"UNLEAVENED BREAD\n\nby\n\nROBERT GRANT\n\nAuthor of _The Bachelor's Christmas_, etc.\n\nCharles Scribner's Sons\nNew York\n\n1900\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nBOOK I\nTHE EMANCIPATION\n\n\nBOOK II\nTHE STRUGGLE\n\n\nBOOK III\nTHE SUCCESS\n\n\n\n\nUNLEAVENED BREAD\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\nTHE EMANCIPATION\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nBabcock and Selma White were among the last of the wedding guests to\ntake their departure. It was a brilliant September night with a touch of\nautumn vigor in the atmosphere, which had not been without its effect on\nthe company, who had driven off in gay spirits, most of them in\nhay-carts or other vehicles capable of carrying a party. Their songs and\nlaughter floated back along the winding country road. Selma, comfortable\nin her wraps and well tucked about with a rug, leaned back contentedly\nin the chaise, after the goodbyes had been said, to enjoy the glamour of\nthe full moon. They were seven miles from home and she was in no hurry\nto get there. Neither festivities nor the undisguised devotion of a city\nyoung man were common in her life. Consideration she had been used to\nfrom a child, and she knew herself to be tacitly acknowledged the\nsmartest girl in Westfield, but perhaps for that very reason she had\nheld aloof from manhood until now. At least no youth in her neighborhood\nhad ever impressed her as her equal. Neither did Babcock so impress her;\nbut he was different from the rest. He was not shy and unexpressive; he\nwas buoyant and self-reliant, and yet he seemed to appreciate her\nquality none the less.\n\nThey had met about a dozen times, and on the last six of these occasions\nhe had come from Benham, ten miles to her uncle's farm, obviously to\nvisit her. The last two times her Aunt Farley had made him spend the\nnight, and it had been arranged that he would drive her in the Farley\nchaise to Clara Morse's wedding. A seven-mile drive is apt to promote or\nkill the germs of intimacy, and on the way over she had been conscious\nof enjoying herself. Scrutiny of Clara's choice had been to the\nadvantage of her own cavalier. The bridegroom had seemed to her what her\nAunt Farley would call a mouse-in-the-cheese young man. Whereas Babcock\nhad been the life of the affair.\n\nShe had been teaching now in Wilton for more than a year. When, shortly\nafter her father's death, she had obtained the position of school\nteacher, it seemed to her that at last the opportunity had come to\ndisplay her capabilities, and at the same time to fulfil her\naspirations. But the task of grounding a class of small children in the\nrudiments of simple knowledge had already begun to pall and to seem\nunsatisfying. Was she to spend her life in this? And if not, the next\nstep, unless it were marriage, was not obvious. Not that she mistrusted\nher ability to shine in any educational capacity, but neither Wilton nor\nthe neighboring Westfield offered better, and she was conscious of a\nlack of influential friends in the greater world, which was embodied for\nher in Benham. Benham was a western city of these United States, with an\neastern exposure; a growing, bustling city according to rumor, with an\neager population restless with new ideas and stimulating ambitions. So\nat least Selma thought of it, and though Boston and New York and a few\nother places were accepted by her as authoritative, she accepted them,\nas she accepted Shakespeare, as a matter of course and so far removed\nfrom her immediate outlook as almost not to count. But Benham with its\nseventy-five thousand inhabitants and independent ways was a fascinating\npossibility. Once established there the world seemed within her grasp,\nincluding Boston. Might it not be that Benham, in that it was newer, was\nnearer to truth and more truly American than that famous city? She was\nnot prepared to believe this an absurdity.\n\nAt least the mental atmosphere of Westfield and even of the somewhat\nless solemn Wilton suggested this apotheosis of the adjacent city to be\nreasonable. Westfield had stood for Selma as a society of serious though\nsimple souls since she could first remember and had been one of them.\nNot that she arrogated to her small native town any unusual qualities of\nsoul or mind in distinction from most other American communities, but\nshe regarded it as inferior in point of view to none, and typical of the\nbest national characteristics. She had probably never put into words the\nreasons of her confidence, but her daily consciousness was permeated\nwith them. To be an American meant to be more keenly alive to the\nresponsibility of life than any other citizen of civilization, and to be\nan American woman meant to be something finer, cleverer, stronger, and\npurer than any other daughter of Eve. Under the agreeable but sobering\ninfluence of this faith she had grown to womanhood, and the heroic deeds\nof the civil war had served to intensify a belief, the truth of which\nshe had never heard questioned. Her mission in life had promptly been\nrecognized by her as the development of her soul along individual lines,\nbut until the necessity for a choice had arisen she had been content to\ncontemplate a little longer. Now the world was before her, for she was\ntwenty-three and singularly free from ties. Her mother had died when she\nwas a child. Her father, the physician of the surrounding country, a man\nof engaging energy with an empirical education and a speculative habit\nof mind, had been the companion of her girlhood. During the last few\nyears since his return from the war an invalid from a wound, her care\nfor him had left her time for little else.\n\nNo more was Babcock in haste to reach home; and after the preliminary\ndash from the door into the glorious night he suffered the farm-horse to\npursue its favorite gait, a deliberate jog. He knew the creature to be\ndocile, and that he could bestow his attention on his companion without\nperil to her. His own pulses were bounding. He was conscious of having\nmade the whirligig of time pass merrily for the company by his spirits\nand jolly quips, and that in her presence, and he was groping for an\nappropriate introduction to the avowal he had determined to make. He\nwould never have a better opportunity than this, and it had been his\npreconceived intention to take advantage of it if all went well. All had\ngone well and he was going to try. She had been kind coming over; and\nhad seemed to listen with interest as he told her about himself: and\nsomehow he had felt less distant from her. He was not sure what she\nwould say, for he realized that she was above him. That was one reason\nwhy he admired her so. She symbolized for him refinement, poetry, art,\nthe things of the spirit--things from which in the same whirligig of\ntime he had hitherto been cut off by the vicissitudes of the varnish\nbusiness; but the value of which he was not blind to. How proud he would\nbe of such a wife! How he would strive and labor for her! His heart was\nin his mouth and trembled on his lip as he thought of the possibility.