CHAPTER XIX.
"Thou on one side, I on the other."
All her life Violet Grandon will remember "Lohengrin," the perfect evening to the rather imperfect day. In good truth the day disappoints madame as well. Gertrude comes down with Violet, and there is a little shopping to finish. Laura and Gertrude cannot agree in one or two points concerning the wedding. Floyd and the professor are to lunch at Delmonico's with some literary men.
Of course madame is serene and charming, but Violet and she keep distinctly apart. There is no tender confidence, as with Mrs. Latimer. When the girls, Laura and Gertrude, are fairly out of the way, Violet sits shyly looking at some engravings, and answers gently, but makes no comments of her own. She does feel strange with this beautiful woman. She wonders how much Floyd loved her at first, in those long years ago when she was a girl, only she seems never to have been a girl, just as you never can think of her being old.
Madame yawns presently, feels the lack of hersiesta, and decides that to be brilliant to-night she must have it. Excusing herself for a few moments, she goes away, rather vexed that Violet should be so inappreciative. After all, has the child anything much in her? Is it worth while to expend any great interest upon her?
The dinner passes agreeably, and the carriage comes for them. The professor has been discoursing upon Wagner and his musical theories, but he will not have anything said about this particular opera. So Violet takes her seat, with her husband on one side and the professor on the other, and prepares herself to listen to that hidden mental element that touches the inmost processes of the soul.
Elsa, in her blissful surprise, the mysterious enchantment convincing her of reality, loving, adoring, trusting to the uttermost, and content to live, to take love without asking herself from whence her lover comes; to hold her happiness on so strong a tenure now because shedoestrust. Wide-eyed, exultant, Violet listens. Cannot her husband readherstory in her eyes? The beautiful march enchants her. Again she says to herself, Is this love? Though the way is straight and few find it, some blest souls enter in.
And then the question forces itself upon Elsa's soul, it becomes its deepest need, and in that evil hour she sets it above love. There is the thrilling vision andLohengrin'srebuke, and Violet listens and looks like one entranced.Elsaasks her fateful question, and the enchantment is gone. Ah, can any tears, any prayers bring him back? Can all the divine passion and repentance of one's life prevail?
The lovely color goes out of Violet's face; it seems for a moment as if she would faint. How can all these women keep from crying out in their anguish?
"Mignonne," the professor says, softly, and takes her hand, "come out of thy too passionate dream. That is the musician's soul, but it is not daily food."
Her eyes are blind with tears, and she is glad to rise with the crowd and go.
Gertrude Grandon's brief engagement is shortened by nearly a fortnight on account of a literary meeting at Chicago that the professor must attend. So Christmas day at two o'clock they go to church, Gertrude in dark blue cloth, that is extremely becoming, and fits her tall, slender figure to perfection; just under the brim of her bonnet are two pale-pink crush roses, the only tint of color. No one could imagine so much improvement possible. Floyd gives her away also. He has endeared her by many kindnesses, but the last is placing her present and possible fortune in her hands.
"But if you should never be able to get it all out of the business?" she asks, and her eyes moisten.
"Then," he answers, "the rest is my wedding gift to you. I should like to make it much larger."
"O Floyd, what a good brother you have been! And we have never thought of anything but just our own selves," she adds, remorsefully.
"Yes," he rejoins, "youhave thought of Violet."
Then they all go down to the city to see Gertrude start on her new journey. Floyd and the professor wring each other's hands,—they have been like brothers so long! Surely, even if he had thought of it, he could have wished Gertrude no better fate. He is curiously moved by the professor's very earnest regard, though he knows it must half be pity, tenderness. His face is bright and cheerful, and his voice rings out heartily. He will bring back Frau Freilgrath so stout and rosy that no one will recognize her.
They are all very tired when they reach home. Mrs. Grandon is the happiest. She is the mother of two well-married daughters. They will be no further expense or care, and perhaps some one may pick up Marcia. She is no better reconciled to her son's marriage; in truth, as it sometimes happens where no real fault can be discovered, an obstinate person will fall back upon a prejudice. For a governess Violet would answer admirably, but she has no qualification for the position into which she has thrust herself.
January comes in bitterly cold, and the great house is very lonely. Marcia is flitting about, Mrs. Grandon makes another visit to New York, Eugene is moody and distraught, for he is very much smitten with madame, who, to do her justice, does not encourage the passion, though in a certain way she enjoys the young man's adoration. Then, too, he is extremely miserable about money. He hates to curtail any indulgence, he is fond of theatres, operas,petit soupers, fresh gloves, and fast horses, and he is put upon an allowance, which makes him hate Floyd and grumble to Wilmarth.
Floyd is deep in a literary venture, or rather it is no venture at all, a series of travels and descriptions of out-of-the-way corners of Asia, with new and marvellous discoveries. He is so excited and interested that he almost forgets other matters, and the time being short, every day is precious. Violet understands this, and amuses herself and Cecil, drives out to the cottage and spends days with Denise, and is a happy, bright little creature. Mrs. Latimer comes up for two or three days, which is utterly delightful.
Madame meanwhile has her hands full. She is sought after, and invitations accumulate on her table. Her callers are thecrêmeof the city. Brokers who are up early, drop in to her elegant little teas and bring her bouquets when roses are at their highest. Professional men find a wonderful charm in her conversation. There are generally one or two bright women beside, and the room takes on the appearance of a select party. She gives a superb little dinner, to which Floyd goes, but Violet does not, though warmly invited. Often after working all day he takes the evening train down to the city, and long before he is back Violet is asleep. They are quietly happy. Heisfond, though a good deal preoccupied.
