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diff --git a/3363-h/3363-h.htm b/3363-h/3363-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39b294a --- /dev/null +++ b/3363-h/3363-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5651 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Fennel and Rue, by William Dean Howells + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fennel and Rue, by William Dean Howells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Fennel and Rue + +Author: William Dean Howells + +Release Date: September 1, 2006 [EBook #3363] +Last Updated: August 21, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FENNEL AND RUE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + FENNEL AND RUE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By William Dean Howells + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0008}.jpg" alt="{0008}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0008}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XXI. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + The success of Verrian did not come early, and it did not come easily. He + had been trying a long time to get his work into the best magazines, and + when he had won the favor of the editors, whose interest he had perhaps + had from the beginning, it might be said that they began to accept his + work from their consciences, because in its way it was so good that they + could not justly refuse it. The particular editor who took Verrian’s + serial, after it had come back to the author from the editors of the other + leading periodicals, was in fact moved mainly by the belief that the story + would please the better sort of his readers. These, if they were not so + numerous as the worse, he felt had now and then the right to have their + pleasure studied. + </p> + <p> + It was a serious story, and it was somewhat bitter, as Verrian himself + was, after his struggle to reach the public with work which he knew + merited recognition. But the world which does not like people to take + themselves too seriously also likes them to take themselves seriously, and + the bitterness in Verrian’s story proved agreeable to a number of readers + unexpectedly great. It intimated a romantic personality in the author, and + the world still likes to imagine romantic things of authors. It likes + especially to imagine them of novelists, now that there are no longer + poets; and when it began to like Verrian’s serial, it began to write him + all sorts of letters, directly, in care of the editor, and indirectly to + the editor, whom they asked about Verrian more than about his story. + </p> + <p> + It was a man’s story rather than a woman’s story, as these may be + distinguished; but quite for that reason women seemed peculiarly taken + with it. Perhaps the women had more leisure or more courage to write to + the author and the editor; at any rate, most of the letters were from + women; some of the letters were silly and fatuous enough, but others were + of an intelligence which was none the less penetrating for being emotional + rather than critical. These maids or matrons, whoever or whichever they + were, knew wonderfully well what the author would be at, and their + interest in his story implied a constant if not a single devotion. Now and + then Verrian was tempted to answer one of them, and under favor of his + mother, who had been his confidant at every point of his literary career, + he yielded to the temptation; but one day there came a letter asking an + answer, which neither he nor his mother felt competent to deal with. They + both perceived that they must refer it to the editor of the magazine, and + it seemed to them so important that they decided Verrian must go with it + in person to the editor. Then he must be so far ruled by him, if + necessary, as to give him the letter and put himself, as the author, + beyond an appeal which he found peculiarly poignant. + </p> + <p> + The letter, which had overcome the tacit misgivings of his mother as they + read it and read it again together, was from a girl who had perhaps no + need to confess herself young, or to own her inexperience of the world + where stories were written and printed. She excused herself with a + delicacy which Verrian’s correspondents by no means always showed for + intruding upon him, and then pleaded the power his story had over her as + the only shadow of right she had in addressing him. Its fascination, she + said, had begun with the first number, the first chapter, almost the first + paragraph. It was not for the plot that she cared; she had read too many + stories to care for the plot; it was the problem involved. It was one + which she had so often pondered in her own mind that she felt, in a way + she hoped he would not think conceited, almost as if the story was written + for her. She had never been able to solve the problem; how he would solve + it she did not see how she could wait to know; and here she made him a + confidence without which, she said, she should not have the courage to go + on. She was an invalid, and her doctor had told her that, though she might + live for months, there were chances that she might die at any moment + suddenly. He would think it strange, and it was strange that she should + tell him this, and stranger still that she should dare to ask him what she + was going to ask. The story had yet four months to run, and she had begun + to have a morbid foreboding that she should not live to read it in the + ordinary course. She was so ignorant about writers that she did not know + whether such a thing was ever done, or could be done; but if he could tell + her how the story was to come out he would be doing more for her than + anything else that could be done for her on earth. She had read that + sometimes authors began to print their serial stories before they had + written them to the end, and he might not be sure of the end himself; but + if he had finished this story of his, and could let her see the last pages + in print, she would owe him the gratitude she could never express. + </p> + <p> + The letter was written in an educated hand, and there were no foibles of + form or excesses of fashion in the stationery to mar the character of + sincerity the simple wording conveyed. The postal address, with the date, + was fully given, and the name signed at the end was evidently genuine. + </p> + <p> + Verrian himself had no question of the genuineness of the letter in any + respect; his mother, after her first misgivings, which were perhaps + sensations, thought as he did about it. She said the story dealt so + profoundly with the deepest things that it was no wonder a person, + standing like that girl between life and death, should wish to know how + the author solved its problem. Then she read the letter carefully over + again, and again Verrian read it, with an effect not different from that + which its first perusal had made with him. His faith in his work was so + great, so entire, that the notion of any other feeling about it was not + admissible. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he said, with a sigh of satisfaction, “I must show the letter + to Armiger at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” his mother replied. “He is the editor, and you must not do + anything without his approval.” + </p> + <p> + The faith in the writer of the letter, which was primary with him, was + secondary with her, but perhaps for that reason, she was all the more + firmly grounded in it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + There was nothing to cloud the editor’s judgment, when Verrian came to + him, except the fact that he was a poet as well as an editor. He read in a + silence as great as the author’s the letter which Verrian submitted. Then + he remained pondering it for as long a space before he said, “That is very + touching.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian jumped to his question. “Do you mean that we ought to send her the + proofs of the story?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” the editor faltered, but even in this decision he did not deny the + author his sympathy. “You’ve touched bottom in that story, Verrian. You + may go higher, but you can never go deeper.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian flushed a little. “Oh, thank you!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not surprised the girl wants to know how you manage your problem—such + a girl, standing in the shadow of the other world, which is always + eclipsing this, and seeing how you’ve caught its awful outline.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian made a grateful murmur at the praise. “That is what my mother + felt. Then you have no doubt of the good faith—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” the editor returned, with the same quantity, if not the same + quality, of reluctance as before. “You see, it would be too daring.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why not let her have the proofs?” + </p> + <p> + “The thing is so unprecedented—” + </p> + <p> + “Our doing it needn’t form a precedent.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you’ve no doubt of its being a true case—” + </p> + <p> + “We must prove that it is, or, rather, we must make her prove it. I quite + feel with you about it. If I were to act upon my own impulse, my own + convictions, I should send her the rest of the story and take the chances. + But she may be an enterprising journalist in disguise it’s astonishing + what women will do when they take to newspaper work—and we have no + right to risk anything, for the magazine’s sake, if not yours and mine. + Will you leave this letter with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I expected to leave the whole affair in your hands. Do you mind telling + me what you propose to do? Of course, it won’t be anything—abrupt—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no; and I don’t mind telling you what has occurred to me. If this is a + true case, as you say, and I’ve no question but it is, the writer will be + on confidential terms with her pastor as well as her doctor and I propose + asking her to get him to certify, in any sort of general terms, to her + identity. I will treat the matter delicately—Or, if you prefer to + write to her yourself—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, it’s much better for you to do it; you can do it authoritatively.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and if she isn’t the real thing, but merely a woman journalist + trying to work us for a ‘story’ in her Sunday edition, we shall hear no + more from her.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see anything to object to in your plan,” Verrian said, upon + reflection. “She certainly can’t complain of our being cautious.” + </p> + <p> + “No, and she won’t. I shall have to refer the matter to the house—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly! I couldn’t take a step like that without the approval of + the house.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Verrian assented, and he made a note of the writer’s address from + the letter. Then, after a moment spent in looking hard at the letter, he + gave it back to the editor and went abruptly away. + </p> + <p> + He had proof, the next morning, that the editor had acted promptly, at + least so far as regarded the house. The house had approved his plan, if + one could trust the romantic paragraph which Verrian found in his paper at + breakfast, exploiting the fact concerned as one of the interesting + evidences of the hold his serial had got with the magazine readers. He + recognized in the paragraph the touch of the good fellow who prepared the + weekly bulletins of the house, and offered the press literary intelligence + in a form ready for immediate use. The case was fairly stated, but the + privacy of the author’s correspondent was perfectly guarded; it was not + even made known that she was a woman. Yet Verrian felt, in reading the + paragraph, a shock of guilty dismay, as if he had betrayed a confidence + reposed in him, and he handed the paper across the table to his mother + with rather a sick look. + </p> + <p> + After his return from the magazine office the day before, there had been a + good deal of talk between them about that girl. Mrs. Verrian had agreed + with him that no more interesting event could have happened to an author, + but she had tried to keep him from taking it too personally, and from + making himself mischievous illusions from it. She had since slept upon her + anxieties, with the effect of finding them more vivid at waking, and she + had been casting about for an opening to penetrate him with them, when + fortune put this paragraph in her way. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it disgusting?” he asked. “I don’t see how Armiger could let them + do it. I hope to heaven she’ll never see it!” + </p> + <p> + His mother looked up from the paragraph and asked, + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “What would she think of me?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. She might have expected something of the kind.” + </p> + <p> + “How expect something of the kind? Am I one of the self-advertisers?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she must have realized that she was doing rather a bold thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Bold?” + </p> + <p> + “Venturesome,” Mrs. Verrian compromised to the kindling anger in her son’s + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you, mother. I thought you agreed with me about the + writer of that letter—her sincerity, simplicity.” + </p> + <p> + “Sincerity, yes. But simplicity—Philip, a thoroughly single-minded + girl never wrote that letter. You can’t feel such a thing as I do. A man + couldn’t. You can paint the character of women, and you do it wonderfully—but, + after all, you can’t know them as a woman does.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk,” he answered, a little sulkily, “as if you knew some harm of + the girl.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my son, I know nothing about her, except that she is not + single-minded, and there is no harm in not being single-minded. A great + many single-minded women are fools, and some double-minded women are + good.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, single-minded or double-minded, if she is what she says she is, + what motive on earth could she have in writing to me except the motive she + gives? You don’t deny that she tells the truth about herself?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t I say that she is sincere? But a girl doesn’t always know her own + motives, or all of them. She may have written to you because she would + like to begin a correspondence with an author. Or she may have done it out + of the love of excitement. Or for the sake of distraction, to get away + from herself and her gloomy forebodings.” + </p> + <p> + “And should you blame her for that?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I shouldn’t. I should pity her for it. But, all the same, I shouldn’t + want you to be taken in by her.” + </p> + <p> + “You think, then, she doesn’t care anything about the story?” + </p> + <p> + “I think, very probably, she cares a great deal about it. She is a serious + person, intellectually at least, and it is a serious story. No wonder she + would like to know, at first hand, something about the man who wrote it.” + </p> + <p> + This flattered Verrian, but he would not allow its reasonableness. He took + a gulp of coffee before saying, uncandidly, “I can’t make out what you’re + driving at, mother. But, fortunately, there’s no hurry about your meaning. + The thing’s in the only shape we could possibly give it, and I am + satisfied to leave it in Armiger’s hands. I’m certain he will deal wisely + with it-and kindly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m sure he’ll deal kindly. I should be very unhappy if he didn’t. + He could easily deal more wisely, though, than she has.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian chose not to follow his mother in this. “All is,” he said, with + finality, “I hope she’ll never see that loathsome paragraph.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very likely she won’t,” his mother consoled him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + Only four days after he had seen Armiger, Verrian received an envelope + covering a brief note to himself from the editor, a copy of the letter he + had written to Verrian’s unknown correspondent, and her answer in the + original. Verrian was alone when the postman brought him this envelope, + and he could indulge a certain passion for method by which he read its + contents in the order named; if his mother had been by, she would have + made him read the girl’s reply first of all. Armiger wrote: + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR VERRIAN,—I enclose two exhibits which will possess you of + all the facts in the case of the young lady who feared she might die + before she read the end of your story, but who, you will be glad to find, + is likely to live through the year. As the story ends in our October + number, she need not be supplied with advance sheets. I am sorry the house + hurried out a paragraph concerning the matter, but it will not be followed + by another. Perhaps you will feel, as I do, that the incident is closed. I + have not replied to the writer, and you need not return her letter. Yours + ever, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “M. ARMIGER.” + </pre> + <p> + The editor’s letter to the young lady read: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MADAM,—Mr. P. S. Verrian has handed me your letter of the 4th, + and I need not tell you that it has interested us both. + </p> + <p> + “I am almost as much gratified as he by the testimony your request bears + to the importance of his work, and if I could have acted upon my instant + feeling I should have had no hesitation in granting it, though it is so + very unusual as to be, in my experience as an editor, unprecedented. I am + sure that you would not have made it so frankly if you had not been + prepared to guard in return any confidence placed in you; but you will + realize that as you are quite unknown to us, we should not be justified in + taking a step so unusual as you propose without having some guarantee + besides that which Mr. Verrian and I both feel from the character of your + letter. Simply, then, for purposes of identification, as the phrase is, I + must beg you to ask the pastor of your church, or, better still, your + family physician, to write you a line saying that he knows you, as a sort + of letter of introduction to me. Then I will send you the advance proofs + of Mr. Verrian’s story. You may like to address me personally in the care + of the magazine, and not as the editor. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Yours very respectfully, + + “M. ARMIGER.” + </pre> + <p> + The editor’s letter was dated the 6th of the month; the answer, dated the + 8th, betrayed the anxious haste of the writer in replying, and it was not + her fault if what she wrote came to Verrian when he was no longer able to + do justice to her confession. Under the address given in her first letter + she now began, in, a hand into which a kindlier eye might have read a + pathetic perturbation: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR SIR,—I have something awful to tell you. I might write pages + without making you think better of me, and I will let you think the worst + at once. I am not what I pretended to be. I wrote to Mr. Verrian saying + what I did, and asking to see the rest of his story on the impulse of the + moment. I had been reading it, for I think it is perfectly fascinating; + and a friend of mine, another girl, and I got together trying to guess how + he would end it, and we began to dare each other to write to him and ask. + At first we did not dream of doing such a thing, but we went on, and just + for the fun of it we drew lots to see which should write to him. The lot + fell to me; but we composed that letter together, and we put in about my + dying for a joke. We never intended to send it; but then one thing led to + another, and I signed it with my real name and we sent it. We did not + really expect to hear anything from it, for we supposed he must get lots + of letters about his story and never paid any attention to them. We did + not realize what we had done till I got your letter yesterday. Then we saw + it all, and ever since we have been trying to think what to do, and I do + not believe either of us has slept a moment. We have come to the + conclusion that there was only one thing we could do, and that was to tell + you just exactly how it happened and take the consequences. But there is + no reason why more than one person should be brought into it, and so I + will not let my friend sign this letter with me, but I will put my own + name alone to it. You may not think it is my real name, but it is; you can + find out by writing to the postmaster here. I do not know whether you will + publish it as a fraud for the warning of others, but I shall not blame you + if you do. I deserve anything. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Yours truly, + + “JERUSHA PEREGRINE BROWN.” + </pre> + <p> + If Verrian had been an older man life might have supplied him with the + means of judging the writer of this letter. But his experience as an + author had not been very great, and such as it was it had hardened and + sharpened him. There was nothing wild or whirling in his mood, but in the + deadly hurt which had been inflicted upon his vanity he coldly and + carefully studied what deadlier hurt he might inflict again. He was of the + crueller intent because he had not known how much of personal vanity there + was in the seriousness with which he took himself and his work. He had + supposed that he was respecting his ethics and aesthetics, his ideal of + conduct and of art, but now it was brought home to him that he was swollen + with the conceit of his own performance, and that, however well others + thought of it, his own thought of it far outran their will to honor it. He + wished to revenge himself for this consciousness as well as the offence + offered him; of the two the consciousness was the more disagreeable. + </p> + <p> + His mother, dressed for the street, came in where he sat quiet at his + desk, with the editor’s letters and the girl’s before him, and he mutely + referred them to her with a hand lifted over his shoulder. She read them, + and then she said, “This is hard to bear, Philip. I wish I could bear it + for you, or at least with you; but I’m late for my engagement with Mrs. + Alfred, as it is—No, I will telephone her I’m detained and we’ll + talk it over—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Not on any account! I’d rather think it out for myself. You + couldn’t help me. After all, it hasn’t done me any harm—” + </p> + <p> + “And you’ve had a great escape! And I won’t say a word more now, but I’ll + be back soon, and then we—Oh, I’m so sorry I’m going.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian gave a laugh. “You couldn’t do anything if you stayed, mother. Do + go!” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” She looked at him, smoothing her muff with her hand a + moment, and then she dropped a fond kiss on his cheek and obeyed him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + Verrian still sat at his desk, thinking, with his burning face in his + hands. It was covered with shame for what had happened to him, but his + humiliation had no quality of pity in it. He must write to that girl, and + write at once, and his sole hesitation was as to the form he should give + his reply. He could not address her as Dear Miss Brown or as Dear Madam. + Even Madam was not sharp and forbidding enough; besides, Madam, alone or + with the senseless prefix, was archaic, and Verrian wished to be very + modern with this most offensive instance of the latest girl. He decided + upon dealing with her in the third person, and trusting to his literary + skill to keep the form from clumsiness. + </p> + <p> + He tried it in that form, and it was simply disgusting, the attitude stiff + and swelling, and the diction affected and unnatural. With a quick + reversion to the impossible first type, he recast his letter in what was + now the only possible shape. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “MY DEAR MISS BROWN,—The editor of the American Miscellany has + sent me a copy of his recent letter to you and your own reply, and + has remanded to me an affair which resulted from my going to him + with your request to see the close of my story now publishing in his + magazine. + + “After giving the matter my best thought, I have concluded that it + will be well to enclose all the exhibits to you, and I now do this + in the hope that a serious study of them will enable you to share my + surprise at the moral and social conditions in which the business + could originate. I willingly leave with you the question which is + the more trustworthy, your letter to me or your letter to him, or + which the more truly represents the interesting diversity of your + nature. I confess that the first moved me more than the second, + and I do not see why I should not tell you that as soon as I had + your request I went with it to Mr. Armiger and did what I could to + prompt his compliance with it. In putting these papers out of my + hands, I ought to acknowledge that they have formed a temptation to + make literary use of the affair which I shall now be the better + fitted to resist. You will, of course, be amused by the ease with + which you could abuse my reliance on your good faith, and I am sure + you will not allow any shame for your trick to qualify your pleasure + in its success. + + “It will not be necessary for you to acknowledge this letter and its + enclosures. I will register the package, so that it will not fail + to reach you, and I will return any answer of yours unopened, or, if + not recognizably addressed, then unread. + + “Yours sincerely, + + “P. S. VERRIAN.” + </pre> + <p> + He read and read again these lines, with only the sense of their + insufficiency in doing the effect of the bitterness in his heart. If the + letter was insulting, it was by no means as insulting as he would have + liked to make it. Whether it would be wounding enough was something that + depended upon the person whom he wished to wound. All that was proud and + vain and cruel in him surged up at the thought of the trick that had been + played upon him, and all that was sweet and kind and gentle in him, when + he believed the trick was a genuine appeal, turned to their counter + qualities. Yet, feeble and inadequate as his letter was, he knew that he + could not do more or worse by trying, and he so much feared that by + waiting he might do less and better that he hurried it into the post at + once. If his mother had been at hand he would have shown it her, though he + might not have been ruled by her judgment of it. He was glad that she was + not with him, for either she would have had her opinion of what would be + more telling, or she would have insisted upon his delaying any sort of + reply, and he could not endure the thought of difference or delay. + </p> + <p> + He asked himself whether he should let her see the rough first draft of + his letter or not, and he decided that he would not. But when she came + into his study on her return he showed it her. + </p> + <p> + She read it in silence, and then she seemed to temporize in asking, “Where + are her two letters?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve sent them back with the answer.” + </p> + <p> + His mother let the paper drop from her hands. “Philip! You haven’t sent + this!