CHAPTER VI
Sir Mordaunt Ballinger was, indeed, as his sister had said, made a great deal of in New York society. It took but a few days to accomplish this. From the square, business-like letters to the blush-colored note, documents poured in on him all day long. There were invitations from men to lunch at the "Lawyers' Club down-town," to meet railway directors, promoters of mines, and others "who can give you information concerning," etc., etc. There were formal cards requesting his presence at great club dinners and private banquets; and there were informal invitations to every species of entertainment, from four o'clock teas upwards. No stranger in London ever found himself so swiftly and surely swept away on a tide of hospitality. Mrs. Frampton had rightly predicted that her brother's name would be an "open sesame" to his son and daughter. For Grace was not left out of all this cordial welcome. Ladies' luncheons, "to meet Miss Ballinger," theatre-parties, receptions, diversions of all kinds, were offered her. Still, it was not to be expected that she should be made quite so much fuss with as her brother. He was in some sense a public man. His name and position as his father's successor and an M.P. carried a certain weight; and then he was good-looking, with invariably charming manners to women, and variably attractive ones to men, with a genuine relish of a joke, which made him popular after dinner among those who told good stories—and where is the sharp American who has not a store of them? For serious, practical purposes, however, these gifts did not, as a certain May Clayton told him, "amount to much."
"You're a lovely man to flirt with, but, unless you find a girl with a pile, you're not eligible as a husband, you see."
May Clayton was a young lady whom he met at that dinner Mr. Sims gave at Delmonico's. She was a "bud," as Mr. Sims informed his English friends—that is, she was only just formally introduced to society. But, owing to her education, she had no shyness or diffidence, and in knowledge of the world and effrontery of speech might have been a woman of forty. She could not remember the time when she had not had flirtations, had not been escorted back from daily school by youthful beaux, had not been to parties every week, and received bouquets and bonbons. It was astonishing she should be as captivating as she was, with all the bloom of youth rubbed off her and her speech interlarded with slang. But she was pretty, quick-witted, and her exuberant spirits were especially attractive to English people, who have so little gas in themselves they are glad to be lit and their stock replenished by others. She and a Mrs. Flynn were the only ladies besides Grace. Both of them could tell who their grandfathers were, both had connections who were among the Four Hundred, and yet neither were in what Mr. Sims called "the swim." They went to the Assembly and Patriarch balls, but the great leaders of society knew them not; they had not learned as yet to ingratiate themselves with the venerable leader of cotillons, Mrs. Flynn not being rich enough to give balls herself. They were cousins. Mr. Flynn had something to do with steel plates, and had failed twice. Perhaps this was why his pretty little wife had also failed. He rarely went into society, nor did Mrs. Clayton when she could avoid it, being apparently shelved as completely as though she were defunct. Her daughter already received visits, gave parties, and went everywhere, either with Mrs. Flynn or alone to houses where there was a matron. She told Sir Mordaunt she expected him to call, "and mind, you're not to ask for mamma, but for me." And to Grace she said, "You're just as nice as ever you can be, and I hope you'll come and see me, but not with your brother." May was bright, and cheery, and shrill as a canary. She chirped and trilled away, drowning every one else's voice, even those of the young American men of the party, though they were jovial, high-spirited fellows, fully able to hold their own. She told one of them who was boasting a little to "come off that roof!" To Ballinger, who said something about the breast and the leg of a chicken, she said, "Wealways call it the brown meat and white meat."
"Would not that sound rather odd if applied to the human form?" he asked, with apparent innocence.
"Well! To be sure—I never thought of that! Then she seemed about to illustrate this by an example, but only laughed and turned the subject. Being challenged, she sang a stave of some "darky" song, to the delight of her auditors, then suddenly stopped. "No, it isn't nice. I won't sing any more," nor could any supplications induce her to continue. The audacious, wayward little creature had evidently clearly defined limits of her own, beyond which her high spirits never transgressed, no matter what encouragement she met. And her admirers understood this. They drew her out, and roared at her sallies; but there was no suspicion of license in the familiarity, which was nevertheless unlike anything to which the English guests had been accustomed.
