CHAPTER XIX
The morning after this dinner, Mordaunt, looking up from his newspaper, said with a laugh, "Well! You've done it this time, Gracey—you profited by experience, and were civil to that jolly little woman who sat next me at dinner. I didn't know she was a press writer till we were well through, but we got on like a house a-fire, and here is your reward and mine."
Then he read aloud:
"'Mrs. Reid offered a dinner at her sumptuous residence in Commonwealth Avenue, last night, to the Countess of Clydesdale, Sir Mordaunt Ballinger, Bart., M.P., Miss Ballinger, and Mrs. Frampton. Some of our most prominent citizens were invited to meet the distinguished guests, and especial interest was felt in the presence of the son and daughter of an Englishman who was so firm a friend to America, and so honored here, as the late Sir Henry Ballinger. Of the countess, that advanced thinker, who recently addressed a large audience on woman's rights, it is needless to speak. Mrs. Frampton, Sir Mordaunt's aunt, is an elderly lady, evidently of great bodily and mental activity. The present baronet, like his father, is a Conservative in politics, and has the stalwart bearing and aristocratic air that we associate with the heroes of modern English romance. He is eager to acquire knowledge as to the natural resources of our country, and the urbanity of his manner and his brilliant social qualities'—ho! ho!—'must make him welcome wherever he goes. As to his sister, the accounts which had reached us of her beauty and charm do scant justice to this fascinating English belle, who is not only lovely to a fault, but can be impassioned in her eloquence when roused, and combines acuteness of intellect with the frankness of a child.'"
"Well done!" cried Mrs. Frampton. "You owe Lady Clydesdale something for having brought out your 'impassioned eloquence,' Gracey."
Then, seeing that her niece looked annoyed, while a flush mounted to the roots of the girl's hair, she felt it was unwise to have alluded to that scene, and tried to change the subject. But Grace, with a resolute disregard to pain, said presently,
"It was very nice of you, Mordy, to speak up as you did last night, feeling as you do on the subject. I am ashamed to have been so roused, aunty. I am ashamed to think such a woman could have it in her power to make me show what I felt. Passion should not be wasted on donkeys—even on malevolent donkeys. This one tries to knock you down, and ride over you. If she can find out where your heart is, she will plant her hoofs there. If not, she will kick at your brains. Nothing shall induce me ever to speak to her again."
Her aunt and her brother exchanged glances, but no word passed; and presently Mordaunt began discussing financial matters with Mrs. Frampton, expressing his intention of pushing on to Colorado as soon as possible. The relative merits of ranches, mines, and building property could only be investigated on the spot.
Grace had her own ideas as to what lay at the bottom of this increased alacrity to go west, but she held her peace.
Mrs. Courtly was to take them to the theatre that night, and to return to Brackly the following day. Mordaunt declared that the chief attraction of Boston for him would then be gone, and he proposed to start for Chicago the same morning.
Will either of the three ever forget that evening, when they witnessed Jefferson's performance in "The Heir at Law"? It will always live as an epoch in their dramatic experiences. His "Rip Van Winkle" is not a greater triumph, though in a different line; for the exquisite naturalness of this fine artist transforms an artificial and farcical impossibility into an eccentric character of flesh and blood, in which he persuades us to believe so implicitly that we should never be surprised to meet Dr. Pangloss walking down Beacon Street or Piccadilly. What a lesson to actors is here! The rigid fidelity to nature—the nature of intonation, expression, and gesture—never allowing the laughter of the "groundlings" to seduce him into exaggeration of any kind—this has its reward in our frank acceptance of, nay, our sympathy with, a very unreal personage. Played by an inferior actor, I can imagine nothing more tedious than Dr. Pangloss would be, with his endless quotations, his facile venality, his outrageous wig. What seemed funny to our grandfathers does not amuse us very much. It needs the genius of a Jefferson to vivify the dry bones of an antiquated farce.
They all bade Mrs. Courtly good-by with real regret.