Yet the time does not hang heavily. There have been several more plays and some fine concerts, but when they have taken the late train the pleasure has been somewhat fatiguing. Letters come from Gertrude, who admits that she grows foolishly happy. The professor makes such a delightful husband. She cannot go about a great deal, but he describes places and people to her, and she enjoys it quite as much. Gertrude certainly is notexigeant, and she has a touch of tender gratitude that makes the professor feel continually that he has done a good deed by marrying her, which is a flattering unction to the man's generous soul.
March comes in, and the pressing work being done, Floyd turns to the business. It is a success, but he is not any more in love with it. They have demonstrated now that the new looms carry a secret that must revolutionize trade. He holds long interviews with Mr. Connery and Ralph Sherburne. He has the privilege, being joint executor with Mr. Sherburne, of selling out all St. Vincent's right and title, and he has already been offered a fortune for it. He will deal justly and fairly by the dead man's genius, and Violet will be an heiress, which in one way gratifies, and in another way pains. He likes his mother and the world to know that Violet has a rank of her own, since money confers that, and in the future nothing she chooses will be considered extravagant in her. But he hates to be suspected of any mercenary considerations. He always had enough for both.
He lays the matter before Mr. Wilmarth, being quite convinced now that Eugene will never make a business man. He will not hurry matters, but when the legacies have been paid he shall close his connection with the factory.
"But Mrs. Grandon still has a life interest," suggests Jasper Wilmarth.
"That can be hypothecated, or the will gives her the privilege of taking any certain sum that can be agreed upon. It would not impoverish me to pay it myself," he says, with a fine contempt.
"But your brother must agree to all this; it ishisbusiness, not yours."
"He will agree to it," answers Floyd, in a tone not to be mistaken, since it implies the young man would dispose of his birthright any day for a mess of pottage.
"Still, I should suppose there would be a feeling of honor," says Wilmarth, with his suave sneer.
"I think my honor has never been questioned, Mr. Wilmarth, nor my integrity."
Floyd Grandon rises and stands straight before him, his face slightly flushed.
"You quite mistake me," he replies, with a covert but insolent evasion; "or I had better have said pride, business pride, I have so much of that," and the lips show a sort of sardonic smile. "That is what your brother lacks; I suppose we have no reasonable right to look for it in you, a literary man."
Jasper Wilmarth always exasperates him, but he says now, with dignified gravity,—
"I give you this notice, so that you may prepare for the event. There will be no undue haste, but I should like to have the business settled in from one to two years hence."
So that is his warning! If hecouldhave married St. Vincent's daughter! Jasper Wilmarth does not care such a great deal for riches, but he would like to put down this aristocratic fellow whom the world is beginning to worship, who has only to hold out his hand and the St. Vincent fortune will drop into it. When the time of settlement actually comes the partnership will be dissolved; he must either sell or buy; buy he cannot. Floyd Grandon pushes him out. Is there no way to give the man a sword-keen thrust?
He broods over it for days, and at last it comes to him like an inspiration. Marcia has been making calls in Westbrook and stops for Floyd according to agreement. She sits there in the pony carriage in seal sacque and cap, her light hair flying about, her cheeks red with the wind, her face in a kind of satisfied smirk. You can never quite tell where this starts from; it is in the little crease in the brows, in the nose slightly drawn, in the lines about the mouth, and the rather sharp chin. Nature has not been as bountiful to Marcia in the matter of charms as to the others; she has stinted here and there, and it shows clearly as she grows older. But as she gives her head an airy toss and shakes the Skye fluff out of her eyes, he smiles. It would be an immense joke to marry Marcia Grandon; an immense mortification as well! To be Floyd Grandon's brother-in-law, to have theentréeof the great house, to come very near Violet Grandon and perhaps drop a bitter flavor in her cup!
Marcia Grandon is not sharp enough to outwit him anywhere and he would always be master; that is another point scored. Then he might make some moves through her that would otherwise be impossible.
Floyd comes out and springs in the carriage, indulgently allowing her to drive. Violet has had a cold and been in-doors for several days, but looks bright and well when she greets him. She is such a dear, happy little thing!
Not many days after this Wilmarth meets Marcia bowling along in the spring sunshine. He raises his hat, pauses, and with her coquettish instinct she stops.
"Good day, Miss Grandon," he says, with a low bow. "I thought of coming down to call on you. Have you given up all your old habits of designing? We have some large orders and I am quite in trouble about patterns,—I suppose your brother told you?"
"Oh, he never tellsmeanything!" with an assumed air of disdain. "And he would be sure to consult Mrs. Grandon, who draws a little, like every school girl!"
"I dare say he never gave it a second thought," returns Wilmarth, in a reflective manner. "Well,haveyou given it up?"
"I have been painting in oils for the last year or two," and nose and chin indulge in an extra tilt. "I dare say Icoulddesign, though."
"Well, bring some in, if you can. I believe my brain begins to get rusty. Will you come—soon? You will always find me in my office."
There is something in the inflection of the voice that secretly delights Marcia. She has a taste for mystery and intrigue, but she is not secretive, she has too much vanity.
"I will, as soon as I can get about it," with what she considers well-bred indifference.
She shuts herself up in her studio all the next morning, all the afternoon and evening. She has a good deal of just this artistic faculty. The next day she copies and colors, and on the third Floyd goes to New York, and she drives to the factory. Eugene is out, as fate will have it.
