"No, I don't. You're not alike. You're both aiming at the same thing,
I suppose; but your ways are different. And you can't very well both
be right. You may not be pals after all. You may disagree and fight.
Come to think of it, I shouldn't be in the least surprised if you did.
A pitched battle between Gordon Perry and Mrs. Randolph Wilson would be
worth watching." Paul chuckled mirthfully at the conception. "I'm not
quite sure which of you I would back."
"And now you're enigmatic, not to say absurd."
"Wait until you get to know her; then you'll understand. I should only
tie myself up in a bow-knot trying to explain. Her daughter's marriage
gave Aunt Miriam her head. If ever there was a case of disappointment,
Lucille was one. Aunt Miriam had intended her to be a model of
æsthetic sweetness and light, a sort of Matthew Arnold girl with
American patent electrical improvements, but she must have been changed
at birth. Lucille has her good points--I'm fond of her--but it's a
matter of utter indifference to her whether the world improves or not
provided she has what she likes. She must have been a constant jar to
her mother. Yet I never heard a whimper from Mrs. Wilson. My aunt had
no particular use for Clarence Waldo; yet when the thing was settled
one could never have guessed from her manner that she was not to be the
mother-in-law of Lord Rosebery or of the author of the great American
novel. But now that her mission as a mother is fulfilled, look out for
storm centres in the upper lake region of high ideas and fresh winds in
reform circles. By the way, the Waldos are in this country again, and
are to pass the summer at Newport. My wife says that we are to go
there too, with a new steam yacht and all the latest appliances for
cutting ice. So you see, I couldn't play the Puritan and the American
husband in the same act."
As a result of this conversation, Constance Stuart obtained employment
in Gordon Perry's office. When she presented herself he recognized her
with surprise as the client whose scrupulous purpose he believed he had
divined, though she had given no clue to her instructions. He realized
that he was predisposed in her favor, so that she scarcely needed the
letter of encomium from Mrs. Wilson, which he paused to read, chiefly
because of its chirography and diction. He observed that both her face
and figure were a little fuller than when he had seen her last, which
was becoming, and that she was more trigly, though simply, dressed. It
was clear that she had risen from the ashes of her adversity, and was
determined to put her best foot forward. And what an attractive voice
and fine eyes she had. As he looked at her he said to himself that she
was qualified for the position as one in a thousand; the sort of woman
who would understand without becoming obtrusive, who would be neither a
machine nor a coquette; and though she was a novice, the endorsement
was explicit on the score of her capacity. Gordon felt that she would
give a new atmosphere to his office.
Constance, on her part, was pleased to encounter one not wholly a
stranger. Though she had acquired deftness in her work, she felt
nervous at actual responsibility, and the memory of the lawyer's kind
eyes and frank smile gave her assurance. As she saw him again she was
sure that he would be considerate and reasonable. Mrs. Wilson had
spoken of an opening in Mr. Howard's office, where she would be one of
a roomful of typewriters, but she was glad now that this opportunity
had been offered her instead. There would be less excitement and less
contact with the hurly-burly of large events, and less chance for
promotion and for better pay in case she proved proficient. But, on
the other hand, she believed that she would find here a secure and
agreeable haven where she could do her best with self-respecting
faithfulness and support her children suitably. As she arranged her
small effects in the desk provided for her, she concluded already that
she was very fortunate.
Just a year had passed since Constance had begun her new life in
Lincoln Chambers, and the impulse of that new life may be said to have
dated from her visit to Mrs. Randolph Wilson. From that interview and
that house she had brought away encouragement and inspiration. The
text of the value of the spirit of beauty possessed her soul with the
ardor of a new faith. Suddenly and with captivating clearness it had
been revealed to her that the external fitness of things is a fact and
not to be ignored, and that the purely introspective, subjective vision
sees only half the truth of existence. She perceived that she had been
content with rectitude, and unadorned plainness; that she had been
indifferent and blind to color, variety, and artistic excellence. It
was as though she had been nourished on skimmed milk instead of cream,
as though her diet had been a monotonous simple regimen without a
luscious ingredient.