"We must meet in Bayreuth next year," she said. "Will you give me a rendezvous for the end of July?"
"No," said Mrs. Frampton, decidedly, before Grace could speak. "Before that, in my house in London. Make it your hotel, when you pass through, for as long as you can. Write or cable that you are coming; that is all that is necessary."
Grace had not felt so depressed since she landed in America as she did during that journey to Chicago. It was in vain she said to herself, over and over again, that nothing which her aunt or Mordaunt, or, least of all, Lady Clydesdale, had said concerning Ivor Lawrence, had the smallest effect on her. In one sense, it had not—she never doubted him. But the apprehension of an overwhelming trouble to him—a cloud, from which it might prove impossible to clear himself—had visibly strengthened in her mind. It was useless to argue against it; she could not shake off this cold, sickening dread which swept in gusts over her. With her usual bravery she concealed her feelings; but, the call for social exertion being now over, there were long spaces of silence and solitude on the journey, when, with a book in her hand, she could brood over this trouble, unsuspected by her two companions.
The route chosen was by Philadelphia. They did not stop at New York, but travelled straight through at night, arriving at their destination early in the morning. Here they halted the remainder of the day, and visited "Independence Hall," where the Declaration was signed, and where the room and its furniture remain much as they were on that famous day when the heat was so great and the flies so irritating that as the assembled gentlemen flicked their silk handkerchiefs and wiped their brows the voting is said to have been hurried through, and some members not even waited for. Yet the minority against the Declaration was a considerable one. As Mordaunt said to the amiable gentleman who acted as their guide,
"Who knows how a cold day and a full hall might have changed the destinies of this continent, eh?"
The amiable gentleman, being a stanch patriot, looked confounded. Then, after they had been shown several pastels of the chief voters and orators of that stirring time, and had examined the building, which is like many a Georgian mansion in the English counties, and was built of red bricks brought from England, they were driven through some portion of the largest and most beautiful city park in the world. It extends over three thousand acres of hill and dale, wood and winding river, untortured by man. Happily, to use the guide-book's language, "Art has as yet done little for it." May it never do more. It is a beautiful spot, and Philadelphia may be proud in the possession of so unique a playground.
But what of its streets? Mrs. Frampton was greatly disconcerted by being nearly jolted off her seat as she drove along.
"Did you ever see anything like it?" she cried. "I thought New York and Boston bad enough—but this! How can the people who live in those nice little red houses, picked out with white marble, and marble steps so beautifully clean—"
"Stoops. You must call them 'stoops,' aunt," said Mordaunt.
"Stoups? I never heard of a stoup of anything but Burgundy—in Scott's novels. But never mind. I say, howcanpeople living in houses that are like Dutch toys, so spick and span, tolerate such roadways? Really, these Americans are an incomprehensible people!"
"No, not incomprehensible," said her nephew. "Ask any fellow here. He'll explain it fast enough. All public works are jobberies. If the streets were freshly paved to-morrow, in all these cities, it would be so badly done—so much money would be madeoutof them—that they would be as bad as ever next year."
"Abominable!" said Mrs. Frampton, with energy.
"Besides that," he continued, "this particular city is regarded by most Americans—especially New-Yorkers—as a 'Sleepy Hollow.' Miss Pie, who is a Philadelphian, told me she had been puzzled to see herself spoken of in some paper as the only female citizen whosuffered from insomnia. Then she remembered the vile aspersion, which of course she denied. She was awfully good fun, that little woman. She gave me the idea of a middle-aged Puck, eh? Puck was a sexless sort of a being, I fancy."
The Stratford Hotel, where they stayed one night, met with great favor at Mrs. Frampton's hands; and so did the Auditorium, at Chicago, in contradistinction to others, on the road, which shall be nameless. The manner of serving every meal in the public room of these latter hostelries, all the dishes being pitched simultaneously in a semicircle of saucers round the consumer, was exasperating.
"Pray, do you expect me to devour fish, pudding, entrées, meat, and all those unknown vegetables at one and the same time? Why on earth can't you bring them separately?" she demanded of the astonished negro waiter.