Mr. Wilmarth receives her with just the right touch of graciousness, praises a little, finds a little fault, suggests a touch here and there, and admits that he is pleased with two, and thinks he shall use them. Marcia goes up to the seventh heaven of delight, and sees before her fame and fortune.
"Look over these," says Mr. Wilmarth. "They do not quite suit me. See if you can suggest anything. These Japanese designs admit of endless variation."
An hour passes ere Marcia consults her watch, and then she professes to be greatly surprised. What must poor Dolly think of her? "For I never make such unconscionable calls," she declares, and fancies that she blushes over it.
"It has been extremely pleasant to me," Mr. Wilmarth replies, in a tone of grave compliment. "I am so much alone. I miss your father more than any of you would suspect, I dare say. We used to consult together so much, and he was in and out a dozen times a day."
"But everything goes onwell?" says Marcia, in an undecided tone of inquiry.
"Yes, if by that you mean prosperously. We are on the high road to fortune," and he laughs disagreeably. "I only wish your father were alive to enjoy it. It has been a hard pull for the last two years."
"Poor papa!" Marcia gives a pathetic little sniff. "But then it is something to have gained a success!"
"Yes, when one has friends or relatives to enjoy it. I sometimes wonder whyIgo on struggling for wealth, to leave it to some charity at the last."
"Have you really no one?" Marcia lowers her voice to a point of sentiment.
"Not a living soul to take a kindly interest in me," he answers, in a bitter fashion. "All my kith and kin, and they were not many, died years ago. If I had been attractive to women's eyes——"
Marcia lets hers droop, and does this time manage a faint color. There is a touch of romance in this utter desolation.
"Imustgo," she again declares, reluctantly. "Poor Dolly will be tired to death standing."
"Take these with you, and I shall be sure of another visit," and he hands her the roll.
Marcia glides along as if on air. To her any admiration from a man is sweet incense. It is not so much the person as the food to her vanity. There are women who enjoy the gift with but little thought of the giver. In Mrs. Vandervoort's spacious parlors she has received compliments and attentions from people of note with a thrill of triumph; she is not less pleased with her present interview. It is almost as if Wilmarth had asked her for sympathy, interest, and she has so much to bestow. Gertrude has spent her days in novel-reading, going into other people's joys and woes. Marcia always lives in them directly. She recasts the events, and makes herself the centre of the episode. She is quite certain she could have done better in the exigency than the friend she contemplates. She could have loved more deeply, been wiser, stronger, tenderer, and more patient. There would be no end to her virtues or her devotion. Men are certainly short-sighted to choose these weak or cold or indifferent women, when there are others with just the right mental equipoise.
She springs into her phaeton and starts up Dolly. There is a quiver and glow of spring in the air, grown softer since morning, a breath of sweetness, and Marcia's mood is exultant. She has bearded the lion in his den, and his roar was not terrific. It is the power of Una, the sweet and gentle woman. How desperately melancholy he looked; what a touch of cynicism there was in his tone, engendered by loneliness and too much communing with self. Instantly she feels herself capable of consoling, of restoring to hope, to animation, to the delights of living.
And Marcia enjoys living very much indeed, if she can only have money. There never has been a day when she would have exchanged her pony for Laura's piano. She can play with considerable fashionable brilliance, but of the divine compensations of music she knows nothing. When Violet sits and plays for hours without an audience it seems silly to Marcia. She cannot understand the subtle and intense delight; for her there must always beonein the audience, if no more.
She wears an air of mystery at the dinner-table, and is apparently abstracted trying on her new emotions. Floyd is wondering if all this has not been very dull for Violet. If there only was some one to take a vital interest in her. They have begun to make neighborhood calls, and cards are left for Mrs. Floyd Grandon, invitations to teas and quiet gatherings. Violet cannot go alone, and Floyd is so often engaged or away. Mrs. Grandon does not trouble herself about her daughter-in-law, and says frankly to intimates,—
"Floyd's marriage always will be a great disappointment to me. She is such a child, just a fit companion for Cecil!"
When Floyd watches her in his questioning way her sweet face brightens and her soft brown eyes glow with delight.
"I wonder if you are happy?" he says this evening when they are alone.
"Happy?"
He reads it in her eyes, her voice, in the exultation visible in every feature.
"You are a little jewel, Violet," he replies, tenderly, drawing her nearer and pressing the soft cheek with the palm of his hand, which is almost as soft. "I have been so much engrossed that I am afraid I sometimes neglect you, but never designedly, my darling."
"I know you are very busy," she makes answer, in her cheerful voice, "and I am not a silly child."
He wonders if there is such a thing as her being too sensible, too self-denying! While he could not now take life on the old terms and be tormented daily and hourly by foolish caprices, is there not some middle ground for youth? Are there too many years between them!
"Your birthday will be in June," he says,—he has travelled that far already,—"and you must have a birthday ball."
"And you will dance with me?" she gently reminds, as she slips her arm over his shoulder caressingly.
"Regardless of the figure I shall cut!" and he laughs.
"Oh, but you know you have a handsome figure!"
"And I must do my dancing before I get too stout. Well, yes, I shall be yourfirstpartner."
"Oh, am I to dance with any one else?" she asks, in a faint tone of surprise.
"Why—yes—quadrilles, I believe, are admissible."
"I wish we had some music, we might waltz anytime," and she pats her little foot on the floor; "just you and I together."
"Well, I shall have to buy a music-box, and we can dance out on the lawn after the manner of the German and French peasants."