\nWhat a joy to be sitting side by side with her under this splendid moon!\nHe would speak and know his fate.\n\n\"Isn't it a lovely night?\" murmured Selma appreciatively. \"There they\ngo,\" she added, indicating the disappearance over the brow of a hill of\nthe last of the line of vehicles of the rest of the party, whose songs\nhad come back fainter and fainter.\n\n\"I don't care. Do you?\" He snuggled toward her a very little.\n\n\"I guess they won't think I'm lost,\" she said, with a low laugh.\n\n\"What d'you suppose your folks would say if you _were_ lost? I mean if I\nwere to run away with you and didn't bring you back?\" There was a\nnervous ring in the guffaw which concluded his question.\n\n\"My friends wouldn't miss me much; at least they'd soon get over the\nshock; but I might miss myself, Mr. Babcock.\"\n\nSelma was wondering why it was that she rather liked being alone with\nthis man, big enough, indeed, to play the monster, yet half school-boy,\nbut a man who had done well in his calling. He must be capable; he could\ngive her a home in Benham; and it was plain that he loved her.\n\n\"I'll tell you something,\" he said, eagerly, ignoring her suggestion.\n\"I'd like to run away with you and be married to-night, Selma. That's\nwhat I'd like, and I guess you won't. But it's the burning wish of my\nheart that you'd marry me some time. I want you to be my wife. I'm a\nrough fellow along-side of you, Selma, but I'd do well by you; I would.\nI'm able to look after you, and you shall have all you want. There's a\nnice little house building now in Benham. Say the word and I'll buy it\nfor us to-morrow. I'm crazy after you, Selma.\"\n\nThe rein was dangling, and Babcock reached his left arm around the waist\nof his lady-love. He had now and again made the same demonstration with\nothers jauntily, but this was a different matter. She was not to be\ntreated like other women. She was a goddess to him, even in his ardor,\nand he reached gingerly. Selma did not wholly withdraw from the spread\nof his trembling arm, though this was the first man who had ever\nventured to lay a finger on her.\n\n\"I'd have to give up my school,\" she said.\n\n\"They could get another teacher.\"\n\n\"_Could_ they?\"\n\n\"Not one like you. You see I'm clumsy, but I'm crazy for you, Selma.\"\nEmboldened by the obvious feebleness of her opposition, he broadened his\nclutch and drew her toward him. \"Say you will, sweetheart.\"\n\nThis time she pulled herself free and sat up in the chaise. \"Would you\nlet me do things?\" she asked after a moment.\n\n\"Do things,\" faltered Babcock. What could she mean? She had told him on\nthe way over that her mother had chosen her name from a theatrical\nplaybill, and it passed through his unsophisticated brain that she might\nbe thinking of the stage.\n\n\"Yes, do something worth while. Be somebody. I've had the idea I could,\nif I ever got the chance.\" Her hands were folded in her lap; there was a\nwrapt expression on her thin, nervous face, and a glitter in her keen\neyes, which were looking straight at the moon, as though they would\noutstare it in brilliancy.\n\n\"You shall be anything you like, if you'll only marry me. What is it\nyou're wishing to be?\"\n\n\"I don't know exactly. It isn't anything especial yet. It's the whole\nthing. I thought I might find it in my school, but the experience so far\nhasn't been--satisfying.\"\n\n\"Troublesome little brats!\"\n\n\"No, I dare say the fault's in me. If I went to Benham to live it would\nbe different. Benham must be interesting--inspiring.\"\n\n\"There's plenty of go there. You'd like it, and people would think lots\nof you.\"\n\n\"I'd try to make them.\" She turned and looked at him judicially, but\nwith a softened expression. Her profile in her exalted mood had\nsuggested a beautiful, but worried archangel; her full face seemed less\nthis and wore much of the seductive embarrassment of sex. To Babcock she\nseemed the most entrancing being he had ever seen. \"Would you really\nlike to have me come?\"\n\nHe gave a hoarse ejaculation, and encircling her eagerly with his strong\ngrasp pressed his lips upon her cheek. \"Selma! darling! angel! I'm the\nhappiest man alive.\"\n\n\"You mustn't do that--yet,\" she said protestingly.\n\n\"Yes, I must; I'm yours, and you're mine,--mine. Aren't you, sweetheart?\nThere's no harm in a kiss.\"\n\nShe had to admit to herself that it was not very unpleasant after all to\nbe held in the embrace of a sturdy lover, though she had never intended\nthat their relations should reach this stage of familiarity so promptly.\nShe had known, of course, that girls were to look for endearments from\nthose whom they promised to marry, but her person had hitherto been so\nsacred to man and to herself that it was difficult not to shrink a\nlittle from what was taking place. This then was love, and love was, of\ncourse, the sweetest thing in the world. That was one of the truths\nwhich she had accepted as she had accepted the beauty of Shakespeare, as\nsomething not to be disputed, yet remote. He was a big, affectionate\nfellow, and she must make up her mind to kiss him. So she turned her\nface toward him and their lips met eagerly, forestalling the little peck\nwhich she had intended. She let her head fall back at his pressure on to\nhis shoulder, and gazed up at the moon.\n\n\"Are you happy, Selma?\" he asked, giving her a fond, firm squeeze.\n\n\"Yes, Lewis.\"\n\nShe could feel his frame throb with joy at the situation as she uttered\nhis name.\n\n\"We'll be married right away. That's if you're willing. My business is\ngoing first-rate and, if it keeps growing for the next year as it has\nfor the past two, you'll be rich presently. When shall it be, Selma?\"\n\n\"You're in dreadful haste. Well, I'll promise to give the selectmen\nnotice to-morrow that they must find another teacher.\"\n\n\"Because the one they have now is going to become Mrs. Lewis J. Babcock.\nI'm the luckiest fellow, hooray! in creation. See here,\" he added,\ntaking her hand, \"I guess a ring wouldn't look badly there--a real\ndiamond, too. Pretty little fingers.