They laid before her conquering feet
The spoils of many lands;
Their crowns shone red upon her head
Their scepters in her hands.
She heard two murmuring at night,
Where rose-sweet shadows rest;
And coveted the blossom red
He laid upon her breast.
When Madam Weatherstone shook the plentiful dust of Orchardina from
her expensive shoes, and returned to adorn the more classic groves of
Philadelphia, Mrs. Thaddler assumed to hold undisputed sway as a social
leader.
The Social Leader she meant to be; and marshalled her forces to that
end. She Patronized here, and Donated there; revised her visiting list
with rigid exclusiveness; secured an Eminent Professor and a
Noted Writer as visitors, and gave entertainments of almost Roman
magnificence.
Her husband grew more and more restive under the rising tide of social
exactions in dress and deportment; and spent more and more time behind
his fast horses, or on the stock-ranch where he raised them. As a
neighbor and fellow ranchman, he scraped acquaintance with Ross Warden,
and was able to render him many small services in the process of
settling.
Mrs. Warden remembered his visit to Jopalez, and it took her some time
to rearrange him in her mind as a person of wealth and standing. Having
so rearranged him, on sufficient evidence, she and her daughters became
most friendly, and had hopes of establishing valuable acquaintance in
the town. “It's not for myself I care,” she would explain to Ross,
every day in the week and more on Sundays, “but for the girls. In that
dreadful Jopalez there was absolutely _no_ opportunity for them; but
here, with horses, there is no reason we should not have friends. You
must consider your sisters, Ross! Do be more cordial to Mr. Thaddler.”
But Ross could not at present be cordial to anybody. His unexpected good
fortune, the freedom from hated cares, and chance to work out his mighty
theories on the faithful guinea-pig, ought to have filled his soul with
joy; but Diantha's cruel obstinacy had embittered his cup of joy. He
could not break with her; she had not refused him, and it was difficult
in cold blood to refuse her.
He had stayed away for two whole weeks, in which time the guinea-pigs
nibbled at ease and Diantha's work would have suffered except for her
mother's extra efforts. Then he went to see her again, miserable but
stubborn, finding her also miserable and also stubborn. They argued till
there was grave danger of an absolute break between them; then dropped
the subject by mutual agreement, and spent evenings of unsatisfying
effort to talk about other things.
Diantha and her mother called on Mrs. Warden, of course, admiring the
glorious view, the sweet high air, and the embowered loveliness of the
two ranch houses. Ross drew Diantha aside and showed her “theirs”--a
lovely little wide-porched concrete cottage, with a red-tiled roof, and
heavy masses of Gold of Ophir and Banksia roses.
He held her hand and drew her close to him.
He kissed her when they were safe inside, and murmured: “Come,
darling--won't you come and be my wife?”
“I will, Ross--whenever you say--but--!” She would not agree to give up
her work, and he flung away from her in reckless despair. Mrs. Warden
and the girls returned the call as a matter of duty, but came no more;
the mother saying that she could not take her daughters to a Servant
Girls' Club.
And though the Servant Girls' Club was soon removed to its new quarters
and Union House became a quiet, well-conducted hotel, still the two
families saw but little of each other.
Mrs. Warden naturally took her son's side, and considered Diantha an
unnatural monster of hard-heartedness.
The matter sifted through to the ears of Mrs. Thaddler, who rejoiced in
it, and called upon Mrs. Warden in her largest automobile. As a mother
with four marriageable daughters, Mrs. Warden was delighted to accept
and improve the acquaintance, but her aristocratic Southern soul was
inwardly rebellious at the ancestorlessness and uncultured moneyed pride
of her new friend.
“If only Madam Weatherstone had stayed!” she would complain to her
daughters. “She had Family as well as Wealth.”
“There's young Mrs. Weatherstone, mother--” suggested Dora.
“A nobody!” her mother replied. “She has the Weatherstone money, of
course, but no Position; and what little she has she is losing by
her low tastes. She goes about freely with Diantha Bell--her own
housekeeper!”
“She's not her housekeeper now, mother--”
“Well, it's all the same! She _was!_ And a mere general servant before
that! And now to think that when Ross is willing to overlook it all and
marry her, she won't give it up!”
They were all agreed on this point, unless perhaps that the youngest had
her inward reservations. Dora had always liked Diantha better than had
the others.
Young Mrs. Weatherstone stayed in her big empty house for a while, and
as Mrs. Warden said, went about frequently with Diantha Bell. She liked
Mrs. Bell, too--took her for long stimulating rides in her comfortable
car, and insisted that first one and then the other of them should have
a bit of vacation at her seashore home before the winter's work grew too
heavy.
With Mrs. Bell she talked much of how Diantha had helped the town.
