The Bacillus of Beauty

H >> Harriet Stark >> The Bacillus of Beauty

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

I have decided. I shall marry Strathay.

February--March--April--three long, long months, and still Ned doesn't
come, does not write. Yes, it's time to act; thank God, I've still some
pride!

While Darmstetter lived, I couldn't have left New York; but now, now that
I am safe, why should I stay here, flatting with a shrew, provoking the
Van Dams, to whom I owe some gratitude, wasting my life for a man who--who
said he didn't love me?

Milly's at home again; let Ned return to her, if he chooses. I shall marry
Strathay. Meg shall be friend to a Countess. Then I shall be quits with
her and with Mrs. Henry and with Peggy. And the "best people" will no more
fight shy of me--though they don't now; they don't need to. Except Mrs.
Schuyler, who has snubbed me just enough to leave herself right, whatever
happens, few of them have ever met me.

I owe no thanks to Mrs. Whitney, with her prunes and her prisms and her
penny-pinchings. I must secure my future.

And there's only one way--Strathay. I've been foolish to hesitate. He
tried to speak yesterday, after the flower tea--for that's the extent of
my social shining now; I am good to draw a crowd at a bazaar!--and I
should have let him; I meant to do so.

But I can't blame myself for being sentimental, weak, and for putting him
off; I was tired out. What an ordeal I'd undergone! What black looks from
the women! They'd rather have starved their summer church in the
Adirondacks than nursed it with my help!

But he must have understood; I think he saw everything that happened. The
girls at my stall were sulky because no one bought of them, while I was
surrounded; and one, in lifting a handful of roses, drew them towards her
with a spiteful jerk that left a long thorn-scratch across my hand.

I pretended not to notice. Then in a minute I cried:--

"Why, see; how could that have happened?"

And I laid my perfect hand beside hers, ugly with outstanding veins, that
she might note the accident--and the difference. People giggled, and she
snatched her hand away, blushing furiously.

I was in high spirits, with a crowd about me. I knew how tall and graceful
I looked behind my flowers; and to tease Mrs. Terry, I pinned Bellmer's
boutonniere with unnecessary graciousness, and smiled at her while he
sniffed it with beatitude beaming from his moony face.

"Awf'ly slow things, teas," he said regretfully, as she bore him off';
"awf'ly slow, don't you think?" Really the man's little better than a
downright fool; if he were poor, no one would waste a better word upon
him.

As he went, I caught sight of a slight figure, a pair of jealous,
worshipping eyes. Poor Strathay had seen the incident; had perhaps
thought--

I took pains to be cordial to him, when he had made his way with Poultney
to my side; and to Mr. Poultney, too; though I don't like him much better
than Cadge does, with his cold eyes and his thin smile, that seems to say:
"Hope you find my schoolboy entertaining."

An Earl is always entertaining!

Yet I ran away from him. I left the tea early. I wanted to think. All the
way home in the carriage I marshalled arguments in his favour. I saw
myself at court, throned in my brilliant circle, flattered by princes,
consulted by statesmen, the ornament of a society I am fitted to adorn. I
saw a world of jealous women at my feet and Ned convinced that I had been
playing with him. I even rehearsed the scene we should enact when Strathay
should speak; I foresaw the flush upon his face, the sparkle of his eyes
when I should tell him that I would try to love him.

He must have slipped his cousin's leash, for he was at the Nicaragua
almost as soon as I was. But there at home, with the boy's eyes fixed on
mine, with the tremour of his voice telling me how much he cared, I
couldn't listen.

I made talk with him, for him. I gave him no chance to speak, determined
as I was that he should speak. I was conscious of but one desire--to put
off the avowal.

At last he said: "Sometimes I fancy you're not happy."

His voice was tense. He was leaning forward in his eagerness; he looked so
zealous to be my champion--so honest!

I tried to smile. I really liked him.

Happy! Out of memory there came to me a picture: I was creeping to Ethel's
bed at night, whispering to her that I was the happiest girl in the world;
she kissed me sleepily, and said she was happy too, and then I groped my
way back to bed, and lay there in the dark, smiling. That was years ago.
Three months? Years, long, long years ago!

Now it flashed across me that Lord Strathay loved me as I had loved Ned.
That gave me a measure of the gift he was to offer. I felt Ned's kisses on
my hands, bidding me be honest.--I felt other kisses, too; I saw--good
God, how long must I see?--a gray old face--the face of Darmstetter!
Happy! I closed my eyes to shut out the vision. I shuddered.