\"\n\nShe sighed gently, by way of response. It was comfortable nestling in\nthe hollow of his shoulder, and a new delightful experience to be\nhectored with sweetness in this way. How round and bountiful the moon\nlooked. She was tired of her present life. What was coming would be\nbetter. Her opportunity was at hand to show the world what she was made\nof.\n\n\"A real diamond, and large at that,\" he repeated, gazing down at her,\nand then, as though the far away expression in her eyes suggested\nkinship with the unseen and the eternal, he said, admiringly but humbly,\n\"It must be grand to be clever like you, Selma. I'm no good at that. But\nif loving you will make up for it, I'll go far, little woman.\"\n\n\"What I know of that I like, and--and if some day, I can make you proud\nof me, so much the better,\" said Selma.\n\n\"Proud of you? You are an angel, and you know it.\"\n\nShe closed her eyes and sighed again. Even the bright avenues of fame,\nwhich her keen eyes had traversed through the golden moon, paled before\nthis tribute from the lips of real flesh and blood. What woman can\nwithstand the fascination of a lover's faith that she is an angel? If a\nman is fool enough to believe it, why undeceive him? And if he is so\nsure of it, may it even not be so? Selma was content to have it so,\nespecially as the assertion did not jar with her own prepossessions; and\nthus they rode home in the summer night in the mutual contentment of a\nbetrothal.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nThe match was thoroughly agreeable to Mrs. Farley, Selma's aunt and\nnearest relation, who with her husband presided over a flourishing\npoultry farm in Wilton. She was an easy-going, friendly spirit, with a\nsharp but not wide vision, who did not believe that a likelier fellow\nthan Lewis Babcock would come wooing were her niece to wait a lifetime.\nHe was hearty, comical, and generous, and was said to be making money\nfast in the varnish business. In short, he seemed to her an admirable\nyoung man, with a stock of common-sense and high spirits eminently\nserviceable for a domestic venture. How full of fun he was, to be sure!\nIt did her good to behold the tribute his appetite paid to the buckwheat\ncakes with cream and other tempting viands she set before him--a\npleasing contrast to Selma's starveling diet--and the hearty smack with\nwhich he enforced his demands upon her own cheeks as his mother-in-law\napparent, argued an affectionate disposition. Burly, rosy-cheeked,\ngood-natured, was he not the very man to dispel her niece's vagaries and\nturn the girl's morbid cleverness into healthy channels?\n\nSelma, therefore, found nothing but encouragement in her choice at home;\nso by the end of another three months they were made man and wife, and\nhad moved into that little house in Benham which had attracted Babcock's\neye. Benham, as has been indicated, was in the throes of bustle and\nself-improvement. Before the war it had been essentially unimportant.\nBut the building of a railroad through the town and the discovery of oil\nwells in its neighborhood had transformed it in a twinkling into an\nactive and spirited centre. Selma's new house was on the edge of the\ncity, in the van of real estate progress, one of a row of small but\nambitious-looking dwellings, over the dark yellow clapboards of which\nthe architect had let his imagination run rampant in scrolls and\nflourishes. There was fancy colored glass in a sort of rose-window over\nthe front door, and lozenges of fancy glass here and there in the\nfacade. Each house had a little grass-plot, which Babcock in his case\nhad made appurtenant to a metal stag, which seemed to him the finishing\ntouch to a cosey and ornamental home. He had done his best and with all\nhis heart, and the future was before them.\n\nBabcock found himself radiant over the first experiences of married\nlife. It was just what he had hoped, only better. His imagination in\nentertaining an angel had not been unduly literal, and it was a constant\ndelight and source of congratulation to him to reflect over his pipe on\nthe lounge after supper that the charming piece of flesh and blood\nsewing or reading demurely close by was the divinity of his domestic\nhearth. There she was to smile at him when he came home at night and\nenable him to forget the cares and dross of the varnish business. Her\npresence across the table added a new zest to every meal and improved\nhis appetite. In marrying he had expected to cut loose from his bachelor\nhabits, and he asked for nothing better than to spend every evening\nalone with Selma, varied by an occasional evening at the theatre, and a\ndrive out to the Farleys' now and then for supper. This, with the\nregular Sunday service at Rev. Henry Glynn's church, rounded out the\nweeks to his perfect satisfaction. He was conscious of feeling that the\nsituation did not admit of improvement, for though, when he measured\nhimself with Selma, Babcock was humble-minded, a cheerful and uncritical\noptimism was the ruling characteristic of his temperament. With health,\nbusiness fortune, and love all on his side, it was natural to him to\nregard his lot with complacency. Especially as to all appearances, this\nwas the sort of thing Selma liked, also. Presently, perhaps, there would\nbe a baby, and then their cup of domestic happiness would be\noverflowing. Babcock's long ungratified yearning for the things of the\nspirit were fully met by these cosey evenings, which he would have been\nglad to continue to the crack of doom. To smoke and sprawl and read a\nlittle, and exchange chit-chat, was poetry enough for him. So contented\nwas he that his joy was apt to find an outlet in ditties and\nwhistling--he possessed a slightly tuneful, rollicking knack at both--a\nproceeding which commonly culminated in his causing Selma to sit beside\nhim on the sofa and be made much of, to the detriment of her toilette.