Then the inevitable pitcher of ice-water which came up each time she rang her bell was another offence. She marvelled greatly as she looked down the long crowded dining-room, and saw only this same ice-water or tea being drunk at dinner by stalwart men. Any delusions, however, which she might have had as to their "total abstinence" were soon dispelled. Whenever she passed through the public hall, she saw some of these men at the bar; they were not then drinking tea or ice-water.
The party stayed three days at Chicago, and were duly impressed with its vastness, the massiveness of the business portion of the city, the length and extraordinary diversity of architecture of its boulevards. Some of the least pretentious houses, and notably those by Richardson, were good, and gave a pleasant impression of happy home life, without ostentation. But many appeared to have been built regardless of any known principle, save that of endeavoring to out-do your neighbor. The classic and Gothic styles here take hands, and might almost be said to dance acancantogether, as they assuredly have never been seen to do before. These jokes in stone and marble of every hue are like a child's design for a palace, striking up spikes into the sky, and jumbling together turrets and pillars, porticoes and machicolated walls, in a fashion which Mordaunt declared entitled it to be called "the Porcine, or Bristle-on-end" style of architecture.
Of course he went to witness the assassination of the hogs, and, watch in hand, counted sixteen despatched in one minute, while the ladies spent the morning at the Art Museum, and found, with wonder and delight, many of the gems of the Demidoff Collection, which they remembered in the Villa San Donato, at Florence. It seemed a curious illustration of the Chicago mind, munificent of everything but its time, and jealous for the city's reputation, that, while willing to expend large sums on such acquisitions as these, it had not leisure to arrange and exhibit them properly. Mrs. Frampton observed to a wealthy and acute citizen, to whom she brought a letter, that it was a pity such treasures were not seen to more advantage. His reply was characteristic:
"Well, you see, we business men are making money all the time. It is a race in which one is very soon left out of the running. If I go to Europe for three months I have to look pretty sharp to keep my place, I can tell you, when I return. Time enough to build galleries and all that by and by."
This reminded Grace of a saying of Mr. Laffan's, "You must make the man before you can make the statue."
Mordaunt dined out each night, and was interested in meeting several of the shrewd business men who had amassed huge fortunes. He was almost tempted to invest in grain, live-stock, or lumber, but Mrs. Frampton, with a hand of iron, restrained him.
"Are you going to spend your life here?" she asked. "These men do, and know what they are about. From their cradle they have heard nothing but money talked of. They are born 'cute men of business. What do you think that pretty child of five, in the hotel, said to me yesterday, when I asked him what he meant to be when he grew up?—'I guess I'll keep a store!' I expected him to say, 'I mean to be the President,' or a general, or something. But no, he would 'keep a store!' There you are. How can you compete with such people? No. Invest in something that doesn't require your constant personal supervision, or else leave it alone."
On one of these evenings there was a dance, to which all were bidden, but only Mordaunt went. The next morning he described how he had met a charming family, who all spoke of their "factory," which, on inquiry, he learned was one of coffins! They referred in the most natural way to their industry—the father mentioning the "boom" there had been in his trade not long since, owing to the influenza; the son informing Mordaunt that he had charge of the brass-nail and plate department; the daughter, that she designed the embroidery for the palls. This cheerful conversation took place in the intervals of the merry dance and at the convivial supper-table.
"They were awfully nice," added Mordaunt, "but it sent cold water down my back to hear them talk. It sounded like ghouls, fattening on graves." Then he told them of an old man he had met, who came from a neighboring city, where he had amassed a vast fortune, and lived in great loneliness, his wife and children electing to reside in Europe. Why he had been weak enough originally to give in to this arrangement was unexplained; but there was something at once humorous and pathetic in the monody of gratified vanity and personal loneliness with which he favored the Englishman.
