DIANA AMONG MORTALS
"I am awfully sorry that you took the trouble of coming all the way up
here," I told her. "I am afraid that the colored maid is little
accustomed to social usages. There is a little parlor downstairs."
"Oh! It's all right, Mr. Cole. I asked for you and she just pointed up
with her thumb and said 'Top floor,' so I climbed up."
She took a step towards Frances, extending her hand.
"I know I have seen you before," she said pleasantly, "but I can't for
the moment remember where we met."
"I think, Miss Van Rossum, that you have only been acquainted with Mrs.
Dupont through the medium of my friend Gordon's talent. You may remember
a 'Mother and Child' in his studio."
"Of course. I remembered the face at once. Gordon is such a wonderful
painter, so clever in obtaining the most marvelous likenesses. And--and
he didn't flatter his models a great deal, either. I am very glad to
meet you, Mrs. Dupont."
Frances smiled, in her graceful way, and expressed her own pleasure.
"You--you also know Gordon, of course, since you posed for him, Mrs.
Dupont. I--I came here to speak with Mr. Cole about him."
"I can hardly offer you the hospitality of my room, Miss Van Rossum," I
told her. "It is a rather disorderly bachelor's den. If you will allow
me to lead you downstairs to the little parlor the landlady provides her
guests with, I shall be delighted to----"
"No, if you don't mind, I shall remain here for a moment. Mr. Cole, you
are Gordon's best friend; he used to say that you were the great
exception, a man one could always trust in everything. I hope Mrs.
Dupont will not mind, she--she is a woman and may be able to advise me.
I have legions of friends--we know thousands of people, but it doesn't
seem to me that there is another soul to whom I may come for--for a
little----"
She interrupted her words. I had pushed a chair forward for her and she
acknowledged the offer with a smile, but did not avail herself of it at
once, for she went to the bed where Baby Paul was, for a wonder, lying
awake and rolling his eyes about. On his face, however, there was
something that Frances and I considered a polite little grin.
"Is this the dear baby of the picture?" she asked. "He has grown such a
lot. What a dear lamb of a child it is! Oh! Mrs. Dupont, how proud and
happy a woman must be to be the mother of such a darling!"
Decidedly Miss Sophia was revealing herself in a very fine light. For
all of her riding astride after hounds, and her golfing and shooting and
tennis, she was a very real woman and her heart was in the right place.
Frances took up Baby Paul and sat down with him on her lap, where he
promptly went to sleep again.
"I remember how Gordon spoke of you, several times, Mrs. Dupont," said
Miss Van Rossum. "He said a queer thing, once, one of the strange little
sentences he always used to bring out. I was looking at your picture and
told him it represented a very beautiful woman, and he answered that
she was one of those ideals the other fellow always gets hold of.
But--but I don't see that there was anything very ideal about that
painting. It was just you."
For a moment Frances looked away. The phrase reminded her of an unhappy
circumstance, I have no doubt, but, to me, it represented cynicism
carried to an unpermissible length.
"But I must come to the point," continued Miss Van Rossum, with a slight
frown, which I deemed an indication that she had something rather
difficult to say. "Of course you've been wondering at my coming here. I
know it's a bit unconventional, but I didn't want to write and ask you
to come and see me. We have only just returned from California and are
off to Southampton in the morning. I--I simply felt that I must take my
chance of finding you at home. I told you a minute ago that Gordon
always said you were a man to be trusted to the utmost, and--and I want
to find out something about him. Please, Mr. Cole, have you any news of
him?"
"I have received but one very short letter," I replied. "I will go and
get it for you."
I think I was glad to escape for a moment and leave her with Frances,
for I foresaw a long cross-examination. She had looked very brave and
strong at the moment of her amazing arrival, and I had wondered at such
an unusual proceeding. But now I realized that she was very profoundly
disturbed, that her show of pluck was but a veil to cover a heart which
could suffer the same pains as gnaw at the breasts of so many of her
sisters of humbler station. Gordon, old friend, I fear I shall never
quite forgive you! You have done vivisection without the excuse of
scientific need, without the slightest idea that it could profit any one
but yourself!
I found the note, but did not return immediately. I asked myself how
much she knew, seeing that there were many possibilities of inflicting
further pain on a very fine young woman who was already undergoing
unmerited punishment. Finally, I went back, slowly, to find her sitting
in front of Frances, with their two heads quite near one another and
their eyes directed to Baby Paul's little pink mouth.