She gives such a lovely, rippling laugh that he indulges in a still fonder squeeze. It is very pleasant to have her. That is as far as Floyd Grandon has yet gone.
"But from now to then," he asks, "what can you find to amuse yourself with?"
"To amuse myself?" she asks, rather puzzled. "Why, you are not going away?" and she grasps his arm tightly.
"Going away! No." Shewouldmiss him then; but, he reflects, there is no one else for companionship. Marcia somehow is not congenial, and Eugene—how much company a pleasant young fellow like Eugene might prove.
"Is there any one you would like to ask here?" He thinks of madame,—she would be a delightful summer guest. He would like to open his house, he does owe something to society for its warm welcome to him.
"I don't really know any one but Mrs. Latimer. Oh," she says, with a bright ring in her voice, "how nice it would be to have them both, and the children! Would your mother mind very much, I wonder?"
"It need be no trouble to her," he says, almost coldly, "andyouare to have your wishes gratified in yourownhouse."
She cannot get over the feeling that she is merely on sufferance. As the time goes on she understands the situation more clearly. Mrs. Grandon does not like to have her Floyd's wife, and shewouldlike Madame Lepelletier in the place. But how strange that no one seems to remember the old time when she jilted him, as Marcia says.
"But all that will be so much nicer in the summer," he goes on, reflectively. "The children can run out of doors. Yes, we will have the Latimers and any one else we choose, and be really like civilized people. I hope Gertrude can get back."
"Oh, I do hope so!" she re-echoes.
The next morning he takes Violet and Cecil out for a long drive, way up the river. It is the last day of March, and there is a softness in the air, a bluish mist over the river, and a tender gray green on the hillsides. The very crags seem less rugged and frowning. It is really spring!
"Oh, how delightful it will be!" she exclaims. "Are there not wild flowers about here? We can have some lovely rambles gathering them. And there will be the gardens, and the whole world growing lovelier every day."
They stop at a hotel and have a dinner, which they enjoy with the appetites of travellers. Just above there is a pretty waterfall, much swollen by the spring rains, then there is a high rock with a legend, one of the numerous "Lover's Leap," but the prospect from its top is superb, so they climb up and view the undulating country, the blue, winding river, the nooks and crags, dotted here and there by cottages that seem to hang on their sides, a slow team jogging round, or fields being ploughed. All the air is sweet with pine and spruce, and that indescribable fragrance of spring.
Floyd Grandon is so happy to-day that he almost wishes he had a little world of his own, with just Violet and Cecil. If it were not for this wretched business; but then he is likely to get it off his hands some time, and as it is turning out so much better than he once feared, he must be content.
If there were many days like this! If husband and wife could grow into each other's souls, could see that it was not separate lives, but one true life that constituted marriage; but she does not know, and does her best in sweet, brave content; and he is ignorant of the intense joy and satisfaction the deeper mutual love might bring. He is a little afraid. He does not want to yield his whole mind and soul to any overwhelming or exhausting passion, and yet he sometimes wonders what Violet would be if her entire nature were stirred, roused to its utmost.
But the morrow brings its every-day cares and duties. Floyd is wanted in the city. He drops into madame's and finds her in the midst of plans. She is to give an elegant little musicale about the 10th, and he must surely bring his wife, who is to stay all night. She, madame, will hear of nothing to the contrary. No woman was ever more charming in these daintily arbitrary moods, and he promises. All the singers will be professional, there will be several instrumental pieces, and the invitations are to be strictly limited.
She touches upon his work with delicate praise and appreciation. It would seem that she kept herself informed of all he did, but she never questions him in any inquisitive manner. She is really intimate with the Latimers, so she hears, no doubt. Itwillbe charming to add her to the summer party. There are other delightful people for Violet to know as soon as she can begin to entertain society.
Violet is not much troubled about society these pleasant days. April comes in blustering, then turns suddenly warm, and lo! the earth seems covered with velvet in the wonderful emerald green of spring. She hunts the woods for violets and anemones, and puts them in her father's room,—it is her room now, for she was very happy in it when her ankle was hurt. She moves out her few pictures, a lovely Mater Doloroso, whose grief is blended with heavenly resignation, and the ever-clear Huguenot Lovers. Both have been school gifts. For the rest, her girl's chamber was simple as any nun's.
Marcia makes her second visit to Mr. Wilmarth, and leaves Dolly at home. Now there is a rather curious desire of secrecy on her part; the whole thing is so much more charming enveloped in mystery. Mr. Wilmarth receives her with a brusque sort of cordiality, as if he was rather striving against himself, and she sees it, as he means she shall. The drawings are satisfactory, and he expresses his obligation to her.
"I don't know as I can summon up courage to offer you any ordinary payment," he says, "but if you will accept some gift in its stead,—if you will allow me to make it something beyond a mere business transaction——"
"Oh, it is such a trifle," and Marcia's head takes its airy curve. "I think I should like——"
"Well?" he asks, rather startled.
"Please don't laugh at me," she begins, in a tone of girlish entreaty, which is not bad, "but I have been thinking—wondering if I could turn my gift to any advantage?"
Marcia is really blushing now. It seems paltry to think of working for money, unless one could earn it by the hundreds.
"Yes, I suppose you could," he replies, "but you have a genius for better things. Youcandesign very well," and he is in earnest now. "There are a great many branches. Why?" he asks, abruptly.
"Oh," she replies, "I get so tired of the frivolity of life. I long to do something beyond the mere trifles."