To begin with, she had turned her thought to her own home, where
cleanliness and order ruled, but where she had hitherto refrained from
other than haphazard efforts at pleasing effects. Her idea had been to
be comfortable and decent, and to let the rest take care of itself, but
now the ambition was awakened to impart taste to her surroundings. To
her satisfaction she found that this was not difficult to accomplish
even with her modest resources, as her mentor had predicted. Her
woman's intelligence and native refinement reinforced her aroused
interest, and by altering the angles and position of her furniture, and
by introducing a few spots of color to enliven the monotony of her
rooms she was able to effect a modest transformation delightful to her
own eyes. To plant flowers in boxes for her windows and to arrange the
few pictures she owned to advantage was the next step. The modern
design of her apartment lent itself to her efforts, as though its
newness, its modern tiles and its wall-papers were in league against
dull commonplaceness, and it seemed to her presently almost horrible
that she had remained indifferent for so long to the necessity of
external appearances, absorbed in the processes of introspection. When
she and Emil had married her predominant impulse had been to be a good,
loving wife to him, and to make his home inviting by her cheerfulness
and tact. The new, clean house had seemed to her pretty in itself, and
she had taken for granted that the sets of furniture, the carpets, and
other household goods, bought hastily, could not fail to set it forth
to advantage. They were substantial, fresh, and paid for, and in her
happiness it had not occurred to her to bother further. To do so would
have seemed to savor of undue worldliness. Now how far away appeared
that time of joyful ignorance, and how foreign to her present
sophistication its artless outlook. She had deemed herself cultivated
then, and later, in the stress of her misfortunes, had cherished
thoughtful simplicity as the essence of personal refinement, the
life-buoy to which she clung amid the waste of waters. By the light of
experience it was plain that she had starved herself and eschewed as
effete or unimportant that which was wholesome and stimulating. The
same impulse led her to take a new interest in her own personal
appearance, to arrange her hair tastefully, to consider a little what
colors suited her best, and in various simple ways to make the most of
her own personal advantages for the first time in her life. Not in the
spirit of vanity, but in acknowledgment that she had too much neglected
the temple of the body. And not only in respect to beauty in the
outward manifestations of everyday life did she feel that she had been
blind to what existence offered, but where art touched religion. She
was able to approach faith from a new point of view; to wrap her naked
intellectual communion with the garment of the church properties--to
yield herself to the spell of the solemn architecture, the new
stained-glass windows, the artistic reredos, and the vested choir of
St. Stephen's--without suspicion or doubt. Her life had lacked the
impulse of art, and in finding it she believed that she had discovered
the secret of a closer approach to God.
She sought by zeal to make atonement to Mr. Prentiss for her past
deficiencies. It did not appear to her essential to recant her errors
formally; indeed, she did not do so to herself, for in respect to
certain dogmas and supernatural claims of the creed she had not
disowned her independence of thought. That which she wished to disown
unmistakably was the coldness of her attitude toward spiritual things;
she wished her rector to realize that heart was predominating over
mind, and that trusting, ardent worship had taken the place of
speculative lip service. A sermon by Mr. Prentiss came in the nick of
time to further this attitude. It was on the essentials of the
religious faith, and he defined them as the spirit of Christian
brotherhood and love through man to God. Although he did not in terms
disparage the importance of the dogmas and traditions of the church,
the impression left on Constance was that he had passed them by as
embodying the antiquated letter, but not the modern temper of Christian
doctrine. To her eager imagination the doubts which had harassed her
in the past concerning the truth of the miracles, and kindred
scriptural deviation, from the natural order of the universe were
reduced to trivial importance. Instead of stumbling-blocks to faith,
they had become objects of secondary interest, to one side of the
high-road along which the Christ-life was leading mankind.
How better could she manifest this change of mood to Mr. Prentiss than
by devotion to church work? She became a teacher in the Sunday-school
in the Church of the Redeemer, the mission church connected with St.
Stephen's, joined once more a Bible-class under her rector's
instruction, and undertook to befriend some poor families less
fortunate than herself on the parish lists. But her dearest service
was to help to deck the church for the great Christian festivals,
Christmas and Easter. To arrange the evergreen and mistletoe, the
profusion of lilies and roses, humbly and under the guidance of those
versed in such matters, but with devoted hands, gave her a chance to
ventilate the new poetry of her soul. She had become enamored of the
charm of flowers; she delighted in the swell of the organ and the
melodious chants of the rejoicing choir. Her willing fingers quickly
became skilful. At the second Easter she was even appealed to on minor
points of taste by some of her fellow-workers, so that Loretta Davis,
who was standing by holding smilax, nudged her as a sign of
congratulation, for she had represented herself to Loretta as a
complete novice in such matters. Very grateful and inspiriting to
Constance was Mrs. Wilson's voluntary tribute on the same evening that
she had been of notable service. Mrs. Wilson was the presiding genius
and lady bountiful of these festivals, especially on Easter Day. It
was she who said yearly to Mr. Prentiss, "Date plenis lilia," and,
acting on that cue, gave orders to the florists to exhaust the
green-houses of the neighborhood, and to spare neither expense nor
pains to make St. Stephen's the most beautiful sanctuary in Benham. It
was she who organized and tactfully controlled the large committee of
ladies whose annual labor of love it was to dress the church. It was
she who oversaw and checkmated the commonplace intentions of the
professional decorators employed to fasten festoons and clusters beyond
the reach of ladylike gymnastics; and it was she who originated or set
the seal of approval on the artistic scheme of design adopted by the
committee.