\n\nAs for the bride, so dazing were the circumstances incident to the\ndouble change of matrimony and adaptation to city life, that her\njudgment was in suspension. Yet though she smiled and sewed demurely,\nshe was thinking. The yellow clapboarded house and metal stag, and a\nmaid-of-all-work at her beck and call, were gratifying at the outset and\nmade demands upon her energies. Selma's position in her father's house\nhad been chiefly ornamental and social. She had been his companion and\nnurse, had read to him and argued with him, but the mere household work\nhad been performed by an elderly female relative who recognized that her\nmind was bent on higher things. Nevertheless, she had never doubted that\nwhen the time arrived to show her capacity as a housewife, she would be\nmore than equal to the emergency. Assuredly she would, for one of the\ndistinguishing traits of American womanhood was the ability to perform\nadmirably with one's own hand many menial duties and yet be prepared to\nshine socially with the best. Still the experience was not quite so easy\nas she expected; even harassing and mortifying. Fortunately, Lewis was\nmore particular about quantity than quality where the table was\nconcerned; and, after all, food and domestic details were secondary\nconsiderations in a noble outlook. It would have suited her never to be\nobliged to eat, and to be able to leave the care of the house to the\nhired girl; but that being out of the question, it became incumbent on\nher to make those obligations as simple as possible. However, the\npossession of a new house and gay fittings was an agreeable realization.\nAt home everything had been upholstered in black horse-hair, and regard\nfor material appearances had been obscured for her by the tension of her\nintrospective tendencies. Lewis was very kind, and she had no reason to\nreproach herself as yet for her choice. He had insisted that she should\nprovide herself with an ample and more stylish wardrobe, and though the\ninvitation had interested her but mildly, the effect of shrewdly-made\nand neatly fitting garments on her figure had been a revelation. Like\nthe touch of a man's hand, fine raiment had seemed to her hitherto\nalmost repellant, but it was obvious now that anything which enhanced\nher effectiveness could not be dismissed as valueless. To arrive at\ndefinite conclusions in regard to her social surroundings was less easy\nfor Selma. Benham, in its rapid growth, had got beyond the level\nsimplicity of Westfield and Wilton, and was already confronted by the\nstern realities which baffle the original ideal in every American city.\nWe like as a nation to cherish the illusion that extremes of social\ncondition do not exist even in our large communities, and that the\nplutocrat and the saleslady, the learned professions and the proletariat\nassociate on a common basis of equal virtue, intelligence, and culture.\nAnd yet, although Benham was a comparatively young and an essentially\nAmerican city, there were very marked differences in all these respects\nin its community.\n\nTopographically speaking the starting point of Benham was its\nwater-course. Twenty years before the war Benham was merely a cluster of\nframe houses in the valley of the limpid, peaceful river Nye. At that\ntime the inhabitants drank of the Nye taken at a point below the town,\nfor there was a high fall which would have made the drawing of water\nabove less convenient. This they were doing when Selma came to Benham,\nalthough every man's hand had been raised against the Nye, which was the\nnearest, and hence for a community in hot haste, the most natural\nreceptacle for dyestuffs, ashes and all the outflow from woollen mills,\npork factories and oil yards, and it ran the color of glistening bean\nsoup. From time to time, as the city grew, the drawing point had been\nmade a little lower where the stream had regained a portion of its\nlimpidity, and no one but wiseacres and busybodies questioned its\nwholesomeness. Benham at that time was too preoccupied and too proud of\nits increasing greatness to mistrust its own judgment in matters\nhygienic, artistic, and educational. There came a day later when the\nriver rose against the city, and an epidemic of typhoid fever convinced\na reluctant community that there were some things which free-born\nAmericans did not know intuitively. Then there were public meetings and\na general indignation movement, and presently, under the guidance of\ncompetent experts, Lake Mohunk, seven miles to the north, was secured as\na reservoir. Just to show how the temper of the times has changed, and\nhow sophisticated in regard to hygienic matters some of the good\ncitizens of Benham in these latter days have become, it is worthy of\nmention that, though competent chemists declare Lake Mohunk to be free\nfrom contamination, there are those now who use so-called mineral\nspring-waters in preference; notably Miss Flagg, the daughter of old\nJoel Flagg, once the miller and, at the date when the Babcocks set up\ntheir household gods, one of the oil magnates of Benham. He drank the\nbean colored Nye to the day of his death and died at eighty; but she\ncarries a carboy of spring-water with her personal baggage wherever she\ntravels, and is perpetually solicitous in regard to the presence of\narsenic in wall-papers into the bargain.\n\nVerily, the world has wagged apace in Benham since Selma first looked\nout at her metal stag and the surrounding landscape. Ten years later the\nBenham Home Beautifying Society took in hand the Nye and those who\ndrained into it, and by means of garbage consumers, disinfectants, and\nfilters and judiciously arranged shrubbery converted its channel and\nbanks into quite a respectable citizens' paradise. But even at that time\nthe industries on either bank of the Nye, which flowed from east to\nwest, were forcing the retail shops and the residences further and\nfurther away. To illustrate again from the Flagg family, just before the\nwar Joel Flagg built a modest house less than a quarter of a mile from\nthe southerly bank of the river, expecting to end his days there, and\nwas accused by contemporary censors of an intention to seclude himself\nin magnificent isolation. About this time he had yielded to the plea of\nhis family, that every other building in the street had been given over\nto trade, and that they were stranded in a social Sahara of factories.\nSo like the easy going yet soaring soul that he was, he had moved out\ntwo miles to what was known as the River Drive, where the Nye\naccomplishes a broad sweep to the south. There an ambitious imported\narchitect, glad of such an opportunity to speculate in artistic effects,\nhad built for him a conglomeration of a feudal castle and an old\ncolonial mansion in all the grisly bulk of signal failure.\n\nConsidering our ideals, it is a wonder that no one has provided a law\nforbidding the erection of all the architecturally attractive, or\nsumptuous houses in one neighborhood. It ought not to be possible in a\nrepublic for such a state of affairs to exist as existed in Benham. That\nis to say all the wealth and fashion of the city lay to the west of\nCentral Avenue, which was so literally the dividing line that if a\nBenhamite were referred to as living on that street the conventional\ninquiry would be \"On which side?