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have. It wasn’t what I wanted to make it, but I wished to get the + detestable experience out of my mind, and it was the best I could do at + the moment. Don’t you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—” She seemed beginning to say something, but without saying + anything she took the fallen leaf up and read it again. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” he demanded, with impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you may have been right. I hope you’ve not been wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” + </p> + <p> + “She deserved the severest things you could say; and yet—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she was punished enough already.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like your being-vindictive.” + </p> + <p> + “Vindictive?” + </p> + <p> + “Being so terribly just, then.” She added, at his blank stare, “This is + killing, Philip.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t think it will kill her. She isn’t that + kind.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s a girl,” his mother said, with a kind of sad absence. + </p> + <p> + “But not a single-minded girl, you warned me. I wish I could have taken + your warning. It would have saved me from playing the fool before myself + and giving myself away to Armiger, and letting him give himself away. I + don’t think Miss Brown will suffer much before she dies. She will ‘get + together,’ as she calls it, with that other girl and have ‘a real good + time’ over it. You know the village type and the village conditions, where + the vulgar ignorance of any larger world is so thick you could cut it with + a knife. Don’t be troubled by my vindictiveness or my justice, mother! I + begin to think I have done justice and not fallen short of it, as I was + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Verrian sighed, and again she gave his letter back to her son. + “Perhaps you are right, Philip. She is probably so tough as not to feel it + very painfully.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s not so tough but she’ll be very glad to get out of it so lightly. + She has had a useful scare, and I’ve done her a favor in making the scare + a sharp one. I suppose,” Verrian mused, “that she thinks I’ve kept copies + of her letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Why didn’t you?” his mother asked. + </p> + <p> + Verrian laughed, only a little less bitterly than before. “I shall begin + to believe you’re all alike, mother.” + </p> + <p> + I didn’t keep copies of her letters because I wanted to get her and her + letters out of my mind, finally and forever. Besides, I didn’t choose. to + emulate her duplicity by any sort of dissimulation. + </p> + <p> + “I see what you mean,” his mother said. “And, of course, you have taken + the only honorable way.” + </p> + <p> + Then they were both silent for a time, thinking their several thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Verrian broke the silence to say, “I wish I knew what sort of ‘other girl’ + it was that she ‘got together with.’” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because she wrote a more cultivated letter than this magnanimous creature + who takes all the blame to herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t believe they’re both the same?” + </p> + <p> + “They are both the same in stationery and chirography, but not in + literature.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you won’t get to thinking about her, then,” his mother entreated, + intelligibly but not definitely. + </p> + <p> + “Not seriously,” Verrian reassured her. “I’ve had my medicine.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + Continuity is so much the lesson of experience that in the course of a + life by no means long it becomes the instinctive expectation. The event + that has happened will happen again; it will prolong itself in a series of + recurrences by which each one’s episode shares in the unending history of + all. The sense of this is so pervasive that humanity refuses to accept + death itself as final. In the agonized affections, the shattered hopes, of + those who remain, the severed life keeps on unbrokenly, and when time and + reason prevail, at least as to the life here, the defeated faith appeals + for fulfilment to another world, and the belief of immortality holds + against the myriad years in which none of the numberless dead have made an + indisputable sign in witness of it. The lost limb still reports its + sensations to the brain; the fixed habit mechanically attempts its + repetition when the conditions render it impossible. + </p> + <p> + Verrian was aware how deeply and absorbingly he had brooded upon the + incident which he had done his utmost to close, when he found himself + expecting an answer of some sort from his unknown correspondent. He + perceived, then, without owning the fact, that he had really hoped for + some protest, some excuse, some extenuation, which in the end would suffer + him to be more merciful. Though he had wished to crush her into silence, + and to forbid her all hope of his forgiveness, he had, in a manner, not + meant to do it. He had kept a secret place in his soul where the sinner + against him could find refuge from his justice, and when this sanctuary + remained unattempted he found himself with a regret that he had barred the + way to it so effectually. The regret was so vague, so formless, however, + that he could tacitly deny it to himself at all times, and explicitly deny + it to his mother at such times as her touch taught him that it was + tangible. + </p> + <p> + One day, after ten or twelve days had gone by, she asked him, “You haven’t + heard anything more from that girl?” + </p> + <p> + “What girl?” he returned, as if he did not know; and he frowned. “You mean + the girl that wrote me about my story?” + </p> + <p> + He continued to frown rather more darkly. “I don’t see how you could + expect me to hear from her, after what I wrote. But, to be categorical, I + haven’t, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course not. Did you think she would be so easily silenced?” + </p> + <p> + “I did what I could to crush her into silence.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and you did quite right; I am more and more convinced of that. But + such a very tough young person might have refused to stay crushed. She + might very naturally have got herself into shape again and smoothed out + the creases, at least so far to try some further defence.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems that she hasn’t,” Verrian said, still darkly, but not so + frowningly. + </p> + <p> + “I should have fancied,” his mother suggested, “that if she had wanted to + open a correspondence with you—if that was her original object—she + would not have let it drop so easily.” + </p> + <p> + “Has she let it drop easily? I thought I had left her no possible chance + of resuming it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” his mother said, and for the time she said no more about + the matter. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0035}.jpg" alt="{0035}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0035}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + Not long after this he came home from the magazine office and reported to + her from Armiger that the story was catching on more and more with the + best class of readers. The editor had shown Verrian some references to it + in newspapers of good standing and several letters about it. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you might like to look at the letters,” Verrian said, and he + took some letters from his pocket and handed them to her across the + lunch-table. She did not immediately look at them, because he went on to + add something that they both felt to be more important. “Armiger says + there has been some increase of the sales, which I can attribute to my + story if I have the cheek.” + </p> + <p> + “That is good.” + </p> + <p> + “And the house wants to publish the book. They think, down there, that it + will have a very pretty success—not be a big seller, of course, but + something comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Verrian’s eyes were suffused with pride and fondness. “And you can + always think, Philip, that this has come to you without the least lowering + of your standard, without forsaking your ideal for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “That is certainly a satisfaction.” + </p> + <p> + She kept her proud and tender gaze upon him. “No one will ever know as I + do how faithful you have been to your art. Did any of the newspapers + recognize that—or surmise it, or suspect it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that isn’t the turn they take. They speak of the strong love interest + involved in the problem. And the abundance of incident. I looked out to + keep something happening, you know. I’m sorry I didn’t ask Armiger to let + me bring the notices home to you. I’m not sure that I did wisely not to + subscribe to that press-clippings bureau.” + </p> + <p> + His mother smiled. “You mustn’t let prosperity corrupt you, Philip. + Wouldn’t seeing what the press is saying of it distract you from the real + aim you had in your story?” + </p> + <p> + “We’re all weak, of course. It might, if the story were not finished; but + as it is, I think I could be proof against the stupidest praise.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for my part, I’m glad you didn’t subscribe to the clippings bureau. + It would have been a disturbing element.” She now looked down at the + letters as if she were going to take them up, and he followed the + direction of her eyes. As if reminded of the fact by this, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Armiger asked me if I had ever heard anything more from that girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he?” his mother eagerly asked, transferring her glance from the + letters to her son’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Not a word. I think I silenced her thoroughly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” his mother said. “There could have been no good object in + prolonging the affair and letting her confirm herself in the notion that + she was of sufficient importance either to you or to him for you to + continue the correspondence with her. She couldn’t learn too distinctly + that she had done—a very wrong thing in trying to play such a trick + on you.” + </p> + <p> + “That was the way I looked at it,” Verrian said, but he drew a light sigh, + rather wearily. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” his mother said, with a recurrent glance at the letters, “that + there is nothing of that silly kind among these.” + </p> + <p> + “No, these are blameless enough, unless they are to be blamed for being + too flattering. That girl seems to be sole of her kind, unless the girl + that she ‘got together with’ was really like her.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe there was any other girl. I never thought there was more + than one.” + </p> + <p> + “There seemed to be two styles and two grades of culture, such as they + were.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she could easily imitate two manners. She must have been a clever + girl,” Mrs. Verrian said, with that admiration for any sort of cleverness + in her sex which even very good women cannot help feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps she was punished enough for both the characters she + assumed,” Verrian said, with a smile that was not gay. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t think about her!” his mother returned, with a perception of his + mood. “I’m only thankful that she’s out of our lives in every sort of + way.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + Verrian said nothing, but he reflected with a sort of gloomy amusement how + impossible it was for any woman, even a woman so wide-minded and + high-principled as his mother, to escape the personal view of all things + and all persons which women take. He tacitly noted the fact, as the + novelist notes whatever happens or appears to him, but he let the occasion + drop out of his mind as soon as he could after it had dropped out of his + talk. + </p> + <p> + The night when the last number of his story came to them in the magazine, + and was already announced as a book, he sat up with his mother + celebrating, as he said, and exulting in the future as well as the past. + They had a little supper, which she cooked for him in a chafing-dish, in + the dining-room of the tiny apartment where they lived together, and she + made some coffee afterwards, to carry off the effect of the Newburg + lobster. Perhaps because there was nothing to carry off the effect of the + coffee, he heard her, through the partition of their rooms, stirring + restlessly after he had gone to bed, and a little later she came to his + door, which she set ajar, to ask, “Are you awake, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be, mother,” he answered, with an amusement at her question + which seemed not to have imparted itself to her when she came in and stood + beside his bed in her dressing-gown. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t think we have judged her too harshly, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I think we couldn’t be too severe in a thing like that. She probably + thought you were like some of the other story-writers; she couldn’t feel + differences, shades. She pretended to be taken with the circumstances of + your work, but she had to do that if she wanted to fool you. Well, she has + got her come-uppings, as she would probably say.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian replied, thoughtfully, “She didn’t strike me as a country person—at + least, in her first letter.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you still think she didn’t write both?” + </p> + <p> + “If she did, she was trying her hand in a personality she had invented.” + </p> + <p> + “Girls are very strange,” his mother sighed. “They like excitement, + adventure. It’s very dull in those little places. I shouldn’t wish you to + think any harm of the poor thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing? Why this magnanimous compassion, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing. But I know how I was myself when I was a girl. I used almost + to die of hunger for something to happen. Can you remember just what you + said in your letter?” + </p> + <p> + Verrian laughed. “NO, I can’t. But I don’t believe I said half enough. + You’re nervous, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am. But don’t you get to worrying. I merely got to thinking how I + should hate to have anybody’s unhappiness mixed up with this happiness of + ours. I do so want your pleasure in your success to be pure, not tainted + with the pain of any human creature.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian answered with light cynicism: “It will be tainted with the pain of + the fellows who don’t like me, or who haven’t succeeded, and they’ll take + care to let me share their pain if ever they can. But if you mean that + merry maiden up country, she’s probably thinking, if she thinks about it + at all, that she’s the luckiest girl in the United States to have got out + of an awful scrape so easily. At the worst, I only had fun with her in my + letter. Probably she sees that she has nothing to grieve for but her own + break.” + </p> + <p> + “No, and you did just as you should have done; and I am glad you don’t + feel bitterly about it. You don’t, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least.” + </p> + <p> + His mother stooped over and kissed him where he lay smiling. “Well, that’s + good. After all, it’s you I cared for. Now I can say good-night.” But she + lingered to tuck him in a little, from the persistence of the mother + habit. “I wish you may never do anything that you will be sorry for.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won’t—if it’s a good action.” + </p> + <p> + They laughed together, and she left the room, still looking back to see if + there was anything more she could do for him, while he lay smiling, + intelligently for what she was thinking, and patiently for what she was + doing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + Even in the time which was then coming and which now is, when successful + authors are almost as many as millionaires, Verrian’s book brought him a + pretty celebrity; and this celebrity was in a way specific. It related to + the quality of his work, which was quietly artistic and psychological, + whatever liveliness of incident it uttered on the surface. He belonged to + the good school which is of no fashion and of every time, far both from + actuality and unreality; and his recognition came from people whose + recognition was worth having. With this came the wider notice which was + not worth having, like the notice of Mrs. Westangle, since so well known + to society reporters as a society woman, which could not be called + recognition of him, because it did not involve any knowledge of his book, + not even its title. She did not read any sort of books, and she + assimilated him by a sort of atmospheric sense. She was sure of nothing + but the attention paid him in a certain very goodish house, by people whom + she heard talking in unintelligible but unmistakable praise, when she + said, casually, with a liquid glitter of her sweet, small eyes, “I wish + you would come down to my place, Mr. Verrian. I’m asking a few young + people for Christmas week. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, thank you—thank you very much,” Verrian said, waiting to hear + more in explanation of the hospitality launched at him. He had never seen + Mrs. Westangle till then, or heard of her, and he had not the least notion + where she lived. But she seemed to have social authority, though Verrian, + in looking round at his hostess and her daughter, who stood near, letting + people take leave, learned nothing from their common smile. Mrs. Westangle + had glided close to him, in the way she had of getting very near without + apparently having advanced by steps, and she stood gleaming and twittering + up at him. + </p> + <p> + “I shall send you a little note; I won’t let you forget,” she said. Then + she suddenly shook hands with the ladies of the house and was flashingly + gone. + </p> + <p> + Verrian thought he might ask the daughter of the house, “And if I don’t + forget, am I engaged to spend Christmas week with her?” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed. “If she doesn’t forget, you are. But you’ll have a good + time. She’ll know how to manage that.” Other guests kept coming up to take + leave, and Verrian, who did not want to go just yet, was retired to the + background, where the girl’s voice, thrown over her shoulder at him, + reached him in the words, as gay as if they were the best of the joke, + “It’s on the Sound.” + </p> + <p> + The inference was that Mrs. Westangle’s place was on the Sound; and that + was all Verrian knew about it till he got her little note. Mrs. Westangle + knew how to write in a formless hand, but she did not know how to spell, + and she had thought it best to have a secretary who could write well and + spell correctly. Though, as far as literacy was concerned, she was such an + almost incomparably ignorant woman, she had all the knowledge the best + society wants, or, if she found herself out of any, she went and bought + some; she was able to buy almost anything. + </p> + <p> + Verrian thanked the secretary for remembering him, in the belief that he + was directly thanking Mrs. Westangle, whose widespread consciousness his + happiness in accepting did not immediately reach; and in the very large + house party, which he duly joined under her roof, he was aware of losing + distinctiveness almost to the point of losing identity. This did not quite + happen on the way to Belford, for, when he went to take his seat in the + drawing-room car, a girl in the chair fronting him put out her hand with + the laugh of Miss Macroyd. + </p> + <p> + “She did remember you!” she cried out. “How delightful! I don’t see how + she ever got onto you”—she made the slang her own—“in the + first place, and she must have worked hard to be sure of you since.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian hung up his coat and put his suit-case behind his chair, the + porter having put it where he could not wheel himself vis-a-vis with the + girl. “She took all the time there was,” he answered. “I got my invitation + only the day before yesterday, and if I had been in more demand, or had a + worse conscience—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do say worse conscience! It’s so much more interesting,” the girl + broke in. + </p> + <p> + “—I shouldn’t have the pleasure of going to Seasands with you now,” + he concluded, and she gave her laugh. “Do I understand that simply my + growing fame wouldn’t have prevailed with her?” + </p> + <p> + Anything seemed to make Miss Macroyd laugh. “She couldn’t have cared about + that, and she wouldn’t have known. You may be sure that it was a social + question with her after the personal question was settled. She must have + liked your looks!” Again Miss Macroyd laughed. + </p> + <p> + “On that side I’m invulnerable. It’s only a literary vanity to be soothed + or to be wounded that I have,” Verrian said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there wouldn’t be anything personal in her liking your looks. It + would be merely deciding that personally you would do,” Miss Macroyd + laughed, as always, and Verrian put on a mock seriousness in asking: + </p> + <p> + “Then I needn’t be serious if there should happen to be anything so + Westangular as a Mr. Westangle?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is something?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I believe so. But not probably at Seasands.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that her house?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Every other name had been used, and she couldn’t say Soundsands.” + </p> + <p> + “Then where would the Mr. Westangular part more probably be found?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in Montana or Mesopotamia, or any of those places. Don’t you know + about him? How ignorant literary people can be! Why, he was the + Amalgamated Clothespin. You haven’t heard of that?” + </p> + <p> + She went on to tell him, with gay digressions, about the invention which + enabled Westangle to buy up the other clothes-pins and merge them in his + own—to become a commercial octopus, clutching the throats of other + clothespin inventors in the tentacles of the Westangle pin. “But he isn’t + in clothespins now. He’s in mines, and banks, and steamboats, and + railroads, and I don’t know what all; and Mrs. Westangle, the second of + her name, never was in clothespins.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Macroyd laughed all through her talk, and she was in a final burst of + laughing when the train slowed into Stamford. There a girl came into the + car trailing her skirts with a sort of vivid debility and overturning some + minor pieces of hand-baggage which her draperies swept out of their + shelter beside the chairs. She had to take one of the seats which back + against the wall of the state-room, where she must face the whole length + of the car. She sat weakly fallen back in the chair and motionless, as if + almost unconscious; but after the train had begun to stir she started up, + and with a quick flinging of her veil aside turned to look out of the + window. In the flying instant Verrian saw a colorless face with pinched + and sunken eyes under a worn-looking forehead, and a withered mouth whose + lips parted feebly. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0008}.jpg" alt="{0008}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0008}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + On her part, Miss Macroyd had doubtless already noted that the girl was, + with no show of expensiveness, authoritatively well gowned and personally + hatted. She stared at her, and said, “What a very hunted and escaping + effect.” + </p> + <p> + “She does look rather-fugitive,” Verrian agreed, staring too. + </p> + <p> + “One might almost fancy—an asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, or a hospital.” + </p> + <p> + They continued both to stare at her, helpless for what ever different + reasons to take their eyes away, and they were still interested in her + when they heard her asking the conductor, “Must I change and take another + train before we get to Belford? My friends thought—” + </p> + <p> + “No, this train stops at Southfield,” the conductor answered, absently + biting several holes into her drawing-room ticket. + </p> + <p> + “Can she be one of us?” Miss Macroyd demanded, in a dramatic whisper. + </p> + <p> + “She might be anything,” Verrian returned, trying instantly, with a whir + of his inventive machinery, to phrase her. He made a sort of luxurious + failure of it, and rested content with her face, which showed itself now + in profile and now fronted him in full, and now was restless and now + subsided in a look of delicate exhaustion. He would have said, if he would + have said anything absolute, that she was a person who had something on + her mind; at instants she had that hunted air, passing at other instants + into that air of escape. He discussed these appearances with Miss Macroyd, + but found her too frankly disputatious; and she laughed too much and too + loud. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + At Southfield, where they all descended, Miss Macroyd promptly possessed + herself of a groom, who came forward tentatively, touching his hat. “Miss + Macroyd?” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss,” the man said, and led the way round the station to the + victoria which, when Miss Macroyd’s maid had mounted to the place beside + her, had no room; for any one else. + </p> + <p> + Verrian accounted for her activity upon the theory of her quite + justifiable wish not to arrive at Seasands with a young man whom she might + then have the effect of having voluntarily come all the way with; and + after one or two circuits of the station it was apparent to him that he + was not to have been sent for from Mrs. Westangle’s, but to have been left + to the chances of the local drivers and their vehicles. These were reduced + to a single carryall and a frowsy horse whose rough winter coat recalled + the aspect of his species in the period following the glacial epoch. The + mud, as of a world-thaw, encrusted the wheels and curtains of the + carryall. + </p> + <p> + Verrian seized upon it and then went into the waiting-room, where he had + left his suit-case. He found the stranger there in parley with the young + woman in the ticket-office about a conveyance to Mrs. Westangle’s. It + proved that he had secured not only the only thing of the sort, but the + only present hope of any other, and in the hard case he could not hesitate + with distress so interesting. It would have been brutal to drive off and + leave that girl there, and it would have been a vulgar flourish to put the + entire vehicle at her service. Besides, and perhaps above all, Verrian had + no idea of depriving himself of such a chance as heaven seemed to offer + him. + </p> + <p> + He advanced with the delicacy of the highest-bred hero he could imagine, + and said, “I am going to Mrs. Westangle’s, and I’m afraid I’ve got the + only conveyance—such as it is. If you would let me offer you half of + it? Mr. Verrian,” he added, at the light of acceptance instantly kindling + in her face, which flushed thinly, as with an afterglow of invalidism. + </p> + <p> + “Why, thank you; I’m afraid I must, Mr. Merriam,” and Verrian was aware of + being vexed at her failure to catch his name; the name of Verrian ought to + have been unmistakable. “The young lady in the office says there won’t be + another, and I’m expected promptly.” She added, with a little tremor of + the lip, “I don’t understand why Mrs. Westangle—” But then she + stopped. + </p> + <p> + Verrian interpreted for her: “The sea-horses must have given out at + Seasands. Or probably there’s some mistake,” and he reflected bitterly + upon the selfishness of Miss Macroyd in grabbing that victoria for herself + and her maid, not considering that she could not know, and has no business + to ask, whether this girl was going to Mrs. Westangle’s, too. “Have you a + check?” he asked. “I think our driver could find room for something + besides my valise. Or I could have it come—” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” the girl said. “I sent my trunk ahead by express.” + </p> + <p> + A frowsy man, to match the frowsy horse, looked in impatiently. “Any other + baggage?