"I suppose you miss both of your sisters," he remarks, with a touch of sympathy. "You are learning now what loneliness is. Although there is your brother's wife——"
"A child, a mere child, who can thrum a little on the piano and dress dolls for Cecil. I nevercouldunderstandwhyFloyd married her."
"There was the fortune," suggests Mr. Wilmarth.
"Oh, Floyd did not care for that! You see he has had it all tied up so that he cannot touch it."
"Those who tie can sometimes untie," he answers, dryly.
"No.Ihave always thought there was some silly sentiment, or perhaps Mr. St. Vincent asked it of him," she cries, with sudden inspiration, "for Floyd could have rewarded her for saving the child's life."
Evidently the marriage is not pleasing to Miss Marcia. That scores one in her favor as a good ally. Through Eugene he has learned that it was generally unsatisfactory, but he has fancied Marcia just the kind to be caught by a sweet young girl.
He has been considering the point in all its bearings these few days,—whether he really wants to be bothered with a wife, only he need not allow the wife to bother, and whether it would be better to win her openly or not. If the house at the park were her father's, but it is Floyd Grandon's, and he might some day be dismissed. He feels intuitively that Grandon would oppose the marriage from the under-current of enmity between. Of course he could persuade Marcia to secret meetings and a marriage. Would it not be more of a triumph if the whole matter were kept a secret?
He draws from Marcia, with the requisite astuteness, and it does not need much, the state of affairs and her own position at home. She would be ready enough to change it, that he sees. With a touch of secret elation he knows he could make this woman worship him like a bond slave while the bewilderment lasted. He has never been so worshipped. He has known of several women who would have married him, but it would have been for a home and a protector. He has not been sufficiently unfortunate to inspire any one with that profound and tender pity that women do sometimes give to deformity or accident; he has no particular gifts or genius to win a heart, he is now quite to middle life and cannot reasonably expect to grow handsomer. Under any circumstances he could hardly hope to marry into a family like that of the Grandons, and though he shall not be friends with a single member, still, it will gratify his pride, and Floyd Grandon must be more considerate of his business interests.
All these things run through his mind as he talks to her. She is rather coquettish and vain and silly,—his eyes are pitilessly clear,—and she may afford him some amusement when her unreasoning adoration ends. He sees the fact that he is attracted towards her, moves her curiously. If he is to take a wife he will not have her cold and selfishly considerate, but quaff the full cup of adoration at first, even if it does turn to ashes and dust afterward.
"I wonder," he says, after they have talked away the genial spring afternoon, "when I shall see you again,—when I may present my little gift. Your brother and I arenotcordial friends. I offered him some advice in the beginning, as an elder might reasonably give to an inexperienced person, which he resented quite indignantly, and he prefers to use his own wisdom. I am not quarrelsome, and so we are comfortable business compeers, but hardly calling friends, and since you are in his house I must deny myself the pleasure. Do you not sometimes go to walk? I know you drive a good deal."
She catches the cue, and her heart bounds.
"Idogo out to sketch," she says, with admirable modesty.
"Ah, that would be an enjoyment.Willyou allow me to come?"
There is a most flattering entreaty in his tone.
Marcia considers. Violet and Cecil are forever rambling round, and she knows how easily an interview can be spoiled. It will hardly be safe to appoint one between here and Grandon Park. Down below the park there is a little cove, with a splendid view opposite, and a grove of trees for protection. She will appoint it here. Friday is unlucky. Saturday will be busy for him, so it is settled for Monday of the next week, and he agrees, with a peculiar smile and a pressure of the hand.
Marcia Grandon walks home in a state of triumph. Experience forbids her to count upon this man as a positive lover, but heisan admirer. They have a disagreeable habit of going so far and then taking wing. Marriage seems an event rather difficult of accomplishment, for with all Marcia's flighty romance she shrinks from encountering actual poverty, but it might be this man's admiration is sufficiently strong to lead him beyond the debatable land. She hesitates just a little, then solaces herself with the improbability.
Still, she is in a flutter of excitement when she goes up to her room after luncheon. What shall she wear? Bonnets and hats are tried on, and she passes and repasses before the glass to study the jauntiness or attractiveness of different styles. Her dress is gray, and she finally settles upon a light gray chip, with two long black plumes that almost touch her shoulder. A cluster of pansies would be very effective at her throat. Violet wears them a good deal, so she selects the finest in the greenhouse, and takes a parasol with a lilac lining. She does look very well. Before mourning, her taste was ratherbizarre, but it has been toned down somewhat.
Jasper Wilmarth is first on the spot. She has dallied so long with toilet questions, that it has given the man's complacency a little start, no bad thing. She catches a glimpse of him and is filled with trepidation, for up to this moment she has not been quite sure but he wouldallowsomething to prevent.
He takes both hands. The consciousness goes over her that heisa lover. He is not a handsome man, with his high shoulders, short neck, and rugged face, but to-day he has taken some pains, and lets his steely eyes soften, his lips show their bit of red under the gray mustache. His necktie is fresh, his clothes have been brushed, and if the soul animating the man was even as good as the body it would be better for all who come in contact with him.
He has resolved to try his utmost at fascination. It is strong, masterly, imperious, but he seems to check himself now and then, as if he wanted her to believe he was holding in the actual man for her sake, and Marcia is immensely flattered. He has brought her a really beautiful bracelet, counting on her personal vanity, and she is quite overwhelmed.
"If it had been any ordinary designer, of course I should have paid the usual price for the work," he explains, "but I wanted you to remember the pleasure the interviews gave me."
"You rate them too highly," says Marcia, falteringly.