"Have they all been brought up together?" Miss Ballinger asked her host.
"Oh, no. She is a Kentucky girl—only came here this winter. They probably danced the German together for the first time a few weeks ago. I asked her and Mrs. Flynn, because I thought it would amuse you more to meet two individual types of Americans of a certain stamp—as they are before the edge is taken off them—than the smart conventional women, such as we met the other night, who are much the same all the world over. You don't object?"
"On the contrary, I much prefer it. I am all for different nations having different codes of manners. I don't see why we are all to be built up on the same pattern."
Mr. Sims laughed. "Don't run away with the impression that this is the general code of manners. No; they belong to a certain type—a type which you English enjoy more than some of our own countrymen do, especially the Anglomaniacs. We shall soon have all the originality rubbed out of us. There is Mrs. Flynn. She was twice as amusing a year or two ago. Now she is afraid to let herselfgo. She is eating her heart out, poor little woman, because she doesn't get on. I'm afraid she is going in for the 'prunes and prism' business."
"I shouldn't have thought it," said Miss Ballinger, smiling, as she glanced at the graceful little woman, who was carrying on a lively flirtation with Mordaunt.
After dinner they went to the theatre, where their host had taken a row of stalls, in order that his guests might see a thoroughly representative American play. Viewed as a literary production, the piece was amazing. But the capital picture of American country life, the naturalness of the characters, the humor and pathos of the acting in these scenes, redeemed that portion which was supposed to depict the graces and the vices of the moneyed aristocracy of New York. It seemed curious to Grace that the actors and actresses should not have caught even the faintest outward resemblance to ladies and gentlemen. On this point, however, her American acquaintances were more indignant, more bitter in ridicule, than herself.
Mordaunt Ballinger told his sister, as they drove home, that New York was an awfully nice place. He believed he was being put up to a good thing or two, and he should be in no hurry to go away. Grace assured him she was quite content to remain there, as long as he liked. "Only don't fall in love with Miss Clayton," she added, laughing. "I don't think Aunt Susancouldstand her for a niece."
He laughed in return. "She is very fetching. Why is it that no English girl has thatabandon? But you needn't be afraid. She is too 'cute to marry a pauper. She warned me that I wasn't eligible. Fancy an English girl doing that! As Sims said (Sims is a deuced clever fellow), 'American women are like pins. Their heads will always prevent them from being lost, plunge they never so deep!'"
Quintin Ferrars called on the Ballingers the day after their arrival. He was remaining on in New York; for what purpose did not seem very clear, as he had told Grace during the voyage that business in Virginia was bringing him over, and that nothing but business would have induced him to come at this season. Nor had he any friends in New York. He seemed as much a stranger there as the Ballingers—indeed, more so, for they had invitations and he had none—and spoke with profound aversion of New York society. He visited with them the Metropolitan Museum of Art, some exhibitions of modern pictures, and several private collections which they had obtained permission to see. They also accompanied him to Daly's Theatre, where some of those slight comedies in which the canvas was nothing and the work thereon perfection were being performed. His remarks were always trenchant and original, his satire sometimes pungent. But it seemed to Grace that the man was more depressed, and at times more bitter, than he had appeared during the passage. The one thing which she did not see was that he was in love with her. Mordaunt, with not half her perspicacity, saw it, but held his peace. Grace had too recently had a bitter disappointment for him to fear that she would fall in love with the first middle-aged American who laid his heart and fortune at her feet. Still, it was well that he should make inquiries touching this Ferrars. But he could learn little or nothing. Those he asked said the man came of a good old Virginian stock, and was well off. But he had not lived in America for many years; during his occasional visits few saw him; if anything was to be known of his life, it was not in New York.
About Gunning, on the other hand, who had been unremitting in his attentions to Grace ever since their arrival, there were no inquiries to be made. He had proposed Sir Mordaunt as a visitor to the Knickerbocker and Manhattan Athletic Clubs. There and elsewhere every one spoke well of the young man. He did not drink; he did not gamble; he had never been known to do a shabby thing. He was manly, straightforward, and liberal with his money. To his mother, who lived with him, he was an excellent son; to his companions a generous friend. He was not always "very good form," but Ballinger had seen worse failings than a little bombast, a little empty talk, knocked out of a man. He certainly did not wish his sister to marry an American, he said to himself; but if she should have a fancy that way, it would be as well if she would select one for whom every one had a good word, and who possessed a million of dollars a year.
