A BRIEF RETROSPECT.
Ten years have elapsed since Helen Hungerford was deserted by her
husband, and left almost destitute to begin again the battle of life
for herself and her child.
After having been introduced to New York society, she began immediately
to prosper. Mrs. Jerome, the sister-in-law of Helen's dearest friend,
had at once interested herself in her career as a drawing-room artiste,
with an enthusiasm there was no opposing; she started the ball rolling
for her, and Helen's charming personality, with her cultured,
delightful voice, her determination to please and to succeed, did the
rest. Each year her engagements and pupils multiplied; and, having
followed the advice of the Jeromes to set her prices at a figure to
give dignity and value to her services, she soon became the fashion,
with an ample and constantly increasing income at her command.
This had, ere long, enabled her to locate in a more desirable part of
the city, and to handsomely furnish a large apartment, with a studio
for her musical work; and, with competent help to relieve her of all
domestic drudgery, she found life easier and brighter than it had even
been since the first year of her marriage. Neither did she relax
effort in her own behalf; she put herself under a noted finishing
teacher, both to enhance her own attractions and to keep her repertoire
up to date. Dorothy, also, was given every advantage, and at the age
of nineteen entered college, from which she graduated four years later.
Meanwhile, she also had developed a decided talent for music,
possessing a rich contralto voice that promised great things for the
future; and the ensuing two years were spent in making the most of her
talent, until, as we have seen, she was beginning to create quite a
stir in musical circles, and to share honors with her mother.
They had lived very harmoniously during most of this time, trying to
forget the bitter past, and every year becoming nearer and dearer to
each other, until, as Dorothy had told Clifford Alexander, they were
"more like two devoted chums or sisters than mother and daughter."
But all this had not been achieved without severe struggles on the part
of Helen. During the first two years of her sojourn in New York,
notwithstanding her almost phenomenal success, she had been bitterly
unreconciled to the fate that had doomed her to live out her life as a
deserted wife, to be both father and mother to her child, and had even
necessitated the concealment of her identity in order to save Dorothy
the mortification of being known as the daughter of a divorcee.
She had seasons of wretched brooding, almost amounting to despair,
during which it would seem that she could not force herself to fulfill
her engagements; when she simply wallowed in the mire of bitter
humiliation, rebellion, and self-pity, in view of having been made the
target of a malicious fate, the football of an irresponsible man's
fickleness, indolence, and selfishness; of an unscrupulous woman's
blandishments and coquetry, and her life wrecked in its prime.
For herself, aside from her child, the future seemed to hold no
promise; she was not yet forty years of age; she might live forty years
longer. Would she have courage sufficient to sustain her so long--to
carry this intolerable thorn that rankled in her heart continually?
And what made this thorn in the flesh so intolerable? she sometimes
asked herself. If her husband had died, she might have grieved for a
time over the memory of his unkind treatment of her; but eventually the
sting of it would have ceased, and the wound would have healed, and she
would have forgiven him.
And what was this thorn, anyway? The question came to her, almost like
an audible voice, one day, when she had been more than usually
depressed; and, with a sudden inward shrinking from herself, it was
forced upon her that it was of her own planting and nourishment, and
its sting was her own bitterness, hate, and resentment against the
living man, who had left her for another; and also hatred against the
woman who had decoyed him from her.
She recoiled from the shocking revelation with a sense of loathing. It
was as if she had discovered a nest of poisonous vipers writhing in her
own bosom, but which she had carefully and persistently nursed, calling
them by other names--disgrace, injured innocence, martyrdom, righteous
indignation, et cetera--hugging their stings and the corroding sores
they produced.
Immediately upon awakening to this she resolved to purify her
consciousness from what she now recognized as willful sin and
selfishness. She conscientiously tried to divest herself of the habit
of dwelling upon the unhappy past; she strove to bury it so far out of
sight by throwing herself more heartily into her work, and into
Dorothy's interests and pleasures, that even its ghost could never
arise to confront her again.
As time passed, she gradually grew to feel that she was really rising
above it. The clouds of depression began to lift, the sun of
prosperity melted away the mists of anxiety and care for the future,
while the appreciation and kindness of increasing friends broadened and
cheered her life in many ways.
It was generally believed among her many patrons in New York that Madam
Helen Ford was a widow. None, barring the Jeromes, knew aught of her
history, save--according to rumor--that she had belonged to a good
family in the far West, and, having been left with a little one to rear
and educate, had, upon the advice of her friends, come East to make the
most of her beautiful voice.
Mrs. Jerome's exceeding kindness to her, upon her arrival in that
great, strange city, had at once won Helen's heart, impelling her to
confide everything to her new friend, and thus relieve herself from the
consequences of deception toward those who were doing so much for her;
and from that hour the noble woman and her husband had been like
brother and sister, and of the greatest comfort to her; while the
simple fact that the Jeromes had introduced and vouched for her to
society was sufficient guarantee to give her the entrée among some of
the most cultured people in the metropolis.
