LANGUAGE OF THE MOSS-ROSE.
"And so you do not regret the loss of fortune nor of fortune's friends?"
Clifford questioned, while with the fond, new hope in his heart he
regarded her with more of tenderness in his glance than he was aware of.
And Mollie flushed beneath his look, more because she was becoming
conscious that something within her was springing forth to meet that
which shone in his eyes than because of embarrassment.
"I cannot quite say that, Mr. Faxon," she gravely replied, "for I should
be glad of an independent income--even though it was small--that would
enable me to do more for my father and put him under the constant care
of experts; for, in spite of what the physicians have told me, I cannot
quite give up all hope. I cannot bear to think that he must live on
indefinitely in his present darkened mental condition.
"But as for myself," with an uplifting of her pretty head that denoted
conscious strength, "I do not regret the experience of the last two
years which the loss of fortune has brought me, and which has proved to
me that it is more noble and satisfactory to be a useful woman than a
butterfly of fashion. As for the 'friends of fortune,' that was well
put, Mr. Faxon, for those who have turned the cold shoulder upon me
were simply that and nothing more, and there is nothing to regret. It
is far better to have discovered the truth than to go on being cajoled
and deceived. I may say that there are but few whom I can regard as true
friends, and most of those I have made since I became a working girl.
What a queer world it is, isn't it? What a strange element there is in
humanity, which, as a rule--though there is now and then a rare
exception--does not take into account the real worth of an individual,
but is ready to hug to the heart a mental beggar and a moral leper,
provided he is sufficiently gilded with money. Can you explain it?"
"I think it can all be summed up in one word, Miss Heatherford, and that
is--selfishness," Clifford replied.
"Y--es," she thoughtfully assented, "and yet I think I should add pride,
vanity and ostentation."
"And what is pride but self-esteem, self-conceit? What are vanity and
ostentation but egotism and self-sufficiency?"
"You are right!" said Mollie, sitting suddenly erect, as if some new
thought had taken possession of her. "Why! I never thought of it before,
but the world--society so-called--is governed by selfishness!"
"I am afraid that is the fact, as a rule," assented the young man.
"How dreadful!" sighed his companion; "what veritable heathen idolaters
we are, in spite of our boasted civilization and Christianity; and how
little we know the meaning of the 'Golden Rule!'"
"That is true; self is the god of this world," said Clifford; "and when
we attempt to analyze humanity we find it in every phase of life.
Royalty 'lifts its crested head' and declares, 'I am enthroned; come not
near, except on bended knee.' The multimillionaire, with lofty air,
says, 'Keep a respectful distance, unless you can match my purse with
one as heavy.' The merchant and banker refuse to associate with their
butcher and grocer; the employer looks down upon his employee; the
mistress upon her maid; and so it goes all along down the line even to
newsboys and bootblacks; for----" and here Faxon laughed, "to
illustrate, I saw two boys on the street the other day; one had a bundle
of papers under his arm; the other was stationed on a corner, with his
kit for blacking boots. 'Hello!' called out the newsboy familiarly and
with an envious glance at the kit, 'how long yer ben at it?' 'Git out!'
cried the youthful proprietor loftily, 'I've gone inter biz for myself,
I have; an' we don't take newsboys inter our 'sociation.' So from the
crowned heads of royalty down to the bootblack, who lords it over the
peddler of papers, because he makes his nickel where the other gets but
a penny, we find the serpent self with its spirit of arrogance and
malicious sting."
"That is true," said Mollie, with a sigh, "and, worse than all, we find
it even in the churches, where the rich and intellectually proud hold
aloof from the poor widow and orphan and the beggar at their doors,
except, perhaps, to bestow, with lofty patronage a little of their
surplus wealth, and hoping thus to cancel their obligations as
Christians and believe that they have fulfilled the law of Love. Oh, I
am beginning to see how little the meaning of that word is understood."
"And it never will be understood until the world learns how to 'deny
self' and become 'poor in spirit,' as taught by the Great Teacher
nineteen centuries ago," Clifford supplemented in a reverent tone.