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Verrian answered, and he led the way out after the vanishing driver. + “Our chariot is back here in hiding, Miss—” + </p> + <p> + “Shirley,” she said, and trailed before him through the door he opened. + </p> + <p> + He felt that he did not do it as a man of the world would have done it, + and in putting her into the ramshackle carryall he knew that he had not + the grace of the sort of man who does nothing else. But Miss Shirley + seemed to have grace enough, of a feeble and broken sort, for both, and he + resolved to supply his own lack with sincerity. He therefore set his jaw + firmly and made its upper angles jut sharply through his clean-shaven + cheeks. It was well that Miss Shirley had some beauty to spare, too, for + Verrian had scarcely enough for himself. Such distinction as he had was + from a sort of intellectual tenseness which showed rather in the gaunt + forms of his face than in the gray eyes, heavily lashed above and below, + and looking serious but dull with their rank, black brows. He was chewing + a cud of bitterness in the accusal he made himself of having forced Miss + Shirley to give her name; but with that interesting personality at his + side, under the same tattered and ill-scented Japanese goat-skin, he could + not refuse to be glad, with all his self-blame. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid it’s rather a long drive-for you, Miss Shirley,” he ventured, + with a glance at her face, which looked very little under her hat. “The + driver says it’s five miles round through the marshes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shall not mind,” she said, courageously, if not cheerfully, and he + did not feel authorized further to recognize the fact that she was an + invalid, or at best a convalescent. + </p> + <p> + “These wintry tree-forms are fine, though,” he found himself obliged to + conclude his apology, rather irrelevantly, as the wheels of the rattling, + and tilting carry all crunched the surface of the road in the succession + of jerks responding to the alternate walk and gallop of the horse. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they are,” Miss Shirley answered, looking around with a certain + surprise, as if seeing them now for the first time. “So much variety of + color; and that burnished look that some of them have.” The trees, far and + near, were giving their tones and lustres in the low December sun. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “it’s decidedly more refined than the autumnal coloring we + brag of.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” she approved, as with novel conviction. “The landscape is really + beautiful. So nice and flat,” she added. + </p> + <p> + He took her intention, and he said, as he craned his neck out of the + carryall to include the nearer roadside stretches, with their low bushes + lifting into remoter trees, “It’s restful in a way that neither the + mountains nor the sea, quite manage.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” she sighed, with a kind of weariness which explained itself in + what she added: “It’s the kind of thing you’d like to have keep on and + on.” She seemed to say that more to herself than to him, and his eyes + questioned her. She smiled slightly in explaining: “I suppose I find it + all the more beautiful because this is my first real look into the world + after six months indoors.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said, and there was no doubt a prompting in his tone. + </p> + <p> + She smiled still. “Sick people are terribly, egotistical, and I suppose + it’s my conceit of having been the centre of the universe so lately that + makes me mention it.” And here she laughed a little at herself, showing a + charming little peculiarity in the catch of her upper lip on her teeth. + “But this is divine—this air and this sight.” She put her head out + of her side of the carryall, and drank them in with her lungs and eyes. + </p> + <p> + When she leaned back again on the seat she said, “I can’t get enough of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “But isn’t this old rattletrap rather too rough for you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” she said, visiting him with a furtive turn of her eyes. “It’s + quite ideally what invalids in easy circumstances are advised to take + carriage exercise.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s certainly carriage exercise,” Verrian admitted in the same + spirit, if it was a drolling spirit. He could not help being amused by the + situation in which they had been brought together, through the vigorous + promptitude of Miss Macroyd in making the victoria her own, and the easy + indifference of Mrs. Westangle as to how they should get to her house. If + he had been alone he might have felt the indifference as a slight, but as + it was he felt it rather a favor. If Miss Shirley was feeling it a slight, + she was too secret or too sweet to let it be known, and he thought that + was nice of her. Still, he believed he might recognize the fact without + deepening a possible hurt of hers, and he added, with no apparent + relevance, “If Mrs. Westangle was not looking for us on this train, she + will find that it is the unexpected which happens.” + </p> + <p> + “We are certainly going to happen,” the girl said, with an acceptance of + the plural which deepened the intimacy of the situation, and which was not + displeasing to Verrian when she added, “If our friend’s vehicle holds + out.” Then she turned her face full upon him, with what affected him as + austere resolution, in continuing, “But I can’t let you suppose that + you’re conveying a society person, or something of that sort, to Mrs. + Westangle’s.” His own face expressed his mystification, and she concluded, + “I’m simply going there to begin my work.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled provisionally in temporizing with the riddle. “You women are + wonderful, nowadays, for the work you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but,” she protested, nervously, anxiously, “it isn’t good work that + I’m going to do—I understand what you mean—it’s work for a + living. I’ve no business to be arriving with an invited guest, but it + seemed to be a question of arriving or not at the time when I was due.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + Verrian stared at her now from a visage that was an entire blank, though + behind it conjecture was busy, and he was asking himself whether his + companion was some new kind of hair-dresser, or uncommonly cultivated + manicure, or a nursery governess obeying a hurry call to take a place in + Mrs. Westangle’s household, or some sort of amateur housekeeper arriving + to supplant a professional. But he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + Miss Shirley said, with a distress which was genuine, though he perceived + a trace of amusement in it, too, “I see that I will have to go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do!” he made out to utter. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to Mrs. Westangle’s as a sort of mistress of the revels. The + business is so new that it hasn’t got its name yet, but if I fail it won’t + need any. I invented it on a hint I got from a girl who undertakes the + floral decorations for parties. I didn’t see why some one shouldn’t + furnish suggestions for amusements, as well as flowers. I was always + rather lucky at that in my own fam—at my father’s—” She pulled + herself sharply up, as if danger lay that way. “I got an introduction to + Mrs. Westangle, and she’s to let me try. I am going to her simply as part + of the catering, and I’m not to have any recognition in the hospitalities. + So it wasn’t necessary for her to send for me at the station, except as a + means of having me on the ground in good season. I have to thank you for + that, and—I thank you.” She ended in a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very interesting,” Verrian said, and he hoped he was not saying it + in any ignoble way. + </p> + <p> + He was very presently to learn. Round a turn of the road there came a + lively clacking of horses’ shoes on the hard track, with the muted rumble + of rubber-tired wheels, and Mrs. Westangle’s victoria dashed into view. + The coachman had made a signal to Verrian’s driver, and the vehicles + stopped side by side. The footman instantly came to the door of the + carryall, touching his hat to Verrian. + </p> + <p> + “Going to Mrs. Westangle’s, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Westangle’s carriage. Going to the station for you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Shirley,” Verrian said, “will you change?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” she answered, quickly, “it’s better for me to go on as I am. But + the carriage was sent for you. You must—” + </p> + <p> + Verrian interrupted to ask the footman, “How far is it yet to Mrs. + Westangle’s?” + </p> + <p> + “About a mile, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I won’t change for such a short distance. I’ll keep on as I am,” + Verrian said, and he let the goatskin, which he had half lifted to free + Miss Shirley for dismounting, fall back again. “Go ahead, driver.” + </p> + <p> + She had been making several gasping efforts at speech, accompanied with + entreating and protesting glances at Verrian in the course of his brief + colloquy with the footman. Now, as the carryall lurched forward again, and + the victoria wheeled and passed them on its way back, she caught her + handkerchief to her face, and to Verrian’s dismay sobbed into it. He let + her cry, as he must, in the distressful silence which he could not be the + first to break. Besides, he did not know how she was taking it all till + she suddenly with threw her handkerchief and pulled down her veil. Then + she spoke three heart-broken words, “How could you!” and he divined that + he must have done wrong. + </p> + <p> + “What ought I to have done?” he asked, with sullen humility. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have taken the victoria.” + </p> + <p> + “How could I?” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have done it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you ought to have done it yourself, Miss Shirley,” Verrian said, + feeling like the worm that turns. He added, less resentfully, “We ought + both to have taken it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mrs. Westangle might have felt, very properly, that it was + presumptuous in me, whether I came alone in it or with you. Now we shall + arrive together in this thing, and she will be mortified for you and vexed + with me. She will blame me for it, and she will be right, for it would + have been very well for me to drive up in a shabby station carryall; but + an invited guest—” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, she shall not blame you, Miss Shirley. I will make a point of + taking the whole responsibility. I will tell her—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Merriam!” she cried, in anguish. “Will you please do nothing of the + kind? Do you want to make bad worse? Leave the explaining altogether to + me, please. Will you promise that?” + </p> + <p> + “I will promise that—or anything—if you insist,” Verrian + sulked. + </p> + <p> + She instantly relented a little. “You mustn’t think me unreasonable. But I + was determined to carry my undertaking through on business principles, and + you have spoiled my chance—I know you meant it kindly or, if not + spoiled, made it more difficult. Don’t think me ungrateful. Mr. Merriam—” + </p> + <p> + “My name isn’t Merriam,” he resented, at last, a misnomer which had + annoyed him from the first. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am so glad! Don’t tell me what it is!” she said, giving a laugh + which had to go on a little before he recognized the hysterical quality in + it. When she could check it she explained: “Now we are not even + acquainted, and I can thank a stranger for the kindness you have shown me. + I am truly grateful. Will you do me another favor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Verrian assented; but he thought he had a right to ask, as though + he had not promised, “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to speak of me to Mrs. Westangle unless she speaks of me first.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s simple. I don’t know that I should have any right to speak of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, you would. She will expect you, perhaps, to laugh about the + little adventure, and I would rather she began the laughing you have been + so good.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. But wouldn’t my silence make it rather more awkward?” + </p> + <p> + “I will take care of the awkwardness, thank you. And you promise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I promise.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very good of you.” She put her hand impulsively across the + goat-skin, and gave his, with which he took it in some surprise, a quick + clasp. Then they were both silent, and they got out of the carryall under + Mrs. Westangle’s porte-cochere without having exchanged another word. Miss + Shirley did not bow to him or look at him in parting. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + Verrian kept seeing before his inner eyes the thin face of the girl, + dimmed rather than lighted with her sick yes. When she should be stronger, + there might be a pale flush in it, like sunset on snow, but Verrian had to + imagine that. He did not find it difficult to imagine many things about + the girl, whom, in another mood, a more judicial mood, he might have + accused of provoking him to imagine them. As it was, he could not help + noting to that second self which we all have about us, that her + confidences, such as they were, had perhaps been too voluntary; certainly + they had not been quite obligatory, and they could not be quite accounted + for, except upon the theory of nerves not yet perfectly under her control. + To be sure, girls said all sorts of things to one, ignorantly and + innocently; but she did not seem the kind of girl who, in different + circumstances, would have said anything that she did not choose or that + she did not mean to say. She had been surprisingly frank, and yet, at + heart, Verrian would have thought she was a very reticent person or a + secret person—that is, mentally frank and sentimentally secret; + possibly she was like most women in that. What he was sure of was that the + visual impression of her which he had received must have been very vivid + to last so long in his consciousness; all through his preparations for + going down to afternoon tea her face remained subjectively before him, and + when he went down and found himself part of a laughing and chattering + company in the library he still found it, in his inner sense, here, there, + and yonder. + </p> + <p> + He was aware of suffering a little disappointment in Mrs. Westangle’s + entire failure to mention Miss Shirley, though he was aware that his + disappointment was altogether unreasonable, and he more reasonably decided + that if she knew anything of his arrival, or the form of it, she had too + much of the making of a grande dame to be recognizant of it. He did not + know from her whether she had meant to send for him at the station or not, + or whether she had sent her carriage back for him when he did not arrive + in it at first. Nothing was left in her manner of such slight + specialization as she had thrown into it when, at the Macroyds’, she asked + him down to her house party; she seemed, if there were any difference, to + have acquired an additional ignorance of who and what he was, though she + twittered and flittered up close to his elbow, after his impersonal + welcome, and asked him if she might introduce him to the young lady who + was pouring tea for her, and who, after the brief drama necessary for + possessing him of a cup of it, appeared to have no more use for him than + Mrs. Westangle herself had. There were more young men than young women in + the room, but he imagined the usual superabundance of girlhood temporarily + absent for repair of the fatigues of the journey. Every girl in the room + had at least one man talking to her, and the girl who was pouring tea had + one on each side of her and was trying to fix them both with an eye lifted + towards each, while she struggled to keep her united gaze watchfully upon + the tea-urn and those who came up with cups to be filled or refilled. + </p> + <p> + Verrian thought his fellow-guests were all amiable enough looking, though + he made his reflection that they did not look, any of them, as if they + would set the Sound on fire; and again he missed the companion of his + arrival. + </p> + <p> + After he had got his cup of tea, he stood sipping it with a homeless air + which he tried to conceal, and cast a furtive eye round the room till it + rested upon the laughing face of Miss Macroyd. A young man was taking away + her teacup, and Verrian at once went up and seized his place. + </p> + <p> + “How did you get here?” she asked, rather shamelessly, since she had kept + him from coming in the victoria, but amusingly, since she seemed to see it + as a joke, if she saw it at all. + </p> + <p> + “I walked,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Truly?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not truly.” + </p> + <p> + “But, truly, how did you? Because I sent the carriage back for you.” + </p> + <p> + “That was very thoughtful of you. But I found a delightful public vehicle + behind the station, and I came in that. I’m so glad to know that it wasn’t + Mrs. Westangle who had the trouble of sending the carriage back for me.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Macroyd laughed and laughed at his resentment. “But surely you met it + on the way? I gave the man a description of you. Didn’t he stop for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, but I was too proud to change by that time. Or perhaps I hated + the trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Macroyd laughed the more; then she purposely darkened her countenance + so as to suit it to her lugubrious whisper, “How did she get here?” + </p> + <p> + “What she?” + </p> + <p> + “The mysterious fugitive. Wasn’t she coming here, after all?” + </p> + <p> + “After all your trouble in supposing so?” Verrian reflected a moment, and + then he said, deliberately, “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Macroyd was not going to let him off like that. “You don’t know how + she came, or you don’t know whether she was coming?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say.” + </p> + <p> + Her laugh resounded again. “Now you are trying to be wicked, and that is + very wrong for a novelist.” + </p> + <p> + “But what object could I have in concealing the fact from you, Miss + Macroyd?” he entreated, with mock earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “That is what I want to find out.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you two laughing so about?” the voice of Mrs. Westangle + twittered at Verrian’s elbow, and, looking down, he found her almost + touching it. She had a very long, narrow neck, and, since it was long and + narrow, she had the good sense not to palliate the fact or try to dress + the effect of it out of sight. She took her neck in both hands, as it + were, and put it more on show, so that you had really to like it. Now it + lifted her face, though she was not a tall person, well towards the level + of his; to be sure, he was himself only of the middle height of men, + though an aquiline profile helped him up. + </p> + <p> + He stirred the tea which he had ceased to drink, and said, “I wasn’t + ‘laughing so about,’ Mrs. Westangle. It was Miss Macroyd.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was laughing so about a mysterious stranger that came up on the + train with us and got out at your station.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was trying to make out what was so funny in a mysterious stranger, + or even in her getting out at your station.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Westangle was not interested in the case, or else she failed to seize + the joke. At any rate, she turned from them without further question and + went away to another part of the room, where she semi-attached herself in + like manner to another couple, and again left it for still another. This + was possibly her idea of looking after her guests; but when she had looked + after them a little longer in that way she left the room and let them look + after themselves till dinner. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Mr. Verrian,” Miss Macroyd resumed, “what is the secret? I’ll never + tell if you tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t if I don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you are becoming merely trivial. You are ceasing even to be + provoking.” Miss Macroyd, in token of her displeasure, laughed no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Am I?” he questioned; thoughtfully. “Well, then, I am tempted to act upon + impulse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do act upon impulse for once,” she urged. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that I’m never impulsive?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you look it.” + </p> + <p> + “If you had seen me an hour ago you would have said I was very impulsive. + I think I may have exhausted myself in that direction, however. I feel the + impulse failing me now.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + His impulse really had failed him. It had been to tell Miss Macroyd about + his adventure and frankly trust her with it. He had liked her at several + former meetings rather increasingly, because she had seemed open and + honest beyond the most of women, but her piggish behavior at the station + had been rather too open and honest, and the sense of this now opportunely + intervened between him and the folly he was about to commit. Besides, he + had no right to give Miss Shirley’s part in his adventure away, and, since + the affair was more vitally hers than his, to take it at all out of her + hands. The early-falling dusk had favored an unnoticed advent for them, + and there were other chances that had helped keep unknown their arrival + together at Mrs. Westangle’s in that squalid carryall, such as Miss + Shirley’s having managed instantly to slip indoors before the man came out + for Verrian’s suit-case, and of her having got to her own appointed place + long before there was any descent of the company to the afternoon tea. + </p> + <p> + It was not for him now to undo all that and begin the laughing at the + affair, which she had pathetically intimated that she would rather some + one else should begin. He recoiled from his imprudence with a shock, but + he had the pleasure of having mystified Miss Macroyd. He felt dismissal in + the roving eye which she cast from him round the room, and he willingly + let another young man replace him at her side. + </p> + <p> + Yet he was not altogether satisfied. A certain meaner self that there was + in him was not pleased with his relegation even merely in his own + consciousness to the championship of a girl who was going to make her + living in a sort of menial way. It had better be owned for him that, in + his visions of literary glory, he had figured in social triumphs which, + though vague, were resplendent with the glitter of smart circles. He had + been so ignorant of such circles as to suppose they would have some use + for him as a brilliant young author; and though he was outwearing this + illusion, he still would not have liked a girl like Julia Macroyd, whose + family, if not smart, was at least chic, to know that he had come to the + house with a professional mistress of the revels, until Miss Shirley + should have approved herself chic, too. The notion of such an employment + as hers was in itself chic, but the girl was merely a paid part of the + entertainment, as yet, and had not risen above the hireling status. If she + had sunk to that level from a higher rank it would be all right, but there + was no evidence that she had ever been smart. Verrian would, therefore, + rather not be mixed up with her—at any rate, in the imagination of a + girl like Julia Macroyd; and as he left her side he drew a long breath of + relief and went and put down his teacup where he had got it. + </p> + <p> + By this time the girl who was “pouring” had exhausted one of the two + original guards on whom she had been dividing her vision, and Verrian made + a pretence, which she favored, that he had come up to push the man away. + The man gracefully submitted to be dislodged, and Verrian remained in the + enjoyment of one of the girl’s distorted eyes till, yet another man coming + up, she abruptly got rid of Verrian by presenting him to yet another girl. + In such manoeuvres the hour of afternoon tea will pass; and the time + really wore on till it was time to dress for dinner. + </p> + <p> + By the time that the guests came down to dinner they were all able to + participate in the exchange of the discovery which each had made, that it + was snowing outdoors, and they kept this going till one girl had the + good-luck to say, “I don’t see anything so astonishing in that at this + time of year. Now, if it was snowing indoors, it would be different.” + </p> + <p> + This relieved the tension in a general laugh, and a young man tried to + contribute further to the gayety by declaring that it would not be + surprising to have it snow in-doors. He had once seen the thing done in a + crowded hall, one night, when somebody put up a window, and the freezing + current of air congealed the respiration of the crowd, which came down in + a light fall of snow-flakes. He owned that it was in Boston. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that excuses it, then,” Miss Macroyd said. But she lost the laugh + which was her due in the rush which some of the others made to open a + window and see whether it could be made to snow in-doors there. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it isn’t crowded enough here,” the young man explained who had + alleged the scientific marvel. + </p> + <p> + “And it isn’t Boston,” Miss Macroyd tried again on the same string, and + this time she got her laugh. + </p> + <p> + The girl who had first spoken remained, at the risk of pneumonia, with her + arm prettily lifted against the open sash, for a moment peering out, and + then reported, in dashing it down with a shiver, “It seems to be a very + soft snow.