“She has no idea of the psychic effects, Mrs. Bell,” said she. “She
sees the business, and she has a great view of all it is going to do
for women to come; but I don't think she realizes how much she is
doing right now for women here--and men, too. There were my friends
the Pornes; they were 'drifting apart,' as the novels have it--and no
wonder. Isabel was absolutely no good as a housekeeper; he naturally
didn't like it--and the baby made it all the worse; she pined for her
work, you see, and couldn't get any time for it. Now they are as happy
as can be--and it's just Diantha Bell's doings. The housework is off
Isabel's shoulders.
“Then there are the Wagrams, and the Sheldons, and the Brinks--and ever
so many more--who have told me themselves that they are far happier than
they ever were before--and can live more cheaply. She ought to be the
happiest girl alive!”
Mrs. Bell would agree to this, and quite swelled with happiness and
pride; but Mrs. Weatherstone, watching narrowly, was not satisfied.
When she had Diantha with her she opened fire direct. “You ought to be
the happiest, proudest, most triumphant woman in the world!” she said.
“You're making oodles of money, your whole thing's going well, and look
at your mother--she's made over!”
Diantha smiled and said she was happy; but her eyes would stray off to
the very rim of the ocean; her mouth set in patient lines that were not
in the least triumphant.
“Tell me about it, my friend,” said her hostess. “Is it that he won't
let you keep on with the business?”
Diantha nodded.
“And you won't give it up to marry him?”
“No,” said Diantha. “No. Why should I? I'd marry him--to-morrow!” She
held one hand with the other, tight, but they both shook a little. “I'd
be glad to. But I will not give up my work!”
“You look thin,” said Mrs. Weatherstone.
“Yes--”
“Do you sleep well?”
“No--not very.”
“And I can see that you don't eat as you ought to. Hm! Are you going to
break down?”
“No,” said Diantha, “I am not going to break down. I am doing what is
right, and I shall go on. It's a little hard at first--having him so
near. But I am young and strong and have a great deal to do--I shall do
it.”
And then Mrs. Weatherstone would tell her all she knew of the intense
satisfaction of the people she served, and pleasant stories about the
girls. She bought her books to read and such gleanings as she found in
foreign magazines on the subject of organized house-service.
Not only so, but she supplied the Orchardina library with a special
bibliography on the subject, and induced the new Woman's Club to take
up a course of reading in it, so that there gradually filtered into the
Orchardina mind a faint perception that this was not the freak of an
eccentric individual, but part of an inevitable business development,
going on in various ways in many nations.
As the winter drew on, Mrs. Weatherstone whisked away again, but kept a
warm current of interest in Diantha's life by many letters.
Mr. Bell came down from Jopalez with outer reluctance but inner
satisfaction. He had rented his place, and Susie had three babies now.
Henderson, Jr., had no place for him, and to do housework for himself
was no part of Mr. Bell's plan.
In Diantha's hotel he had a comfortable room next his wife's, and a
capacious chair in the firelit hall in wet weather, or on the shaded
piazza in dry. The excellent library was a resource to him; he found
some congenial souls to talk with; and under the new stimulus succeeded
at last in patenting a small device that really worked. With this, and
his rent, he felt inclined to establish a “home of his own,” and the
soul of Mrs. Bell sank within her. Without allowing it to come to an
issue between them, she kept the question open for endless discussion;
and Mr. Bell lived on in great contentment under the impression that
he was about to move at almost any time. To his friends and cronies he
dilated with pride on his daughter's wonderful achievements.
“She's as good as a boy!” he would declare. “Women nowadays seem to
do anything they want to!” And he rigidly paid his board bill with a
flourish.
Meanwhile the impressive gatherings at Mrs. Thaddler's, and the
humbler tea and card parties of Diantha's friends, had a new topic as a
shuttlecock.
A New York company had bought one of the largest and finest blocks in
town--the old Para place--and was developing it in a manner hitherto
unseen. The big, shabby, neglected estate began to turn into such
a fairyland as only southern lands can know. The old live-oaks were
untouched; the towering eucalyptus trees remained in ragged majesty; but
an army of workmen was busy under guidance of a master of beauty.
One large and lovely building rose, promptly dubbed a hotel by the
unwilling neighbors; others, smaller, showed here and there among the
trees; and then a rose-gray wall of concrete ran around the whole, high,
tantalizing, with green boughs and sweet odors coming over it. Those who
went in reported many buildings, and much activity. But, when the wall
was done, and each gate said “No admittance except on business,” then
the work of genii was imagined, and there was none to contradict.
It was a School of Theosophy; it was a Christian Science College; it was
a Free-Love Colony; it was a Secret Society; it was a thousand wonders.
“Lot of little houses and one big one,” the employees said when
questioned.
“Hotel and cottages,” the employers said when questioned.