\" And if the answer were \"On the east,\"\nthe inquirer would be apt to say \"Oh!\" with a cold inflection which\nsuggested a ban. No Benhamite has ever been able to explain precisely\nwhy it should be more creditable to live on one side of the same street\nthan on the other, but I have been told by clever women, who were good\nAmericans besides, that this is one of the subtle truths which baffle\nthe Gods and democracies alike. Central Avenue has long ago been\nappropriated by the leading retail dry-goods shops, huge establishments\nwhere everything from a set of drawing-room furniture to a hair-pin can\nbe bought under a single roof; but at that time it was the social\nartery. Everything to the west was new and assertive; then came the\nshops and the business centre; and to the east were Tom, Dick, and\nHarry, Michael, Isaac and Pietro, the army of citizens who worked in the\nmills, oil yards, and pork factories. And to the north, across the\nriver, on the further side of more manufacturing establishments, was\nPoland, so-called--a settlement of the Poles--to reach whom now there\nare seven bridges of iron. There were but two bridges then, one of wood,\nand journeys across them had not yet been revealed to philanthropic\nyoung women eager to do good.\n\nSelma's house lay well to the south-west of Central Avenue, far enough\nremoved from the River Drive and the Flagg mansion to be humble and yet\nnear enough to be called looking up. Their row was complete and mainly\noccupied, but the locality was a-building, and in the process of making\nacquaintance. So many strangers had come to Benham that even Babcock\nknew but few of their neighbors. Without formulating definitely how it\nwas to happen, Selma had expected to be received with open arms into a\nsociety eager to recognize her salient qualities. But apparently, at\nfirst glance, everybody's interest was absorbed by the butcher and\ngrocer, the dressmaker and the domestic hearth. That is, the other\npeople in their row seemed to be content to do as they were doing. The\nhusbands went to town every day--town which lay in the murky\ndistance--and their wives were friendly enough, but did not seem to be\nconscious either of voids in their own existence or of the privilege of\nher society. To be sure, they dressed well and were suggestive in that,\nbut they looked blank at some of her inquiries, and appeared to feel\ntheir days complete if, after the housework had been done and the battle\nfought with the hired girl, they were able to visit the shopping\ndistrict and pore over fabrics, in case they could not buy them. Some\nwere evidently looking forward to the day when they might be so\nfortunate as to possess one of the larger houses of the district a mile\naway, and figure among what they termed \"society people.\" There were\nothers who, in their satisfaction with this course of life, referred\nwith a touch of self-righteousness to the dwellers on the River Drive as\ndeserving reprobation on account of a lack of serious purpose. This\ncriticism appealed to Selma, and consoled her in a measure for the half\nmortification with which she had begun to realize that she was not of so\nmuch account as she had expected; at least, that there were people not\nvery far distant from her block who were different somehow from her\nneighbors, and who took part in social proceedings in which she and her\nhusband were not invited to participate. Manifestly they were unworthy\nand un-American. It was a comfort to come to this conclusion, even\nthough her immediate surroundings, including the society of those who\nhad put the taunt into her thoughts, left her unsatisfied.\n\nSome relief was provided at last by her church. Babcock was by birth an\nEpiscopalian, though he had been lax in his interest during early\nmanhood. This was one of the matters which he had expected marriage to\ncorrect, and he had taken up again, not merely with resignation but\ncomplacency, the custom of attending service regularly. Dr. White had\nbeen a controversial Methodist, but since his wife's death, and\nespecially since the war, he had abstained from religious observances,\nand had argued himself somewhat far afield from the fold of orthodox\nbelief. Consequently Selma, though she attended church at Westfield when\nher father's ailments did not require her presence at home, had been\nbrought up to exercise her faculties freely on problems of faith and to\nfeel herself a little more enlightened than the conventional worshipper.\nStill she was not averse to following her husband to the Rev. Henry\nGlynn's church. The experience was another revelation to her, for\nservice at Westfield had been eminently severe and unadorned. Mr. Glynn\nwas an Englishman; a short, stout, strenuous member of the Church of\nEngland with a broad accent and a predilection for ritual, but\nenthusiastic and earnest. He had been tempted to cross the ocean by the\nopportunities for preaching the gospel to the heathen, and he had fixed\non Benham as a vineyard where he could labor to advantage. His advent\nhad been a success. He had awakened interest by his fervor and by his\nmethods. The pew taken by Babcock was one of the last remaining, and\nthere was already talk of building a larger church to replace the chapel\nwhere he ministered. Choir boys, elaborate vestments, and genuflections,\nwere novelties in the Protestant worship of Benham, and attracted the\nattention of many almost weary of plainer forms of worship, especially\nas these manifestations of color were effectively supplemented by\nevident sincerity of spirit on the part of their pastor. Nor were his\nenergy and zeal confined to purely spiritual functions. The scope of his\nchurch work was practical and social. He had organized from the\ncongregation societies of various sorts to relieve the poor; Bible\nclasses and evening reunions which the members of the parish were urged\nto attend in order to become acquainted. Mr. Glynn's manner was both\nhearty and pompous. To him there was no Church in the world but the\nChurch of England, and it was obvious that as one of the clergy of that\nChurch he considered himself to be no mean man; but apart from this\nserious intellectual foible with respect to his own relative importance,\nhe was a stimulating Christian and citizen within his lights. His\nactive, crusading, and emotional temperament just suited the seething\npropensities of Benham.