THE STRANGER EXPLAINS
There are those who touch our life closely, and become essentially a part
of it; there are many more who are but casual and passing acquaintances,
and yet these very people often unconsciously become the most important
factors in our destiny. Ella Bodine was soon to prove this truth. It will
of course be understood that her life was not so secluded and restricted
that she practically had no acquaintances beyond the characters of our
story. Sensible Mrs. Bodine had no intention that her pretty cousin should
be hidden behind the prejudices so powerful in those with whom she was
immediately associated.
"Cousin Hugh," she said, one day soon after Ella's encounter with
Houghton, "how was it with you when you were a young fellow? how was it
with me when I was a girl? Do you suppose your daughter is made of
different flesh and blood? She is so unselfish in nature and sunny in
temperament that you will never learn from her that she has longings for
society of her own age. We have no right to keep her among our shadows. We
belong to the past; she has a future, and should have the chance which is
the right of every young girl. You must not judge her by Mara, who stands
by herself, and is not a representative of any ordinary type. She is as
old as you are, and a great deal older than I am. She has grown up among
shadows and loves them. Ella loves the sunshine, and should have all of it
that we can give her. Now, you must let her go out more. I will choose her
chaperons, and I reckon I know whom to choose. If I do say it, I would
like you to mention any one in Charleston more competent. I know about the
fathers and mothers, the grandfathers and grandmothers, and the remote
ancestors of every one in Charleston who _is_ any one."
"Cousin Sophy, I believe you are right. I have permitted Ella to be too
devoted to me, but we have lived such a precarious life of late--indeed it
has been the vital question how we were to live at all. We are now very
differently situated. Yes, you are right. Ella should see something of
society, and enjoy some of its pleasures, and, as you say, should have her
chance." At these final words he sighed deeply.
"I know what that sigh means," resumed the old lady. "You would wish to
keep Ella to yourself always--the natural impulse of a father's heart. Yet
if you allow this impulse to control you, it will become selfishness of
the worst kind. I say again that every girl should have her chance to see
and be seen, and to make the most and best of her life according to
woman's natural destiny. You may trust me, as I have said, to choose those
who shall have the care of Ella when she goes out. She has an invitation
to a little company at Mrs. Willoughby's, and a most discreet friend has
offered to chaperon her. We'll fix her out so that she will appear as well
as any one, and you know our claims don't rest on expensiveness of dress.
Mrs. Willoughby comes of one of the oldest and best families in the State.
I know she is liberal, and affiliates with Northern people more than I
could wish, but they are all said to be of the best class--and I suppose
there is a best class among 'em. Good Lor', Hugh! we may feel and think as
we please, and can never change, but we can't keep back the rising tide.
If there are a few Northern people present Ella won't be contaminated any
more than you are by working among Northern people. We have our strong
prejudices--that's what they are called--but we must not let them make us
ridiculous. Mrs. Willoughby says she's emancipated, and that she'd have
whom she pleased in her parlors. She has been abroad so much, you know.
Well, well, we'll consider it settled." And so it was.
When Ella was informed of her cousin's plan in her behalf she was half
wild with delight. "I may consider myself a debutante," she said. "Oh,
Cousin Sophy! how shall I behave?"
"Behave just as a bird flies," said the wise old lady. "If you put on any
airs, if you are not your own natural self, I'll shake you when you come
home."
The captain saw his child's pleasure, and felt anew the truth of his
cousin's words. Ella should be immured no longer. Mara had been invited
also, but declined, preferring to spend the evening with Mrs. Bodine.
Mrs. Willoughby's company was not large, and had been selected from
various motives. We need mention but one that had influenced her. Miss
Ainsley had requested that George Houghton should be invited. Her father
and Mr. Houghton had large business interests in common, and at Mr.
Ainsley's request the young man had called upon his daughter. She was
pleased with him, although she felt herself to be immeasurably older than
he. Mrs. Willoughby had also been favorably impressed by his fine
appearance and slightly brusque manner.
"Yes," said the astute Miss Ainsley, as they were talking him over after
his departure, "he's a big, handsome, finely educated boy, who would walk
through your Southern conventionalities as if they were cobwebs, had he a
chance."