They made no secret of it, they were too busy; but the town was
unsatisfied. Why a wall? What did any honest person want of a wall? Yet
the wall cast a pleasant shadow; there were seats here and there between
buttresses, and, as the swift California season advanced, roses and
oleanders nodded over the top, and gave hints of beauty and richness
more subtly stimulating than all the open glory of the low-hedged
gardens near.
Diantha's soul was stirred with secret envy. Some big concern was
about to carry out her dream, or part of it--perhaps to be a huge and
overflowing rival. Her own work grew meantime, and flourished as well as
she could wish.
The food-delivery service was running to its full capacity; the girls
got on very well under Mrs. Jessup, and were delighted to have a house
of their own with the parlors and piazzas all to themselves, and a
garden to sit in as well. If this depleted their ranks by marriage, it
did not matter now, for there was a waiting list in training all the
time.
Union House kept on evenly and profitably, and Diantha was beginning to
feel safe and successful; but the years looked long before her.
She was always cheered by Mrs. Weatherstone's letters; and Mrs. Porne
came to see her, and to compare notes over their friend's success. For
Mrs. Weatherstone had been presented at Court--at more than one court,
in fact; and Mrs. Weatherstone had been proposed to by a Duke--and had
refused him! Orchardina well-nigh swooned when this was known.
She had been studying, investigating, had become known in scientific as
well as social circles, and on her way back the strenuous upper layer of
New York Society had also made much of her. Rumors grew of her exquisite
costumes, of her unusual jewels, of her unique entertainments, of her
popularity everywhere she went.
Other proposals, of a magnificent nature, were reported, with more
magnificent refusals; and Orchardina began to be very proud of young
Mrs. Weatherstone and to wish she would come back.
She did at last, bringing an Italian Prince with her, and a Hoch
Geborene German Count also, who alleged they were travelling to study
the country, but who were reputed to have had a duel already on the
beautiful widow's account.
All this was long-drawn gossip but bore some faint resemblance to the
facts. Viva Weatherstone at thirty was a very different woman front the
pale, sad-eyed girl of four years earlier. And when the great house on
the avenue was arrayed in new magnificence, and all Orchardina--that
dared--had paid its respects to her, she opened the season, as it were,
with a brilliant dinner, followed by a reception and ball.
All Orchardina came--so far as it had been invited. There was the
Prince, sure enough--a pleasant, blue-eyed young man. And there was the
Count, bearing visible evidence of duels a-plenty in earlier days.
And there was Diantha Bell--receiving, with Mrs. Porne and Mrs.
Weatherstone. All Orchardina stared. Diantha had been at the
dinner--that was clear. And now she stood there in her soft, dark
evening dress, the knot of golden acacias nestling against the black
lace at her bosom, looking as fair and sweet as if she had never had a
care in her life.
Her mother thought her the most beautiful thing she had ever seen; and
her father, though somewhat critical, secretly thought so, too.
Mrs. Weatherstone cast many a loving look at the tall girl beside her
in the intervals of “Delighted to see you's,” and saw that her double
burden had had no worse effect than to soften the lines of the mouth and
give a hint of pathos to the clear depths of her eyes.
The foreign visitors were much interested in the young Amazon of
Industry, as the Prince insisted on calling her; and even the German
Count for a moment forgot his ancestors in her pleasant practical talk.
Mrs. Weatherstone had taken pains to call upon the Wardens--claiming a
connection, if not a relationship, and to invite them all. And as
the crowd grew bigger and bigger, Diantha saw Mrs. Warden at last
approaching with her four daughters--and no one else. She greeted them
politely and warmly; but Mrs. Weatherstone did more.
Holding them all in a little group beside her, she introduced her noble
visitors to them; imparted the further information that their brother
was _fiance_ to Miss Bell. “I don't see him,” she said, looking about.
“He will come later, of course. Ah, Miss Madeline! How proud you all
must feel of your sister-in-law to be!”
Madeline blushed and tried to say she was.
“Such a remarkable young lady!” said the Count to Adeline. “You will
admire, envy, and imitate! Is it not so?”
“Your ladies of America have all things in your hands,” said the
Prince to Miss Cora. “To think that she has done so much, and is yet so
young--and so beautiful!”
“I know you're all as proud as you can be,” Mrs. Weatherstone continued
to Dora. “You see, Diantha has been heard of abroad.”
They all passed on presently, as others came; but Mrs. Warden's head was
reeling. She wished she could by any means get at Ross, and _make_ him
come, which he had refused to do.
“I can't, mother,” he had said. “You go--all of you. Take the girls.
I'll call for you at twelve--but I won't go in.”
Mr. and Mrs. Thaddler were there--but not happy. She was not, at least,
and showed it; he was not until an idea struck him. He dodged softly
out, and was soon flying off, at dangerous speed over the moon-white
country roads.
He found Ross, dressed and ready, sulking blackly on his shadowy porch.