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it will be rain by morning,” another predicted, and the girl tried + hard to think of something to say in support of the hit she had made + already. But she could not, and was silent almost through the whole first + course at dinner. + </p> + <p> + In spite of its being a soft snow, it continued to fall as snow and not as + rain. It lent the charm of stormy cold without to the brightness and + warmth within. Much later, when between waltzes some of the dancers went + out on the verandas for a breath of air, they came back reporting that the + wind was rising and the snow was drifting. + </p> + <p> + Upon the whole, the snow was a great success, and her guests congratulated + Mrs. Westangle on having thought to have it. The felicitations included + recognition of the originality of her whole scheme. She had downed the + hoary superstition that people had too much of a good time on Christmas to + want any good time at all in the week following; and in acting upon the + well-known fact that you never wanted a holiday so much as the day after + you had one, she had made a movement of the highest social importance. + These were the ideas which Verrian and the young man of the in-doors + snow-storm urged upon her; his name was Bushwick, and he and Verrian found + that they were very good-fellows after they had rather supposed the + contrary. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Westangle received their ideas with the twittering reticence that + deceived so many people when they supposed she knew what they were talking + about. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + At breakfast, where the guests were reasonably punctual, they were all + able to observe, in the rapid succession in which they descended from + their rooms, that it had stopped snowing and the sun was shining + brilliantly. + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t enough for sleighing,” Mrs. Westangle proclaimed from the + head of the table in her high twitter, “and there isn’t any coasting here + in this flat country for miles.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what are we going to do with it?” one of the young ladies humorously + pouted. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what I was going to suggest,” Mrs. Westangle replied. She + pronounced it ‘sujjest’, but no one felt that it mattered. “And, of + course,” she continued, “you needn’t any of you do it if you don’t like.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll all do it, Mrs. Westangle,” Bushwick said. “We are unanimous in + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you’ll think it rather funny—odd,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “The odder the better, I think,” Verrian ventured, and another man + declared that nothing Mrs. Westangle would do was odd, though everything + was original. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is such a thing as being too original,” she returned. Then + she turned her head aside and looked down at something beside her plate + and said, without lifting her eyes, “You know that in the Middle Ages + there used to be flower-fights among the young nobility in Italy. The + women held a tower, and the men attacked it with roses and flowers + generally.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, is this a speech?” Miss Macroyd interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “A speech from the throne, yes,” Bushwick solemnly corrected her. “And + she’s got it written down, like a queen—haven’t you, Mrs. + Westangle?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I thought it would be more respectful.” + </p> + <p> + “She coming out,” Bushwick said to Verrian across the table. + </p> + <p> + “And if I got mixed up I could go back and straighten it,” the hostess + declared, with a good—humored candor that took the general fancy, + “and you could understand without so much explaining. We haven’t got + flowers enough at this season,” she went on, looking down again at the + paper beside her plate, “but we happen to have plenty of snowballs, and + the notion is to have the women occupy a snow tower and the men attack + them with snowballs.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” Bushwick said, “this is the snow-fort business of our boyhood! + Let’s go out and fortify the ladies at once.” He appealed to Verrian and + made a feint of pushing his chair back. “May we use water-soaked + snowballs, or must they all be soft and harmless?” he asked of Mrs. + Westangle, who was now the centre of a storm of applause and question from + the whole table. + </p> + <p> + She kept her head and referred again to her paper. “The missiles of the + assailants are to be very soft snowballs, hardly more than mere clots, so + that nobody can be hurt in the assault, but the defenders may repel the + assailants with harder snowballs.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” Miss Macroyd protested, “this is consulting the weakness of our + sex.” + </p> + <p> + “In the fury of the onset we’ll forget it,” Verrian reassured her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you really will, Mr. Verrian?” she asked. “What is all our + athletic training to go for if you do?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Westangle read on: + </p> + <p> + “The terms of capitulation can be arranged on the ground, whether the + castle is carried or the assailing party are made prisoners by its + defenders.” + </p> + <p> + “Hopeless captivity in either case!” Bushwick lamented. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it rather academic?” Miss Macroyd asked of Verrian, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid, rather,” he owned. + </p> + <p> + “But why are you so serious?” she pursued. + </p> + <p> + “Am I serious?” he retorted, with a trace of exasperation; and she + laughed. + </p> + <p> + Their parley was quite lost in the clamor which raged up and down the + table till Mrs. Westangle ended it by saying, “There’s no obligation on + any one to take part in the hostilities. There won’t be any conscription; + it’s a free fight that will be open to everybody.” She folded the paper + she had been reading from and put it in her lap, in default of a pocket. + She went on impromptu: + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t trouble about building the fort, Mr. Bushwick. I’ve had the + farmer and his men working at the castle since daybreak, and the ladies + will find it all ready for them, when they’re ready to defend it, down in + the meadow beyond the edge of the birch-lot. The battle won’t begin till + eleven o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + She rose, and the clamor rose again with her, and her guests crushed about + her, demanding to be allowed at least to go and look at the castle + immediately. + </p> + <p> + One of the men’s voices asked, “May I be one of the defenders, Mrs. + Westangle? I want to be on the winning side, sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is this going to be a circus chariot-race?” another lamented. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” a girl cried, “it’s to be the real thing.” + </p> + <p> + It fell to Verrian, in the assortment of couples in which Mrs. Westangle’s + guests sallied out to view the proposed scene of action, to find himself, + not too willingly, at Miss Macroyd’s side. In his heart and in his mind he + was defending the amusement which he instantly divined as no invention of + Mrs. Westangle’s, and both his heart and his mind misgave him about this + first essay of Miss Shirley in her new enterprise. It was, as Miss Macroyd + had suggested, academic, and at the same time it had a danger in it of + being tomboyish. Golf, tennis, riding, boating, swimming—all the + vigorous sports in which women now excel—were boldly athletic, and + yet you could not feel quite that they were tomboyish. Was it because the + bent of Miss Shirley was so academic that she was periling upon + tomboyishness without knowing it in this primal inspiration of hers? + Inwardly he resented the word academic, although outwardly he had assented + to it when Miss Macroyd proposed it. To be academic would be even more + fatal to Miss Shirley’s ambition than to be tomboyish, and he thought with + pathos of that touch about the Italian nobility in the Middle Ages, and + how little it could have moved the tough fancies of that crowd of + well-groomed young people at the breakfast-table when Mrs. Westangle + brought it out with her ignorant acceptance of it as a social force. After + all, Miss Macroyd was about the only one who could have felt it in the way + it was meant, and she had chosen to smile at it. He wondered if possibly + she could feel the secondary pathos of it as he did. But to make talk with + her he merely asked: + </p> + <p> + “Do you intend to take part in the fray?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless I can be one of the reserve corps that won’t need to be + brought up till it’s all over. I’ve no idea of getting my hair down.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he sighed, “you think it’s going to be rude:” + </p> + <p> + “That is one of the chances. But you seem to be suffering about it, Mr. + Verrian!” she said, and, of course, she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Who? I?” he returned, in the temptation to deny it. But he resisted. “I + always suffer when there’s anything silly happening, as if I were doing it + myself. Don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, I believe not. But perhaps you are doing this? One can’t + suppose Mrs. Westangle imagined it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can’t plead guilty. But why isn’t it predicable of Mrs. Westangle?” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn’t ask too much of me, Mr. Verrian. Somehow, I won’t say how, + it’s been imagined for her. She’s heard of its being done somewhere. It + can’t be supposed she’s read of it, anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I dare say not.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Macroyd came out with her laugh. “I should like to know what she + makes of you, Mr. Verrian, when she is alone with herself. She must have + looked you up and authenticated you in her own way, but it would be as far + from your way as—well, say—the Milky Way.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t think she asked me because she met me at your house?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that wouldn’t be enough, from her point of view. She means to go much + further than we’ve ever got.” + </p> + <p> + “Then a year from now she wouldn’t ask me?” + </p> + <p> + “It depends upon who asks you in the mean time.” + </p> + <p> + “You might get to be a fad, and then she would feel that she would have to + have you.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re not flattering me?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you find it flattering?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t exactly my idea of the reward I’ve been working for. What shall + I do to be a fad?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, rather degrading stunts, if you mean in the smart set. Jump about + on all fours and pick up a woman’s umbrella with your teeth, and bark. + Anything else would be easier for you among chic people, where your + brilliancy would count.” + </p> + <p> + “Brilliancy? Oh, thank you! Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, a girl—if you were a girl—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, if I were a girl! That will be so much more interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “A girl,” Miss Macroyd continued, “might do it by posing effectively for + amateur photography. Or doing something original in dramatics or + pantomimics or recitation—but very original, because chic people are + critical. Or if she had a gift for getting up things that would show other + girls off; or suggesting amusements; but that would be rather in the line + of swell people, who are not good at getting up things and are glad of + help.” + </p> + <p> + “I see, I see!” Verrian said, eagerly. But he walked along looking down at + the snow, and not meeting the laughing glance that Miss Macroyd cast at + his face. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe that’s all,” she said, sharply. She added, less sharply: “She + couldn’t afford to fail, though, at any point. The fad that fails is + extinguished forever. Will these simple facts do for fiction? Or is it for + somebody in real life you’re asking, Mr. Verrian?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for fiction. And thank you very much. Oh, that’s rather pretty!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + They had come into the meadow where the snow battle was to be, and on its + slope, against the dark weft of the young birch-trees, there was a mimic + castle outlined in the masonry of white blocks quarried from the drifts + and built up in courses like rough blocks of marble. A decoration of green + from the pines that mixed with the birches had been suggested rather than + executed, and was perhaps the more effective for its sketchiness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s really beautiful,” Miss Macroyd owned, and though she did not + join her cries to those of the other girls, who stood scattered about + admiring it, and laughing and chattering with the men whose applause, of + course, took the jocose form, there was no doubt but she admired it. “What + I can’t understand is how Mrs. Westangle got the notion of this. There’s + the soprano note in it, and some woman must have given it to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Not contralto, possibly?” Verrian asked. + </p> + <p> + “I insist upon the soprano,” she said. + </p> + <p> + But he did not notice what she said. His eyes were following a figure + which seemed to be escaping up through the birches behind the snow castle + and ploughing its way through the drifts; in front of the structure they + had been levelled to make an easier battle-field. He knew that it was Miss + Shirley, and he inferred that she had been in the castle directing the + farm—hands building it, and now, being caught by the premature + arrival of the contesting forces, had fled before them and left her + subordinates to finish the work. He felt, with a throe of helpless + sympathy, that she was undertaking too much. It was hazardous enough to + attempt the practice of her novel profession under the best of + circumstances, but to keep herself in abeyance so far as not to be known + at all in it, and, at the same time, to give way to her interest in it to + the extent of coming out, with her infirmly established health, into that + wintry weather, and superintending the preparations for the first folly + she had planned, was a risk altogether too great for her. + </p> + <p> + “Who in the world,” Miss Macroyd suddenly demanded, “is the person + floundering about in the birch woods?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the soprano,” Verrian returned, hardily. + </p> + <p> + Bushwick detached himself from a group of girls near by and intercepted + any response from Miss Macroyd to Verrian by calling to her before he came + up, “Are you going to be one of the enemy, Miss Macroyd?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I think I will be neutral.” She added, “Is there going to be any such + thing as an umpire?” + </p> + <p> + “We hadn’t thought of that. There could be. The office could be created; + but, you know, it’s the post of danger.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian joined the group that Bushwick has left. He found a great + scepticism as to the combat, mixed with some admiration for the castle, + and he set himself to contest the prevalent feeling. What was the matter + with a snow-fight? he demanded. It would be great fun. Decidedly he was + going in for it. He revived the drooping sentiment in its favor, and then, + flown with his success, he went from group to group and couple to couple, + and animated all with his zeal, which came, he hardly knew whence; what he + pretended to the others was that they were rather bound not to let Mrs. + Westangle’s scheme fall through. Their doubts vanished before him, and the + terms of the battle were quickly arranged. He said he had read of one of + those mediaeval flower-fights, and he could tell them how that was done. + Where it would not fit into the snow-fight, they could trust to + inspiration; every real battle was the effect of inspiration. + </p> + <p> + He came out, and some of the young women and most of the young men, who + had dimly known of him as a sort of celebrity, and suspected him of being + a prig, were reconciled, and accepted him for a nice fellow, and became of + his opinion as to the details of the amusement before them. + </p> + <p> + It was not very Homeric, when it came off, or very mediaeval, but it was + really lots of fun, or far more fun than one would have thought. The + storming of the castle was very sincere, and the fortress was honestly + defended. Miss Macroyd was made umpire, as she wished, and provided with a + large snowball to sit on at a safe distance; as she was chosen by the men, + the girls wanted to have an umpire of their own, who would be really fair, + and they voted Verrian into the office. But he refused, partly because he + did not care about being paired off with Miss Macroyd so conspicuously, + and partly because he wished to help the fight along. + </p> + <p> + Attacks were made and repelled, and there were feats of individual and + collective daring on the side of the defenders which were none the less + daring because the assailants stopped to cheer them, and to disable + themselves by laughing at the fury of the foe. A detachment of the young + men at last stormed the castle and so weakened its walls that they toppled + inward; then the defenders, to save themselves from being buried under the + avalanche, swarmed out into the open and made the entire force of the + enemy prisoners. + </p> + <p> + The men pretended that this was what might have been expected from the + beginning, but by this time the Berserker madness had possessed Miss + Macroyd, too; she left her throne of snow and came forward shouting that + it had been perfectly fair, and that the men had been really beaten, and + they had no right to pretend that they had given themselves up purposely. + The sex-partisanship, which is such a droll fact in women when there is + any question of their general opposition to men, possessed them all, and + they stood as, one girl for the reality of their triumph. This did not + prevent them from declaring that the men had behaved with outrageous + unfairness, and that the only one who fought with absolute sincerity from + first to last was Mr. Verrian. + </p> + <p> + Neither their unity of conviction concerning the general fact nor the + surprising deduction from it in Verrian’s case operated to make them + refuse the help of their captives in getting home. When they had bound up + their tumbled hair, in some cases, and repaired the ravages of war among + their feathers and furs and draperies, in other cases, they accepted the + hands of the late enemy at difficult points of the path. But they ran + forward when they neared the house, and they were prompt to scream upon + Mrs. Westangle that there never had been such a success or such fun, and + that they were almost dead, and soon as they had something to eat they + were going to bed and never going to get up again. + </p> + <p> + In the details which they were able to give at luncheon, they did justice + to Verrian’s noble part in the whole affair, which had saved the day, not + only in keeping them up to the work when they had got thinking it couldn’t + be carried through, but in giving the combat a validity which it would not + have had without him. They had to thank him, next to Mrs. Westangle + herself, whom they praised beyond any articulate expression, for thinking + up such a delightful thing. They wondered how she could ever have thought + of it—such a simple thing too; and they were sure that when people + heard of it they would all be wanting to have snow battles. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Westangle took her praises as passively, if not as modestly, as + Verrian received his. She made no show of disclaiming them, but she had + the art, invaluable in a woman who meant to go far in the line she had + chosen, of not seeming to have done anything, or of not caring whether + people liked it or not. Verrian asked himself, as he watched her + twittering back at those girls, and shedding equally their thanks and + praises from her impermeable plumage, how she would have behaved if Miss + Shirley’s attempt had been an entire failure. He decided that she would + have ignored the failure with the same impersonality as that with which + she now ignored the success. It appeared that in one point he did her + injustice, for when he went up to dress for dinner after the long stroll + he took towards night he found a note under his door, by which he must + infer that Mrs. Westangle had not kept the real facts of her triumph from + the mistress of the revels. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “DEAR MR. VERRIAN, I am not likely to see you, but I must + thank you. + “M. SHIRLEY. + + “P. S. Don’t try to answer, please.” + </pre> + <p> + Verrian liked, the note, he even liked the impulse which had dictated it, + and he understood the impulse; but he did not like getting the note. If + Miss Shirley meant business in taking up the line of life she had + professed to have entered upon seriously, she had better, in the case of a + young man whose acquaintance she had chanced to make, let her gratitude + wait. But when did a woman ever mean business, except in the one great + business? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + To have got that sillily superfluous note to Verrian without any one’s + knowing besides, Miss Shirley must have stolen to his door herself and + slipped it under. In order to do this unsuspected and unseen, she must + have found out in some sort that would not give her away which his room + was, and then watched her chance. It all argued a pervasiveness in her, + after such a brief sojourn in the house, and a mastery of finesse that he + did not like, though, he reflected, he was not authorized to like or + dislike anything about her. He was thirty-seven years old, and he had not + lived through that time, with his mother at his elbow to suggest + inferences from facts, without being versed in wiles which, even when they + were honest, were always wiles, and in lures which, when they were of the + most gossamer tenuity, were yet of texture close enough to make the man + who blundered through them aware that they had been thrown across his + path. He understood, of course, that they were sometimes helplessly thrown + across it, and were mere expressions of abstract woman with relation to + abstract man, but that did not change their nature. He did not abhor them, + but he believed he knew them, and he believed now that he detected one of + them in Miss Shirley’s note. Of course, one could take another view of it. + One could say to one’s self that she was really so fervently grateful that + she could not trust some accident to bring them together in a place where + she was merely a part of the catering, as she said, and he was a guest, + and that she was excusable, or at least mercifully explicable, in her wish + to have him know that she appreciated his goodness. Verrian had been very + good, he knew that; he had saved the day for the poor thing when it was in + danger of the dreariest kind of slump. She was a poor thing, as any woman + was who had to make her own way, and she had been sick and was charming. + Besides, she had found out his name and had probably recognized a quality + of celebrity in it, unknown to the other young people with whom he found + himself so strangely assorted under Mrs. Westangle’s roof. + </p> + <p> + In the end, and upon the whole, Verrian would rather have liked, if the + thing could have been made to happen, meeting Miss Shirley long enough to + disclaim meriting her thanks, and to ascribe to the intrinsic value of her + scheme the brilliant success it had achieved. This would not have been + true, but it would have been encouraging to her; and in the revery which + followed upon his conditional desire he had a long imaginary conversation + with her, and discussed all her other plans for the revels of the week. + These had not the trouble of defining themselves very distinctly in the + conversation in order to win his applause, and their consideration did not + carry him with Miss Shirley beyond the strictly professional ground on + which they met. + </p> + <p> + She had apparently invented nothing for that evening, and the house party + was left to its own resources in dancing and sitting out dances, which + apparently fully sufficed it. They were all tired, and broke up early. The + women took their candles and went off to bed, and the men went to the + billiard-room to smoke. On the way down from his room, where he had gone + to put on his smoking-jacket, Verrian met Miss Macroyd coming up, candle + in hand, and received from her a tacit intimation that he might stop her + for a joking good-night. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you’ll sleep well on your laurels as umpire,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you,” she returned, “and I hope your laurels won’t keep you + awake. It must seem to you as if it was blowing a perfect gale in them.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? I did nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t mean your promotion of the snow battle. But haven’t you + heard?” He stared. “You’ve been found out!” + </p> + <p> + “Found out?” Verrian’s soul was filled with the joy of literary fame. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You can’t conceal yourself now. You’re Verrian the actor.” + </p> + <p> + “The actor?” Verrian frowned blackly in his disgust, so blackly that Miss + Macroyd laughed aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the coming matinee idol. One of the girls recognized you as soon as + you came into the house, and the name settled it, though, of course, + you’re supposed to be here incognito.” + </p> + <p> + The mention of that name which he enjoyed in common with the actor made + Verrian furious, for when the actor first appeared with it in New York + Verrian had been at the pains to find out that it was not his real name, + and that he had merely taken it because of the weak quality of romance in + it, which Verrian himself had always disliked. But, of course, he could + not vent his fury on Miss Macroyd. All he could do was to ask, “Then they + have got my photograph on their dressing-tables, with candles burning + before it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t believe I can give you that comfort. The fact is, your acting + is not much admired among the girls here, but they think you are + unexpectedly nice as a private person.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s something. And does Mrs. Westangle think I’m the actor, too?” + </p> + <p> + “How should Mrs. Westangle know what she thinks? And if she doesn’t, how + should I?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true. And are you going to give me away?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t done it yet. But isn’t it best to be honest?” + </p> + <p> + “It mightn’t be a success.” + </p> + <p> + “The honesty?” + </p> + <p> + “My literary celebrity.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s that,” Miss Macroyd rejoiced. “Well, so far I’ve merely said I + was sure you were not Verrian the actor. I’ll think the other part over.” + She went on up-stairs, with the sound of her laugh following her, and + Verrian went gloomily back to the billiard-room, where he found most of + the smokers conspicuously yawning. He lighted a fresh cigar, and while he + smoked they dropped away one by one till only Bushwick was left. + </p> + <p> + “Some of the fellows are going Thursday,” he said. “Are you going to stick + it out to the bitter end?” + </p> + <p> + Till then it had not occurred to Verrian that he was not going to stay + through the week, but now he said, “I don’t know but I may go Thursday. + Shall you?” + </p> + <p> + “I might as well stay on. I don’t find much doing in real estate at + Christmas. Do you?” + </p> + <p> + This was fishing, but it was better than openly taking him for that actor, + and Verrian answered, unresentfully, “I don’t know. I’m not in that line + exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon,” Bushwick said. “I thought I had seen your name + with that of a West Side concern.