"Ah, I didn't say they gaveyoupleasure," he answers. "You have so much society, so many friends, but a poor unfortunate fellow like me gets early shelved, and crumbs are not to my taste. I am just selfish enough to want a whole piece of cake."
"Well, why should you not have it?" says Marcia, who is well versed in the audacities of coquetry.
"I am not at all sure I could get it, the kind I want."
He folds his hands behind him and they walk down to the shore. Her portfolio she has consigned to a rocky crevice: there will be no sketching she is well aware.
"I think a man—can get a great deal," she says, in a meditative sort of tone. "He can dare almost anything. Indeed, it occurs to me that it is often women who take up with the crumbs."
"And there are seasons in life when one would be glad to offer an equivalent, if one had the nice iced and ornamented cake."
"Oh, you fancy women are always on the lookout for sweets, Mr. Wilmarth," she says, parrying. "There are other things——"
"As what?"
"Strength, power, honor, manliness."
"I wonder," he begins, musingly, "how long strength and manliness would stand against beauty and the soft, seductive flatteries of society. I wonder what they in their ruggedness would win? What a lovely day it is, and what a solemn talk! I shall bore you," suddenly changing his tone.
Marcia protests. They ramble up and down, and skirmish. He has fancied her an over-ripe peach ready to fall, but is surprised at her numerous little defences. It is fortunate for her that she cannot think him in solemn earnest, for her uncertainty adds a zest to his pursuit.
When they part it is with the understanding that she shall not attend the musicale, which she really cares little about, and that he shall spend the evening with her. It is a rather bold step, and his acquiescence sends a tremor through every pulse. What if heshouldprove a lover?
CHAPTER XX.
Love that is ignorant, and hatred have almost the same ends.—Ben Jonson.
What if Jasper Wilmarth should prove that ardently desired person, a lover? Marcia Grandon wonders what she would do, what she had better do? The years are beginning to fly apace. True, Gertrude married at thirty, after she had lost her greatest attractions, and was quite indifferent whether she pleased or not. Marcia is past twenty-six, and it is but a step to thirty. If she could set up for a genius and have a pretty house of her own, but the house is out of the question, and to be confronted with Violet's youth and freshness every day in the year is much too bitter! Jasper Wilmarth is not a man to be proud of in society, unless it is for his very ugliness and the almost deformity. She thinks of Venus and Vulcan. She might call him playfully her Vulcan; at least, she could to her friends. She will have a house of her own, she will beMrs., and, after all, the world is much more tolerant to married women than to spinsters of an uncertain age. She is not invited with very young girls any more, but as Mrs. Wilmarth she can ask them to her house and patronize them. Then married women are allowed to flirt shamefully withyoungmen; and though Mr. Wilmarth cannot dance, she may have other partners. Altogether, she would be immeasurably better off, even if she did not care very much for him. But there would be a spice of romance, and somehow she half believes she could love him if she wassure, and if he loved her. She has weakly and foolishly come to care for more than one who did not love her, to whom the attention was merely pastime, or perhaps amusement. She will be wary and learn first what his intentions really are.
So at the last moment she has a headache and will not go to Madame Lepelletier's. Mrs. Grandon's invitation is for a week, and Eugene takes her down in the morning, and loiters most of the day in the seductive house. When Floyd and Violet are out of the way, Marcia attires herself in a white cashmere dress and scarlet geraniums, and steals down to the drawing-room wrapped in a Shetland shawl, nervous, curious, and expectant. What if he shouldnotcome?
It is not Jasper Wilmarth's intention to slight the gods. He is scrupulously dressed, and understands the courtesies of society, if he seldom has need of them. Marcia looks reasonably pretty in this handsome room, where there is just enough light to suggest, not enough to glare, and a subtile fragrance of heliotrope. He might marry women superior to Marcia Grandon who would not bring him her family prestige. They may dislike him, but they cannot quite crowd him out of everything.
Marcia receives him with much trepidation. Acute as he is, he does not understand her, for the simple reason that he does not give her credit for the shrewdness engendered by much experience. If she cannot have the marriage she will have the flirtation, and she suspects the latter.
He does soon set her mind at rest, and she is surprised at a positive offer of marriage. He makes it because he knows she will be the more ready to devise ways of meeting him.
"It is abrupt, I know," he begins, in a peculiarly apologetical tone, "but I wanted you to know my intentions. Circumstances might be rather against us if we undertook the orthodox courtship," and he smiles. "I am aware that I have not the graces of youth and comeliness, and for various reasons your family might oppose. But I am not a poor man, and I think—if a woman loved me—I want her to love me," he says, with sudden vehemence that looks like passion. "I want her to adore me, I want to know what it is to be loved in spite of my drawbacks!"
He has touched the right chord in Marcia's nature. She is always ready to adore when opportunity offers. And though she has loved numberless times, she is ready to begin over again, and yields to the masterful force that experiments with her. The touch of her hand is soft and tremulous, and her kisses are delicate, sweet. He gives himself up to an idiocy he does not believe in, and really enjoys the blissfulness, as an Eastern despot might enjoy the admiration of a new slave.
Marcia is supremely happy encircled by these strong arms. Before her closed eyes floats in magic letters her new name. She will not be the old maid of the family after all. If she did not know the world so well, she would be moved to show her gratitude, but it is much wiser to show her love.
"I shall want to see you," he says, "and we cannot always count on occasions like these. I must leave the opportunities largely to you. A note directed to my box will escape prying eyes. We can have walks together; why, we could even have drives if you were good enough to invite me."
"I should be delighted!" cries Marcia, exultantly.