“Come and take a spin while you wait,” said Mr. Thaddler.
“Thanks, I have to go in town later.”
“I'll take you in town.”
“Thank you, but I have to take the horses in and bring out my mother and
the girls.”
“I'll bring you all out in the car. Come on--it's a great night.”
So Ross rather reluctantly came.
He sat back on the luxurious cushions, his arms folded sternly, his
brows knit, and the stout gentleman at his side watched him shrewdly.
“How does the ranch go?” he asked.
“Very well, thank you, Mr. Thaddler.”
“Them Chinks pay up promptly?”
“As prompt as the month comes round. Their rent is a very valuable part
of the estate.”
“Yes,” Mr. Thaddler pursued. “They have a good steady market for their
stuff. And the chicken man, too. Do you know who buys 'em?”
Ross did not. Did not greatly care, he intimated.
“I should think you'd be interested--you ought to--it's Diantha Bell.”
Ross started, but said nothing.
“You see, I've taken a great interest in her proposition ever since she
sprung it on us,” Mr. Thaddler confided. “She's got the goods all right.
But there was plenty against her here--you know what women are! And I
made up my mind the supplies should be good and steady, anyhow. She
had no trouble with her grocery orders; that was easy. Meat I couldn't
handle--except indirectly--a little pressure, maybe, here and there.”
And he chuckled softly. “But this ranch I bought on purpose.”
Ross turned as if he had been stung.
“You!” he said.
“Yes, me. Why not? It's a good property. I got it all fixed right, and
then I bought your little upstate shop--lock, stock and barrel--and gave
you this for it. A fair exchange is no robbery. Though it would be nice
to have it all in the family, eh?”
Ross was silent for a few turbulent moments, revolving this far from
pleasing information.
“What'd I do it for?” continued the unasked benefactor. “What do you
_think_ I did it for? So that brave, sweet little girl down here could
have her heart's desire. She's established her business--she's proved
her point--she's won the town--most of it; and there's nothing on earth
to make her unhappy now but your pigheadedness! Young man, I tell you
you're a plumb fool!”
One cannot throw one's host out of his own swift-flying car; nor is it
wise to jump out one's self.
“Nothing on earth between you but your cussed pride!” Mr. Thaddler
remorselessly went on. “This ranch is honestly yours--by a square deal.
Your Jopalez business was worth the money--you ran it honestly and
extended the trade. You'd have made a heap by it if you could have
unbent a little. Gosh! I limbered up that store some in twelve months!”
And the stout man smiled reminiscently.
Ross was still silent.
“And now you've got what you wanted--thanks to her, mind you, thanks to
her!--and you ain't willing to let her have what she wants!”
The young man moistened his lips to speak.
“You ain't dependent on her in any sense--I don't mean that. You earned
the place all right, and I don't doubt you'll make good, both in a
business way and a scientific way, young man. But why in Hades you
can't let her be happy, too, is more'n I can figure! Guess you get your
notions from two generations back--and some!”
Ross began, stumblingly. “I did not know I was indebted to you, Mr.
Thaddler.”
“You're not, young man, you're not! I ran that shop of yours a
year--built up the business and sold it for more than I paid for this.
So you've no room for heroics--none at all. What I want you to realize
is that you're breaking the heart of the finest woman I ever saw. You
can't bend that girl--she'll never give up. A woman like that has got
more things to do than just marry! But she's pining for you all the
same.
“Here she is to-night, receiving with Mrs. Weatherstone--with those
Bannerets, Dukes and Earls around her--standing up there like a Princess
herself--and her eyes on the door all the time--and tears in 'em, I
could swear--because you don't come!”
*****
They drew up with a fine curve before the carriage gate.
“I'll take 'em all home--they won't be ready for some time yet,” said
Mr. Thaddler. “And if you two would like this car I'll send for the
other one.”
Ross shook hands with him. “You are very kind, Mr. Thaddler,” he said.
“I am obliged to you. But I think we will walk.”
Tall and impressive, looking more distinguished in a six-year-old
evening suit than even the Hoch Geborene in his uniform, he came at
last, and Diantha saw him the moment he entered; saw, too, a new light
in his eyes.
He went straight to her. And Mrs. Weatherstone did not lay it up against
him that he had but the briefest of words for his hostess.
“Will you come?” he said. “May I take you home--now?”
She went with him, without a word, and they walked slowly home, by far
outlying paths, and long waits on rose-bowered seats they knew.
The moon filled all the world with tender light and the orange blossoms
flooded the still air with sweetness.
“Dear,” said he, “I have been a proud fool--I am yet--but I have come to
see a little clearer. I do not approve of your work--I cannot approve
of it--but will you forgive me for that and marry me? I cannot live any
longer without you?”
“Of course I will,” said Diantha.