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I have a sort of outside connection with the publishing business.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” Bushwick returned, politely, and it would have been reassuringly if + Verrian had wished not to be known as an author. The secret in which he + lived in that regard was apparently safe from that young, amiable, + good-looking real-estate broker. He inferred, from the absence of any + allusion to the superstition of the women as to his profession, that it + had not spread to Bushwick at least, and this inclined him the more to + like him. They sat up talking pleasantly together about impersonal affairs + till Bushwick finished his cigar. Then he started for bed, saying, “Well, + good-night. I hope Mrs. Westangle won’t have anything so active on the + tapis for tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Try and sleep it off. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + Verrian remained to finish his cigar, but at the end he was not yet + sleepy, and he thought he would get a book from the library, if that part + of the house were still lighted, and he looked out to see. Apparently it + was as brilliantly illuminated as when the company had separated there for + the night, and he pushed across the foyer hall that separated the + billiard-room from the drawing-zoom and library. He entered the + drawing-room, and in the depths of the library, relieved against the rows + of books in their glass cases, he startled Miss Shirley from a pose which + she seemed to be taking there alone. + </p> + <p> + At the instant of their mutual recognition she gave a little muted shriek, + and then gasped out, “I beg your pardon,” while he was saying, too, “I beg + your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + After a tacit exchange of forgiveness, he said, “I am afraid I startled + you. I was just coming for a book to read myself asleep with. I—” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0087}.jpg" alt="{0087}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0087}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + “Not at all,” she returned. “I was just—” Then she did not say what, + and he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Making some studies?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she owned, with reluctant promptness. + </p> + <p> + “I mustn’t ask what,” he suggested, and he made an effort to smile away + what seemed a painful perturbation in her as he went forward to look at + the book-shelves, from which, till then, she had not slipped aside. + </p> + <p> + “I’m in your way,” she said, and he answered, “Not at all.” He added to + the other sentence he had spoken, “If it’s going to be as good as what you + gave us today—” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind.” She hesitated, and then she said, abruptly: “What I + did to-day owed everything to you, Mr. Verrian,” and while he desisted + from searching the book-shelves, she stood looking anxiously at him, with + the pulse in her neck visibly throbbing. Her agitation was really painful, + but Verrian did not attribute it to her finding herself there alone with + him at midnight; for though the other guests had all gone to bed, the + house was awake in some of the servants, and an elderly woman came in + presently bringing a breadth of silvery gauze, which she held up, asking + if it was that. + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly, but it will do nicely, Mrs. Stager. Would you mind getting + me the very pale-blue piece that electric blue?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m looking for something good and dull,” Verrian said, when the woman + was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Travels are good, or narratives, for sleeping on,” she said, with a + breathless effort for calm. “I found,” she panted, “in my own insomnia, + that merely the broken-up look of a page of dialogue in a novel racked my + nerves so that I couldn’t sleep. But narratives were beautifully + soothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he responded; “that’s a good idea.” And stooping, with his + hands on his knees, he ranged back and forth along the shelves. “But Mrs. + Westangle’s library doesn’t seem to be very rich in narrative.” + </p> + <p> + He had not his mind on the search perhaps, and perhaps she knew it. She + presently said, “I wish I dared ask you a favor—I mean your advice, + Mr. Verrian.” + </p> + <p> + He lifted himself from his stooping posture and looked at her, smiling. + “Would that take much courage?” His smile was a little mocking; he was + thinking that a girl who would hurry that note to him, and would + personally see that it did not fail to reach him, would have the courage + for much more. + </p> + <p> + She did not reply directly. “I should have to explain, but I know you + won’t tell. This is going to be my piece de resistance, my grand stunt. + I’m going to bring it off the last night.” She stopped long enough for + Verrian to revise his resolution of going away with the fellows who were + leaving the middle of the week, and to decide on staying to the end. “I am + going to call it Seeing Ghosts.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s good,” Verrian said, provisionally. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I might say I was surprised at my thinking it up.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be one form of modesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, with a wan smile she had, “and then again it mightn’t be + another.” She went on, abruptly, “As many as like can take part in the + performance. It’s to be given out, and distinctly understood beforehand, + that the ghost isn’t a veridical phantom, but just an honest, made-up, + every-day spook. It may change its pose from time to time, or its drapery, + but the setting is to be always the same, and the people who take their + turns in seeing it are to be explicitly reassured, one after another, that + there’s nothing in it, you know. The fun will be in seeing how each one + takes it, after they know what it really is.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’re going to give us a study of temperaments.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she assented. And after a moment, given to letting the notion get + quite home with her, she asked, vividly, “Would you let me use it?” + </p> + <p> + “The phrase? Why, certainly. But wouldn’t it be rather too psychological? + I think just Seeing Ghosts would be better.” + </p> + <p> + “Better than Seeing Ghosts: A Study of Temperaments? Perhaps it would. It + would be simpler.” + </p> + <p> + “And in this house you need all the simplicity you can get,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + She smiled, intelligently but reticently. “My idea is that every one + somehow really believes in ghosts—I know I do—and so fully + expects to see one that any sort of make-up will affect them for the + moment just as if they did see one. I thought—that perhaps—I + don’t know how to say it without seeming to make use of you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do make use of me, Miss Shirley!” + </p> + <p> + “That you could give me some hints about the setting, with your knowledge + of the stage—” She stopped, having rushed forward to that point, + while he continued to look steadily at her without answering her. She + faced him courageously, but not convincingly. + </p> + <p> + “Did you think that I was an actor?” he asked, finally. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Westangle seemed to think you were.” + </p> + <p> + “But did you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I didn’t mean—I beg your pardon—” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right. If I were an actor I shouldn’t be ashamed of it. But I + was merely curious to know whether you shared the prevalent superstition. + I’m afraid I can’t help you from a knowledge of the stage, but if I can be + of use, from a sort of amateur interest in psychology, with an affair like + this I shall be only too glad.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, somewhat faintly, with an effect of dismay + disproportionate to the occasion. + </p> + <p> + She sank into a chair before which she had been standing, and she looked + as if she were going to swoon. + </p> + <p> + He started towards her with an alarmed “Miss Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + She put out a hand weakly to stay him. “Don’t!” she entreated. “I’m a + little—I shall be all right in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t I get you something—call some one?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for the world!” she commanded, and she pulled herself together and + stood up. “But I think I’ll stop for to-night. I’m glad my idea strikes + you favorably. It’s merely—Oh, you found it, Mrs. Stager!” She broke + off to address the woman who had now come back and was holding up the + trailing breadths of the electric-blue gauze. “Isn’t it lovely?” She gave + herself time to adore the drapery, with its changes of meteoric lucence, + before she rose and took it. She went with it to the background in the + library, where, against the glass door of the cases, she involved herself + in it and stood shimmering. A thrill pierced to Verrian’s heart; she was + indeed wraithlike, so that he hated to have her call, “How will that do?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Stager modestly referred the question to him by her silence. “I will + answer for its doing, if it does for the others as it’s done for me.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “And you doubly knew what it was. Yes, I think it will go.” + She took another pose, and then another. “What do you think of it, Mrs. + Stager?” she called to the woman standing respectfully abeyant at one + side. + </p> + <p> + “It’s awful. I don’t know but I’ll be afraid to go to my room.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, and I’ll go to your room with you when I’m through. I won’t be + long, now.” + </p> + <p> + She tried different gauzes, which she had lying on one of the chairs, and + crowned herself with triumph in the applauses of her two spectators, + rejoicing with a glee that Verrian found childlike and winning. “If + they’re all like you, it will be the greatest success!” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll all be like me, and more,” he said, “I’m really very severe.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a severe person?” she asked, coming forward to him. “Ought people + to be afraid of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, people with bad consciences. I’m rattier afraid of myself for that + reason.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you got a bad conscience?” she asked, letting her eyes rest on his. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I can’t make my conduct square with my ideal of conduct.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what that is!” she sighed. “Do you expect to be punished for it?” + </p> + <p> + “I expect to be got even with.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, one is. I’ve noticed that myself. But I didn’t suppose that actors—Oh, + I forgot! I beg your pardon again, Mr. Verrian. Oh—Goodnight!” She + faced him evanescently in going out, with the woman after her, but, + whether she did so more in fear or more in defiance, she left him standing + motionless in his doubt, and she did nothing to solve his doubt when she + came quickly back alone, before he was aware of having moved, to say, “Mr. + Verrian, I want to—I have to—tell you that—I didn’t + think you were the actor.” Then she was finally gone, and Verrian had + nothing for it but to go up to his room with the book he found he had in + his hand and must have had there all the time. + </p> + <p> + If he had read it, the book would not have eased him off to sleep, but he + did not even try, to read it. He had no wish to sleep. The waking dream in + which he lost himself was more interesting than any vision of slumber + could have been, and he had no desire to end it. In that he could still be + talking with the girl whose mystery appealed to him so pleasingly. It was + none the less pleasing because, at what might be called her first blushes, + she did not strike him as altogether ingenuous, but only able to + discipline herself into a final sincerity from a consciousness which had + been taught wisdom by experience. + </p> + <p> + She was still a scarcely recovered invalid, and it was pathetic that she + should be commencing the struggle of life with strength so little + proportioned to the demand upon it; and the calling she had taken up was + of a fantasticality in some aspects which was equally pathetic. But all + the undertakings of women, he mused, were piteous, not only because women + were unequal to the struggle at the best, but because they were hampered + always with themselves, with their sex, their femininity, and the + necessity of getting it out of the way before they could really begin to + fight. Whatever they attempted it must be in relation to the man’s world + in which livings were made; but the immemorial conditions were almost + wholly unchanged. A woman approached this world as a woman, with the + inborn instinct of tempting it as a woman, to win it to love her and make + her a wife and mother; and although she might stoically overcome the + temptation at last, it might recur at any moment and overcome her. This + was perpetually weakening and imperilling her, and she must feel it at the + encounter with each man she met. She must feel the tacit and even + unconscious irony of his attitude towards her in her enterprise, and the + finer her make the crueller and the more humiliating and disheartening + this must be. + </p> + <p> + Of course, this Miss Shirley felt Verrian’s irony, which he had guarded + from any expression with genuine compassion for her. She must feel that to + his knowledge of life she and her experiment had an absurdity which would + not pass, whatever their success might be. If she meant business, and + business only, they ought to have met as two men would have met, but he + knew that they had not done so, and she must have known it. All that was + plain sailing enough, but beyond this lay a sea of conjecture in which he + found himself without helm or compass. Why, should she have acted a fib + about his being an actor, and why, after the end, should she have added an + end, in which she returned to own that she had been fibbing? For that was + what it came to; and though Verrian tasted a delicious pleasure in the + womanish feat by which she overcame her womanishness, he could not puzzle + out her motive. He was not sure that he wished to puzzle it out. To remain + with illimitable guesses at his choice was more agreeable, for the present + at least, and he was not aware of having lapsed from them when he woke so + late as to be one of the breakfasters whose plates were kept for them + after the others were gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + It was the first time that Verrian had come down late, and it was his + novel experience to find himself in charge of Mrs. Stager at breakfast, + instead of the butler and the butler’s man, who had hitherto served him at + the earlier hour. There were others, somewhat remote from him, at table, + who were ending when he was beginning, and when they had joked themselves + out of the room and away from Mrs. Stager’s ministrations he was left + alone to her. He had instantly appreciated a quality of motherliness in + her attitude towards him, and now he was sensible of a kindly intimacy to + which he rather helplessly addressed himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mrs. Stager, did you see a ghost on your way to bed?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know as I really expected to,” she said. “Won’t you have a few + more of the buckwheats?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I’d better? I believe I won’t. They’re very tempting. Miss + Shirley makes a very good ghost,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Stager would not at first commit herself further than to say in + bringing him the butter, “She’s just up from a long fit of sickness.” She + impulsively added, “She ain’t hardly strong enough to be doing what she + is, I tell her.” + </p> + <p> + “I understood she had been ill,” Verrian said. “We drove over from the + station together, the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Mrs. Stager admitted. “Kind of a nervous breakdown, I believe. But + she’s got an awful spirit. Mrs. Westangle don’t want her to do all she is + doing.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian looked at her in surprise. He had not expected that of the + India-rubber nature he had attributed to Mrs. Westangle. In view of Mrs. + Stager’s privity to the unimagined kindliness of his hostess, he relaxed + himself in a further interest in Miss Shirley, as if it would now be safe. + “She’s done splendidly, so far,” he said, meaning the girl. “I’m glad Mrs. + Westangle appreciates her work.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” Mrs. Stager said, “that if it hadn’t been for you at the + snow-fight—She got back from getting ready for it, that morning, + almost down sick, she was afraid so it was going to fail.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t do anything,” Verrian said, putting the praise from him. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Stager lowered her voice in an octave of deeper confidentiability. + “You got the note? I put it under, and I didn’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I got it,” Verrian said, sensible of a relief, which he would not + assign to any definite reason, in knowing that Miss Shirley had not + herself put it under his door. But he now had to take up another burden in + the question whether Miss Shirley were of an origin so much above that of + her confidant that she could have a patrician fearlessness in making use + of her, or were so near Mrs. Stager’s level of life that she would + naturally turn to her for counsel and help. Miss Shirley had the accent, + the manners, and the frank courage of a lady; but those things could be + learned; they were got up for the stage every day. + </p> + <p> + Verrian was roused from the muse he found he had fallen into by hearing + Mrs. Stager ask, “Won’t you have some more coffee?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” he said. And now he rose from the table, on which he + dreamily dropped his napkin, and got his hat and coat and went out for a + walk. He had not studied the art of fiction so long, in the many private + failures that had preceded his one public success, without being made to + observe that life sometimes dealt in the accidents and coincidences which + his criticism condemned as too habitually the resource of the novelist. + Hitherto he had disdained them for this reason; but since his serial story + was off his hands, and he was beginning to look about him for fresh + material, he had doubted more than once whether his severity was not the + effect of an unjustifiable prejudice. + </p> + <p> + It struck him now, in turning the corner of the woodlot above the meadow + where the snow-battle had taken place, and suddenly finding himself face + to face with Miss Shirley, that nature was in one of her uninventive moods + and was helping herself out from the old stock-in-trade of fiction. All + the same, he felt a glow of pleasure, which was also a glow of pity; for + while Miss Shirley looked, as always, interesting, she look tired, too, + with a sort of desperate air which did not otherwise account for itself. + She had given, at sight of him, a little start, and a little “Oh!” dropped + from her lips, as if it had been jostled from them. She made haste to go + on, with something like the voluntary hardiness of the courage that plucks + itself from the primary emotion of fear, “You are going down to try the + skating?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I look it, without skates?” + </p> + <p> + “You may be going to try the sliding,” she returned. “I’m afraid there + won’t be much of either for long. This soft air is going to make havoc of + my plans for to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s too bad of it. Why not hope for a hard freeze to-night? You might + as well. The weather has been known to change its mind. You might even + change your plans.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can’t do that. I can’t think of anything else. It’s to bridge over + the day that’s left before Seeing Ghosts. If it does freeze, you’ll come + to Mrs. Westangle’s afternoon tea on the pond?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly shall. How is it to be worked?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s to have her table on a platform, with runners, in a bower of + evergreen boughs, and be pushed about, and the people are to skate up for + the tea. There are to be tea and chocolate, and two girls to pour, just as + in real life. It isn’t a very dazzling idea, but I thought it might do; + and Mrs. Westangle is so good-natured. Now, if the thermometer will do its + part!” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure it will,” Verrian said, but a glance at the gray sky did not + confirm him in his prophetic venture. The snow was sodden under foot; a + breath from the south stirred the pines to an Aeolian response and moved + the stiff, dry leaves of the scrub-oaks. A sapsucker was marking an + accurate circle of dots round the throat of a tall young maple, and + enjoying his work in a low, guttural soliloquy, seemingly, yet, + dismayingly, suggestive of spring. + </p> + <p> + “It’s lovely, anyway,” she said, following his glance with an upward turn + of her face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s beautiful. I think this sort of winter day is about the best + the whole year can do. But I will sacrifice the chance of another like it + to your skating-tea, Miss Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + He did not know why he should have made this speech to her, but apparently + she did, and she said, “You’re always coming to my help, Mr. Verrian.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mention it!” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t, then,” she said, with a smile that showed her thin face at its + thinnest and left her lip caught on her teeth till she brought it down + voluntarily. It was a small but full lip and pretty, and this trick of it + had a fascination. She added, gravely, “I don’t believe you will like my + ice-tea.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t any active hostility to it. You can’t always be striking twelve—twelve + midnight—as you will be in Seeing Ghosts. But your ice-tea will do + very well for striking five. I’m rather elaborate!” + </p> + <p> + “Not too elaborate to hide your real opinion. I wonder what you do think + of my own elaboration—I mean of my scheme.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + They had moved on, at his turning to walk with her, so as not to keep her + standing in the snow, and now she said, looking over her shoulder at him, + “I’ve decided that it won’t do to let the ghost have all the glory. I + don’t think it will be fair to let the people merely be scared, even when + they’ve been warned that they’re to see a ghost and told it isn’t real.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to refer the point to him, and he said, provisionally, “I don’t + know what more they can ask.” + </p> + <p> + “They can ask questions. I’m going to let each person speak to the ghost, + if not scared dumb, and ask it just what they please; and I’m going to + answer their questions if I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t it be something of an intellectual strain?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will. But it will be fun, too, a little, and it will help the + thing to go off. What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s fine. Are you going to give it out, so that they can be + studying up their questions?” + </p> + <p> + “No, their questions have got to be impromptu. Or, at least, the first one + has. Of course, after the scheme has once been given away, the ghost-seers + will be more or less prepared, and the ghost will have to stand it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s great. Are you going to let me have a chance with a + question?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to see a ghost?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I am. May I really ask it what I please?” + </p> + <p> + “If you’re honest.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shall be honest—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped breathlessly, but she did not seem called upon to supply any + meaning for his abruptness. “I’m awfully glad you like the idea,” she + said, “I have had to think the whole thing out for myself, and I haven’t + been quite certain that the question-asking wasn’t rather silly, or, at + least, sillier than the rest. Thank you so much, Mr. Verrian.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve thought of my question,” he began again, as abruptly as he had + stopped before. “May I ask it now?” + </p> + <p> + Cries of laughter came up from the meadow below, and the voices seemed + coming nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I mustn’t be seen!” Miss Shirley lamented. “Oh, dear! If I’m seen the + whole thing is given away. What shall I do?” She whirled about and ran + down the road towards a path that entered the wood. + </p> + <p> + He ran after her. “My question is, May I come to see you when you get back + to town?