Here is a passage from a letter to his aunt:
"People say no American man everreallylikes an Englishman. Some of the young fellows may be a little jealous of a stranger, if he has any success here; but all I know is that most of them have been awfully kind to me, and many of them are capital company. I dare say one mustn't inquire too curiously how some of these great fortunes were made; that is no concern of mine. They all seem very glad to put one in the way of making a good thing. One fellow tells me that orange groves or fruit-orchards in Southern California are the safest investments; giving the largest returns, from 25 to 40 per cent. on the capital laid out. Another advises 'reel estate,' as they call it, near one of the rising cities (mining centres) in Colorado. He says land can't fail to double or treble in value, only one must be content to let the money remain tied up for a time. A third recommends a Mexican opal mine which he says he knows is a first-rate thing. But the man I am most disposed to trust is a shrewd chap named Reid, to whom I brought a letter. He has been awfully kind explaining things. He says there is nothing like being on the spot, and recommends strongly my going out West and looking into these various investments. He has been explaining to me how the whole city is ruled by the Irish vote, and what awful corruption goes on. Talk of liberty! It seems to me they have precious little here—everything is sacrificed to party. And the worst of it is, the best men stand aloof. Fellows of high character and enormous wealth, who ought to have the chief weight in municipal matters, have none. They won't mix themselves up with the Irish, whom they hate. Apropos of Americans, the greatestpartiin New York, a young chap named Gunning, is awfully gone on Grace. He crossed with us, and it began then; but she would have nothing to say to him, preferring the society of a man nearly old enough to be her father, named Ferrars (so like her, isn't it?), or of a thin, pasty-looking young professor, in horribly made overalls and a 'reach-me-down.' Gracey alwayswillbe queer in her tastes to the end of the chapter! Flowers come every morning from this Gunning. She can't returnthem, but she declines every other mortal thing he offers—his riding-horses, carriages, theatre-parties, etc. I have had difficulty in getting her to accept a party he is giving 'to meet Miss Ballinger'—that is the New York form when they want to do a person special honor. He heard her say she would like to see a Spanish dancer who is here, and who only performs at a lowcaféwhere ladies can't go, but occasionally dances at private houses for a select circle—that is how he caught her. I wish I could see that she took any interest in any oneparticularly—that there was any symptom of herhaving forgotten. She is always cheery, always ready for everything—but, by the bye, have you heard when the trial is to take place? I hope soon, while we are over here. It would be much better that Grace should not be in England when it comes off. It would worry her, and rake up the past. Well! I hope you are coming out to us soon. We both want you awfully."
"People say no American man everreallylikes an Englishman. Some of the young fellows may be a little jealous of a stranger, if he has any success here; but all I know is that most of them have been awfully kind to me, and many of them are capital company. I dare say one mustn't inquire too curiously how some of these great fortunes were made; that is no concern of mine. They all seem very glad to put one in the way of making a good thing. One fellow tells me that orange groves or fruit-orchards in Southern California are the safest investments; giving the largest returns, from 25 to 40 per cent. on the capital laid out. Another advises 'reel estate,' as they call it, near one of the rising cities (mining centres) in Colorado. He says land can't fail to double or treble in value, only one must be content to let the money remain tied up for a time. A third recommends a Mexican opal mine which he says he knows is a first-rate thing. But the man I am most disposed to trust is a shrewd chap named Reid, to whom I brought a letter. He has been awfully kind explaining things. He says there is nothing like being on the spot, and recommends strongly my going out West and looking into these various investments. He has been explaining to me how the whole city is ruled by the Irish vote, and what awful corruption goes on. Talk of liberty! It seems to me they have precious little here—everything is sacrificed to party. And the worst of it is, the best men stand aloof. Fellows of high character and enormous wealth, who ought to have the chief weight in municipal matters, have none. They won't mix themselves up with the Irish, whom they hate. Apropos of Americans, the greatestpartiin New York, a young chap named Gunning, is awfully gone on Grace. He crossed with us, and it began then; but she would have nothing to say to him, preferring the society of a man nearly old enough to be her father, named Ferrars (so like her, isn't it?), or of a thin, pasty-looking young professor, in horribly made overalls and a 'reach-me-down.' Gracey alwayswillbe queer in her tastes to the end of the chapter! Flowers come every morning from this Gunning. She can't returnthem, but she declines every other mortal thing