"You--really, I'm afraid you're very tired," he said, after waiting a
little.

"Yes; tired," I gasped; "that's all."

But I knew I must marry him. I controlled myself. I smiled; I waited. I
wished him to go on, but he was peering into my straining eyes with
anxious sympathy.

"I'm afraid you're too tired to talk with me to-day," he said; "but--you
will let me come again?"

"Yes."

Such a relief! Though what was to be gained by waiting? What must be must
be.

Indeed an older man might have seen the wisdom of speaking at once. But
Strathay looked wistfully at me for a moment, then turned away with a big,
honest schoolboy sigh; and something like a sob broke his voice as he
whispered:--

"I--I would do anything to serve you."

Then he went away.

Perverse! I _will_ marry him. Other women take husbands so. I like
him; I should like him even if he were not an Earl--and his name a career.

I shall make Strathay as fine a Countess as any cold, blonde English girl,
and he'll be proud of me, and every man will envy him. I shall wrong him
less than I should have wronged John Burke. I should have hated John if I
had married him, for he'd expect love, where Strathay will be content to
give it. Why, the one honest thing I've done was to break with John.

I wish I could afford to keep on being honest!

CHAPTER V.

THE LOVE OF LORD STRATHAY.

May 5.

Lord deliver me from the well-meaning!

Because of one pestilential dun, I've done what the weary waiting for
money, money, money would never have driven me to do. I've been to Uncle,
unknown to his wife, to ask advice. I might have known better.

It was with a wildly beating pulse that I entered the familiar little
private office, thinking that Ned might be on the other side of the
partition--near enough, perhaps, to hear me; that he might at any moment
rap upon the door and enter the room as he used to do, upon such flimsy
errands! I wondered how he would look, and what he'd say if he came; but
he never did come, though the talk was long enough, mercy knows; long and
profitless.

It was hard, with that cold sinking at my heart, to talk to the Judge, as
he sat with his keen eyes fixed upon me, leaning back in his chair, at
times frowning absent-mindedly.

"I've come to tell you--I've written home for money," I began breathlessly
to explain. "But they don't understand, of course--it isn't half what I
need, now. I really don't quite know what to do. And so I came to--"

My words died away into unintelligibility.

"Anticipated your allowance a little? Well, well, how much do you need?"
he asked indulgently.

"I don't exactly know; not much," I cried eagerly, "I haven't asked Father
to send it all at once. Two or three thousand dollars would be a great
help--for the present."

"Two or three thousand! Is it little Nelly Winship who is talking about
thousands? And what important scheme has she in mind?"

His tone was playful.

"To pay my bills.'"

"Bills aggregating thousands?" He dropped his paper cutter sharply. "Is it
possible that in so short a time--if the recital be not too painful, pray
explain."

"Oh, it's simple enough; the dressmaker would say: 'Do let me make you
this, it's such a pleasure to fit you;' or, 'That would be the rage, if
you'd introduce it.' And Mrs. Van Dam begged me to buy a hat from a
protegee just starting in business, because it would be a help to have the
beautiful Miss Winship for a customer. It did help the milliner, too, for
I bought three and they were printed in the papers. But she wants her pay
just as if it hadn't been worth the price twice over as an advertisement.
And all the things for the flat--"

"Furniture?"

"Why, yes; we've rearranged the place and I've contributed a little. Uncle
Timothy, you can see--I need more money than other women. I can't walk
without attracting notice, and cab hire or a carriage by the month--and--
and I can't shop for myself, you don't know what a difference that makes;
and--oh, everything is different! Why, I've just had my portrait painted.
But Father isn't a poor man." "He is poor, measured by New York
standards. And he is sending you a great deal of money."

"Yes, but--I must have a _lot_ more."

The Judge frowned slowly, considering what he had heard. Finally he said,
slowly shaking his head:--

"Doubtless we should have warned you, upon your coming to New York, but I
did not anticipate that one of your substantial Western stock would
develop habits of extravagance; nor were they apparent while you were with
us. I cannot think it was altogether our fault, and certainly it was not
your father's. I am not unmindful of the recent unsettling experiences
which furnish excuse for confusion of ideas; but, Nelly, I appeal to a
head that should be logical, even if--I have never thought it giddy with
adulation--to see the facts as they exist. You must yield to your aunt's
wish and return to her or to Marcia--"

"Impossible!"

"--you must bring me your bills; doubtless we can give up the furniture--"

"Give it up!"

