NEVERTHELESS, some curious chance made him see a good deal of Miss
Thomas. He was very apt to sit next her at dinner, even if he did not
take her in. And whatever she might be, she certainly was not silly.
She said very little, it is true; but it occurred to Vane one day that
what she did say never placed her in a false or foolish position. Nor
had he ever made a remark which she did not fully understand, in its
full bearing and implication. Sometimes she affected--particularly if
its nature was complimentary--to be wholly unconscious of its meaning;
sometimes she would even ask an explanation. But a moment after, she
was very apt to say or do some little thing which showed that she had
understood it perfectly. Vane, who, in his flippant moods, was rather
an adept at conversational fencing, and had flattered himself that very
careful ground was quite unnecessary with Miss Thomas, gradually put
more attention into his guard and more care in his attack. And when he
saw, to continue his own metaphor, that his simple thrusts in quarte
and tierce were easily parried and sometimes returned, he began to
honor his adversary with a more elaborate attack. But, as he one day
acknowledged to himself, though she had rarely touched him, yet he was
not sure that he had ever got fairly under her own guard. Altogether,
the more he saw of Miss Thomas, the more she interested him; and after
the serious struggles of the day, he quite enjoyed his little playful
evening encounters with so charming a feminine adversary. For he began
to admit to himself that she was charming--there was no doubt of that.
And meantime (so he fancied) the intercourse with her happy, simple
nature was having a beneficial influence on his own.
For the past three years his attitude had been one of stern courage,
of self-renunciation. But, after all, why should even he be always
shut out from the spring? Flowers still bloomed in the world, summer
followed winter, and this pretty little butterfly that fluttered near
him might, after all, bring him healthier thoughts from her own air
than he found in his morbid life. What a sharp inquisitor is one's own
self! What a cross-examiner of hidden motive! And what a still sharper
witness is that self under inquisition! Vane never took his young
friend seriously; and felt a need of excusing himself for trifling, as
he thought.
John suddenly asked him, one day, what he thought of Miss Thomas now,
and whether he had changed his views at all. "I was very much struck
with your first diagnosis," he said. "At a moment's study, you gave the
popular opinion of her; that she was gay, shallow, good-humored, and
ambitious--and you might have added clever, rather than innocent."
Vane was a little displeased.
"I think that I and the world were wrong," said he. "She is not
shallow, but she is humble rather than vain; as for ambition, she is
perhaps too much without it; and I should not be surprised if somewhere
about her pretty little self she had a true woman's heart, which she is
not yet conscious of."
John laughed. "Look out, old man," said he; "only a poet is allowed to
fall in love with his own creation. Never say I have not given you fair
warning. Ten Eyck was very attentive to her at one time; and the world
believed that she wanted to marry him. But he was appointed _chargé
d'affaires_ at London; and left her without bringing matters to an
issue. Since then, when he has been back in New York once or twice, he
has entirely dropped her."
"And do you mean to say that she still cares for him after that?"
"So the world thinks; and the world is apt to be right in such matters."
"Bah!" said Vane. "No woman could care for a man who had once led her
to believe he loved her, and left her."
"Humph!" answered John. "That may be true of woman in the abstract; but
I am not sure of its truth in this longitude. It is easier to judge
woman in general than a New York girl in particular."
"At all events," said Vane, "I give her full leave to try her skill on
me, skilful as you say she is. Indeed, if you think she is fair game
for what you call a flirtation, you have removed my only scruples."
"Very well, old boy--go in. But Miss Thomas once told another girl that
she could understand any man in two days' acquaintance. Don't go in too
deep."
"Nonsense!" thought Vane when John had left. "I flatter myself I am
beyond her hurting. It is pleasant enough to have her as a friend. I
wish I could wish to marry her." And he called to his mind Brittany and
that last rose. "But I am sorry if she really can still care for that
man. Ten Eyck was his name? I should be sorry to like her less. How
strange these American women are! Now, in France--Bah!" he broke off,
"it can't be true; and, after all, what do I care if it is?"