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly. But don’t come now! You mustn’t be seen with me! I’m not + supposed to be in the house at all.” + </p> + <p> + If Verrian’s present mood had been more analytic, it might have occurred + to him that the element of mystery which Miss Shirley seemed to cherish in + regard to herself personally was something that she could dramatically + apply with peculiar advantage to the phantasmal part she was to take in + her projected entertainment. But he was reduced from the exercise of his + analytic powers to a passivity in which he was chiefly conscious of her + pathetic fascination. This seemed to emanate from her frail prettiness no + less than from the sort of fearful daring with which she was pushing her + whole enterprise through; it came as much from her undecided blondness—from + her dust-colored hair, for instance—as from the entreating look of + her pinched eyes, only just lighting their convalescent fires, and from + the weakness that showed, with the grace, in her run through the wintry + woods, where he watched her till the underbrush thickened behind her and + hid her from him. Altogether his impression was very complex, but he did + not get so far even as the realization of this, in his mental turmoil, as + he turned with a deep sigh and walked meditatively homeward through the + incipient thaw. + </p> + <p> + It did not rain at night, as it seemed so likely to do, and by morning the + cloudiness of the sky had so far thinned that the sun looked mildly + through it without more than softening the frozen surface of the pond, so + that Mrs. Westangle’s ice-tea (as everybody called it, by a common + inspiration, or by whatever circuitous adoption of Verrian’s phrase) came + off with great success. People from other houses were there, and they all + said that they wondered how she came to have such a brilliant idea, and + they kept her there till nearly dark. Then the retarded rain began, in a + fine drizzle, and her house guests were forced homeward, but not too soon + to get a good, long rest before dressing for dinner. She was praised for + her understanding with the weather, and for her meteorological forecast as + much as for her invention in imagining such a delightful and original + thing as an ice-tea, which no one else had ever thought of. Some of the + women appealed to Verrian to say if he had ever heard of anything like it; + and they felt that Mrs. Westangle was certainly arriving, and by no beaten + track. + </p> + <p> + None of the others put it in these terms, of course; it was merely a + consensus of feeling with them, and what was more articulate was dropped + among the ironies with which Miss Macroyd more confidentially celebrated + the event. Out of hearing of the others, in slowly following them with + Verrian, she recurred to their talk. “Yes, it’s only a question of money + enough for Newport, after this. She’s chic now, and after a season there + she will be smart. But oh, dear! How came she to be chic? Can you + imagine?” + </p> + <p> + Verrian did not feel bound to a categorical answer, and in his private + reflections he dealt with another question. This was how far Miss Shirley + was culpable in the fraud she was letting Mrs. Westangle practise on her + innocent guests. It was a distasteful question, and he did not find it + much more agreeable when it subdivided itself into the question of + necessity on her part, and of a not very clearly realized situation on + Mrs. Westangle’s. The girl had a right to sell her ideas, and perhaps the + woman thought they were her own when she had paid for them. There could be + that view of it all. The furtive nature of Miss Shirley’s presence in the + house might very well be a condition of that grand event she was + preparing. It was all very mysterious. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + It rained throughout the evening, with a wailing of the wind in the + gables, and a weeping and a sobbing of the water from the eaves that Mrs. + Westangle’s guests, securely housed from the storm, made the most of for + weirdness. There had been a little dancing, which gave way to so much + sitting-out that the volunteer music abruptly ceased as if in dudgeon, and + there was nothing left but weirdness to bring young hearts together. + Weirdness can do a good deal with girls lounging in low chairs, and young + men on rugs round a glowing hearth at their feet; and every one told some + strange thing that had happened at first hand, or second or third hand, + either to himself or herself, or to their fathers or brothers or + grandmothers or old servants. They were stimulated in eking out these + experiences not only by the wildness of the rain without, but by the + mystery of being shut off from the library into the drawing-room and hall + while the preparations for the following night were beginning. But + weirdness is not inexhaustible, even when shared on such propitious terms + between a group of young people rapidly advanced in intimacy by a week’s + stay under the same roof, and at the first yawn a gay dispersion of the + votaries ended it all. + </p> + <p> + The yawn came from Bushwick, who boldly owned, when his guilt was brought + home to him, that he was sleepy, and then as he expected to be scared out + of a year’s growth the next night, and not be able to sleep for a week + afterwards, he was now going to bed. He shook hands with Mrs. Westangle + for good-night. The latest to follow him was Verrian, who, strangely + alert, and as far from drowsiness as he had ever known himself, was yet + more roused by realizing that Mrs. Westangle was not letting his hand go + at once, but, unless it was mere absent-mindedness, was conveying through + it the wish to keep him. She fluttered a little more closely up to him, + and twittered out, “Miss Shirley wants me to let you know that she has + told me about your coming together, and everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m very glad,” Verrian said, not sure that it was the right thing. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know why she feels so, but she has a right to do as she pleases + about it. She’s not a guest.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Verrian assented. + </p> + <p> + “It happens very well, though, for the ghost-seeing that people don’t know + she’s here. After that I shall tell them. In fact, she wants me to, for + she must be on the lookout for other engagements. I am going to do + everything I can for her, and if you hear of anything—” + </p> + <p> + Verrian bowed, with a sense of something offensive in her words which he + could not logically feel, since it was a matter of business and was put + squarely on a business basis. “I should be very glad,” he said, + noncommittally. + </p> + <p> + “She was sure from the first,” Mrs. Westangle went on, as if there were + some relation between the fact and her request, “that you were not the + actor. She knew you were a writer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed!” Verrian said. + </p> + <p> + “I thought that if you were writing for the newspapers you might know how + to help her-” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not a newspaper writer,” Verrian answered, with a resentment which + she seemed to feel, for she said, with a sort of apology in her tone: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Well, I don’t suppose it matters. She doesn’t know I’m speaking to + you about that; it just came into my head. I like to help in a worthy + object, you know. I hope you’ll have a good night’s rest.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and looked round with the air of distraction which she had + after speaking to any one, and which Verrian fancied came as much from a + paucity as from a multiplicity of suggestion in her brain, and so left him + standing. But she came back to say, “Of course, it’s all between ourselves + till after to-morrow night, Mr. Verrian.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly,” he replied, and went vaguely off in the direction of the + billiard-room. It was light and warm there, though the place was empty, + and he decided upon a cigar as a proximate or immediate solution. He sat + smoking before the fire till the tobacco’s substance had half turned into + a wraith of ash, and not really thinking of anything very definitely, + except the question whether he should be able to sleep after he went to + bed, when he heard a creeping step on the floor. He turned quickly, with a + certain expectance in his nerves, and saw nothing more ghostly than + Bushwick standing at the corner of the table and apparently hesitating how + to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + He said, “Hello!” and at this Bushwick said: + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Verrian asked, looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “How does it happen you’re up so late, after everybody else is wrapped in + slumber?” + </p> + <p> + “I might ask the same of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I found I wasn’t making it a case of sleep, exactly, and so I got + up.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hadn’t gone to bed for much the same reason. Why couldn’t you + sleep? A real-estate broker ought to have a clean conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “So ought a publisher, for that matter. What do you think of this + ghost-dance, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “It might be amusing—if it fails.” Verrian was tempted to add the + condition by the opportunity for a cynicism which he did not feel. It is + one of the privileges of youth to be cynical, whether or no. + </p> + <p> + Bushwick sat down before the fire and rubbed his shins with his two hands + unrestfully, drawing in a long breath between his teeth. “These things get + on to my nerves sometimes. I shouldn’t want the ghost-dance to fail.” + </p> + <p> + “On Mrs. Westangle’s account?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess Mrs. Westangle could stand it. Look here!” It was rather a + customary phrase of his, Verrian noted. As he now used it he looked + alertly round at Verrian, with his hands still on his shins. “What’s the + use of our beating round the bush?” + </p> + <p> + Verrian delayed his answer long enough to decide against the aimless pun + of asking, “What Bushwick?” and merely asked, “What bush?” + </p> + <p> + “The bush where the milk in the cocoanut grows. You don’t pretend that you + believe Mrs. Westangle has been getting up all these fairy stunts?” + </p> + <p> + Verrian returned to his cigar, from which the ashen wraith dropped into + his lap. “I guess you’ll have to be a little clearer.” But as Bushwick + continued silently looking at him, the thing could not be left at this + point, and he was obliged to ask of his own initiative, “How much do you + know?” + </p> + <p> + Bushwick leaned back in his chair, with his eyes still on Verrian’s + profile. “As much as Miss Macroyd could tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I’m still in the dark,” Verrian politely regretted, but not with a + tacit wish to wring Miss Macroyd’s neck, which he would not have known how + to account for. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she says that Mrs. Westangle has a professional assistant who’s + doing the whole job for her, and that she came down on the same train with + herself and you.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she say that she grabbed the whole victoria for herself and maid at + the station?” Verrian demanded, in a burst of rage, “and left us to get + here the best way we could?” + </p> + <p> + Bushwick grinned. “She supposed there were other carriages, and when she + found there weren’t she hurried the victoria back for you.” + </p> + <p> + “You think she believes all that? I’m glad she has the decency to be + ashamed of her behavior.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not defending her. Miss Macroyd knows how to take care of herself.” + </p> + <p> + The matter rather dropped for the moment, in which Bushwick filled a pipe + he took from his pocket and lighted it. After the first few whiffs he took + it from his mouth, and, with a droll look across at Verrian, said, “Who + was your fair friend?” + </p> + <p> + If Verrian was going to talk of this thing, he was not going to do it with + the burden of any sort of reserve or contrivance on his soul. “This + afternoon?” Bushwick nodded; and Verrian added, “That was she.” Then he + went on, wrathfully: “She’s a girl who has to make her living, and she’s + doing it in a new way that she’s invented for herself. She has supposed + that the stupid rich, or the lazy rich, who want to entertain people may + be willing to pay for ideas, and she proposes to supply the ideas for a + money consideration. She’s not a guest in the house, and she won’t take + herself on a society basis at all. I don’t know what her history is, and I + don’t care. She’s a lady by training, and, if she had the accent, I should + say she was from the South, for she has the enterprise of the South that + comes North and tries to make its living. It’s all inexpressibly none of + my business, but I happen to be knowing to so much of the case, and if + you’re knowing to anything else, Mr. Bushwick, I want you to get it + straight. That’s why I’m talking of it, and not because I think you’ve any + right to know anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” Bushwick returned, unruffled. “It’s about what Miss Macroyd + told me. That’s the reason I don’t want the ghost-dance to fail.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian did not notice him. He found it more important to say: “She’s so + loyal to Mrs. Westangle that she wouldn’t have wished, in Mrs. Westangle’s + interest, to have her presence, or her agency in what is going on, known; + but, of course, if Mrs. Westangle chooses to, tell it, that’s her affair.” + </p> + <p> + “She would have had to tell it, sooner or later, Mrs. Westangle would; and + she only told it to Miss Macroyd this afternoon on compulsion, after Miss + Macroyd and I had seen you in the wood-road, and Mrs. Westangle had to + account for the young lady’s presence there in your company. Then Miss + Macroyd had to tell me; but I assure you, my dear fellow, the matter + hasn’t gone any further.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s quite indifferent to me,” Verrian retorted. “I’m nothing but a + dispassionate witness of the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” Bushwick assented, and then he added, with a bonhomie really + so amiable that a man with even an unreasonable grudge could hardly resist + it, “If you call it dispassionate.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian could not help laughing. “Well, passionate, then. I don’t know why + it should be so confoundedly vexatious. But somehow I would have chosen + Miss Macroyd—Is she specially dear to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least!” + </p> + <p> + “I would have chosen her as the last person to have the business, which is + so inexpressibly none of my business—” + </p> + <p> + “Or mine, as I think you remarked,” Bushwick interposed. + </p> + <p> + “Come out through,” Verrian concluded, accepting his interposition with a + bow. + </p> + <p> + “I see what you mean,” Bushwick said, after a moment’s thought. “But, + really, I don’t think it’s likely to go further. If you want to know, I + believe Miss Macroyd feels the distinction of being in the secret so much + that she’ll prefer to hint round till Mrs. Westangle gives the thing away. + She had to tell me, because I was there with her when she saw you with the + young lady, to keep me from going with my curiosity to you. Come, I do + think she’s honest about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think they’re rather more dangerous when they’re honest?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, only when they’re obliged to be. Cheer up! I don’t believe Miss + Macroyd is one to spoil sport.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I think I shall live through it,” Verrian said, rather stiffening + again. But he relaxed, in rising from his chair, and said, “Well, + good-night, old fellow. I believe I shall go to bed now.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t wait for me till my pipe’s out?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I think not. I seem to be just making it, and if I waited I might + lose my grip.” He offered Bushwick a friendly hand. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose it’s been my soothing conversation? I’m like the actor + that the doctor advised to go and see himself act. I can’t talk myself + sleepy.” + </p> + <p> + “You might try it,” Verrian said, going out. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + The men who had talked of going away on Thursday seemed to have found it + practicable to stay. At any rate, they were all there on the Saturday + night for the ghost-seeing, and, of course, none of the women had gone. + What was more remarkable, in a house rather full of girls, nobody was + sick; or, at least, everybody was well enough to be at dinner, and, after + dinner, at the dance, which impatiently, if a little ironically, preceded + the supernatural part of the evening’s amusement. It was the decorum of a + woman who might have been expected not to have it that Mrs. Westangle had + arranged that the evening’s amusement should not pass the bound between + Saturday night and Sunday morning. The supper was to be later, but that + was like other eating and drinking on the Sabbath; and it was to be a cold + supper. + </p> + <p> + At half-past ten the dancing stopped in the foyer and the drawing-room, + and by eleven the guests were all seated fronting the closed doors of the + library. There were not so many of them but that in the handsome space + there was interval enough to lend a desired distance to the apparitions; + and when the doors were slid aside it was applausively found that there + was a veil of gauze falling from the roof to the floor, which promised its + aid in heightening the coming mystery. This was again heightened by the + universal ignorance as to how the apparitions were to make their advents + and on what terms. + </p> + <p> + It was with an access of a certain nervous anxiety that Verrian found + himself next Miss Macroyd, whose frank good-fellowship first expressed + itself in a pleasure at the chance which he did not share, and then + extended to a confidential sympathy for the success of the enterprise + which he did not believe she felt. She laughed, but ‘sotto voce’, in + bending her head close to his and whispering, “I hope she’ll be equal to + her ‘mise en scene’. It’s really very nice. So simple.” Besides the gauze + veil, there was no preparation except in the stretch of black drapery + which hid the book-shelves at the farther wall of the library. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Westangle’s note is always simplicity,” Verrian returned. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, indeed! And you wish to keep up the Westangle convention?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see any reason for dropping it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, none in the world,” she mocked. + </p> + <p> + He determined to push her, since she had tried to push him, and he asked, + “What reason could there be?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Verrian, asking a woman for a reason! I shall begin to think + some one else wrote your book, too! Perhaps she’ll take up supplying ideas + to authors as well as hostesses. Of course, I mean Mrs. Westangle.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian wished he had not tried to push Miss Macroyd, and he was still + grinding his teeth in a vain endeavor to get out some fit retort between + them, when he saw Bushwick shuffling to his feet, in the front row of the + spectators, and heard him beginning a sort of speech. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen: Mrs. Westangle has chosen me, because a real-estate + broker is sometimes an auctioneer, and may be supposed to have the gift of + oratory, to make known the conditions on which you may interview the + ghosts which you are going to see. Anybody may do it who will comply with + the conditions. In the first place, you have got to be serious, and to + think up something that you would really like to know about your past, + present, or future. Remember, this is no joking matter, and the only + difference between the ghost that you will see here and a real + materialization under professional auspices is that the ghost won’t charge + you anything. Of course, if any lady or gentleman—especially lady—wishes + to contribute to any charitable object, after a satisfactory interview + with the ghost, a hat will be found at the hall-door for the purpose, and + Mrs. Westangle will choose the object: I have put in a special plea for my + own firm, at a season when the real-estate business is not at its best.” + By this time Bushwick had his audience laughing, perhaps the more easily + because they were all more or less in a hysterical mood, which, whether we + own it or not, is always induced by an approximation to the supernatural. + He frowned and said, “NO laughing!” and then they laughed the more. When + he had waited for them to be quiet he went on gravely, “The conditions are + simply these: Each person who chooses may interview the ghost, keeping a + respectful distance, but not so far off but that the ghost can distinctly + hear a stage whisper. The question put must be seriously meant, and it + must be the question which the questioner would prefer to have answered + above everything else at the time being. Certain questions will be + absolutely ruled out, such as, ‘Does Maria love me?’ or, ‘Has Reuben ever + been engaged before?’ The laughter interrupted the speaker again, and + Verrian hung his head in rage and shame; this stupid ass was spoiling the + hope of anything beautiful in the spectacle and turning it into a gross + burlesque. Somehow he felt that the girl who had invented it had meant, in + the last analysis, something serious, and it was in her behalf that he + would have liked to choke Bushwick. All the time he believed that Miss + Macroyd, whose laugh sounded above the others, was somehow enjoying his + indignation and divining its reason. + </p> + <p> + “Other questions, touching intemperance or divorce, the questioner will + feel must not be asked; though it isn’t necessary to more than suggest + this, I hope; it will be left entirely to the good taste and good feeling + of the—party. We all know what the temptations of South Dakota and + the rum fiend are, and that to err is human, and forgive divine.” He + paused, having failed to get a laugh, but got it by asking, + confidentially, “Where was I? Oh!”—he caught himself up—“I + remember. Those of you who are in the habit of seeing ghosts need not be + told that a ghost never speaks first; and those who have never met an + apparition before, but are in the habit of going to the theatre, will + recall the fact that in W. Shakespeare’s beautiful play of ‘Hamlet’ the + play could not have gone on after the first scene if Horatio had not + spoken to the ghost of Hamlet’s father and taken the chances of being + snubbed. Here there are no chances of that kind; the chances are that + you’ll wish the ghost had not been entreated: I think that is the phrase.” + </p> + <p> + In the laugh that followed a girl on Miss Macroyd’s other hand audibly + asked her, “Oh, isn’t he too funny?” + </p> + <p> + “Delicious!” Miss Macroyd agreed. Verrian felt she said it to vex him. + </p> + <p> + “Now, there’s just one other point,” Bushwick resumed, “and then I have + done. Only one question can be allowed to each person, but if the + questioner is a lady she can ask a question and a half, provided she is + not satisfied with the answer. In this case, however, she will only get + half an answer. Now I have done, and if my arguments have convinced any + one within the sound of my voice that our ghost really means business, I + shall feel fully repaid for the pains and expense of getting up these few + impromptu remarks, to which I have endeavored to give a humorous + character, in order that you may all laugh your laugh out, and no unseemly + mirth may interrupt the subsequent proceedings. We will now have a little + music, and those who can recall my words will be allowed to sing them.” + </p> + <p> + In the giggling and chatter which ensued the chords softly played passed + into ears that might as well have been deaf; but at last there was a + general quiescence of expectation, in which every one’s eyes were strained + to pierce through the gauze curtain to the sombre drapery beyond. The wait + was so long that the tension relaxed and a whispering began, and Verrian + felt a sickness of pity for the girl who was probably going to make a + failure of it. He asked himself what could have happened to her. Had she + lost courage? Or had her physical strength, not yet fully renewed, given + way under the stress? Or had she, in sheer disgust for the turn the affair + had been given by that brute Bushwick, thrown up the whole business? He + looked round for Mrs. Westangle; she was not there; he conjectured—he + could only conjecture—that she was absent conferring with Miss + Shirley and trying to save the day. + </p> + <p> + A long, deeply sighed “Oh-h-h-h!” shuddering from many lips made him turn + abruptly, and he saw, glimmering against the pall at the bottom of the + darkened library, a figure vaguely white, in which he recognized a pose, a + gesture familiar to him. For the others the figure was It, but for him it + was preciously She. It was she, and she was going to carry it through; she + was going to triumph, and not fail. A lump came into his 96 throat, and a + mist blurred his eyes, which, when it cleared again, left him staring at + nothing. + </p> + <p> + A girl’s young voice uttered the common feeling, “Why, is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, till some one asks the ghost a question; then it will reappear,” + Bushwick rose to say. “Will Miss Andrews kindly step forward and ask the + question nearest her heart?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” the girl answered, with a sincerity that left no one quite free + to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Some other lady, then?” Bushwick suggested. No one moved, and he added, + “This is a difficulty which had been foreseen. Some gentleman will step + forward and put the question next his heart.” Again no one offered to go + forward, and there was some muted laughter, which Bushwick checked. “This + difficulty had been foreseen, too. I see that I shall have to make the + first move, and all that I shall require of the audience is that I shall + not be supposed to be in collusion with the illusion. I hope that after my + experience, whatever it is, some young woman of courage will follow.” + </p> + <p> + He passed into the foyer, and from that came into the library, where he + showed against the dark background in an attitude of entreaty slightly + burlesqued. The ghost reappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I marry the woman I am thinking of?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The phantom seemed to hesitate; it wavered like a pale reflection cast + against the pall. Then, in the tones which Verrian knew, the answer came: + </p> + <p> + “Ask her. She will tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The phantom had scored a hit, and the applause was silenced with + difficulty; but Verrian felt that Miss Shirley had lost ground. It could + not have been for the easy cleverness of such a retort that she had + planned the affair. Yet, why not? He was taking it too seriously. It was + merely business with her. + </p> + <p> + “And I haven’t even the right to half a question more!” Bushwick lamented, + in a dramatized dejection, and crossed slowly back from the library to his + place. + </p> + <p> + “Why, haven’t you got enough?” one of the men asked, amidst the gay clamor + of the women. + </p> + <p> + The ghost was gone again, and its evanescence was discussed with ready + wonder. Another of the men went round to tempt his fate, and the phantom + suddenly reappeared so near him that he got a laugh by his start of + dismay. “I forgot what I was going to ask, he faltered. + </p> + <p> + “I know what it was,” the apparition answered. “You had better sell.” + </p> + <p> + “But they say it will go to a hundred!” the man protested. + </p> + <p> + “No back—talk, Rogers!” Bushwick interposed. “That was the + understanding. + </p> + <p> + “But we didn’t understand,” one of the girls said, coming to the rescue, + “that the ghost was going to answer questions that were not asked. That + would give us all away.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the only thing is for you to go and ask before it gets a chance to + answer,” Bushwick said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will,” the girl returned. And she swept round into the library, + where she encountered the phantom with a little whoop as it started into + sight before her. “I’m not going to be scared out of it!” she said, + defiantly. “It’s simply this: Did the person I suspect really take the + ring.” + </p> + <p> + The answer came, “Look on the floor under your dressing-table!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I find it there,” the girl addressed the company, “I’m a + spiritualist from this time forth.” And she came back to her place, where + she remained for some time explaining to those near how she had lately + lost her ring and suspected her maid, whom she had dismissed. + </p> + <p> + Upon the whole, the effect was serious. The women, having once started, + needed no more urging. One after another they confronted and questioned + the oracle with increasing sincerity. + </p> + <p> + Miss Macroyd asked Verrian, “Hadn’t you better take your chance and stop + this flow of fatuity, Mr. Verrian?