The coolly spoken words struck to my heart. Why, we had just finished
arranging it! But he misunderstood my exclamation, and added:--

"I comprehend your reluctance, and I confess that I should little like to
advise returning goods bought in good faith, if there were any chance of
payment; but--let me see; are you of age?"

"Why, yes; just twenty-one."

"Is it possible? How time passes, to be sure! Yet--ah, the point is not
important; the tradespeople should not have trusted you. Consider that you
are unable to pay; the less of two evils is to return the goods as soon as
possible, that they may be received undamaged."

"Oh, it's not so bad as that?" I said hastily. "Nearly everybody is
willing to wait, and I--you know Aunt Frank doesn't want me, and I should
be a--white elephant to Miss Baker. I must live somewhere. It's not my
fault if my only friends are rich, and if I--but why can't Father--"

"I do not believe your father can pay your debts," he interrupted, "in
addition to the generous sums he has already forwarded, unless--surely you
were not suggesting that he should mortgage the farm in order to--pay for
paintings?"

"I didn't mean that at all!" I cried; "I never thought of that. But how
_do_ people--"

"You and I must do what is to be done, if possible without distressing
him," he said; "your father is not so young as he once was. If you have
bought things for which your allowance will not pay, although"--he
hesitated a moment, "--the situation is--ah--trying to Mrs. Whitney. I
suppose her half of the common stock is secure?"

"Her half!"

"Has she been leaning upon your slender purse?" he asked not unkindly.

"Why--she saves money by me and I increase her social importance. Of
course she had furniture, but it was old and--and--"

I could not find the words to explain to a man my horror of ugliness. He
wouldn't have understood.

"Well, well, it makes no difference now. I must arrange matters for you,
and I think you will agree, upon reflection, that the first step must be
to give up whatever we can."

"But, Uncle--" I tried to speak calmly, to show him the situation--"Mrs.
Whitney is a Van Dam, and they befriended me when--why, they would never
forgive me; it would be ruin. And even from the practical standpoint--you
wouldn't like to have your lawbooks sold, would you? Well, people have
introduced me--and pretty furniture and pretty clothes and not to have any
scandal or any talk--oh, you can see!"

"In the light of reports that reach me," said the Judge, "I might suppose
that you"--he hesitated a moment, then continued, in an attempt at a
bantering manner, "that you refer to your luxuries as preliminary to--ah--
matrimony, which is said to be the only gainful occupation that my sex
leaves almost exclusively to yours, and in which fine clothing is
undoubtedly an adjuvant. But observation leads me to think that it is a
business less profitable than is often imagined. Hm!"

He drummed on the table, and when he continued, he seemed talking to gain
time, considering what he wished to say.

"I grant you," he said with his cumbrous playfulness, "that the
sensibility of flesh and blood to beauty is as broad a fact as the effect
of heat or cold. It is so universally recognised that we take a pretty
girl, like original sin or the curse of labour, as a _chose jugee_.
Her sway must have begun with the glacial drifters and the kitchen
middeners and the Engis skull man, when they and the rest of the
paleoliths were battling with the dodo and the dinornis and the
didifornis, and had no time for the cult of beauty except by proxy. Did it
ever occur to you that we men drove a hard bargain with your sex when we
compelled you to beauty, made you carry the topknots and the tail-
feathers? Men propose marriage, women adorn themselves to listen. Let
women choose their mates, and they might go as plain as peahens; and men
would strut about, displaying wattles, combs and argus-eyed plumes."

"Women would be less beautiful if they proposed?"

"Some could not be, I fear." He pulled down his brows, considering the
proposition, then shook his head positively, with a little sigh. "You will
remember--was it not Darwin who said that women, in order to attract men,
borrow the plumage of male birds, which these have acquired to please the
females of their kind? Beauty must be the first law of life to the sex
that has not the privilege of choosing. Under the circumstances, it is
surprising how much of plainness women have preserved. Possibly because of
the extraordinary directions which beauty culture may take. Burton asserts
that the Somali choose wives by ranging the women in line for inspection;
she wins a husband of note who projects farthest _a tergo_. Yet among
famous Greek statues there is also a steatopygous Venus."

The office boy came to the door, and his knock woke Uncle out of his
revery. He excused himself to his caller, and, returning to me, went on:--

"I have been--ah--I admit, rather evading the personal question. I wish,
without seeking embarrassing confidences, to remind you that young people
are apt to think bad matters--other than business matters--worse than they
are. I am not asking questions, but, when I was younger, cynicism usually
hid but ill the scars of heartache. Do not, I pray you, throw yourself
away in the gloom of momentary unhappiness."