"I give you my word, I didn't know whether to congratulate or to condole with him," said Mordaunt, "when he told me that his only daughter was married to a French count, and that he should never see her again now—never! The tears trickled down his thin cheeks, as he said that she had forgotten all about her old home—her old father. But, in the midst of his trouble, be recovered himself. There was balm in Gilead yet. 'You know, sir,the family dates back to Charlemagne!' So it is for this that such devoted parents are content to toil and moil all their lives! By the Lord Harry! Self-sacrifice takes very funny forms sometimes!"
And Aunt Su fully agreed with him.
Having heard from Mrs. Caldwell that she awaited their arrival, they started for Denver on the fourth morning, between which city and Colorado Springs her home was situated. Two days and nights' travelling rather tried Mrs. Frampton's patience and powers of endurance, but the air, which grew keener and more elastic during the last twelve hours, as they left the plain and its vapors and damp mists, and ascended the high table-land, surrounded by snowy mountains, invigorated all the party. Mordaunt declared his aunt was the youngest of the trio when they alighted at the station, where Mrs. Caldwell's carriage awaited them. The beauty and strangeness of the scene—as they drove up a winding road, between rugged peaks of sandstone, some nearly blood-red, others milk-white, others again like amethyst, projected against the clear blue sky, and simulating the pinnacles, turrets, and spires of a castellated city—recalled the wild creations of Gustave Doré. It seemed too fantastic to be real. The very pine-trees looked tormented, springing from clefts in the rock, some erect, some twisted by the winds, but all with arms flung out over wide-mouthed chasms, where the eagles had their nests. The house stood high up on a shelf of rock, protected from the north and east winds, but open to the south. A slope of terraced garden lay below it, ending in a brook, which fell, with the noise of tumbling waters, down a cañon at the back of the house. The "Falcon's Nest," as it was called, built by the late Mr. Caldwell, was of wood, unpretentious, and in perfect taste, for its position, and the lives its inhabitants were meant to, and did actually, live. Labor and repose for some; comfort and hospitality for all who entered its broad portals, and found a pleasantly diffused but not oppressive warmth reigning through the suite of rooms panelled with pine, where plenty of books, sofas, and rocking-chairs invited the inmates to rest and be thankful.
Mrs. Caldwell and Doreen met their guests in the hall, to which the horns of buffalo and elk and some magnificent bear-skins lent a pleasant touch of savagery. Pierce Caldwell was at his office, and would not return till the evening. Alan Brown and another young man staying there were gone to skate, and after luncheon, Mordaunt, under Doreen's guidance, set off in a sleigh to join them. It was very cold, that still, dry cold of which one does not realize the intensity until one consults the thermometer; but here, with a blazing wood fire to warm one spiritually, and hot-water pipes to perform the work practically, Mrs. Frampton declared the temperature was delightful; and her critical nature was pleased with her hostess's manner.
"That is a nice woman," she said to her niece, when they were alone, later in the day. "She doesn't 'protest too much.' She is sensible, well-bred, and knows just how much to say, and what to leave unsaid. All Americans have not that tact."
"Nor all English people either. I like that little Doreen so much—she is a sweet little thing; and the son—I am sure you will fall in love with the son, aunt."
Mrs. Frampton's unspoken reply was, "I almost wishyouwould. Not seriously, of course, but just to distract your thoughts."
Pierce Caldwell returned at dusk, and found the ladies at tea. His frank charm of manner, even more than his good looks, won Mrs. Frampton at once; and knowing how energetic he was in the work he was carrying on, she began questioning him about it. Her capacity for taking a vivid interest in the details of other people's affairs always distinguished her. It is not a common gift, that power of throwing one's self heartily into matters that do not personally concern one.
"Your mother tells me you have had a hard fight with your mine, Mr. Caldwell; but you have triumphed over all your difficulties?"
"Oh! mother exaggerates the difficulties. It only wanted a little patience. The mine when father died, you see, was a mere prospect. I had to develop it. It turned out much better than even father ever expected, but I had to go on with the exploration for two years before I thought it prudent to erect a mill."