he offers—his riding-horses, carriages, theatre-parties, etc. I have had difficulty in getting her to accept a party he is giving 'to meet Miss Ballinger'—that is the New York form when they want to do a person special honor. He heard her say she would like to see a Spanish dancer who is here, and who only performs at a lowcaféwhere ladies can't go, but occasionally dances at private houses for a select circle—that is how he caught her. I wish I could see that she took any interest in any oneparticularly—that there was any symptom of herhaving forgotten. She is always cheery, always ready for everything—but, by the bye, have you heard when the trial is to take place? I hope soon, while we are over here. It would be much better that Grace should not be in England when it comes off. It would worry her, and rake up the past. Well! I hope you are coming out to us soon. We both want you awfully."
On the subject of invitations I may here give a characteristic note which Miss Ballinger received a few days after their arrival:
"My dear Miss Ballinger,—Will you and your brother give me the pleasure of your company at a blue dinner on the 28th of January, at 8 o'clock? I have selected this color, not because I am called a 'blue-stocking' by those who are amazed that a woman should know Greek, but to honor you and the country I adore. I shall never rest till Mr. Van Winkle is appointed Minister to Saint James's. I believe your Queen would be gratified by having at her court one woman representative alike of literature and fashion."Your true-blue friend,"Corrina Van Winkle."
"My dear Miss Ballinger,—Will you and your brother give me the pleasure of your company at a blue dinner on the 28th of January, at 8 o'clock? I have selected this color, not because I am called a 'blue-stocking' by those who are amazed that a woman should know Greek, but to honor you and the country I adore. I shall never rest till Mr. Van Winkle is appointed Minister to Saint James's. I believe your Queen would be gratified by having at her court one woman representative alike of literature and fashion.
"Your true-blue friend,
"Corrina Van Winkle."
This dinner had not yet come off. In the meantime Mordaunt and Grace went to the Hurlstones' box one night to hear "Siegfried." The box was a large one, on the grand tier, and besides the Hurlstone ladies and the Ballingers, there were Gunning and another of thejeunesse doréeof New York. Grace had heard that society was enthusiastic about Wagner's music, and that there was a great difficulty in obtaining a good opera-box, for which far larger sums were paid than are ever given in England. She innocently imagined that people went to listen to the music; she was undeceived. She had petitioned to go early, as she had never heard "Siegfried," and she and Mordaunt were in the box nearly an hour before the owners of it arrived. At first all was well. The upper boxes were crowded by Germans, who listened devoutly to every note; so did the unfashionable occupants of the stalls in their morning dress. But in the middle of the second act, the grand tier, which till then had been nearly empty, filled rapidly with smart ladies and their attendant cavaliers, and from that time onward a continuous fire of conversation was kept up, without even the semblance of any attention to the orchestra or the stage. That was the only part of the theatre to which opera-glasses seemed rarely to be directed. They raked every box, and the Hurlstones', by reason of its stranger guests, more persistently than any other. In vain Grace fixed her eyes alternately on the book of the words and on the stage. In vain there were angry expostulations from the stalls of "Stop that talking!" Miss Hurlstone actually turned round deliberately and sat with her back to the house, talking to the Marquis de Tréfeuille and a number of other young men who flocked in and out; and in doing this, she was only following the example of others. To listen to the lightest French or Italian opera under such conditions would have been impossible; but when the music was Wagner's—music which demands the strain of every nerve, the tension of every intellectual faculty, to grasp the meaning of that tumult of sound, to follow and seize the floating gossamers of melody from the brambles of apparent discord—it was nothing short of exasperating. It became sound and fury, signifying nothing. Grace recalled the darkness, the death-like silence, of the theatre at Bayreuth. If Wagner could have risen from the grave to see himself so treated! She gave it up at last in despair, as Mrs. Hurlstone leaned forward for the fourth time (Gunning had been pouring his thin stream of small talk over her shoulder) and said,
"There is the Princess Lamperti just come in with George Ray—that fat woman in black, with yellow pompons and pearls. You know her history, poor thing! She was Miss Morse, of Baltimore, and fell in love with the prince at Rome. He married her for her money, and he behaved very ill. They were married more than ten years. There was never a word said against her, but after a miserable life she has at last divorced him on the ground of his desertion at his solicitation, they say, in order that he may marry some Spanish woman to whom he has long been devoted, and who is also very rich. Dreadful, isn't it? Every one feels very much for the poor princess."