They also became very fond of Dorothy, and, having a daughter of about
the same age, made much of the girl, often inviting her to their home
and to share many of Mollie Jerome's pleasures. The two girls became
very friendly, attended the same school, entered and graduated from
college at the same time, and thus Dorothy, aided by her own personal
attractions and sweetness of disposition, acquired a position among the
younger generation in good society that was of great advantage to her.
When Mollie Jerome made her début, Mrs. Jerome included Dorothy in the
receiving party, and in this way she also was practically introduced,
although she did not care particularly for so-called fashionable
society, neither would her circumstances allow her to keep up with its
arbitrary demands. Nevertheless, the kindness of these friends,
together with the advantages her mother had given her, enabled her to
enjoy many delightful opportunities which otherwise she would have
missed, and fitted her for the position she was destined later to
occupy.
Now, after ten years, having made her professional début, in the home
of her good friends, she felt she was well launched upon a career that
would insure her independence for the future, and also enable her to
relieve her mother of some of the burdens she had borne alone for so
many years.
On the evening of his introduction to her, Clifford Alexander had found
her to be an exceedingly bright and cultured girl, full of energy and
spirit, yet possessing an underlying purity and sweetness of character
that were inexpressibly charming to him, who, having seen much of life
abroad and in this country, had come to regard the majority of
fashionable young ladies as frivolous and shallow, absorbed in worldly
pleasures, and possessing little love for domestic life and its sacred
duties. Thus he had yet never met any one with whom he felt willing to
intrust his future happiness, and so had come to be regarded a
confirmed bachelor--or, as Mr. Jerome had put it, "no ladies' man."
After partaking of some refreshments together, Clifford Alexander,
desiring to prolong the interview with his companion, suggested a visit
to Mr. Jerome's wonderful library and picture gallery, which occupied
the entire fourth floor of his dwelling, and contained many rare gems,
both of art and literature, over which even connoisseurs were wont to
become enthusiastic.
Here they spent a delightful half hour, during which they discovered
much pertaining to their individual aims, pursuits, and tastes that was
congenial with each other. Then Dorothy was obliged to return to her
mother, to assist further in the evening's entertainment. But during
this brief interview she had unconsciously woven a magic web about the
heart of her new acquaintance, that was destined to prove far stronger
than the supposedly confirmed habit of reserve with which he had
heretofore fortified himself against all allurements of the fairer sex.
Clifford Alexander was now in his thirtieth year, and a man of no
ordinary type. One look at him was sufficient to reveal the fact that
he possessed a masterful, purposeful individuality, a character of
unswerving integrity, and lofty ideals. An attractive, intellectual
face; a pair of shrewd, yet genial, dark eyes; a pleasant, rich-toned
voice, with a courtly, gracious manner, all bespoke the refined,
high-minded gentleman.
Since leaving college, most of his time had been spent in Europe, where
he had attended to the foreign branch of a lucrative business
established by his father. Now, Mr. Alexander, Senior, having recently
retired, his son had been recalled to this country to fill his place,
as the head of the house, while another member of the firm was deputed
to look after the interests abroad.
Following the evening of his introduction to them, young Alexander was
enabled to keep pretty well posted, through his friends, the
Jeromes--particularly through Miss Mollie Jerome--regarding the
engagements and movements of Madam Ford and Dorothy. He did not fail
to make the most of this information, and thus the way was opened to
meet them frequently and cultivate their acquaintance; and it goes
without saying that he made the most of every opportunity.
Helen had been greatly attracted to him from the first, and, as the
formalities of their early interview began to melt into more friendly
relations, she gained a deeper insight of his character, which only
served to increase her admiration and respect for him. Neither was she
unmindful of the fact that Dorothy's eyes grew brighter, her smiles
sweeter, the rose in her cheeks deeper whenever he sought her side.
Hence when, one evening, at a social function, he gravely asked her if
she would accord him the privilege of calling upon her and Miss Ford,
she cordially granted his request, even though she could not fail to
understand from his earnest manner the deeply rooted determination
which had prompted his action.
He pursued the advantage thus attained most industriously and
vigorously. His wooing was ingenuous, straightforward, irresistible.
He loved with all his heart, and he pressed his suit with no less
earnestness of purpose. He won the prize he coveted, and six months
from the evening of their introduction the engagement of Miss Dorothy
Ford to Mr. Clifford Alexander was formally announced to their many
friends.
That it was a most desirable and suitable alliance was the general
verdict of all who knew them. The Alexanders, as a family, were
especially happy in view of it, for they had lost an only daughter some
years previous, and they lovingly welcomed the beautiful and talented
girl as the prospective bride of their son.
Helen was filled with joy and exceeding gratitude, and a great burden
was lifted from her heart. Dorothy's future was most luxuriously
provided for, both in the wealth of affection bestowed upon her and the
opulence that would henceforth shield her from all care or hardship.
The name of Ford, by which Helen had never been addressed without a
secret sense of fraud, would now be swallowed up by one that no breath
of taint had ever touched, and her child would be protected from all
danger of association with the unhappy events of her youth to mar her
life.
As the engagement was to be a short one, therefore, at Mr. Alexander's
request, Dorothy withdrew from all professional work, and proceeded to
give her time and attention wholly to the delightful occupation of
preparing for her approaching marriage.