THE MILLIONS WIN
Some people cannot understand how a girl can marry a man she doesn't
love. She can do it more easily than she can stay at home, watch half
her friends marry, and feel herself slowly ossifying into something
worthless and unessential. It takes more courage to sit quietly, wait
for what may never come, and observe without misgiving the man you might
have had making some other woman's life happy and complete.
I couldn't go on living in guest-rooms forever. I was tired of
traveling, and sick to death of leading a life that meant nothing to
anybody but Dandy. As a débutante I had had a distinct mission--whether
worthy or unworthy isn't the point in question--worked for it hard,
schemed, devised, and succeeded. As Mrs. Breckenridge Sewall I could
again accomplish results. Many women marry simply because they cannot
endure an arid and purposeless future.
Some people think that a girl who marries for position is hard and
calculating. Why, I entered into my engagement in the exalted mood of
a martyr! I didn't feel hard--I felt self-sacrificing, like a girl in
royal circles whose marriage may distinguish herself and her people
to such an extent that the mere question of her own personal feelings
is of small importance. The more I considered marrying Breck the more
convinced I became that it was the best thing I could do. With my
position placed upon my brow, like a crown on a king, freed at last
from all the mean and besmirching tricks of acquiring social
distinction, I could grow and expand. When I looked ahead and saw
myself one day mistress of Grassmere, the London house, the grand
mansion in New York; wise and careful monitor of the Sewall millions;
gracious hostess; kind ruler; I felt as nearly religious as ever
before in my life. I meant to do good with my wealth and position and
influence. Is that hard and calculating?
I accepted Breck's character and morals as a candidate chosen for the
honorable office of governor of a state must accept the condition of
politics, whether they are clean or rotten. Clean politics are the
exception. So also are clean morals. I knew enough for that. Way back
in boarding-school days, we girls had resigned ourselves to the
acceptance of the deplorable state of the world's morals. We had
statistics. I had dimly hoped that one of the exceptions to the rule
might fall to my lot, but if not, I wasn't going to be prudish.
Breck's early career could neither surprise nor alarm me. I, like most
girls in this frank and open age, had been prepared for it. So when
Lucy, who is anything but worldly wise, and Will, her husband, who is
a scientist and all brains, came bearing frenzied tales of Breck's
indiscretions during his one year at the university where Will is now
located, I simply smiled. Some people are so terribly naïve and
unsophisticated!
The family's attitude toward my engagement was consistent--deeply
impressed, but tainted with disapproval. Tom came way on from
Wisconsin to tell me how contemptible it was for a girl to marry for
position, even for so amazingly a distinguished one. Elise, his wife,
penned me a long letter on the emptiness of power and wealth. Malcolm
wrote he hoped I knew what I was getting into, and supposed after I
became Mrs. Breckenridge Sewall I'd feel too fine to recognize him,
should we meet on Fifth Avenue. Oliver was absolutely "flabbergasted"
at first, he wrote, but must confess it would save a lot of expense
for the family, if they could stop with Brother Breck when they came
down to New York. "How'd you pull it off, Toots?" he added. "Hope
little Cupid had something to do with it."
Alec waited until Edith had gone to Boston for a day's shopping, and
took me for a long automobile ride. Alec, by the way, is one of this
world's saints. He has always been the member of the Vars family who has
resigned himself to circumstances. It was Tom who went West and made a
brilliant future for himself; Alec who remained in Hilton to stand by
father's dying business. It was the twins who were helped to graduate
from college in spite of difficulties; Alec who cheerfully gave up his
diploma to offer a helping hand at home. When Alec married Edith
Campbell it appeared that at last he had come into his own. She was
immensely wealthy. Father's business took a new lease of life. At last
Alec was prosperous, but he had to go on adapting and resigning just the
same. With the arrival of the Summer Colony Edith's ambitions burst into
life, and of course he couldn't be a drag on her future--and mine--any
more than on Tom's or the twins'. He acquiesced; he fitted in without
reproach. Today in regard to my engagement he complained but gently.
"We're simple New England people after all," he said. "A girl is usually
happier married to a man of her own sort. You weren't born into the kind
of life the Sewalls lead. You weren't born into even the kind of life
you're leading now. Edith--Edith's fine, of course, and I've always been
glad you two were so congenial--but she does exaggerate the importance
of the social game. She plays it too hard. I don't want you to marry
Sewall. I'm afraid you won't be happy."
When Edith came home that night I asked her if she knew how Alec felt.
"Of course I do. The dear old fogey! But this is the way I look at it,
Ruth. Some people _not_ born into a high place get there just the same
through sheer nerve and determination, and others spend their whole
worthless lives at home on the farm. It isn't what a person is born
into, but what he is equal to, that decides his success. Mercy, child,
don't let a dear, silly, older brother bother you. Sweet old Al doesn't
know what he's talking about. I'd like to know what he _would_ advise
doing with his little sister, if, after all the talk there is about her
and Breck, he could succeed in breaking off her engagement. She'd be
just an old glove kicking around. That's what she'd be. Al is simply
crazy. I'll have to talk to him!"
"Don't bother," I said, "I'm safe. I have no intention of becoming an
old glove."
Possibly in the privacy of my own bed at night, where so often now I lay
wide-awake waiting for the dawn, I did experience a few misgivings. But
by the time I was ready to go down to breakfast I had usually persuaded
myself into sanity again. I used to reiterate all the desirable points
about Breck I could think of and calm my fears by dwelling upon the many
demands of my nature that he could supply--influence, power, delight in
environment, travel, excitement.
When I was a child I was instructed by my drawing-teacher to sketch with
my stick of charcoal a vase, a book, and a red rose, which he arranged
in a group on a table before me. I had a great deal of difficulty with
the rose; so after struggling for about half an hour I got up and,
unobserved, put the rose behind the vase, so that only its stem was
visible to me. Then I took a fresh page and began again. The result was
a very fair portrayal of the articles as they then appeared. So with my
ideal of marriage--when I found its arrangement impossible to portray in
my life--I simply slipped out of sight that for which the red rose is
sometimes the symbol (I mean love) and went ahead sketching in the other
things.
I explained all this to Breck one day. I wanted to be honest with him.
"Say, what are you driving at? Red roses! Drawing lessons! What's that
got to do with whether you'll run down to Boston for dinner with me
tonight? You do talk the greatest lot of stuff! But have it your own
way. I'm satisfied. Just jump in beside me! Will you? Darn it! I haven't
the patience of a saint!"