mrs.
Blackburn's flower-like head drooped against the rosy shade of a lamp,
she realized that Angelica never looked so lovely as she did when she
was hurt.