\n\nHis flock comprised a few of the residents of the River Drive district,\namong them the Flaggs, but was a fairly representative mixture of all\ngrades of society, including the poorest. These last were specimens\nunder spiritual duress rather than free worshippers, and it was a\nconstant puzzle to the reverend gentleman why, in the matter of\nattendance, they, metaphorically speaking, sickened and died. It had\nnever been so in England. \"Bonnets!\" responded one day Mrs. Hallett\nTaylor, who had become Mr. Glynn's leading ally in parish matters, and\nwas noted for her executive ability. She was an engaging but\nclear-headed soul who went straight to the point.\n\n\"I do not fathom your meaning,\" said the pastor, a little loftily, for\nthe suggestion sounded flippant.\n\n\"It hurts their feelings to go to a church where their clothes are\nshabby compared with those of the rest of the congregation.\"\n\n\"Yes, but in God's chapel, dear lady, all such distinctions should be\nforgotten.\"\n\n\"They can't forget, and I don't blame them much, poor things, do you?\nIt's the free-born American spirit. There now, Mr. Glynn, you were\nasking me yesterday to suggest some one for junior warden. Why not Mr.\nBabcock? They're new comers and seem available people.\"\n\nMr. Glynn's distress at her first question was merged in the interest\ninspired by her second, for his glance had followed hers until it rested\non the Babcocks, who had just entered the vestry to attend the social\nreunion. Selma's face wore its worried archangel aspect. She was on her\ngood behavior and proudly on her guard against social impertinence. But\nshe looked very pretty, and her compact, slight figure indicated a busy\nway.\n\n\"I will interrogate him,\" he answered. \"I have observed them before,\nand--and I can't quite make out the wife. It is almost a spiritual face,\nand yet--\"\n\n\"Just a little hard and keen,\" broke in Mrs. Taylor, upon his\nhesitation. \"She is pretty, and she looks clever. I think we can get\nsome work out of her.\"\n\nThereupon she sailed gracefully in the direction of Selma. Mrs. Taylor\nwas from Maryland. Her husband, a physician, had come to Benham at the\nclose of the war to build up a practice, and his wife had aided him by\nher energy and graciousness to make friends. Unlike some Southerners,\nshe was not indolent, and yet she possessed all the ingratiating,\nspontaneous charm of well-bred women from that section of the country.\nHer tastes were æsthetic and ethical rather than intellectual, and her\nspecial interest at the moment was the welfare of the church. She\nthought it desirable that all the elements of which the congregation was\ncomposed should be represented on the committees, and Selma seemed to\nher the most obviously available person from the class to which the\nBabcocks belonged.\n\n\"I want you to help us,\" she said. \"I think you have ideas. We need a\nwoman with sense and ideas on our committee to build the new church.\"\n\nSelma was not used to easy grace and sprightly spontaneity. It affected\nher at first much as the touch of man; but just as in that instance the\nexperience was agreeable. Life was too serious a thing in her regard to\nlend itself casually to lightness, and yet she felt instinctively\nattracted by this lack of self-consciousness and self-restraint. Besides\nhere was an opportunity such as she had been yearning for. She had met\nMrs. Taylor before, and knew her to be the presiding genius of the\ncongregation; and it was evident that Mrs. Taylor had discovered her\nvalue.\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said, gravely, but cordially. \"That is what I should\nlike. I wish to be of use. I shall be pleased to serve on the\ncommittee.\"\n\n\"It will be interesting, I think. I have never helped build anything\nbefore. Perhaps you have?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Selma slowly. Her tone conveyed the impression that, though\nher abilities had never been put to that precise test, the employment\nseemed easily within her capacity.\n\n\"Ah! I am sure you will be suggestive\" said Mrs. Taylor. \"I am right\nanxious that it shall be a credit in an architectural way, you know.\"\n\nMr. Glynn, who had followed with more measured tread, now mingled his\nhearty bass voice in the conversation. His mental attitude was friendly,\nbut inquisitorial; as seemed to him to befit one charged with the cure\nof souls. He proceeded to ask questions, beginning with inquiries\nconventional and domestic, but verging presently on points of faith.\nBabcock, to whom they were directly addressed, stood the ordeal well,\nrevealing himself as flattered, contrite, and zealous to avail himself\nof the blessings of the church. He admitted that lately he had been lax\nin his spiritual duties.\n\n\"We come every Sunday now,\" he said buoyantly, with a glance at Selma as\nthough to indicate that she deserved the credit of his reformation.\n\n\"The holy sacrament of marriage has led many souls from darkness into\nlight, from the flesh-pots of Egypt to the table of the Lord\" Mr. Glynn\nanswered. \"And you, my daughter,\" he added, meaningly, \"guard well your\nadvantage.\"\n\nIt was agreeable to Selma that the clergymen seemed to appreciate her\nsuperiority to her embarrassed husband, especially as she thought she\nknew that in England women were not expected to have opinions of their\nown. She wished to say something to impress him more distinctly with her\ncleverness, for though she was secretly contemptuous of his ceremonials,\nthere was something impressive in his mandatory zeal. She came near\nasking whether he held to the belief that it was wrong for a man to\nmarry his deceased wife's sister, which was the only proposition in\nrelation to the married state which occurred to her at the moment as\nlikely to show her independence, but she contented herself instead with\nsaying, with so much of Mrs. Taylor's spontaneity as she could reproduce\nwithout practice, \"We expect to be very happy in your church.\"\n\nSelma, however, supplemented her words with her tense spiritual look.\nShe felt happier than she had for weeks, inasmuch as life seemed to be\nopening before her. For a few moments she listened to Mr. Glynn unfold\nhis hopes in regard to the new church, trying to make him feel that she\nwas no common woman. She considered it a tribute to her when he took\nLewis aside later and asked him to become a junior warden.