Mollie bent a thoughtful look upon his face. She thought him the
grandest character she had ever met. No young man of her acquaintance
had ever discussed such subjects in her presence before--they had always
been, for the most part, full of small talk, jest and compliment--and
she knew that most of her girl friends would have regarded such a
conversation as prosy and stupid.
But she liked it--it seemed to meet something that she had long hungered
for. Faxon had struck a note in nature that vibrated in keenest sympathy
and perfect harmony with his thought, and when they parted that evening
both felt as if they must have known each other for years.
After that they saw each other frequently. Mollie had invited him to
'come again,' and feeling that she was perfectly sincere, he had not
hesitated to avail himself of the privilege. Each time they met they
were drawn nearer each other, for they liked the same books and authors.
Faxon was a good reader, Mollie an appreciative listener, while they had
many an animated discussion over what they read.
They attended lectures, concerts and occasionally the theater and opera;
though Mollie would not go often to the latter place because of the
expense, which she doubted that Faxon could afford. But she told herself
that she had never enjoyed a winter, even during her palmiest days, as
she had enjoyed this one.
She well knew why; she had long known that she loved Clifford Faxon with
all her heart, and she was sure that he returned her affection, although
as yet no word of confession had escaped him. Nevertheless, she had
abundant evidence of the fact in his every act, in every glance of his
eyes and every tone of his voice. Yet she was not impatient--she was
content to bide his time, well knowing that when he felt it right to
speak he would do so.
Her new happiness added greatly to her loveliness. There was a brighter
light in her deep blue eyes, a sweeter, sunnier smile--if that were
possible--on her lips, a buoyancy, an elasticity in her every movement
and step which plainly betrayed that she loved to live and lived to
love.
Monsieur Lamonti was quick to observe these things, and wondered within
himself what had caused this radiant change in her. He was not long left
in doubt, for one afternoon he met the lovers, face to face, upon the
street.
Mollie stopped short in his path and greeted him cordially; then, with
beaming eyes and heightened color, introduced her companion. The three
stood chatting for a few moments, then parted and went their different
ways.
The next morning Monsieur Lamonti interrupted Mollie in her work, and,
after discussing two or three questions relating to business, suddenly
inquired:
"By the way, mademoiselle, allow me to ask who was the gentleman to whom
you introduced me yesterday? His name, of course, I know--Monsieur
Faxon--but is he an old or a new friend?"
Mollie blushed delightfully at the question.
"He is both, monsieur, if you can comprehend anything so paradoxical,"
she said with a musical little laugh of rippling happiness, and which
called an answering smile to her listener's lips. Then she went on and
frankly told him the whole of Cliff's history as far as she knew it,
from the time of her first meeting with him in the station at New Haven
to his coming to Washington, while Monsieur Lamonti appeared greatly
interested, and reading in the girl's every look and tone the sweet
love-story that was making her life so beautiful.
"Ah," he observed when she concluded, "Mr. Faxon is a self-made man; he
is doubtless a noble young man. I am sure he will rise yet higher and do
himself honor."
Mollie smiled with pleasure at his commendation of her lover.
"I also am sure he will," she said with shining eyes.
"And what is he doing now, mademoiselle?" queried the gentleman.
"At present he is in the Patent Office, with the expectation of a
promotion at the beginning of the year."
"Well, mademoiselle, it is evident he is a fine young fellow; he
certainly looks it; I am truly glad you have such a friend," said
Monsieur Lamonti, with a kindness and sincerity that touched Mollie
deeply.
He resumed his writing, and nothing more was said upon the subject, but
Mollie observed that, from time to time, he paused in his work and gazed
abstractedly out of the window, as if his thoughts were busy elsewhere.
A few days later on reaching the office she found a note from Clifford,
asking if she would go with him the following evening to hear Madam
Melba in "Faust."
He mentioned the fact that he was well acquainted with a prominent
member of the company, who had offered him complimentary tickets for a
box or any seats which he might prefer elsewhere in the house, and would
she please signify which she would like best.
Mollie smiled as she read the note. She knew it would be the "first
night" of the opera, and she understood that Clifford feared that she
either might not be able or wish to appear in evening dress, and so had
given her a choice of seats, while, too, it would settle the question
regarding what his own attire should be.