"I have it here. Miss Van Rossum. You will see that it is quite short.
He must be tremendously busy and surely snatched a precious moment for a
word to an old friend."
I handed her the letter, in an envelope that had been opened by the
censor and pasted over with a bit of thin paper. She took it with a very
steady hand.
The girl was engaged in playing a game, I could plainly see. It was one
in which her heart was involved and perhaps her pride somewhat aroused.
She opened the thing and looked over the brief sentences.
"_Dear old Dave_:
"Found a lot of fellows I knew. Didn't have a bit of trouble
getting in. I'm going to drive one of those cars I wouldn't
have been found dead in, in old New York. They tell me they do
very well as ambulances, though. I'm close to the front now and
have seen a good deal of the crop being garnered there. It
makes a fellow feel that he doesn't amount to much. There isn't
any harrowing of one's own mind that can last very long in the
presence of this real and awful suffering.
"Ever your old GORDON.
"P.S. Give my love to Frieda."
Miss Van Rossum read it over at least twice. Then her eyes slowly rose
from the page and, perhaps, without seeing very clearly, swept over
Frances and me. She folded it and replaced it in the envelope, very
carefully, before handing it back.
"I--I have no doubt that it has greatly appealed to him," she said, now
vaguely looking out of the window into yards chiefly adorned with
fluttering raiment dependent from a very spider's web of intricate
lines. "It--it was a sporting thing to do, you know, very manly and
fine. But he also wrote to me and--I have never been able to understand.
Of course I wouldn't have interfered with--with a plan like that. I have
only wished I could have gone over and done something too--something
that would count and make one feel that she could be of some use in the
world. Yes--it's a big thing he's done--but why did he write me such a
letter?"
She opened a small bag she had been carrying and pulled out a missive
that bore my friend's monogram, a very plain G.M. cleverly interlaced.
"Won't you please look at it, Mr. Cole? I got it the day we left
Florida. I--I was rather bunkered at first, you know."
I took it from her, doubtless displaying far more nervousness than she
was showing, for she appeared to be quite calm. I saw that she had taken
the blow as Frieda's pugilistic friend might have accepted what he calls
a wallop, with a brave smile, after the first wince. I also read it over
twice.
"_My dear Sophia_:
"It's rather hard on a fellow to be compelled to acknowledge
he's anything but a decent sportsman. I'm afraid I shall have
to. In your kindness you may, perhaps, forgive me. I have made
a bad mess of things. I wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't
hitting you also, because you're a good pal and a splendid girl
who deserves a better chap. I'm off abroad to play chauffeur to
the cripples, and, of course, there is no telling when I'll be
back.
"I hope to God you will find some decent fellow who really
deserves you and will make you happy.
"Affectionately,
"GORDON."
After I had finished this horrible and clumsy message, I looked at Miss
Van Rossum. There was something very wistful and strong in the glance
that rested upon me. I had no doubt that she had been studying my face,
as I read, and watching the impression made on me. Of course, he had
been greatly agitated when he wrote. I felt sure that he must have torn
up one letter after another and finally sent the worst of all. It had
dwindled into a few lines, which explained nothing, being merely brutal
and final, like a knockout blow. He had made a mess of things, forsooth!
Well, the reading of such a letter might have made one think that he had
robbed a bank or cheated at cards!
"You see, Mr. Cole, it doesn't say much, does it? I just had to tell my
mother that Gordon had felt called upon to go off and--and do a big
thing, and that of course the--the whole thing was put off indefinitely.
I--I don't think she was disappointed. Of course, they had allowed me to
have my own way, and they liked Gordon very well, but they had a notion
that in our own circle--But, of course, that's neither here nor there.
Naturally, I knew at once that Gordon could never have done anything
really wrong. He's a very true and genuine man, in his way, and
incapable of--of a nasty action. So I just had to suppose that perhaps
some other woman had come into his life and that he didn't love me any
more. And he--he was never very demonstrative, you know; it wasn't his
way. But he had always been such a good friend, and so wonderfully
clever, and--But of course, you know all that. His letter to you, I
think, gives me what they call a clue. He--he sends his love to--to
somebody I don't know. Of course I'm not going to ask--I really only
came to know whether there was anything I could do. I wondered whether
there was, perhaps, some money trouble, or something like that, and I'd
have been so glad to--to help out. You were his best friend and could
have told me how to manage it, but now I see----"
She interrupted her words, rising from the chair I had offered her and
looking very handsome and, I must say, dignified.