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nAt this time the necessity for special knowledge as to artistic or\neducational matters was recognized grudgingly in Benham. Any reputable\ncitizen was considered capable to pass judgment on statues and pictures,\ndesign a house or public building, and prescribe courses of study for\nschool-children. Since then the free-born Benhamite, little by little,\nthrough wise legislation or public opinion, born of bitter experience,\nhas been robbed of these prerogatives until, not long ago, the\nun-American and undemocratic proposition to take away the laying out of\nthe new city park from the easy going but ignorant mercies of the\nso-called city forester, who had been first a plumber and later an\nalderman, prevailed. An enlightened civic spirit triumphed and special\nknowledge was invoked.\n\nThat was twenty-five years later. Mrs. Hallett Taylor had found herself\nalmost single-handed at the outset in her purpose to build the new\nchurch on artistic lines. Or rather the case should be stated thus:\nEveryone agreed that it was to be the most beautiful church in the\ncountry, consistent with the money, and no one doubted that it would be,\nespecially as everyone except Mrs. Taylor felt that in confiding the\nmatter to the leading architect in Benham the committee would be\nexercising a wise and intelligent discretion. Mr. Pierce, the individual\nsuggested, had never, until recently, employed the word architect in\nspeaking of himself, and he pronounced it, as did some of the committee,\n\"arshitect,\" shying a little at the word, as though it were caviare and\nanything but American. He was a builder, practised by a brief but\nrushing career in erecting houses, banks, schools, and warehouses\nspeedily and boldly. He had been on the spot when the new growth of\nBenham began, and his handiwork was writ large all over the city. The\ncity was proud of him, and had, as it were, sniffed when Joel Flagg went\nelsewhere for a man to build his new house. Surely, if it were necessary\nto pay extra for that sort of thing, was not home talent good enough?\nYet it must be confessed that the ugly splendor of the Flagg mediæval\ncastle had so far dazed the eye of Benham that its \"arshitect\" had felt\nconstrained, in order to keep up with the times, to try fancy flights of\nhis own. He had silenced any doubting Thomases by his latest effort, a\nnew school-house, rich in rampant angles and scrolls, on the brown-stone\nfront of which the name _Flagg School_ appeared in ambitious, distorted\nhieroglyphics.\n\nThink what a wealth of imagery in the tossing of the second O on top of\nthe L. If artistic novelty and genius were sought for the new church,\nhere it was ready to be invoked. Besides, Mr. Pierce was a\nbrother-in-law of one of the members of the committee, and, though the\ncommittee had the fear of God in their hearts in the erection of his\nsanctuary, it was not easy to protest against the near relative of a\nfellow member, especially one so competent.\n\nThe committee numbered seven. Selma had been chosen to fill a vacancy\ncaused by death, but at the time of her selection the matter was still\nin embryo, and the question of an architect had not been mooted. At the\nnext meeting discussion arose as to whether Mr. Pierce should be given\nthe job, under the eagle eyes of a sub-committee, or Mrs. Taylor's\nproject of inviting competitive designs should be adopted. It was known\nthat Mr. Glynn, without meaning disrespect to Mr. Pierce, favored the\nlatter plan as more progressive, a word always attractive to Benham ears\nwhen they had time to listen. Its potency, coupled with veneration, for\nthe pastor's opinion, had secured the vote of Mr. Clyme, a banker.\nAnother member of the committee, a lawyer, favored Mrs. Taylor's idea\nbecause of a grudge against Mr. Pierce. The chairman and brother-in-law,\nand a hard-headed stove dealer, were opposed to the competitive plan as\nhighfalutin and unnecessary. Thus the deciding vote lay with Selma.\n\nNow that they were on the same committee, Mrs. Taylor could not\naltogether make her out. She remembered that Mr. Glynn had said the same\nthing. Mrs. Taylor was accustomed to conquests. Without actual\npremeditation, she was agreeably conscious of being able to convert and\nsweep most opponents off their feet by the force of her pleasant\npersonality. In this case the effect was not so obvious. She was\nconscious that Selma's eyes were constantly fixed upon her, but as to\nwhat she was thinking Mrs. Taylor felt less certain. Clearly she was\nmesmerized, but was the tribute admiration or hostility? Mrs. Taylor was\npiqued, and put upon her metal. Besides she needed Selma's vote. Not\nbeing skilled in psychological analyses, she had to resort to practical\nmethods, and invited her to afternoon tea.\n\nSelma had never been present at afternoon tea as a domestic function in\nher life. Nor had she seen a home like Mrs. Taylor's. The house was no\nlarger than her own, and had cost less. Medicine had not been so\nlucrative as the manufacture of varnish. Externally the house displayed\nstern lines of unadorned brick--the custom-made style of Benham in the\nfirst throes of expansion before Mr. Pierce's imagination had been\nstirred. Mr. Taylor had bought it as it stood, and his wife had made no\nattempt to alter the outside, which was, after all, inoffensively\nhomely. But the interior was bewildering to Selma's gaze in its\nsuggestion of cosey comfort. Pretty, tasteful things, many of them\ninexpensive knick-knacks of foreign origin--a small picture, a bit of\nchina, a mediæval relic--were cleverly placed as a relief to the\nconventional furniture. Selma had been used to formalism in household\ngarniture--to a best room little used and precise with the rigor of wax\nflowers and black horse-hair, and to a living room where the effect\nsought was purely utilitarian. Her new home, in spite of its colored\nglass and iron stag, was arranged in much this fashion, as were the\nhouses of her neighbors which she had entered.\n\nSelma managed to seat herself on the one straight-backed chair in the\nroom. From this she was promptly driven by Mrs. Taylor and established\nin one corner of a lounge with a soft silk cushion behind her, and\nfurther propitiated by the proffer of a cup of tea in a dainty cup and\nsaucer. All this, including Mrs. Taylor's musical voice, easy speech,\nand ingratiating friendliness, alternately thrilled and irritated her.\nShe would have liked to discard her hostess from her thought as a light\ncreature unworthy of intellectual seriousness, but she found herself\nfascinated and even thawed in spite of herself.