Vane liked her very much, and thought her very much underrated by the
world; and the same afternoon, by way of vindication, he went to her
house and made a long call, _tête-à-tête_. He had fallen into an easy
companionship with her, which made her society a delightful rest and
respite from the earnest stress and strain of his life, of any man's
life. They were beginning to have numerous little confidences as to
people and things; views shared by them only, which gave them little
private topics of conversation, nooks of thought, where they met. Thus
Vane could quite shut out a third party from the conversation, and keep
Miss Thomas to himself. Her cultivation and taste surprised him more
and more as he knew her. This pretty little New York girl, naturally
half-spoiled and petted, brought up in a particularly _bourgeois_
household, never having been out of it and New York, had yet a range
of mind and appreciation quite equal to anything he could bring her
in books or in conversation. The people about her seemed totally
different--different in views, in taste, in appearance, in manner. Yet
she never seemed discontented at home--a common fault of children in
a country where they improve upon their parents. She moved among them
modestly and lovingly, like a princess unconscious of her royalty. All
this thought Vane, and marvelled.
He found that even his peculiar tastes were shared. It has been
mentioned that this successful young business man had a secret taste
for Italian poetry. This he had been used to indulge alone; but on his
mentioning it, she spoke with enthusiasm of the sweet old mediæval
_terza rima_. Having little opinion of women's power of purely ideal
enjoyment, he had at first doubted the sincerity of this taste. Still,
he brought around some old verses one day; and soon it became his
habit, instead of reading alone, to pass an evening or two in a week
reading with her. And so during the winter, with double the pleasure he
had ever known before, they went through the familiar pages of Ariosto,
Tasso and Dante. The fifth canto of the Inferno remained, however, her
favorite; and with the light of her eyes upon the text Vane made a much
better translation than Byron or Cary ever dreamed. She was never tired
of hearing the passage beginning "Siede la terra dove nata fui." And
much practice in translation makes perfect.
Thus, thanks to Miss Thomas and a little sight of the lighter rim of
life, Vane passed a winter which, if not happy, was at least less
bitter than he had known for years. In the natural course of events,
society pronounced him attentive to Miss Thomas; but Vane cared little
for that. His character was not of the mould which cares what the world
says. He did not believe that her life was very happy, either; and he
thought they were both the better for their friendship. The more he saw
of her, the less he doubted that she had at one time cared for some
one, Ten Eyck or another; though, of course, for him she would never
care again. After all, she was his superior; she had kept her sweet
self above her sorrow, he had not. How he had misinterpreted her that
first evening! Now he saw she was a woman, in all the glory of her
womanhood, strong, gentle, and true.
Vane went back to Brittany in the June of the summer following. One of
his last calls was upon Miss Thomas, and she chided him with not making
it the very last. However, the call lasted three hours. Twenty times
Vane rose to go, and each time was detained by some pretext or another
of Miss Thomas. There is a sweet pleading manner of urging a wish,
even a selfish one, that makes you feel as if you were doing yourself
a favor in gratifying it. Miss Thomas had this manner, which few men,
particularly strong men, can resist. Vane always yielded. He would as
soon have thought of putting a pet canary through the manual of arms
as of resisting it. In this way Vane's visit was prolonged, and when
he went home he admitted to himself that it had been a very charming
one. He thought she was a lovely woman, and wished some nice fellow
would marry her. What a gentle, sunny nature she had! And what a lovely
type of the best American women, so different both from the French
and English, so natural, so pure, and yet so bright and charming. "At
least," thought Vane, "if I ever go back to France to live I shall
have seen some things wholly worthy of admiration in my own country."
He was sorry if she really cared (as she had seemed to) that he had
called upon her two days before his departure. She had been very kind
to him that winter, and it certainly would have been more _empressé_ to
have called upon her last. Vane stopped on his way to Jersey City the
morning of the steamer's sailing, and procured a superb mass of roses.
These he sent to Miss Thomas with his card: "From her sincere friend."
It was the last thing he did in America.