"I wouldn't have troubled you, you know, but I have been all at sea.
It--it has been rather tough, because Gordon is a man whom a woman could
love very deeply--at any rate I never realized how I felt towards him,
until I had gone away and then received this letter."
I had been listening, looking into her fine, clear, blue eyes, which
honestly and truly, with the frankness and candor of the child or the
chaste woman, had expressed the love that had been in her heart and,
perhaps, lingered there still. So intent had I been upon her words that
I had failed to hear adventitious sounds. Frances, also, with her hand
pressed to her bosom, showed eyes dimmed by gathering tears. She had
risen with the impulse to go forward and press this suffering woman to
her heart. I was about to explain the message of love in Gordon's
postscript, when there was a wheezing at the door, which had been left
open.
Fat and beaming, with her most terrible hat and a smudge of yellow ochre
on her chin, Frieda came in.
"Beg your pardon," she panted. "It's getting real warm and the stairs
are becoming steeper every day. How's the angel lamb?"
"Miss Van Rossum," I said, "let me introduce our excellent friend Miss
Frieda Long. Every one who knows her loves her. She's the next best
painter to Gordon in this burg, or any other, and a second mother to
Baby Paul."
Miss Sophia stared at her for an instant. Then, came a little smile in
which there was relief and comprehension. She advanced with arm
outstretched, and Frieda went right up to her.
"My dear," said the latter, "our dear old Dave and Gordon have told us
enough about you to make me feel glad indeed to know you. I saw that
portrait of yours and it didn't flatter you a bit, in fact, it seems to
me that it missed something of your expression. But it was mighty good,
just the same, like everything he ever did."
She backed off as far as the bed, on which she sat down, fanning herself
violently with a newspaper. An instant later she rushed to Frances, took
up the baby with the usual robust delicacy she always shows in that
process, and began to ask news relating to important developments in
dentition.
Miss Sophia observed her. I saw that some ray of gladness had entered
her heart since a terrible question appeared to be settled
satisfactorily. To her tall and graceful womanhood the idea that our
darling, pudgy Frieda, with her crow's feet, from much staring through
her spectacles, with that fright of a hat, could for a second have been
mistaken for a rival was nothing less than amusing.
"Well, Mr. Cole, I think I will have to be going now," she said. "I--I
am glad--oh, I mean that I hope you will be so kind as to let me know
whether you get any further news. I shall always have a deep interest in
Gordon's welfare. Letters would reach me at Southampton, all summer.
Good-by, Mrs. Dupont, I am delighted to have had the pleasure of meeting
you. Mrs.--I mean Miss Frieda, I hope you will be so kind as to let me
see your pictures, some day. I remember now that Gordon showed me one of
them at the winter exhibition. I wanted to buy it, but somebody had
already snapped it up, of course, because it was so lovely. No, Mr.
Cole, please don't take the trouble."
She had shaken hands with my two friends and insisted on kissing the
baby, who appreciated the attention by crowing at her.
I followed her out in spite of her request.
"You must permit me to see you to the door, Miss Van Rossum," I said,
"it is the least I can do. I will surely let you know, if I hear
anything."
She nodded, very pleasantly, and went down the distressing stair-carpet
with the ease of her perfect physical training. At the door there was a
big brute of a sixty horsepower runabout and a chauffeur, who swiftly
cast aside a half-consumed cigarette and stood at attention. She stopped
on the stoop and turned to me.
"I--I don't think I know any more than when I came," she said, rather
haltingly. "There--there wasn't anything wrong, was there, Mr. Cole?"
"My dear young lady, I am proud to say that Gordon is incapable of doing
anything that would infringe the laws. But he certainly has done an evil
thing, for he has treated you very brutally, and I will never forgive
him. He has failed to appreciate--to understand. If he has discovered
that his heart--that he was incapable of giving you the strongest and
most genuine love, it is his misfortune and--I am afraid, perhaps yours,
and he did well to go away. But he should have been more considerate, he
ought to have explained things in person instead of----"
"But you must remember that I was in Florida, Mr. Cole," she
interrupted.
