"WHAT do you think of the evening, Aunt
Ruth?" Ethel was in her aunt's room, comfortably
wrapped in a pink kimono, when she
asked this question.
"What do you think of it, Ethel?"
"I am not sure."
"The dinner was well served."
"Yes. Who was the little dark man you
talked with, aunt?"
"He was a Mr. Marriot, a banker, and a
friend of Bryce Denning's. He is a fresh
addition to society, I think. He had the
word `gold' always on his lips; and he believes
in it as good men believe in God. The
general conversation annoyed him; he could
not understand men being entertained by it."
"They were, though, for once Jamie Sayer
forgot to talk about his pictures."
"Is that the name of your escort?"
"Yes."
"And is he an artist?"
"A second-rate one. He is painting
Dora's picture, and is a great favorite of
Mrs. Denning's."
"A strange, wild-looking man. When I
saw him first he was lying, dislocated, over
his ottoman rather than sitting on it."
"Oh, that is a part of his affectations.
He is really a childish, self-conscious creature,
with a very decided dash of vulgarity.
He only tries to look strange and wild, and
he would be delighted if he knew you had
thought him so."
"I was glad to see Claudine Jeffrys. How
slim and graceful she is! And, pray, who is
that Miss Ullman?"
"A very rich woman. She has Bryce
under consideration. Many other men have
been in the same position, for she is sure they
all want her money and not her. Perhaps
she is right. I saw you talking to her, aunt."
"For a short time. I did not enjoy her
company. She is so mercilessly realistic, she
takes all the color out of life. Everything
about her, even her speech, is sharp-lined as
the edge of a knife. She could make Bryce's
life very miserable."
"Perhaps it might turn out the other way.
Bryce Denning has capacities in the same
line. How far apart, how far above every
man there, stood Basil Stanhope!"
"He is strikingly handsome and graceful,
and I am sure that his luminous serenity does
not arise from apathy. I should say he was
a man of very strong and tender feelings."
"And he gives all the strength and tenderness
of his feelings to Dora. Men are strange
creatures."
"Who directed Dora's dress this evening?"
"Herself or her maid. I had nothing to
do with it. The effect was stunning."
"Fred thought so. In fact, Fred Hostyn----"
"Fell in love with her."
"Exactly. `Fell,' that is the word--fell
prostrate. Usually the lover of to-day walks
very timidly and carefully into the condition,
step by step, and calculating every step before
he takes it. Fred plunged headlong into
the whirling vortex. I am very sorry. It is
a catastrophe."
"I never witnessed the accident before. I
have heard of men getting wounds and falls,
and developing new faculties in consequence,
but we saw the phenomenon take place this
evening."
"Love, if it be love, is known in a moment.
man who never saw the sun before would
know it was the sun. In Fred's case it was
an instantaneous, impetuous passion, flaming
up at the sight of such unexpected beauty--
a passion that will probably fade as rapidly
as it rose."
"Fred is not that kind of a man, aunt. He
does not like every one and everything, but
whoever or whatever he does like becomes a
lasting part of his life. Even the old chairs
and tables at Mostyn are held as sacred
objects by him, though I have no doubt an
American girl would trundle them off to the
garret. It is the same with the people. He
actually regards the Rawdons as belonging in
some way to the Mostyns; and I do not believe
he has ever been in love before."
"Nonsense!"
"He was so surprised by the attack. If
it had been the tenth or twentieth time he
would have taken it more philosophically;
besides, if he had ever loved any woman, he
would have gone on loving her, and we should
have known all about her perfections by this
time."
"Dora is nearly a married woman, and
Mostyn knows it."
"Nearly may make all the difference.
When Dora is married he will be compelled
to accept the inevitable and make the best of
it."
"When Dora is married he will idealize
her, and assure himself that her marriage is
the tragedy of both their lives."
"Dora will give him no reason to suppose
such a thing. I am sure she will not. She is
too much in love with Mr. Stanhope to notice
any other lover."
"You are mistaken, Ethel. Swiftly as
Fred was vanquished she noticed it, and many
times--once even while leaning on Mr. Stanhope's
arm--she turned the arrow in the
heart wound with sweet little glances and
smiles, and pretty appeals to the blind adoration
of her new lover. It was, to me, a humiliating
spectacle. How could she do it?"
"I am sure Dora meant no wrong. It is
so natural for a lovely girl to show off a
little. She will marry and forget Fred Mostyn
lives."
"And Fred will forget?"
"Fred will not forget."
"Then I shall be very sorry for your father
and grandmother."
"What have they to do with Fred marrying?"
"A great deal. Fred has been so familiar
and homely the last two or three weeks, that
they have come to look upon him as a future
member of the family. It has been `Cousin
Ethel' and `Aunt Ruth' and even `grandmother'
and `Cousin Fred,' and no objections
have been made to the use of such personal
terms. I think your father hopes for a
closer tie between you and Fred Mostyn than
cousinship."
"Whatever might have been is over. Do
you imagine I could consent to be the secondary
deity, to come after Dora--Dora of
all the girls I have ever known? The idea is
an insult to my heart and my intelligence.
Nothing on earth could make me submit to
such an indignity."
"I do not suppose, Ethel, that any wife is
the first object of her husband's love."
"At least they tell her she is so, swear it
an inch deep; and no woman is fool enough to
look beyond that oath, but when she is sure
that she is a second best! AH! That is not a
position I will ever take in any man's heart
knowingly."
"Of course, Fred Mostyn will have to
marry."
"Of course, he will make a duty of the
event. The line of Mostyns must be continued.
England might go to ruin if the Mostyns
perished off the English earth; but,
Aunt Ruth, I count myself worthy of a better
fate than to become a mere branch in the
genealogical tree of the Mostyns. And that
is all Fred Mostyn's wife will ever be to him,
unless he marries Dora."
"But that very supposition implies tragedy,
and it is most unlikely."
"Yes, for Dora is a good little thing. She
has never been familiar with vice. She has
even a horror of poor women divorced from
impossible husbands. She believes her marriage
will be watched by the angels, and
recorded in heaven. Basil has instructed her
to regard marriage as a holy sacrament, and
I am sure he does the same."
"Then why should we forecast evil to their
names? As for Cousin Fred, I dare say he is
comfortably asleep."
"I am sure he is not. I believe he is
smoking and calling himself names for not
having come to New York last May, when
father first invited him. Had he done so
things might have been different."
"Yes, they might. When Good Fortune
calls, and the called `will not when they may,'
then, `when they will' Good Fortune has become
Misfortune. Welcome a pleasure or a
gain at once, or don't answer it at all. It was
on this rock, Ethel, the bark that carried my
love went to pieces. I know; yes, I know!"
"My dear aunt!"
"It is all right now, dear; but things might
have been that are not. As to Dora, I think
she may be trusted with Basil Stanhope. He
is one of the best and handsomest men I ever
saw, and he has now rights in Dora's love no
one can tamper with. Mostyn is an honorable
man."
"All right, but--
"Love will venture in,
Where he daurna well be seen;
O Love will venture in,
Where Wisdom once has been--
and then, aunt, what then?"