Did he guess--about Ned? That I was the one most hurt there? He should
never know that I winced. I shrugged my shoulders, ignoring his fatherly
glance, and faced him with a stare meant to be brazen.

"You do not at the present time believe in sentiment?" he said. "Then I
shall adapt my argument to your whim of practicality, and speak of the
rumours which connect your name with that of young Lord Strathay."

"Oh; that boy!"

"I presume you are right; he does seem to have fallen deeply in love with
you. But--if indeed, you are dazzled by the glamour of a title--do not be
too confident of his fealty. I know men better than you know them, my
dear. Man loves beauty, but he does not always want to marry it. The rare
white swan is admired, but the little brown partridge, clucking as she
marshals her covey of chicks, is the type of the marrying woman. Again, no
man is master of himself. That Strathay wishes to marry you, I can
understand; but, perhaps, when he is not under the spell of your presence,
he falls to wondering how you will pronounce the social shibboleths, and
may let 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would.' It is idle to deny that,
admitting as one must the existence of lines of social cleavage in modern
life, it is often a mistake to overstep their boundaries in matrimony;
though as to international alliances--"

"Oh," I said, interrupting his prosings with a light laugh, "you mustn't
take the matter _au serieux_."

"I take it so because it is serious." The Judge's eyes and his tone were
very grave. "Forgive me if I remind you that these _obiter dicta_
have grown out of a discussion of your money affairs, wherein you are
bankrupt. If--and I ask your pardon if the supposition does you wrong--if
you are relying on a brilliant marriage to help you out of financial
difficulties--"

He hesitated a moment, then went on slowly: "Perhaps I ought to warn you
that, if at any time this does become a serious matter, you will have
powerful opposition. I had not intended to tell you--though now I deem it
best--that Mr. Stephen Allardyce Poultney has lately done me the honour to
call; and--"

"Lord Strathay's cousin?" I thought he could hear the thrumming of my
heart. This was why he had beaten so long about the bush! "Was he--was he
speaking about me?"

I felt a sudden chill of apprehension, and almost feared to hear the
answer.

"He was; he came to the point with a refreshing directness worthy of a
business man, and said that he wanted to know all about you."

"And you--"

"I need not trouble you with our conversation. In view of the attentions
which his Lordship has been paying you, his cousin felt it a duty, he
intimated, to make inquiries. He did not care a button, I inferred, for
your position here, as it could not affect Lord Strathay's in England; but
he had read the newspapers with pardonable perplexity, and asked if you
were really the only daughter of a bonanza farmer. I did not feel it
necessary to enter into particulars, but informed him that your father was
rich in honesty and in the possession of a daughter good and beautiful
enough for any Lord that lives. He thanked me and said 'quite so,' as
Englishmen usually do say when they disagree with one. He added that he
would try to get the poor beggar--for so he referred to his kinsman--away
fishing.

"You will note that, in the higher social strata, the choice of
matrimonial partners has progressed beyond the personal selection so
confidently assumed by the scientists, and has become a matter for
relatives to--"

"And my only relative in New York," I said slowly, wondering how fatal was
this unexpected news, "has made it impossible for me to achieve a success
that was almost within my grasp."

I don't see that the remark was so very terrible, but he looked at me with
an odd air of astonishment and consternation. Then he seemed to consider
it best to treat my natural disappointment as a joke.

"Not very serious is this conversation, as you have reminded me," he said.
"You don't wish me to tell that which is not?"

"Why, naturally--no." I was stunned, but I forced a laugh. "But it
_is_ funny. Why--I was nearer landing the prize than I supposed,
wasn't I?--that is, if I had wanted to land it?"

"Um--yes; it was rather close. But in this world you'll find strong men
often dissuading weak ones from action briefly meditated."

He gazed at me solemnly, portentously, critically.

"Yes," I said, trying to speak with careless ease; "one Lord gone, but
there are others. Don't be too hard upon Strathay, though. He's not so
bad. His estates are not heavily encumbered, and he's as likely now to wed
a music hall singer as a daughter of the Beerage. Perhaps such a marriage
as he might have offered is not the best in life, but it is something that
women who love their daughters as well as you love yours are glad to
arrange for them. I should have made Strathay a very decent wife--"

But at the word I stopped; something in the sound of it shattered my cool
philosophy.