"Only, we must not choose public thoroughfares." And his smile is fascinating to Marcia, who of late has had no really impassioned love-making.
He puts his arm around her as he stands up to go, and experiences a sort of tender contempt for her. He certainly could grow quite fond of this willing slave, and he will let himself enjoy all the pleasure that can be drained out of it.
Marcia opens the hall door for her lover and closes it again softly. She meets Briggs coming in from fastening the library windows.
"Briggs," she remarks, "that was Mr. Wilmarth. I had some special business with him. I have been drawing patterns; but I would rather his call should not be mentioned."
Briggs bows obediently.
In her own room Marcia gives way to a wild delight. She is sure she does not look to be over twenty, she is glad to be rather small, and can imagine how she will appear beside Mr. Wilmarth's broad shoulders and frowning face. Quite piquant and fairy-like, and then to love with one's whole soul, unsuspected by the sharp eyes of critical kindred, who do not appreciate her lover; to carry about a delicious secret, to plan and to steal out to promised interviews, and at last,—for he has hinted that he shall be a rather impatient wooer,—at last to surprise them by a marriage. She can hardly compose herself to sleep, so busy and excited are brain and nerves.
The musicale is a success, one of the enviable events of the season, and there is a most charming supper afterward. Violet's enjoyment is so perfect that she takes herself quite to task for not being better friends with madame, since Mr. Grandon really desires it. Why should she allow that old dead-and-gone ghost to walk in this bright present? She is never troubled about Cecil's mother, and Mr. Grandon must have loved her; she is never jealous of Cecil. This is nothing like jealousy, she tells herself; it is a peculiar distrust; she does not want madame to gain any influence overher. She is ready enough to admit and to admire her wonderful beauty, but her presence seems like some overpowering fragrance that might lull one into a dangerous sleep.
And yet Violet finds, as the time goes on, that she does come into her life and smooths it mysteriously. Laura has less of that insolent superiority when madame is present, and Mrs. Grandon seems more gentle. Then madame can convey bits of society counsel so delicately, she always seems to know just when Violet is not quite certain of any step.
"I should really have loved her at first," Violet half admits to herself, "if nothing had been said."
Gertrude and the professor are going to Mexico, and will not be back for some time. Everybody is planning for summer. Laura talks of a run over to Europe; the Vandervoorts take Newport as a matter of course, and send thither carriages and horses. Mrs. Latimer spends a few days at Grandon Park, and ends by taking the cottage with Denise, after she has had a luncheon within its charmed precincts. Madame lingers and is undecided, then what she considers a very fortunate incident settles her at Grandon Park, with a lovely cottage, horses, and an elderly half invalid for companion.
About the middle of May, Marcia Grandon makes her grandcoup de grace. She fancies she has had it all her own way, that she has planned; but some one behind was gently manipulating the cords of his puppet. There have been delicious stolen interviews, notes, and the peculiar half-intrigue, half-deception Marcia so loves. Violet has remarked an odd change in her; Mrs. Grandon has been a good deal occupied, and has grown accustomed to her daughter's vagaries, so no one has paid any special heed. Marcia has ordered atrousseauin the city, and one fine morning goes down in her airiest manner, and in pearl silk is made Mrs. Wilmarth. From thence they send out cards, and Marcia writes to her mother, to Laura, who comes in haste, and is both angry and incredulous; angry that Jasper Wilmarth should have been brought into the family, when she had done it the honor to connect it with the Vandervoorts and Delancys.
Marcia is quite resplendent in silk and lace, and does look blissfully content.
"What an awful fool you have made of yourself!" is the tender salutation, since Mr. Wilmarth is not present. "What you ever could see inthatman passes my comprehension! He may do for business, but ifIunderstand rightly, Floyd is not over-fond of him. I suppose that was why you married on the sly?"
"I married to please myself," says Marcia, bridling, "and I dare say you did the same. I have a husband who is kind and generous and noble, who loves me and whom I love, and if fate has in some ways treated him unkindly, he shall learn that there is one woman in the world brave enough to make it up to him."
She repeats this almost like a lesson learned by rote.
"Bosh," returns Laura, with contemptuous superiority. "I dare say you thought it would be the last chance!"
"Oh, I have heard of women marrying even at forty," retorts Marcia, with a shrill little laugh.
"And to do it in that way! Whatever possessed you to make such an idiot of yourself. To bringthatman in the family!"
"You forget he is my husband, Mrs. Delancy," and Marcia braves her resolutely.
At this moment the door opens and the obnoxious person enters, having heard his wife's last sentence. He walks straight up to Laura, with determination in every line of his countenance.
"Ah, Mrs. Delancy," he says, and then adds in a meaning tone, with a kind of bitter suavity, "I suppose we do not need to be introduced. Although I never was much of a visitor in my late partner's household, I have known you all, and I suppose am entitled to a little friendly recognition for Marcia's sake. We have taken our step in a most unorthodox manner, but it suited ourselves, our only apology."
"Extremely unorthodox," says Laura, in a biting tone.
"But we propose to make it orthodox as soon as possible. Marcia, brave girl, would have married me in the face of any staring audience. She might have had a younger and handsomer bridegroom, but she can hardly have a husband who will care more tenderly for her."
Laura is rather checked in her angry career. She dare not brave these steel-gray eyes.
"We are all very much surprised; at least I am, having heard no word or hint of it."
"We did keep our secret pretty well, I believe," and he glances fondly at Marcia.
"Well," replies Laura, rising, "I suppose the best wish of all is that you may not regret your step in haste."