"Then he should have taken the first train and joined you there. A man
has no business to shirk a duty," I said indignantly.
"Oh! Mr. Cole! You must remember that Gordon isn't--isn't a man quite
like others. He has the quick and impulsive temperament of so many
artistic people."
"He always pretends to be so cool and to act only after the most mature
deliberation," I objected.
"True enough, but then, you know, that sort of thing is often rather a
pose. I suppose that none of us is quite free from a little pretense,
under which the true man or woman shows."
"I am glad indeed to hear you take his part," I told her, "and I hope he
will do some fine manly things over there and return in his right mind,
with his eyes open to--to what he has been so foolish as to----"
"I know that he will give the best of himself, Mr. Cole," she put in.
"Gordon is a first rate sportsman, and that means a man who will play
the game, strongly and honestly, without taking the slightest advantage.
And perhaps----"
"My dear lady, I know a good woman who burns candles when she wants
anything badly, and prays before the Virgin. I shall get her to exert
her good offices in our behalf. I'd give anything to know that
everything will turn out as I heartily wish it may, for both your sakes.
In you, I know that he has found all that a man may wish and long for in
the world, and yet has failed to appreciate his good fortune."
She put her gloved hand in mine.
"Thank you," she said simply. "I--I'll wait, a long time."
She went down the steps and entered the machine, sitting before the big
wheel, strongly aslant and grooved to give a strong grip. The chauffeur
jiggled something, whereat the great beast began to hum. She nodded
again to me and started without the slightest jerk. Evidently she drove
better than Gordon. She turned the nose of the thing around till the
front wheels were an eighth of an inch from the sidewalk, backed again
in circular fashion, and swept off towards the avenue. Sixty horses, I
reflected, could lie obediently in the hollow of her hand, but just one
man, who should have thanked Heaven upon his knees, had squirmed away
like an arrant fool.
I went up the stairs, slowly, chewing upon the fact that I had given
her no inkling of how matters really stood. But, in deference to the
feelings of Frances, it had been impossible for me to do so, especially
since she was no longer an element in the case. Gordon had given up all
hope of her and run away, so that this closed one part of the incident.
Then, if I had told Miss Van Rossum of Gordon's proposal to Frances, it
would have made her very unhappy and she might possibly have blamed the
model. Women, the very best and dearest of them, are sometimes not quite
fair to their own sex.
Yes, it was a matter that belonged to Frances and Gordon, and I had no
right to be a bearer of tales, so that Miss Van Rossum is unaware that
Gordon went away for love of another woman. I hope she never hears of
it. Should anything happen to him, while driving his ambulance at the
front, she will be able to maintain a high regard for his memory. As the
months pass on, her feelings may become easier to bear. I wish she could
meet and become fond of some fine fellow, who would recognize what a
splendid woman she is and adore her ever after. I feel that she deserves
it.
When I returned upstairs, I found my two friends discussing Miss Van
Rossum, together with her nose and complexion and other appurtenances,
including her dress. Their criticisms were highly flattering, I
remember. Our stout friend soon left, having merely come in for her
daily inspection of Baby Paul.
"Now, David," said Frances, "I must say that I feel more unhappy than
ever over Mr. McGrath's conduct. It was abominable of him to jilt that
girl, let alone proposing to me. She's a perfectly lovely woman."
"I am disposed to agree with you, Frances. His conduct is inexcusable.
At the same time, I cannot blame him for falling in love with you. Any
properly constituted man would do that without the slightest difficulty.
I myself----"
"Please be serious, David," she interrupted.
"I was never more serious in my life," I assured her, "but--but tell me
how you are getting on with the singing."
"I really think I am doing very well," she told me. "Listen, I will sing
you a little thing. Baby likes it ever so much."
She sat right down to the piano, beginning at once without the
slightest hesitation. It was the lullaby from _Mignon_. I remember
hearing Plancon sing it once; it is a beautiful thing. Frances didn't
put all her force in it, the whole strength of her voice, of course, but
so much tender sentiment and such sweet understanding that the melody
held me in thrall and made me close my eyes. What a fool I have been
ever to have thought that a woman holding such a treasure would perhaps
bestow herself, some day, upon an insignificant writer!