There were two mysteries in Simon Lovat's life. One was how he, a poor
Highland Scots-born boy, reared in abject poverty, had ever come to be
the great architect he was. And the other was how he had become
engaged to Cecily Stanford, Gamaliel Stanford's only daughter, and
Gamaliel Stanford was a millionaire.
He hated to think of his infancy in the little Argyle town where he was
born. He hated even to think of his boyhood in New York. People, he
felt, would n't understand it. They might talk of being hungry, but
did they know what hunger for years was, abject hunger, malnutrition?
Did these well-fed men who talked of hardship know, could they conceive
of a family to whom for years a nickel meant the difference between
butter on bread and dry bread? They talked of slums, and dirt, and
poverty, but he kept his mouth closed. Were he to tell them what he
knew of these--he himself--might they not draw back from him as they
would draw back with a shudder from a man who had been close to lepers?
Fine words mean so little in this world.
All his life until seven years ago, when he was twenty-five, had been a
succession of cold ill-fed days, relieved by the magic thrill of
bridges.
There had been a viaduct here, a railroad span there, an Egyptian arch
somewhere else in Argyle that would vibrate some chord within him. A
rainbow would flush him with sudden beauty. And in New York the wonder
of the bridges made up for heartburnings and disappointments. The
gossamer span to Brooklyn affected him like a long note on a
hunting-horn. At times human weaknesses would boil within him, as when
he thought with rage that other boys and men must be uplifted by the
prizes and scholarships they won, feeling the pride of combat and of
victory, but to him they meant only the wherewithal to live for himself
and his mother and sisters. Other boys were welcomed with feastings
when they had achieved success, but success meant to him only the
filling of famished hands--not that he grudged it, God knows! but one
hungers for a little praise, a little recognition, as one hungers for
food. And then had come the days of obscurity, working for others
until Gamaliel Stanford, the big, bluff builder, had recognized his
genius and given him his chance. He did fine work for Stanford.
Stanford, the self-made millionaire, wished after the fashion of his
kind to patronize the genius he had found, and so he brought him here,
brought him there, to his club, to golf-links, to his house. And there
Lovat met Cecily, Stanford's daughter....