"Delightful!" cried Mrs. Willoughby. "If I can keep my drawing-room free
from insipidity, I am content. As to his walking through our
conventionalities, as you term them, let him try it. If he doesn't butt
his head against some rather solid walls, I'm mistaken. You don't half
know what a bold thing I am doing when I invite old Houghton's son; but
then it is just this kind of social temerity that enchants me, and he
shall come. I only hope that some good people won't rise up and shake off
the dust of their feet."
"Don't worry; you're a privileged character. Mr. Clancy has told me all
about it. He admires you immensely because you are so untrammelled."
"He admires you a hundred-fold more. What are you going to do with him?"
"I don't know. I couldn't do anything with him yet. That's his charm. If I
didn't know better, I should say he was the coldest--he is not cold at
all. The woman who reaches his heart will find a lot of molten lava. I'm
often inclined to think it has been reached by some one else, and that his
remarkable poise results from a nature fore-armed, or else chilled by a
former experience. At any rate, there is a fire smouldering in his nature,
and when it breaks out it won't be of the smoky, lurid sort that has so
often made me ill. There will be light and heat in plenty."
"Well, you're an odd girl, Caroline. You experiment with men's hearts like
an old alchemist, who puts all sorts of substances into his crucible in
the hope of finding something that will enrich him."
"And probably, like the old alchemist, I shall never find anything except
what, to me, is dross."
Under Mrs. Robertson's wing Ella appeared, and met with a very kindly
reception. She had not Miss Ainsley's admirable ease, but she possessed
something far better. There was a sweet girlish bloom in addition to her
innately refined manner and ingenuous loveliness of face, which made even
the experienced belle sigh that she had passed by that phase forever. Yet
shrewd Ella's eyes were as busy as they were intelligent. She wondered at
Miss Ainsley with mingled admiration and distrust, but she had received a
sufficient number of hints from Mrs. Bodine to understand her hostess
quite well. She saw Clancy enter, and Miss Ainsley's welcome, and quickly
observed that there was a sort of free-masonry between them. Then some one
appeared who almost took away her breath. It was the stranger to whom she
had spoken so unexpectedly, even to herself. She saw that Mr. Clancy, Miss
Ainsley, and Mrs. Willoughby greeted him cordially, but that many others
appeared surprised and displeased. Little time was given to note more, for
the stranger's eyes fell upon her. He instantly turned to his hostess, and
evidently asked for an introduction. With a slight sparkle of mischief in
her eyes, Mrs. Willoughby complied, and Ella saw the stranger coming
toward her as straight and prompt as if he meant to carry her off bodily.
He seemed to ignore every one and everything else in the room, but she was
too high-spirited to fall into a panic, or even to be confused. Indeed she
found herself growing angry, and was resolving to give him a lesson, when
his name was mentioned. Then she was startled, and for an instant
confused. This was no other than the son of "that old--Mr. Houghton," as
Mrs. Bodine always mentioned him, with a little cough of self-recovery as
if she had been on the perilous edge of saying something very
unconventional. His father was her father's employer, and the instinctive
desire to save her father from trouble led to hesitation in her plan of
rebuke and retaliation. Her petty resentment should not lead to any
unpleasant complications, and she therefore merely bowed civilly.
Houghton repeated her name as if a victim of momentary surprise himself,
and then said with his direct gaze, "I wish to ask ten thousand pardons."
"That is a great many. I shall have to think about granting one."
"If I were you I wouldn't do it," was his next rather brusque remark.
"That is your advice, then?"
"No, indeed. I'm not my own worst enemy. Miss Bodine, circumlocution is
not my forte. I had not walked a block away from you the other day before
I charged myself with being a fool and a brute. It took just that long for
me to get it into my thick head what your manner and words meant, and I've
been in a rage with myself ever since."
"Well," she asked, looking down demurely, "what did they mean?"
"They meant you were a brave girl--that from a chivalric impulse you had
drawn near when even men stood a little aloof, as if fearing that if the
affair came to blows, they might get a chance one themselves. Your face
had the frank expression of a child--how often in fancy I've seen it
since!--the words came from your lips almost as a child would speak them.
Now that I see you again I know how true my second thoughts were of you
and of myself. I deserve a whipping instead of your pardon."
There was a point yet to be cleared up in Ella's mind, and she remarked
coldly, "I do not see how you could have had any other thoughts than what
you term your second thoughts."