"Of course, of course," Uncle assented. Then after a pause he went on,
hesitatingly:--

"Nelly, these are not matters for a man to discuss with you. Why don't you
run in and talk with your aunt?"

I hadn't the least intention of calling, but I answered him according to
his folly.

"I must, some time; but I'm so worried--"

"Ah, yes; those debts. Could you not, if you are determined not to come
home to us, seek less expensive apartments? You know that for any wants in
reason your aunt and I--"

"I--I can't, just yet," I faltered, with a dreary vision before my eyes of
such a boarding house as that from which Kitty rescued me.

"Very well, Nelly, but think about it; you will see that to go on as you
are doing would be only throwing money into a bottomless pit. But bring me
your bills to-morrow; I must have facts and figures, if we are to
straighten your affairs. Now--you need money--"

He was fumbling for his check book. Badly as I needed help, instinctively
I cried:--

"Oh, no; not that!"

"Quite sure? It is the situation that troubles you and not the butcher,
the baker--"

"Quite sure."

"I desist. But sleep on what I have said. Remember that I am in your
father's place, that I--your aunt and I--are very anxious about you."

He took my hand, seeming as perplexed as I am myself. He looked
affectionate enough, but so futile.

So I came away heartsick. It's useless to argue with Judge Baker. He's a
plebeian from his thick shoe soles to his thin hair; but he's honest. And
yet--if he had been less ponderously precise--he might have said: "Why,
really, I don't exactly know. Mr. Winship is a well-to-do man. It has been
years since I knew, but I can ascertain and--"

Or he might just have told the plain truth--that Father has a large
Western farm. Englishmen think all Western folks are rich. Why, I believe
Meg Van Dam would dower me if I were to marry Strathay. I could make it
worth her while. It wouldn't be the first arrangement of that sort in New
York, either.

If only Strathay had seen me once more, no power on earth could have
prevented an avowal; and marriage with a peer of England would have given
me a station befitting my beauty.

But perhaps it's not too late. Strathay may not heed his cousin. If he
comes wooing again, I shall not be so silly as I was the last time.
Strange that I have not seen him. Can he have gone already?

I might do the London season by borrowing from Meg. It would cost a
fortune, and--unless Strathay does propose--perhaps even she wouldn't care
to finance me now.

I wish---

Oh, I wish I could get out of my dreams the ghastly form of Darmstetter,
as I saw him dead at my feet! He haunts me all day long, and all the night
I dream of him!

And I wish I had not broken John Burke's honest heart--how wistful he
looked, as he waited for me at the door of the office and helped me to my
carriage! Perhaps Ned wasn't in the building; perhaps--he may have avoided
me.

I wish I had not brought him sorrow, and I wish--

No, I don't! I just hope Milly is even more wretched than I am!

Father really might mortgage. I could easily pay it back. I wonder I never
thought of that. I'll ask him. I will not take my bills to Judge Baker--to
be lectured on the dodo and on lines of social cleavage--as if any man
could be a match for me.

I'll never go back to Aunt Frank! There is Bellmer, now--and Strathay must
soon return to New York, to sail.

CHAPTER VI.

LITTLE BROWN PARTRIDGES.

May 20.

I wonder if I couldn't _earn_ money. For the last week--nothing but
trouble. No check from Father. Hugh Bellmer I have not seen. Strathay has
really gone, spirited away by that superior cousin.

And Mrs. Whitney has deserted me--oh, if it were not for money troubles, I
wouldn't mind that, cruel as was the manner of it!

Of course the newspapers soon learned that Strathay had left town. Trust
them for that; and to make sensational use of it! The first I knew of it,
indeed, was when one day Cadge came bursting into the room.

"Isn't it a shame?" she began in her piercing voice; as ever at fever heat
of unrest, she waved at me a folded newspaper.

"Emphatically; but what is it?"

"That fierce tale of the _Echo_; haven't seen it? We couldn't print a
line. Big Tom says the chief has put his foot down; won't have stories
about women in private life, you know--without their consent. But why
didn't you--why can't you give us a whack at it?"

"Because there isn't a word of truth in the whole disgusting--what does it
say?"

I had seized the sheet from her hands and rapidly glanced over the staring
headlines. Eagerly she interrupted me:--

"Oh, isn't it the worst ever? But I see how it happened. They must have
sent out a leg man to get facts, and when no one would talk, they stirred
this up in the office. But--not to print, now--what _are_ you going
to do with His Lordship? Honest, Princess?"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19