Mrs. Wilson had had several triumphs as a consequence of the freedom
afforded her by her daughter's marriage, but nothing had given her more
satisfaction than the progress of Loretta Davis's redemption through
association with Constance. She had jumped at the idea of placing the
wayward girl in the opposite tenement, feeling that the experience
would be a blessing to both women; that it would provide Loretta with a
sympathetic fellow struggler and example, and give Mrs. Stuart the
self-respecting occasion to help as well as to be helped. Still it was
an experiment until tried, the success of which could not be taken for
granted.
That their relations had become sympathetic was due mainly to
Constance. In her present mood the unfortunate girl seemed to have
been sent to her as an opportunity for Christian usefulness, as a test
of her own spiritual regeneration. Here was the best chance of all to
show her changed heart to her rector. Her recognition from the outset
that Loretta was distasteful to her, and her shrinking not only from
the girl's attitude toward sin but from her smart matter-of-fact
personality served merely as a spur to her own zeal. She would win her
over and be won over herself; she would unearth the palpitating soul of
which Mrs. Wilson had confided to her that she had caught a glimpse,
and teach her to reassert and develop her womanhood. Help came
unexpectedly from Loretta herself after the ice of acquaintance was
broken and the two women found themselves close neighbors. Constance
was attracted by the keenness of her intelligence which, though Loretta
was ignorant and undisciplined, was apt to go straight to the mark on
the wings of rough but pungent speech. It conciliated Constance to
discover this trait, for she shrank from self-deception as a moral
blemish and one more typical of women than of men. The girl's
directness awoke an answering chord. A clear head removed half the
difficulty of the situation, and held out the hope that wise counsel
would not be lost.
Loretta made no mystery of her circumstances. She told the story of
her shame with matter-of-fact glibness as an every-day incident in
human life, lamentable possibly on conventional grounds, but not to be
judged harshly by the discerning, among whom she chose to place
Constance. The thing had happened, and there was nothing to be said or
done but make the best of it--which now included the baby.
"She wanted me to keep it, and I said I would, and that I'd come and
live here and see how I liked it. I shocked her and--well, I had never
talked with anyone just like her before. She seemed set on my living
here, so I thought I'd try."
"She" was always Mrs. Wilson. This was Loretta's invariable way of
referring to her, as if there could be no question who was meant. She
talked of her constantly, with an eager yet shy interest, which
promptly revealed to Constance how matters stood. Loretta had taken up
her duties as a mother and subordinated her own wanton theories to
please Mrs. Wilson. This was the bond which held her, not religion or
the qualms of self-respect. Yet it was a bond, and Constance
recognized it as one to be cherished. To hear this woman, so bold and
indelicate in every-day speech, ask questions concerning her divinity
with a shyness not unlike that of a bashful lover was interesting. Was
not she herself under the influence of the same charm? Was not this
infatuation another tribute to the power of the spirit of beauty? Thus
Constance felt that she had a clue to her new companion's nature, which
she did her best to utilize. So it happened that Loretta went to
church because she could catch a glimpse of Mrs. Wilson from where they
sat; and Loretta took a new interest in her baby from the hour when
Mrs. Wilson sent her, tied up with a pretty ribbon, a little
embroidered infant's jacket bought at a fair; and Loretta helped to
deck St. Stephen's at Easter because of the chance that Mrs. Wilson
would speak to her, as of course she did. Constance found herself a
silent but zealous conniver and accomplice; and it impressed her that
the object of devotion seemed instinctively aware both of it and the
girl's need, for every now and then Mrs. Wilson would make the occasion
by a few words, a note, a visit or a gift to lift Loretta above the
level of her own devices. For just as Antæus gained strength by
contact with the earth, Loretta's spirit seemed to crave the
inspiration of Mrs. Wilson's gracious patronage.
Though slap-dash and over-confident in her ways, Loretta was capable
and quick to adopt and to perform skilfully whatever appealed to her.
Her experience as a cashier in a drug store had given her a lingo and a
certain familiarity concerning modern remedies, and she had a natural
aptitude with her hands. Some of the maternal hygienic niceties
practised by Constance appeared to amuse her at first, but as she
became more interested in her baby, she outdid her neighbor in
pharmaceutical experiments with powder, oil, perfume, and whatever she
thought likely to make her child a savory specimen of babyhood. When
the child was a year old, Mrs. Wilson made good her promise that
Loretta should be instructed in nursing by securing her admission to a
hospital. At the same time she engaged another of her wards, a
responsible, elderly woman, to take up her abode in Loretta's tenement,
and it was arranged that this custodian should also tend Constance's
children during their mother's absence down-town. How to guard her
children properly after their return from school had been agitating
Constance, and this plan was exactly to her liking. She paid a small
sum weekly from her earnings for the supervision, and it was understood
that Loretta should have the same privilege after her apprenticeship
was over and she had become self-supporting. So it was that Mrs.
Wilson felt she had reason to be gratified by her philanthropic
experiment in Lincoln Chambers.