"Nor do I, now; and I suppose you can have no mercy on a poor fellow who
is often hasty and wrong-headed. I will make a clean breast of it. I was
charmed with your expression when first aware of your presence, but when
you spoke you touched a sore spot. Miss Bodine, you would not be
ostracized at the North. You would be treated with the courtesy and
cordiality to which every one would see you to be entitled. Practically I
am ostracized here by the class to which you belong. When you spoke I
stalked away like a sulky boy, muttering, 'Why shouldn't I be a
gentleman?' Even the girls in this town are taught to look upon
Northerners as boors. I had only to pick up an old woman, and face a
bully, when, as if in utter surprise that one of my ilk should be so
grandly heroic, I heard the words, 'You are a gentleman.' You see it was
my wretched egotism that got me into the scrape. When I thought of you,
not myself, I saw the truth at once, and felt like going back to the
expressman and meekly asking him to give me a drubbing."
All was clear to Ella now. Indeed there was a frankness and sincerity
about Houghton which left no suspicion of dark corners and mental
reservations. As his explanation proceeded she began to laugh. "Well," she
remarked, "I had my first thoughts too. I said to myself, as I pursued my
way homeward, with burning cheeks, that you or any one else might save all
the old women in town, and fight all the bullies, and that I would pass on
my way without looking to the right or left."
"Pardon me, Miss Bodine, you are mistaken. Your generous spirit would get
the better of you again in two seconds. Heaven grant, however, that next
time you may have a gentleman as your ally. For a few moments I ceased to
be one, and became an egotistical fool."
"You are too hard upon yourself. Since you interpret me so kindly it would
ill become me to--"
"Ella, my dear," said her chaperon, "let me present to you Mr. Vandeveer."
Houghton gave her a bright, grateful glance, rose instantly, and bowed
himself away.
Mrs. Robertson had been on pins and needles over this prolonged
conference. There was something so resolute about Houghton's manner, and
he had placed his chair so adroitly to bar approach to Ella, that the good
lady was in sore straits. Mrs. Willoughby saw her perplexity, and felt not
a little mischievous pleasure over it. She disappeared that she might not
be called upon to interfere. At last in desperation Mrs. Robertson laid
hold on Mr. Vandeveer, and ended the ominous interview.
Ella gave rather lame attention to her new companion's commonplaces; then
others were introduced, and the evening was drifting away in the ordinary
fashion. She soon began to talk well in her own bright way, and had all
the attention a young debutante could desire, but she was always conscious
of Houghton's presence, and also aware that he was quietly observant of
her. She saw that he met with very little cordiality, and that from but a
few. Womanlike, she began to take his part in her thoughts, and to feel
the injustice shown him. She had an innate sense of fair play, and she
resented the manoeuvring of her chaperon to keep him away from her. Yet
she soon found herself enjoying abundantly the conversation of such young
men as met with Mrs. Robertson's approval. This truth was apparent to that
lady's satisfaction, but the independent young woman was not long in
resolving that if she went into society she would not go as a child in
leading-strings, and she determined that she would speak to Houghton again
before the evening was over, if the opportunity offered. He had at last
disappeared, but she soon discovered that he was on the balcony with
Clancy and Miss Ainsley. Strolling past them with her escort, she heard
enough of their bright, merry talk to wish that she had a part in it. It
was her nature, however, to avoid him until she could speak under the eye
of her chaperon, and she again entered the lighted drawing-room.
Houghton, meanwhile, had been doing some thinking himself. The girl, whose
blue eyes had looked at him so approvingly in the street, was taking a
stronger hold on his fancy every moment. The relaxation of her cold aspect
into mirthfulness, and an approach to kindness had enchanted him; while
her ardent, honest, fearless nature appealed to him powerfully. "She
strikes me as a woman who would stand by a fellow through thick and thin
as long as he was right," he thought, "and if my judgment is correct the
whole ex-Confederate army shan't keep me from getting acquainted with her.
Ah! how I liked that severe look in her eyes till she knew what my first
thoughts were! She _has_ blue blood of the right sort, and I'm sorely
mistaken if it doesn't feed a brain that can think for itself."
He also returned to the drawing-room, and was vigilant for an opportunity.
It soon occurred. Ella and her attendant were chatting with Mrs.
Willoughby a little apart from the others. Houghton joined them instantly,
and was encouraged when both the ladies greeted him with a smile. The
attendant gentleman soon withdrew, the hostess remained a few moments
longer, and then Houghton and Ella were alone.