"It was not so hasty as that," and he laughs, with the flavor of one who has won.
Laura makes her adieus coldly, feeling outgeneralled by his evident determination not to be put down.
"What are we to do?" she asks of madame, half an hour later. "This horrid reception staring us in the face! Of course people will go out of curiosity. Marcia always did delight in being talked about."
"But is her husband so horribly unpresentable?" and madame's beautiful eyes are filled with sympathy.
"Oh, you can presentanythinghere in New York, that is the worst of it!" cries Laura, angrily. "That is why I like Newport. And Marcia is so utterly silly."
"But Mr. Wilmarth?"
"I hate the sight of him, and Marcia used to say everything about him. He's humpbacked or something, and looks like a tiger. Well, Idowish her joy if ever he should get in a tantrum. You see, after all, the idea of bringing such a man in the family. Floyd's marriage was bad enough."
"But yourpetitesister-in-law does improve wonderfully."
"Don't call her anything to me," says Laura, disdainfully. "She is simply Floyd's wife. I only wish we were going to sail this very day and get out of all theescalandre."
Madame laughs comfortingly. Laura resolves to go up to Grandon Park to see in what estimation the marriage is held there.
They are surprised and puzzled. Mrs. Grandon's mortification is a little assuaged, and in her secret heart she is thankful Marcia has done no worse. She has been lawfully married by a reputable clergyman, she is staying at a fashionable hotel, and will no doubt have a stylish reception. She has married a man who can not only keep her in comfort, but who is likely to keep her out of any further imprudences, and therefore one need have no care or anxiety about the future. The step certainly has some compensations to her, if they are and must remain unconfessed to the world.
"I do regret it," Floyd says, candidly, "for I am afraid Marcia's romance has led her into an unwise step. I cannot imagine Jasper Wilmarth being tender to a woman. I have never been able to like or admire him, or, for that matter, trust him, and our views seldom accord. I suppose the secret of it was that Marcia was afraid of opposition."
"But what are you going to do, recognize them at once?"
"If at all, why not at once? Why make a little stir and gossip? We shall never be altogether friendly," and Floyd paces the room, for he sees this step complicates business matters still further, "but we can keep people from commenting upon our unfriendliness."
"Of course they will come back here to live, and it might be awkward for you," returns Laura, rather elated that they are not likely to stay in the city. "Well, if thereisnothing else to do——"
"We may as well put a pleasant face on the matter and swallow our bitter pill," says Floyd, with a smile of concession.
"Do you know," says Violet, afterward, with a touch of timidity that is quite entrancing, "I cannot help admiring Marcia's courage in marrying a man she loved, even if he was not—and heisquite dreadful," with a shivering incoherence. "I saw him when he came to Canada, and he made me think of an ogre. Yet it would be very hard if the whole world hated you for something you could not help, like a deformity."
"I have known several instances of men worse deformed than Mr. Wilmarth being extravagantly loved," says Grandon, thinking how nearly this man might have been her fate, and wondering if she could have reconciled herself to it. "But we are very apt to connect warped bodies with warped minds, and I must confess to a distaste for either. I should like to be sure it was—regard that brought them together."
She remembers that Marcia is rather peculiar, always taking sudden fancies and then dropping them. This she never can give up, never.
"What thought so perplexes that wise little face," asks her husband.
"Oh, she must have loved him or she could not have married him," she says, still thinking of Marcia.
"Does that follow, I wonder?"
"Why, she had her choice, you know, there was no other reason for her to marry him," she answers, innocently.
He wonders just now what Violet St. Vincent would have done had a choice been hers! He is well aware that she obeyed her father, and that he was not distasteful to her. She is sweet and dutiful and fond, not at all exacting, and has the obedience of a well-trained child. Does he care for anything more? Could he have it if hedidcare, if he desired it ardently?
Mrs. Jasper Wilmarth's reception is a crush. It would seem that no one stayed away, and it looks as if they might have brought cousins and aunts. She is in pale blue silk and velvet, and looks very pretty, for Marcia brightens up wonderfully with becoming dress. Mr. Wilmarth's tailor has made the best of his figure, and he brings out the training of years agone, when he had some ambitions. Society decides that it must have been merely a whim, for the man is certainly well enough, and really adores her. Even Laura wonders how Marcia managed to inspire this regard, and decides that the marriage is not so bad, after all, and she shall never have Marcia to chaperone.
Floyd Grandon and his wife are down in the early part of the evening. This is really Mr. Wilmarth's triumph. The greeting is courteous, if formal, and the man has come tohim, Jasper Wilmarth. As a member of the Grandon family, he is not to be overlooked. As a man, he can win a wife as well as the more favored ones, and there are women present with much less style and prettiness than Marcia.
His whim has not proved so foolish, after all, and Marcia is at present bewildered and conquered by the power he holds over her, brought for a little while out of her silly self by an ennobling regard.
After their reception they take a short tour, and return to Westbrook, where Mr. Wilmarth has engaged his house. Marcia has a house-furnishing craze, and goes to and fro in her pony carriage, ordering with the consequence of a duchess. Mrs. Latimer comes up to the cottage and gets settled, quite charming Denise by her delightful ways. Madame seems in no especial haste, but she promises, after some solicitation from Floyd, to spend a few days with them and give her advice about thefêtethat is to introduce his wife into society, as well as to celebrate her birthday. It is quite time that Violet was known to the world as the mistress of the house and his wife. He is oddly interested in her dress and all her belongings, and her delight is exquisite to witness.