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I should be fatuous, too,” he said. “But you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you, I don’t believe in ghosts, though this seems to be a very + pretty one—very graceful, I mean. I suppose a graceful woman would + be graceful even when a disembodied spirit. I should think she would be + getting a little tried with all this questioning; but perhaps we’re only + reading the fatigue into her. The ghost may be merely overdone.” + </p> + <p> + “It might easily be that,” Verrian assented. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, may I ask it something now?” a girl’s voice appealed to Bushwick. It + was the voice of that Miss Andrews who had spoken first, and first refused + to question the ghost. She was the youngest of Mrs. Westangle’s guests, + and Verrian had liked her, with a sense of something precious in the + prolongation of a child’s unconsciousness into the consciousness of + girlhood which he found in her. She was always likelier than not to say + the thing she thought and felt, whether it was silly and absurd, or + whether, as also happened, there was a touch of inspired significance in + it, as there is apt to be in the talk of children. She was laughed at, but + she was liked, and the freshness of her soul was pleasant to the girls who + were putting on the world as hard as they could. She could be trusted to + do and say the unexpected. But she was considered a little morbid, and + certainly she had an exaltation of the nerves that was at times almost + beyond her control. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” Miss Macroyd whispered. “What is that strange simpleton going + to do, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + Verrian did not feel obliged to answer a question not addressed to him, + but he, too, wondered and doubted. + </p> + <p> + The girl, having got her courage together, fluttered with it from her + place round to the ghost’s in a haste that expressed a fear that it might + escape her if she delayed to put it to the test. The phantom was already + there, as if it had waited her in the curiosity that followed her. They + were taking each other seriously, the girl and the ghost, and if the ghost + had been a veridical phantom, in which she could have believed with her + whole soul, the girl could not have entreated it more earnestly, more + simply. + </p> + <p> + She bent forward, in her slim, tall figure, with her hands outstretched, + and with her tender voice breaking at times in her entreaty. “Oh, I don’t + know how to begin,” she said, quite as if she and the phantom were alone + together, and she had forgotten its supernatural awfulness in a sense of + its human quality. “But you will understand, won’t you! You’ll think it + very strange, and it is very unlike the others; but if I’m going to be + serious—” + </p> + <p> + The white figure stood motionless; but Verrian interpreted its quiet as a + kindly intelligence, and the girl made a fresh start in a note a little + more piteous than before. “It’s about the—the truth. Do you think if + sometimes we don’t tell it exactly, but we wish we had very, very much, it + will come round somehow the same as if we had told it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” the phantom answered. “Say it again—or + differently.” + </p> + <p> + “Can our repentance undo it, or make the falsehood over into the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” the ghost answered, with a passion that thrilled to Verrian’s + heart. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” the girl said; and then, as if she had been going to continue, + she stopped. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve still got your half-question, Miss Andrews,” Bushwick interposed. + </p> + <p> + “Even if we didn’t mean it to deceive harmfully?” the girl pursued. “If it + was just on impulse, something we couldn’t seem to help, and we didn’t see + it in its true light at the time—” + </p> + <p> + The ghost made no answer. It stood motionless. + </p> + <p> + “It is offended,” Bushwick said, without knowing the Shakespearian words. + “You’ve asked it three times half a question, Miss Andrews. Now, Mr. + Verrian, it’s your turn. You can ask it just one-quarter of a question. + Miss Andrews has used up the rest of your share.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian rose awkwardly and stood a long moment before his chair. Then he + dropped back again, saying, dryly, “I don’t think I want to ask it + anything.” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0119}.jpg" alt="{0119}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0119}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + The phantom sank straight down as if sinking through the floor, but lay + there like a white shawl trailed along the bottom of the dark curtain. + </p> + <p> + “And is that all?” Miss Macroyd asked Verrian. “I was just getting up my + courage to go forward. But now, I suppose—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” Miss Andrews called out. “Perhaps it’s fainted. Hadn’t we + better—” + </p> + <p> + There were formless cries from the women, and the men made a crooked rush + forward, in which Verrian did not join. He remained where he had risen, + with Miss Macroyd beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it’s only a coup de theatre!” she said, with her laugh. “Better + wait.” + </p> + <p> + Bushwick was gathering the prostrate figure up. “She has fainted!” he + called. “Get some water, somebody!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + The early Monday morning train which brought Verrian up to town was so + very early that he could sit down to breakfast with his mother only a + little later than their usual hour. + </p> + <p> + She had called joyfully to him from her room, when she heard the rattling + of his key as he let himself into the apartment, and, after an exchange of + greetings, shouted back and forth before they saw each other, they could + come at once to the history of his absence over their coffee. “You must + have had a very good time, to stay so long. After you wrote that you would + not be back Thursday, I expected it would be Saturday till I got your + telegram. But I’m glad you stayed. You certainly needed the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if those things are ever a rest.” He looked down at his cup while he + stirred the coffee in it, and she studied his attitude, since she could + not see his face fully, for the secret of any vital change that might have + come upon him. It could be that in the interval since she had seen him he + had seen the woman who was to take him from her. She was always preparing + herself for that, knowing that it must come almost as certainly as death, + and knowing that with all her preparation she should not be ready for it. + “I’ve got rather a long story to tell you and rather a strange story,” he + said, lifting his head and looking round, but not so impersonally that his + mother did not know well enough to say to the Swedish serving-woman: + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t stay, Margit. I’ll give Mr. Philip his breakfast. Well!” she + added, when they were alone. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he returned, with a smile that she knew he was forcing, “I have + seen the girl that wrote that letter.” + </p> + <p> + “Not Jerusha Brown?” + </p> + <p> + “Not Jerusha Brown, but the girl all the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Now go on, Philip, and don’t miss a single word!” she commanded him, with + an imperious breathlessness. “You know I won’t hurry you or interrupt you, + but you must—you really must-tell me everything. Don’t leave out the + slightest detail.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t,” he said. But she was aware, from time to time, that she was + keeping her word better than he was keeping his, in his account of meeting + Miss Shirley and all the following events. + </p> + <p> + “You can imagine,” he said, “what a sensation the swooning made, and the + commotion that followed it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can imagine that,” she answered. But she was yet so faithful that + she would not ask him to go on. + </p> + <p> + He continued, unasked, “I don’t know just how, now, to account for its + coming into my head that it was Miss Andrews who was my unknown + correspondent. I suppose I’ve always unconsciously expected to meet that + girl, and Miss Andrews’s hypothetical case was psychologically so parallel—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ve sometimes been afraid that I judged it too harshly—that it + was a mere girlish freak without any sort of serious import.” + </p> + <p> + “I was sometimes afraid so, Philip. But—” + </p> + <p> + “And I don’t believe now that the hypothetical case brought any + intolerable stress of conscience upon Miss Shirley, or that she fainted + from any cause but exhaustion from the general ordeal. She was still weak + from the sickness she had been through—too weak to bear the strain + of the work she had taken up. Of course, the catastrophe gave the whole + surface situation away, and I must say that those rather banal young + people behaved very humanely about it. There was nothing but interest of + the nicest kind, and, if she is going on with her career, it will be easy + enough for her to find engagements after this.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t she go on?” his mother asked, with a suspicion which she + kept well out of sight. + </p> + <p> + “Well, as well as she could explain afterwards, the catastrophe took her + work out of the category of business and made her acceptance in it a + matter of sentiment.” + </p> + <p> + “She explained it to you herself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the general sympathy had penetrated to Mrs. Westangle, though I + don’t say that she had been more than negatively indifferent to Miss + Shirley’s claim on her before. As it was, she sent for me to her room the + next morning, and I found Miss Shirley alone there. She said Mrs. + Westangle would be down in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + Now, indeed, Mrs. Verrian could not govern herself from saying, “I don’t + like it, Philip.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you wouldn’t. It was what I said to myself at the time. You were + so present with me that I seemed to have you there chaperoning the + interview.” His mother shrugged, and he went on: “She said she wished to + tell me something first, and then she said, ‘I want to do it while I have + the courage, if it’s courage; perhaps it’s just desperation. I am Jerusha + Brown.’” + </p> + <p> + His mother began, “But you said—” and then stopped herself. + </p> + <p> + “I know that I said she wasn’t, but she explained, while I sat there + rather mum, that there was really another girl, and that the other girl’s + name was really Jerusha Brown. She was the daughter of the postmaster in + the village where Miss Shirley was passing the summer. In fact, Miss + Shirley was boarding in the postmaster’s family, and the girls had become + very friendly. They were reading my story together, and talking about it, + and trying to guess how it would come out, just as the letter said, and + they simultaneously hit upon the notion of writing to me. It seemed to + them that it would be a good joke—I’m not defending it, mother, and + I must say Miss Shirley didn’t defend it, either—to work upon my + feelings in the way they tried, and they didn’t realize what they had done + till Armiger’s letter came. It almost drove them wild, she said; but they + had a lucid interval, and they took the letter to the girl’s father and + told him what they had done. He was awfully severe with them for their + foolishness, and said they must write to Armiger at once and confess the + fact. Then they said they had written already, and showed him the second + letter, and explained they had decided to let Miss Brawn write it in her + person alone for the reason she gave in it. But Miss Shirley told him she + was ready to take her full share of the blame, and, if anything came of + it, she authorized him to put the whole blame on her.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian made a pause which his mother took for invitation or permission to + ask, “And was he satisfied with that?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I wasn’t, and it’s only just to Miss Shirley to say that + she wasn’t, either. She didn’t try to justify it to me; she merely said + she was so frightened that she couldn’t have done anything. She may have + realized more than the Brown girl what they had done.” + </p> + <p> + “The postmaster, did he regard it as anything worse than foolishness?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe he did. At any rate, he was satisfied with what his + daughter had done in owning up.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I always liked that girl’s letter. And did they show him your + letter?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems that they did.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he say about that?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, what I deserved. Miss Shirley wouldn’t say, explicitly. He + wanted to answer it, but they wouldn’t let him. I don’t know but I should + feel better if he had. I haven’t been proud of that letter of mine as time + has gone on, mother; I think I behaved very narrow-mindedly, very + personally in it.” + </p> + <p> + “You behaved justly.” + </p> + <p> + “Justly? I thought you had your doubts of that. At any rate, I had when it + came to hearing the girl accusing herself as if she had been guilty of + some monstrous wickedness, and I realized that I had made her feel so.” + </p> + <p> + “She threw herself on your pity!” + </p> + <p> + “No, she didn’t, mother. Don’t make it impossible for me to tell you just + how it was.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t say she was manly about it; that couldn’t be, but she was + certainly not throwing herself on my pity, unless—unless—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless you call it so for her to say that she wanted to own up to me, + because she could have no rest till she had done so; she couldn’t put it + behind her till she had acknowledged it; she couldn’t work; she couldn’t + get well.” + </p> + <p> + He saw his mother trying to consider it fairly, and in response he renewed + his own resolution not to make himself the girl’s advocate with her, but + to continue the dispassionate historian of the case. At the same time his + memory was filled with the vision of how she had done and said the things + he was telling, with what pathos, with what grace, with what beauty in her + appeal. He saw the tears that came into her eyes at times and that she + indignantly repressed as she hurried on in the confession which she was + voluntarily making, for there was no outward stress upon her to say + anything. He felt again the charm of the situation, the sort of warmth and + intimacy, but he resolved not to let that feeling offset the impartiality + of his story. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t say she threw herself on your mercy,” his mother said, + finally. “She needn’t have told you anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Except for the reason she gave—that she couldn’t make a start for + herself till she had done so. And she has got her own way to make; she is + poor. Of course, you may say her motive was an obsession, and not a + reason.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s reality in it, whatever it is; it’s a genuine motive,” Mrs. + Verrian conceded. + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” Verrian said, in a voice which he tried to keep from + sounding too grateful. + </p> + <p> + Apparently his mother did not find it so. She asked, “What had been the + matter with her, did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “In her long sickness? Oh! A nervous fever of some sort.” + </p> + <p> + “From worrying about that experience?” + </p> + <p> + Verrian reluctantly admitted, “She said it made her want to die. I don’t + suppose we can quite realize—” + </p> + <p> + “We needn’t believe everything she said to realize that she suffered. But + girls exaggerate their sufferings. I suppose you told her not to think of + it any more?” + </p> + <p> + Verrian gave an odd laugh. “Well, not unconditionally. I tried to give her + my point of view. And I stipulated that she should tell Jerusha Brown all + about it, and keep her from having a nervous fever, too.” + </p> + <p> + “That was right. You must see that even cowardice couldn’t excuse her + selfishness in letting that girl take all the chances.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’m afraid I was not very unselfish myself in my stipulations,” + Verrian said, with another laugh. “I think that I wanted to stand well + with the postmaster.” + </p> + <p> + There was a note of cynical ease in this which Mrs. Verrian found morally + some octaves lower than the pitch of her son’s habitual seriousness in + what concerned himself, but she could not make it a censure to him. “And + you were able to reassure her, so that she needn’t think of it any more?” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have wished me to do?” he returned, dryly. “Don’t you + think she had suffered enough?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in this sort of thing it doesn’t seem the question of suffering. If + there’s wrong done the penalty doesn’t right it.” + </p> + <p> + The notion struck Verrian’s artistic sense. “That’s true. That would make + the ‘donnee’ of a strong story. Or a play. It’s a drama of fate. It’s + Greek. But I thought we lived under another dispensation.” + </p> + <p> + “Will she try to get more of the kind of thing she was doing for Mrs. + Westangle at once? Or has she some people?” + </p> + <p> + “No; only friends, as I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is she from? Up country?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she’s from the South.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like Southerners!” + </p> + <p> + “I know you don’t, mother. But you must honor the way they work and get on + when they come North and begin doing for themselves. Besides, Miss + Shirley’s family went South after the war—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not even a REAL Southerner!” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” + </p> + <p> + “I know! I’m not fair. I ought to beg her pardon. And I ought to be glad + it’s all over. Shall you see her again?” + </p> + <p> + “It might happen. But I don’t know how or when. We parted friends, but we + parted strangers, so far as any prevision of the future is concerned,” + Verrian said. + </p> + <p> + His mother drew a long breath, which she tried to render inaudible. “And + the girl that asked her the strange questions, did you see her again?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. She had a curious fascination. I should like to tell you about + her. Do you think there’s such a thing as a girl’s being too innocent?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t so common as not being innocent enough.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s more difficult?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you’ll never find it so, my son,” Mrs. Verrian said. And for the + first time she was intentionally personal. “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “About Miss Andrews?” + </p> + <p> + “Whichever you please.” + </p> + <p> + “She waylaid me in the afternoon, as I was coming home from a walk, and + wanted to talk with me about Miss Shirley.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Miss Shirley was the day’s heroine after what had happened?” + </p> + <p> + “The half-day’s, or quarter-day’s heroine, perhaps. She left on the church + train for town yesterday morning soon after I saw her. Miss Andrews seemed + to think I was an authority on the subject, and she approached me with a + large-eyed awe that was very amusing, though it was affecting, too. I + suppose that girls must have many worships for other girls before they + have any worship for a man. This girl couldn’t separate Miss Shirley, on + the lookout for another engagement, from the psychical part she had + played. She raved about her; she thought she was beautiful, and she wanted + to know all about her and how she could help her. Miss Andrews’s parents + are rich but respectable, I understand, and she’s an only child. I came in + for a share of her awe; she had found out that I was not only not Verrian + the actor, but an author of the same name, and she had read my story with + passionate interest, but apparently in that unliterary way of many people + without noticing who wrote it; she seemed to have thought it was Harding + Davis or Henry James; she wasn’t clear which. But it was a good deal to + have had her read it at all in that house; I don’t believe anybody else + had, except Miss Shirley and Miss Macroyd.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Verrian deferred a matter that would ordinarily have interested her + supremely to an immediate curiosity. “And how came she to think you would + know so much about Miss Shirley?” + </p> + <p> + Verrian frowned. “I think from Miss Macroyd. Miss Macroyd seems to have + taken a grandmotherly concern in my affairs through the whole week. + Perhaps she resented having behaved so piggishly at the station the day we + came, and meant to take it out of Miss Shirley and myself. She had seen us + together in the woods, one day, and she must have told it about. Mrs. + Westangle wouldn’t have spoken of us together, because she never speaks of + anything unless it is going to count; and there was no one else who knew + of our acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, my son, if you went walking in the woods with the girl, any one + might have seen you.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t. It was quite by accident that we met there. Miss Shirley was + anxious to keep her presence in the house a secret from everybody.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Verrian would not take any but the open way, with this. She would not + deal indirectly, with it, or in any wise covertly or surreptitiously. “It + seems to me that Miss Shirley has rather a fondness for secrecy,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “I think she has,” Verrian admitted. “Though, in this case, it was + essential to the success of her final scheme. But she is a curious study. + I suppose that timidity is at the bottom of all fondness for secrecy, + isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem to be timid in everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Say it out, mother!” Verrian challenged her with a smile. “You’re not + timid, anyway!” + </p> + <p> + “She had the courage to join in that letter, but not the courage to own + her part in it. She was brave enough to confess that she had been sick of + a nervous fever from the answer you wrote to the Brown girl, but she + wouldn’t have been brave enough to confess anything at all if she had + believed she would be physically or morally strong enough to keep it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps nobody—nobody but you, mother—is brave in the right + time and place.” + </p> + <p> + She knew that this was not meant in irony. “I am glad you say that, + Philip.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s only your due. But aren’t you a little too hard upon cowards, at + times? For the sort of person she is, if you infer the sort from the worst + appearance she has made in the whole business, I think she has done pretty + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Why had she left the Brown girl to take all your resentment alone for the + last six or eight months?” + </p> + <p> + “She may have thought that she was getting her share of the punishment in + the fever my resentment brought on?” + </p> + <p> + “Philip, do you really believe that her fever, if she had one, came from + that?” + </p> + <p> + “I think she believes it, and there’s no doubt but she was badly scared.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there’s no doubt of that!” + </p> + <p> + “But come, mother, why should we take her at the worst? Of course, she has + a complex nature. I see that as clearly as you do. I don’t believe we look + at her diversely, in the smallest particular. But why shouldn’t a complex + nature be credited with the same impulses towards the truth as a single + nature? Why shouldn’t we allow that Miss Shirley had the same wish to set + herself right with me as Miss Andrews would have had in her place?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say she wished to set herself right with you, but not from the + same wish that Miss Andrews would have had. Miss Andrews would not have + wished you to know the truth for her own sake. Her motive would have been + direct-straight.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and we will describe her as a straight line, and Miss Shirley as a + waving line. Why shouldn’t the waving line, at its highest points, touch + the same altitude as the straight line?” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t touch it all the time, and in character, or nature, as you + call it, that is the great thing. It’s at the lowest points that the + waving line is dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t deny that. But I’m anxious to be just to a person who + hasn’t experienced a great deal of mercy for what, after all, wasn’t such + a very heinous thing as I used to think it. You must allow that she wasn’t + obliged to tell me anything about herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she was, Philip. As I said before, she hadn’t the physical or moral + strength to keep it from you when she was brought face to face with you. + Besides—” Mrs. Verrian hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Out with it, mother! We, at least, won’t have any concealments.” + </p> + <p> + “She may have thought, she could clinch it in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Clinch what?” + </p> + <p> + “You know. Is she pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s—interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “That can always be managed. Is she tall?” + </p> + <p> + “NO, I think she’s rather out of style there; she’s rather petite.” + </p> + <p> + “And what’s her face like?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she has no particular complexion, but it’s not thick. Her eyes are + the best of her, though there isn’t much of them. They’re the ‘waters on a + starry night’ sort, very sweet and glimmering. She has a kind of + ground-colored hair and a nice little chin. Her mouth helps her eyes out; + it looks best when she speaks; it’s pathetic in the play of the lips.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” Mrs. Verrian said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. + </h2> + <p> + The following week Verrian and his mother were at a show of paintings, in + the gallery at the rear of a dealer’s shop, and while they were bending + together to look at a picture he heard himself called to in a girlish + voice, “Oh, Mr. Verrian!” as if his being there was the greatest wonder in + the world. + </p> + <p> + His mother and he lifted themselves to encounter a tall, slim girl, who + was stretching her hand towards him, and who now cried out, joyously, “Oh, + Mr. Verrian, I thought it must be you, but I was afraid it wasn’t as soon + as I spoke. Oh, I’m so glad to see you; I want so much to have you know my + mother—Mr. Verrian,” she said, presenting him. + </p> + <p> + “And I you mine,” Verrian responded, in a violent ellipse, and introduced + his own mother, who took in the fact of Miss Andrews’s tall thinness, + topped with a wide, white hat and waving white plumes, and her little + face, irregular and somewhat gaunt, but with a charm in the lips and eyes + which took the elder woman’s heart with pathos. She made talk with Mrs. + Andrews, who affected one as having the materials of social severity in + her costume and manner. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn’t believe I should ever see you again,” the girl broke out + impulsively upon Verrian. “Oh, I wanted to ask you so about Miss Shirley. + Have you seen her since you got back?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Verrian said, “I haven’t seen her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I thought perhaps you had. I’ve been to the address that Mrs. + Westangle gave me, but she isn’t there any more; she’s gone up into Harlem + somewhere, and I haven’t been able to call again. Oh, I do feel so anxious + about her. Oh, I do hope she isn’t ill. Do you think she is?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe so,” Verrian began. But she swept over his prostrate + remark. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Verrian, don’t you think she’s wonderful? I’ve been telling + mother about it, and I don’t feel at all the way she does. Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “How does she feel? I must know that before I say.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course! I hadn’t told you! She thinks it was a make-up between + Miss Shirley and that Mr. Bushwick. But I say it couldn’t have been. Do + you think it could?” + </p> + <p> + Verrian found the suggestion so distasteful, for a reason which he did not + quite seize himself, that he answered, resentfully, “It could have been, + but I don’t think it was.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell her what you say. Oh, may I tell her what you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why you shouldn’t. It isn’t very important, either way, is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t you think so? Not if it involved pretending what wasn’t true?” + </p> + <p> + She bent towards him in such anxious demand that he could not help + smiling. + </p> + <p> + “The whole thing was a pretence, wasn’t it?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but that would have been a pretence that we didn’t know of.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be incriminating to that extent, certainly,” Verrian owned, + ironically. He found the question of Miss Shirley’s blame for the + collusion as distasteful as the supposition of the collusion, but there + was a fascination in the innocence before him, and he could not help + playing with it. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes Miss Andrews apparently knew that he was playing with her + innocence, and sometimes she did not. But in either case she seemed to + like being his jest, from which she snatched a fearful joy. She was + willing to prolong the experience, and she drifted with him from picture + to picture, and kept the talk recurrently to Miss Shirley and the + phenomena of Seeing Ghosts. + </p> + <p> + Her mother and Mrs. Verrian evidently got on together better than either + of them at first expected. When it came to their parting, through Mrs. + Andrews’s saying that she must be going, she shook hands with Mrs. Verrian + and said to Philip, “I am so glad to have met you, Mr. Verrian. Will you + come and see us?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank you,” he answered, taking the hand she now offered him, and + then taking Miss Andrews’s hand, while the girl’s eyes glowed with + pleasure. “I shall be very glad.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shall you?” she said, with her transparent sincerity. “And you won’t + forget Thursdays! But any day at five we have tea.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” Verrian said. “I might forget the Thursdays, but I couldn’t + forget all the days of the week.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Andrews laughed and blushed at once. “Then we shall expect you every + day.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, every day but Thursday,” he promised. + </p> + <p> + When the mother and daughter had gone Mrs. Verrian said, “She is a great + admirer of yours, Philip. She’s read your story, and I suspect she wants + an opportunity to talk with you about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Mrs. Andrews?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I suppose the daughter hasn’t waited for an opportunity. The mother + had read that publisher’s paragraph about your invalid, and wanted to know + if you had ever heard from her again. Women are personal in their literary + interests.” + </p> + <p> + Philip asked, in dismay, “You didn’t give it away did you, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, my dear. You have brought me up too carefully.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. I didn’t imagine you had.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as they could not pretend to look at the pictures any longer, they + went away, too. Their issue into the open air seemed fraught with novel + emotion for Mrs. Verrian. “Well, now,” she said, “I have seen the woman I + would be willing my son should marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Child, you mean,” Philip said, not pretending that he did not know she + meant Miss Andrews. + </p> + <p> + “That girl,” his mother returned, “is innocence itself. Oh, Philip, dear, + do marry her!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know. If her mother is behaving as sagely with her as you + are with me the chances are that she won’t let me. Besides, I don’t know + that I want to marry quite so much innocence.” + </p> + <p> + “She is conscience incarnate,” his mother uttered, perfervidly. “You could + put your very soul in her keeping.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you would be out of a job, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am not worthy of the job, my dear. I have always felt that. I am + too complex, and sometimes I can’t see the right alone, as she could.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was silent a moment while he lost the personal point of view. “I + suspect we don’t see the right when we see it alone. We ought to see the + wrong, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Philip, don’t let your fancy go after that girl!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Andrews? I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you be complex, my dear. You know I mean Miss Shirley. What has + become of her, I wonder. I heard Miss Andrews asking you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t able to tell her. Do you want me to try telling you?” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather you never could.” + </p> + <p> + Philip laughed sardonically. “Now, I shall forget Thursdays and all the + other days, too. You are a very unwise parent, mother.” + </p> + <p> + They laughed with each other at each other, and treated her enthusiasm for + Miss Andrews as the joke it partly was. Mrs. Verrian did not follow him up + about her idol, and a week or so later she was able to affect a decent + surprise when he came in at the end of an afternoon and declined the cup + of tea she proposed on the ground that he had been taking a cup of tea + with the Andrewses. “You have really been there?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you expect me to keep my promise?” + </p> + <p> + “But I was afraid I had put a stumbling-block in the way.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I found I could turn the consciousness you created in me into + literary material, and so I was rather eager to go. I have got a point for + my new story out of it. I shall have my fellow suffer all I didn’t suffer + in meeting the girl he knows his mother wants him to marry. I got on very + well with those ladies. Mrs. Andrews is the mother of innocence, but she + isn’t innocence. She managed to talk of my story without asking about the + person who wanted to anticipate the conclusion. That was what you call + complex. She was insincere; it was the only thing she wanted to talk + about.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it, Philip. But what did Miss Andrews talk about?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she is rather an optimistic conscience. She talked about books and + plays that some people do not think are quite proper. I have a notion + that, where the point involved isn’t a fact of her own experience, she is + not very severe about it. You think that would be quite safe for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Philip, I don’t like your making fun of her!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she wasn’t insipid; she was only limpid. I really like her, and, as + for reverencing her, of course I feel that in a way she is sacred.” He + added, after a breath, “Too sacred. We none of us can expect to marry Eve + before the Fall now; perhaps we have got over wanting to.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very perverse, my dear. But you will get over that.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t take away my last defence, mother.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian began to go rather regularly to the Andrews house, or, at least, + he was accused of doing it by Miss Macroyd when, very irregularly, he went + one day to see her. “How did you know it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say I knew it. I only wished to know it. Now I am satisfied. I + met another friend of yours on Sunday.” She paused for him to ask who; but + he did not ask. “I see you are dying to know what friend: Mr. Bushwick.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s a good-fellow. I wonder I don’t run across him.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that’s because you never call on Miss Shirley.” Miss Macroyd + waited for this to take effect, but he kept a glacial surface towards her, + and she went on: + </p> + <p> + “They were walking together in the park at noon. I suppose they had been + to church together.” + </p> + <p> + Verrian manifested no more than a polite interest in the fact. He managed + so well that he confirmed Miss Macroyd in a tacit conjecture. She went on: + “Miss Shirley was looking quite blooming for her. But so was he, for that + matter. Why don’t you ask if they inquired for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would tell me without.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you if he did. He was very cordial in his inquiries; and I + had to pretend, to gratify him, that you were very well. I implied that + you came here every Tuesday, but your Thursdays were dedicated to Miss + Andrews.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a clever woman, Miss Macroyd. I should never have thought of so + much to say on such an uninteresting subject. And Miss Shirley showed no + curiosity?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, she is a clever woman, too. She showed the prettiest kind of + curiosity—so perfectly managed. She has a studio—I don’t know + just how she puts it to use—with a painter girl in one of those + studio apartment houses on the West Side: The Veronese, I believe. You + must go and see her; I’ll let you have next Tuesday off; Tuesday’s her + day, too.” + </p> + <p> + “You are generosity itself, Miss Macroyd.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there’s nothing mean about me,” she returned, in slang rather older + than she ordinarily used. “If you’re not here next Tuesday I shall know + where you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must take a good many Tuesdays off, unless I want to give myself + away.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t do that, Mr. Verrian! Please! Or else I can’t let you have any + Tuesday off.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. + </h2> + <p> + Upon the whole, Verrian thought he would go to see Miss Shirley the next + Tuesday, but he did not say so to Miss Macroyd. Now that he knew where the + girl was, all the peculiar interest she had inspired in him renewed + itself. It was so vivid that he could not pay his usual Thursday call at + Miss Andrews’s, and it filled his mind to the exclusion of the new story + he had begun to write. He loafed his mornings away at his club, and he + lunched there, leaving his mother to lunch alone, and was dreamily + preoccupied in the evenings which he spent at home, sitting at his desk, + with the paper before him, unable to coax the thoughts from his brain to + its alluring blank, but restive under any attempts of hers to talk with + him. + </p> + <p> + In his desperation he would have gone to the theatre, but the fact that + the ass who rightfully called himself Verrian was playing at one of them + blocked his way, through his indignation, to all of them. By Saturday + afternoon the tedious time had to be done something with, and he decided + to go and see what the ass was like. + </p> + <p> + He went early, and found himself in the end seat of a long row of many + rows of women, who were prolonging the time of keeping their hats on till + custom obliged them to take them off. He gave so much notice to the woman + next him as to see that she was deeply veiled as well as widely hatted, + and then he lapsed into a dreary muse, which was broken by the first + strains of the overture. Then he diverted himself by looking round at all + those ranks of women lifting their arms to take out them hat-pins and + dropping them to pin their hats to the seat-backs in front of them, or to + secure them somehow in their laps. Upon the whole, he thought the + manoeuvre graceful and pleasing; he imagined a consolation in it for the + women, who, if they were forced by public opinion to put off their + charming hats, would know how charmingly they did it. Each turned a + little, either her body or her head, and looked in any case out of the + corner of her eyes; and he was phrasing it all for a scene in his story, + when he looked round at his neighbor to see how she had managed, or was + managing, with her veil. At the same moment she looked at him, and their + eyes met. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Verrian!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Shirley!” + </p> + <p> + The stress of their voices fell upon different parts of the sentences they + uttered, but did not commit either of them to a special role. + </p> + <p> + “How very strange we should meet here!” she said, with pleasure in her + voice. “Do you know, I have been wanting to come all winter to see this + man, on account of his name? And to think that I should meet the other Mr. + Verrian as soon as I yielded to the temptation.” + </p> + <p> + “I have just yielded myself,” Verrian said. “I hope you don’t feel + punished for yielding.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, no! It seems a reward.” + </p> + <p> + She did not say why it seemed so, and he suggested, “The privilege of + comparing the histrionic and the literary Verrian?” + </p> + <p> + “Could there be any comparison?” she came back, gayly. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I haven’t seen the histrionic Verrian yet.” + </p> + <p> + They were laughing when the curtain rose, and the histrionic Verrian had + his innings for a long, long first act. When the curtain fell she turned + to the literary Verrian and said, “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “He lasted a good while,” Verrian returned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Didn’t he?” She looked at the little watch in her wristlet. “A whole + hour! Do you know, Mr. Verrian, I am going to seem very rude. I am going + to leave you to settle this question of superiority; I know you’ll be + impartial. I have an appointment—with the dressmaker, to be specific—at + half-past four, and it’s half-past three now, and I couldn’t well leave in + the middle of the next act. So I will say good-bye now—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t!” he entreated. “I couldn’t bear to be left alone with this + dreadful double of mine. Let me go out with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I accept such self-sacrifice? Well!” + </p> + <p> + She had put on her hat and risen, and he now stepped out of his place to + let her pass and then followed her. At the street entrance he suggested, + “A hansom, or a simple trolley?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she murmured, meditatively, looking up the street as if + that would settle it. “If it’s only half-past three now, I should have + time to get home more naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! And will you let me walk with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, if you’re going that way.” + </p> + <p> + “I will say when I know which way it is.” + </p> + <p> + They started on their walk so blithely that they did not sadden in the + retrospect of their joint experiences at Mrs. Westangle’s. By the time + they reached the park gate at Columbus Circle they had come so distinctly + to the end of their retrospect that she made an offer of letting him leave + her, a very tacit offer, but unmistakable, if he chose to take it. He + interpreted her hesitation as he chose. “No,” he said, “it won’t be any + longer if we go up through the park.” + </p> + <p> + She drew in her breath softly, smoothing down her muff with her right hand + while she kept her left in it. “And it will certainly be pleasanter.” When + they were well up the path, in that part of it where it deflects from the + drive without approaching the street too closely, and achieves something + of seclusion, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Your speaking of him just now makes me want to tell you something, Mr. + Verrian. You would hear of it very soon, anyway, and I feel that it is + always best to be very frank with you; but you’ll regard it as a secret + till it comes out.” + </p> + <p> + The currents that had been playing so warmly in and out of Verrian’s heart + turned suddenly cold. He said, with joyless mocking, “You know, I’m used + to keeping your secrets. I—shall feel honored, I’m sure, if you + trust me with another.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she returned, pathetically, “you have always been faithful—even + in your wounds.” It was their joint tribute to the painful past, and they + had paid no other. She was looking away from him, but he knew she was + aware of his hanging his head. “That’s all over now,” she uttered, + passionately. “What I wanted to say—to tell you—is that I am + engaged to Mr. Bushwick.” + </p> + <p> + He could have answered that she had no need to tell him. The cold currents + in and out of his heart stiffened frozenly and ceased to flow; his heart + itself stood still for an eternal instant. It was in this instant that he + said, “He is a fine fellow.” Afterwards, amid the wild bounding of his + recovered pulse, he could add, “I congratulate him; I congratulate you + both.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said. “No one knows as I do how good he is—has + been, all through.” Probably she had not meant to convey any reproach to + Verrian by Bushwick’s praise, but he felt reproach in it. “It only + happened last week. You do wish me happy, don’t you? No one knows what a + winter I have had till now. Everything seeming to fail—” + </p> + <p> + She choked, and did not say more. He said, aimlessly, “I am sorry—” + </p> + <p> + “Let me sit down a moment,” she begged. And she dropped upon the bench at + which she faltered, and rested there, as if from the exhaustion of + running. When she could get her breath she began again: “There is + something else I want to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped. And he asked, to prompt her, “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she answered, piteously. And she added, with superficial + inconsequence, “I shall always think you were very cruel.” + </p> + <p> + He did not pretend not to know what she meant, and he said, “I shall + always think so, too. I tried to revenge myself for the hurt your harmless + hoax did my vanity. Of course, I made believe at the time that I was doing + an act of justice, but I never was able to brave it out afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “But you were—you were doing an act of justice. I deserved what you + said, but I didn’t deserve what has followed. I meant no harm—it was + a silly prank, and I have suffered for it as if it were a crime, and the + consequences are not ended yet. I should think that, if there is a moral + government of the universe, the Judge of all the earth would know when to + hold his hand. And now the worst of it is to come yet.” She caught + Verrian’s arm, as if for help. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t—don’t!” he besought her. “What will people think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Yes!” she owned, releasing him and withdrawing to the other end of + the seat. + </p> + <p> + “But it almost drives me wild. What shall I do? You ought to know. It is + your fault. You have frightened me out of daring to tell the truth.” + </p> + <p> + Had he, indeed, done that? Verrian asked himself, and it seemed to him + that he had done something like it. If it was so, he must help her over + her fear now. He answered, bluntly, harshly: “You must tell him all about + it—” + </p> + <p> + “But if he won’t believe me? Do you think he will believe me? Would you + believe me?” + </p> + <p> + “You have nothing to do with that. There is nothing for you but to tell + him the whole story. You mustn’t share such a secret with any one but your + husband. When you tell him it will cease to be my secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, you must tell him, unless—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she prompted. + </p> + <p> + Then they were both silent, looking intensely into each other’s eyes. In + that moment all else of life seemed to melt and swim away from Verrian and + leave him stranded upon an awful eminence confronting her. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, hello!” a gay voice called, as if calling to them both. “What are + you two conspiring?” Bushwick, as suddenly as if he had fallen from the + sky or started up from the earth, stood before them, and gave a hand to + each—his right to Verrian, his left to Miss Shirley. “How are you, + Verrian? How are you, Miss Shirley?” He mocked her in the formality of his + address. “I’ve been shadowing you ever since you came into the park, but I + thought I wouldn’t interrupt till you seemed to have got through your + conversation. May I ask what it was all about? It seemed very absorbing, + from a respectful distance.” + </p> + <p> + “Very absorbing, indeed,” Miss Shirley said, making room for him between + them. “Sit down and let me tell you. You’re to be a partner in the + secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Silent partner,” Bushwick suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you’ll always be silent,” the girl shared in his drolling. She + began and told the whole story to the last detail, sparing neither herself + nor Verrian, who listened as if he were some one else not concerned, and + kept saying to himself, “what courage!” Bushwick listened as mutely, with + a face that, to Verrian’s eye, seemed to harden from its light jocosity + into a severity he had not seen in it before. “It was something,” she + ended towards Bushwick, with a catch in her breath, “that you had to + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, tonelessly. + </p> + <p> + “And now”—she attempted a little forlorn playfulness—“don’t + you think he gave me what I deserved?” + </p> + <p> + Bushwick rose up and took her hand under his arm, keeping his left hand + upon hers. + </p> + <p> + “He! Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Verrian.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know any Mr. Verrian. Come, you’ll take cold here.” + </p> + <p> + He turned his back on Verrian, who fancied a tremor in her hat, as if she + would look round at him; but then, as if she divined Bushwick’s intention, + she did not look round, and together they left him. + </p> + <p> + It was days before Verrian could confess himself of the fact to his + mother, who listened with the justice instinctive in her. She still had + not spoken when he ended, and he said, “I have thought it all over, and I + feel that he did right. He did the only thing that a man in love with her + could do. And I don’t wonder he’s in love with her. Yes”—he stayed + his mother, imperatively—“and such a man as he, though he ground me + in the dirt and stamped on me, I will say, it, is worthy of any woman. He + can believe in a woman, and that’s the first thing that’s needed to make a + woman like her, true. I don’t envy his job.” He was speaking + self-contradictorily, irrelevantly, illogically, as a man thinks. He went + on in that way, getting himself all out. “She isn’t single-hearted, but + she’s faithful. She’ll never betray him now. She’s never given him any + reason to distrust her. She’s the kind that can keep on straight with any + one she’s begun straight with. She told him all that before me be cause + she wanted me to know—to realize—that she had told him. It + took courage.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Verrian had thought of generalizing, but she seized a single point. + “Perhaps not so much courage as you think. You mustn’t let such bravado + impose upon you, Philip. I’ve no doubt she knew her ground.” + </p> + <p> + “She took the chance of his casting her off.” + </p> + <p> + “She knew he wouldn’t. She knew him, and she knew you. She knew that if he + cast her off—” + </p> + <p> + “Mother! Don’t say it! I can’t bear it!” + </p> + <p> + His mother did not say it, or anything more, then. Late at night she came + to him. “Are you asleep, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “Asleep? I!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t suppose you were. But I have had a note to-day which I must + answer. Mrs. Andrews has asked us to dinner on Saturday. Philip, if you + could see that sweet girl as I do, in all her goodness and sincerity—” + </p> + <p> + “I think I do, mother. And I wouldn’t be guilty of her unhappiness for the + world. You must decline.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you are right.” Mrs. Verrian went away, softly, sighing. As + she sealed her reply to Mrs. Andrews, she sighed again, and made the + reflection which a mother seldom makes with regard to her son, before his + marriage, that men do not love women for their goodness. + </p> + <p> + PG EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Almost incomparably ignorant woman + Almost to die of hunger for something to happen + Belief of immortality—without one jot of evidence + Brave in the right time and place + Continuity becomes the instinctive expectation + Found her too frankly disputatious + Girls who were putting on the world as hard as they could + If there’s wrong done the penalty doesn’t right it + Never wanted a holiday so much as the day after you had one + Personal view of all things and all persons which women take + Proof against the stupidest praise + Read too many stories to care for the plot + She laughed too much and too loud + Sick people are terribly, egotistical + The fad that fails is extinguished forever + Timidity is at the bottom of all fondness for secrecy +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fennel and Rue, by William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FENNEL AND RUE *** + +***** This file should be named 3363-h.htm or 3363-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/6/3363/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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