She responded cordially, saying she would be delighted to hear Melba,
and would enjoy the box if it would be agreeable to him. Clifford wrote
a clear, symmetrical hand, and before returning his missive to its
envelope Mollie passed it to Monsieur Lamonti, remarking that perhaps he
would like to see Mr. Faxon's penmanship.
"People claim, you know," she said, smiling, "that there is a great
deal of character expressed in a person's handwriting."
Monsieur Lamonti read the note, then passed it back to her with the
observation:
"It is certainly a fine hand, mademoiselle, and if it is an exponent of
Mr. Faxon's character, I should judge him to be a frank, honest,
high-minded young man."
Mollie was, of course, pleased with this tribute to her lover, for she
saw that it was sincere, while she knew that Monsieur Lamonti was a keen
observer, and she was sure that he regarded Clifford with approbation.
The next afternoon, while she was putting some finishing touches to an
evening dress which she had remodeled to wear to the opera, Monsieur
Lamonti's coachman drove to the door, and a few moments later Eliza came
to her, bringing a good-sized box.
On opening it, Mollie gave a cry of delight as her eyes fell upon a rare
collection of hot-house flowers, whose perfume filled the room, and
which she well knew, without glancing at the accompanying card, had been
culled from the greenhouse of her good friend.
"How kind, how thoughtful he always is!" she murmured appreciatively as
she buried her face in the mass of luxuriant bloom to inhale the
delicious fragrance.
Later, when Clifford called for her she was radiantly lovely in her
rich, lustrous silk of pale blue, another creation of Worth's, and a
remnant of her old-time glory which had long been packed away as
unsuitable to wear in her present circumstances. The dress, with a few
alterations, seemed almost like new.
She wore diamonds upon her neck and in her ears; also a dazzling
ornament in her golden hair, for her jewels--many of which had been her
mother's--had also been carefully stowed away, her father having
insisted that she should keep them, although she had cheerfully offered
to relinquish every one if such sacrifice would lighten his burdens in
any way. But he had told her, "No; every debt would be paid, and the
gems were too sacred to be surrendered."
Her hands and arms were encased in long white gloves, chosen from the
box with which Monsieur Lamonti had presented her, and as Faxon entered,
she was just tying a long ribbon around a bouquet which she had arranged
from Monsieur Lamonti's floral offering.
The young man's eyes glowed with tender admiration as Mollie went
forward to meet him.
"Ah," he said ingenuously and with a thrill of fondness in his voice as
he clasped her extended hand, "I am so glad you chose the box."
Mollie laughed musically, for his words told her that he had hoped to
find her in evening dress, and was more than pleased with her
appearance.
"It was very kind of you to give me the option," she replied with a
glance which plainly told him that she had understood his motive and
thoroughly appreciated it.
"Well," he observed, with a twinkle in his handsome eyes, "I thought we
might as well make the most of our opportunity. What lovely flowers!"
"They are, indeed!" she returned. "Monsieur Lamonti sent them."
Then as she glanced at the lapel of his coat she continued: "And you
must have a boutonniere; may I select something for you?"
"Not if you will have to rob this; I would not have a single blossom
disarranged," said Clifford, as he eyed the bouquet admiringly.
"Oh, no; I have quantities more," said Mollie, as she gently released
the hand which he had unconsciously been holding and turned to a table
which there was a large glass dish filled with flowers.
She bent over them and paused to consider what she would offer him.
Presently she detached three small crimson moss-rosebuds with a single
spray of green leaves and held them up before him.
"Will you wear these?" she queried.
A great shock went coursing through Clifford as he took them from her
white gloved hands and regarded them with a yearning look.
Then his eyes--almost black now with the intensity of his
emotion--sought her face.
"May I?" he breathed, "may I wear them with the assurance of what they
express? Do you know the language of the red moss-rosebud, Mollie?"
A scarlet flood leaped to the fair girl's temples as she realized, too
late, the significance of her gift; while his use of her given name, for
the first time, set every pulse to bounding wildly. She lifted a
startled look to his face; then as quickly her golden lashes dropped
upon her flaming cheeks.
"Yes, I know," she murmured, "but I did not think of it when I chose
them."