Here Gunning, who had heard part of Mrs. Hurlstone's narrative, said,
"You know the prince, I suppose, Mrs. Hurlstone? Look up at the third box on the second tier. You'll see him there behind a very dark lady—I suppose Madame Moretto."
"You don't mean that he has had the effrontery to come here, when he knew his wife was in New York?"
"Why not? They're divorced, and Lamperti has cheek enough for anything. I don't think they are staying in New York City, however."
Mrs. Hurlstone, whose glass had been riveted on the box during this speech, exclaimed,
"It is the prince, sure enough! Well, I never heard anything like it—flying in the face of public opinion like that! Of course, every one will cut him. And what a coarse-looking creature Madame Moretto is! What on earth brings themhere?"
"I am sure I don't know. Perhaps it has something to do with the settlement of the princess's money."
"Why, it must all have been settled when she married. You don't suppose she would give him anything more? He has got enough out of her already. Besides, I thought this Madame Moretto was also very rich?"
"So I conclude. He wouldn't have married her without."
"He is, then, actually married to her."
"Why, certainly, or, if not married, going to be."
"Upon my honor! It is a pretty story altogether. We pride ourselves upon our society being very free from scandals; but if peoplewillmarry foreigners—" then she corrected herself—"I mean foreign princes, who are mere fortune-hunters, what can one expect?"
Grace, meantime, had looked at the rivals in this pitiful story, and had come to the conclusion that Madame Moretto's was no common face. She was handsome, though young no longer, but the strength of the countenance, more than its beauty, made it remarkable. A woman, this, to exercise a fateful hold, probably, over any man on whom she had fastened—certainly over a weak one. As Grace looked at those eyes, burning like lamps in the depths of two dark caverns, at the proud and splendidly poised head and ample bust, and then at the figure and face of the deserted wife, she read at once how unequal the contest must have been. Coarse? Well, she might be coarse, but it was the coarse strength of Tintoretto, as compared with the faded feebleness of Guido.
The curtain had now fallen upon the second act, and Mordaunt, with the other men, had left the box, to visit their acquaintances and make room for those who wished to pay their respects to Mrs. Hurlstone and inspect the English beauty more closely. Among these was a powerfully built young man, of medium height, with a fine resolute face and a delightfully frank smile. His general bearing and ease of manner, which never touched the confines of familiarity—that snare of the underbred—would have distinguished him in any society. He was greeted with cordiality by mother and daughter, and introduced to Miss Ballinger as Mr. Caldwell. He repeated her name, as all Americans do, on being presented.
"Mr. Caldwell does not honor New York very much," explained Mrs. Hurlstone, with a smile. "We spoil him so much here, whenever he comes, that he thinks it best to make himself precious."
"Quite true," said the young fellow, showing the whitest teeth in the world under his incipient black moustache. "It is only coming here very seldom that makes me tolerated, I know. I am a grub, an earth-worm, who is out of place among the butterflies."
"What nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Hurlstone. "You know quite well that you despise us butterflies. You prefer being a grub in those horrid mines all the time, and won't come out of your chrysalis. It's too bad!"
"That is all very well, Miss Hurlstone, but how would the butterflies ever exist but for the state of grubdom? Perhaps I shall burst my chrysalis some day, and flutter up and be a giddy old butterfly, but I am afraid you will have nothing to say to me then."