"Well? And now," she continued, with eagerness, "it is proving a great success? Everything has prospered with you?"
"Yes," he said, quietly. "Everything, up to the present, has prospered, I am glad to say. I am now going to turn it into a company. We have to erect other works, and it is too great an undertaking for one man, alone. Of course I shall retain a very large interest in, and the chief management of, the company, but I can't work it all by myself."
"Humph!" said Mrs. Frampton, reflectively. "I suppose you want to get away occasionally, and amuse yourself in New York, like other young men of your age?"
"Well, no; Idogo away, now and again, when business takes me to New York or Washington, but I don't stay much longer than I can help. I always feel as if things couldn't get on without me at the mine, and I love this place. I believe I am never so happy anywhere as here."
The skaters, with Mordaunt and Doreen, now entered. Alan Brown did not look happy. Doreen had driven the Englishman in her sleigh to and from the skating-grounds; and Alan's proclivities for all that was English did not extend to a baronet, six feet high, who was notorious as a flirt, and who seemed inclined to try his hand, just to keep it in, upon the object of the young American's affections. In this he was quite mistaken; Mordaunt had the same manner with every woman under—and some over—fifty, which accounted for his being so popular. The unsophisticated Doreen thought him charming, and he was quite willing to be thought so. It gave him but little trouble to be nice to this bread-and-butter miss, whom he found really not so dull as he had anticipated. Alan only saw the effect, however—the young girl's increased animation and volubility, and he was proportionately depressed.
The other man, Bloxsome by name, was a Californian. He was not attractive, either in appearance or manner, to our friends, and, as he only stayed one day at the "Falcon's Nest," it would be unnecessary, but for subsequent events, to name him here. How did he come to be a friend of the family? His manner and the tone of his mind contrasted so strongly with Pierce Caldwell's that it was difficult to account for their apparent intimacy. He was coarse and loud, with a grating voice and accent, and his "spread-eagleism" was especially offensive to Mordaunt. To the ladies this was simply amusing. They did not in the least object to his thinking everything in his own country, beginning with himself, nobler, greater, and better than the rest of the universe. It was a failing with which they were not wholly unacquainted in England. But foibles, which may be pardoned when allied with good manners, are more trying when accentuated with ill-breeding.
He sat on one side of Grace at dinner that first evening, and in the course of it—apparently accidentally—Miss Planter's name was mentioned. When Grace thought afterwards over what had passed, she felt sure that the accident was only apparent. Mr. Bloxsome had adroitly led the conversation up to the point when Grace's hand was forced, so to speak, and the "belle's" name dropped from her. He seized it.
"Clare Planter? Why, I know her quite well. I heard your brother wasvurryintimate with her. Is that so?"
"My brother and I stayed at a country-house with her. That is the way of becoming intimate—if people like each other. And we both of us like Miss Planter."
"I reckon that's because she thinks such a heap of England and English people."
"Not entirely," replied Grace, coolly. "Of course we should not like her if she hated us."
"Wefind her ever so much spoiled since she crossed the ocean."
"Then she must have been very charming before."
"But Mrs. Planter is worse. Sheisa regular Anglomaniac. Won't call on any one in Pittsburgh now, I'm told. They are coming to Frisco in quite a few days. I guess you know that?"
"They spoke of the likelihood of going to California."
"Sir Mordaunt knows it is more than a 'likelihood,' I reckon. He will find Mr. Planter a stiff customer—not ready to come down with the oof, and not half as rich as he is supposed to be. Your brother is hunting around, I hear, for an Amurican heiress? Wull, you can just tell him this—no Amurican girl knows how rich she is till she can say, 'Our Father, which art in Heaven.'"
Grace looked at him with a flashing eye, and there was ineffable scorn in her voice as she said,
"My brother is not a fortune-hunter, nor did he feel impelled to ask Miss Planter to say her prayers."
Then she turned and addressed Pierce Caldwell on her other side.
She avoided Mr. Bloxsome as far as possible during the remainder of the evening.