"You may have observed," he said, "the penalty I pay for being a
Northerner."
"Yes," she replied, "and I don't think it's fair."
"Miss Bodine, do you dare _think_ for yourself?"
"I scarcely know how I can help doing so."
"That is just what I was thinking out on the balcony."
"I thought you were charmed by that beautiful Miss Ainsley."
"She has no eyes except for Clancy, and a fine fellow he is too--too good
for her, I imagine. I can't make her out."
"Neither can I."
"Oh, bother her! I don't like feminine riddles. Miss Bodine, there's a
gentleman in my father's employ bearing your name. Is he a relative?"
"He is my father," she replied proudly.
"I should guess as much if your eyes were not so blue."
"I have my mother's eyes, I am told."
"Well, on that same day--you know--he told me that he was a gentleman: can
you guess how?"
"I would rather you should tell me."
"I was sent to him by my father with a message, and I spoke rudely to him
at first; not intentionally, but as a harum-scarum young fellow might
speak to an elderly man under ordinary circumstances, I meaning nothing
more than friendly familiarity. I fear you won't understand, but with you
I can't help downright honesty."
"Yes, I understand. He was one of your father's clerks, and you cared
little what you said to him."
"Scarcely right, Miss Bodine. With all my faults--and they are legion--I'm
good-natured, and do not intentionally hurt people's feelings. What a fine
proof of that I gave you in my insufferable stupidity!"
"That's been explained and is past. Please don't refer to it any more."
"Heaven knows I wish to forget it. Well, your father turned to me from his
writing. One look was enough. I begged his pardon twice on the spot. That
is the way he told me he was a gentleman. It had been so born and bred
into him that, unless a fellow was an idiot, one glance told the story."
Her face softened wonderfully as he spoke, and her eyes grew lustrous with
feeling, as she said:
"You are not an idiot, Mr. Houghton. I am glad you so quickly appreciated
my father. He is more than a gentleman, he is a hero, and I idolize him."
"I should fancy it was a mutual idolatry," and his eyes expressed an
admiration of which the dullest girl would have been conscious, and Ella
was not dull at all. "I wish we could become acquainted," he added
abruptly, and with such hearty emphasis that her color deepened.
Before she could reply, her chaperon managed to separate them again, and
she saw him no more until, rather early in the evening, she was bidding
her hostess goodnight. Then she encountered such an eager, questioning,
friendly look, that she smiled involuntarily, and slightly bowed as she
turned away. Mrs. Robertson was so preoccupied at the moment that she did
not witness this brief, subtile exchange of--what? Ella did not know,
herself, but her heart was wonderfully light, and there was a delicious
sense of exhilaration in all her veins.
As they were driving home, Mrs. Robertson began sententiously, "Ella, in
the main you behaved admirably. I don't suppose anything better could be
expected of one so unversed in society, especially Charleston society. You
were natural and refined in your deportment, and bore yourself as became
your ancestry. You will soon learn to make discriminations. I had no idea
that young Houghton would be present, or I would have told you about him
and his father. Mrs. Willoughby is carrying things too far, even if many
of our people have consented to wink at much that we disapprove of.
Houghton represents the most detested Northern element among us. Of course
you, in your inexperience, felt that you must be polite to every man
introduced to you, and he talked with the volubility of which only a
Yankee is capable. It is scarcely possible that you will meet him anywhere
except at Mrs. Willoughby's, and if you go there any more you must learn
the art of shaking off an objectionable person speedily. Your meeting
Houghton to-night was purely accidental, and I reckon that after you have
been out a few times you will learn to choose your associates from those
only of whom your father and cousin would approve. Perhaps therefore you
had better not say anything about your meeting Houghton, unless you feel
that you ought. No harm has been done, and it would only displease your
father, and render him adverse to your going out hereafter."
The good lady was a little worried by the fear that her reputation as a
chaperon would be damaged, and, sincerely believing that "no harm had been
done," and that her homily would remove all danger from the future, she
counselled as she thought wisely. Her heart was full of goodwill toward
the girl, and she was desirous that nothing should prevent her from
enjoying society in her interpretation of the word.
Ella thanked her warmly for her kindness and advice, but she was in deep
perplexity, for she had never concealed anything from her father before.
Her lightness of heart was already gone, and there were tears in her eyes
before she slept.