"Nothing!" said the young lady, decisively; "if you will not when you may," and the battledore and shuttlecock of chaff went on, while Mrs. Hurlstone, who had been sweeping the house with her opera-glass, said to Grace,
"Who are the people whose box Sir Mordaunt is in?"
Grace felt sure Mrs. Hurlstone knew.
"Mrs. Flynn and Miss Clayton. Have you never met them?"
"Oh, I believe I have met them, but they are not in our set. I fancy they are from Kentucky."
"There is no objection to that, is there?" asked Grace, with apparent innocence. "If Kentucky can produce such pretty women, I congratulate Kentucky."
"Pretty, yes—but such style! You English, my dear Miss Ballinger, are so very odd. You take up people that we should never know! You do that all the time in England. We hear of such extraordinary people being received there. It does seem so strange tous."
Grace recognized some truth in what Mrs. Hurlstone said. Probably, if she were American, she would feel much as Mrs. Hurlstone did. But she felt sure these young women were quite harmless; they had amused her; in a certain way she had liked them; she was too loyal to give them up. So when Mrs. Hurlstone followed up her remark with, "Do tell me where you made Mrs. Flynn's acquaintance?" Grace replied, "At a dinner your friend, Mr. Sims, gave us at Delmonico's. Is there any reason why he should not have asked them?"
"Oh, no reason exactly—except that, as a man of the world, he ought to have known they were not the kind of people you ought to meet as good specimens of New York society. I am sorry you should meet any but our best people."
Grace checked the question, "What are the best?—the richest?" which rose to her lips, and said,
"Mr. Sims thought we should be more entertained by meeting some American types, such as we have not seen in England, and he was right. Miss Clayton, especially, amused us both very much."
"We don't like our English friends to beamusedin that way," said Mrs. Hurlstone, with trenchant emphasis.
"Dear Mrs. Hurlstone, if every one were alike, the world would be very dull. A little originality is so delightful. I want to see as many different types as I can in going through the States. I don't think the worse of people for not having the manners I have been used to. Their manners are good forthem, as mine are for me."
"Forgive me for saying that that is all nonsense, Miss Ballinger. There is but one code of good manners, all the world over. You will go back to England, and quote these people, and saythatis the way Americans behave. You know you will!"
"Some Americans—not all," replied Grace, calmly. "And why not? What is the use of blinking the truth? There are differences—you can't deny it—and I want to see them all. The New-Englanders, about whom I have read so much, the warm Southerners, the wild Westerners, I know I shall find them all interesting in their different ways. I don't want only to see the smart conventional people. I have plenty of them at home."
Here some one entered the box, and Caldwell rose. Then, approaching Grace, he said,
"I believe my mother has taken the liberty of writing to you to-night, Miss Ballinger. She knew your father quite well when he was over here, and would like to make your acquaintance, but did not like to call without writing to explain why. We shall be only a short time in New York, but my mother hopes she may see you."
"Certainly. I shall be charmed. If she will appoint any hour I will be at home, or call on her."
"I will tell her. She thought, perhaps—but no. She has written, and I will not forestall her note. I shall have the pleasure of meeting you to-morrow night at Mr. Gunning's party. Good-night."
He bowed. She extended her hand. "Do not forget my message." Then, when he had left the box, she said to her hostess, "What a charming face that young man has! So frank, and manly, and straightforward. Who is he?"
"His mother's only son. The father died two years ago, and left great mining operations in a state that required very active and constant supervision. This boy—as he was then—undertook it all, worked like a slave, and showed great cleverness, great tact and judgment, I am told, in dealing with the men, who all adore him, I hear. He lives there, in Colorado, almost entirely, with his mother and a young sister, and resists all temptations to come to New York, unless business brings him. It is most extraordinary."
"It is admirable. And his mother—is she as nice as he?"
"I don't know her. She never goes into society here. She devotes herself to the education of her daughter, I believe, and to making a comfortable home for her son."
But the third act had now begun, and with it Mr. Gunning's fluid vacuity, which played with a mild spray down Miss Ballinger's back for the remainder of the evening.