\n\n\"I'm glad to have the opportunity really to talk to you,\" said Mrs.\nTaylor. \"At the church reunions one is so liable to interruptions. If\nI'm not mistaken, you taught school before you were married?\"\n\n\"For a short time.\"\n\n\"That must have been interesting. It is so practical and definite. My\nlife,\" she added deprecatingly, \"has been a thing of threads and\npatches--a bit here and a bit there.\"\n\nShe paused, but without forcing a response, proceeded blithely to touch\non her past by way of illustration. The war had come just when she was\ngrown up, and her kin in Maryland were divided on the issue. Her father\nhad taken his family abroad, but her heart was in the keeping of a young\nofficer on the Northern side--now her husband. Loss of property and\nbitterness of spirit had kept her parents expatriated, and she, with\nthem, had journeyed from place to place in Europe. She had seen many\nbeautiful places and beautiful things. At last Major Taylor had come for\nher and carried her off as his bride to take up again her life as an\nAmerican.\n\n\"I am interested in Benham,\" she continued, \"and I count on you, Mrs.\nBabcock, to help make the new church what it ought to be\nartistically--worthy of all the energy and independence there is in this\nplace.\"\n\nSelma's eye kindled. The allusion to foreign lands had aroused her\ndistrust, but this patriotic avowal warmed her pulses.\n\n\"Every one is so busy with private affairs here, owing to the rapid\ngrowth of the city,\" pursued Mrs. Taylor, \"that there is danger of our\ndoing inconsiderately things which cannot easily be set right hereafter.\nAn ugly or tawdry-looking building may be an eyesore for a generation. I\nknow that we have honest and skilful mechanics in Benham, but as\ntrustees of the church funds, shouldn't we at least make the effort to\nget the best talent there is? If we have the cleverest architect here,\nso much the better. An open competition will enable us to find out.\nAfter all Benham is only one city among many, and a very new city. Why\nshouldn't we take advantage of the ideas of the rest of the country--the\nolder portion of the country?\"\n\n\"Mr. Pierce built our house, and we think it very satisfactory and\npretty.\"\n\nSelma's tone was firm, but she eyed her hostess narrowly. She had begun\nof late to distrust the æsthetic worth of the colored glass and metal\nstag, and, though she was on her guard against effrontery, she wished to\nknow the truth. She knew that Mr. Pierce, with fine business instinct,\nhad already conveyed to her husband the promise that he should furnish\nthe varnish for the new church in case of his own selection, which, as\nBabcock had remarked, would be a nice thing all round.\n\nMrs. Taylor underwent the scrutiny without flinching. \"I have nothing to\nsay against Mr. Pierce. He is capable within his lights. Indeed I think\nit quite possible that we shall get nothing more satisfactory elsewhere.\nMr. Flagg's grim pile is anything but encouraging. That may sound like\nan argument against my plan, but in the case of the Flagg house there\nwas no competition; merely unenlightened choice on the one side and\nignorant experimenting on the other.\"\n\n\"You don't seem to think very highly of the appearance of Benham,\" said\nSelma. The remark was slightly interrogative, but was combative withal.\nShe wished to know if everything, from the Flagg mansion down, was open\nto criticism, but she would fain question the authority of the\ncensor--this glib, graceful woman whose white, starched cuffs seemed to\nmake light of her own sober, unadorned wrists.\n\nThis time Mrs. Taylor flushed faintly. She realized that their relations\nhad reached a critical point, and that the next step might be fatal. She\nput down her teacup, and leaning forward, said with smiling confidential\neagerness, \"I don't. I wouldn't admit it to anyone else. But what's the\nuse of mincing matters with an intelligent woman like you? I might put\nyou off now, and declare that Benham is well enough. But you would soon\ndivine what I really think, and that would be the end of confidence\nbetween us. I like honesty and frankness, and I can see that you do. My\nopinion of Benham architecture is that it is slip-shod and mongrel.\nThere! You see I put myself in your hands, but I do so because I feel\nsure you nearly agree with me already. You know it's so, but you hate to\nacknowledge it.\"\n\nSelma's eyes were bright with interest. She felt flattered by the\nappeal, and there was a righteous assurance in Mrs. Taylor's manner\nwhich was convincing. She opened her mouth to say something--what she\ndid not quite know--but Mrs. Taylor raised her hand by way of\ninterdiction.\n\n\"Don't answer yet. Let me show you what I mean. I'm as proud of Benham\nas anyone. I am absorbed by the place, I look to see it fifty years\nhence--perhaps less--a great city, and a beautiful city too. Just at\npresent everything is commercial and--and ethical; yes, ethical. We wish\nto do and dare, but we haven't time to adorn as we construct. That is,\nmost of us haven't. But if a few determined spirits--women though they\nbe--cry 'halt,' art may get a chance here and there to assert herself.\nLook at this,\" she said, gliding across the room and holding up a small\nvase of exquisite shape and coloring, \"I picked it up on the other side\nand it stands almost for a lost art. The hands and taste which wrought\nit represent the transmitted patience and skill of hundreds of years. We\nlike to rush things through in a few weeks on a design hastily conceived\nby a Mr. Pierce because we are so earnest. Now, we won't do it this\ntime, will we?\"\n\n\"No, we won't,\" said Selma. \"I see what you mean. I was afraid at first\nthat you didn't give us credit for the earnestness--for the ethical\npart. That's the first thing, the great thing according to my idea, and\nit's what distinguishes us from foreigners,--the foreigners who made\nthat vase, for instance. But I agree with you that there's such a thing\nas going too fast, and very likely some of the buildings here aren't all\nthey might be. We don't need to model them on foreign patterns, but we\nmust have them pretty and right.\"\n\n\"Certainly, certainly, my dear. What we should strive for is\noriginality--American originality; but soberly, slowly. Art is evolved\npainfully, little by little; it can't be bought ready-made at shops for\nthe asking like tea and sugar. If we invite designs for the new church,\nwe shall give the youths of the country who have ideas seething in their\nheads a chance to express themselves. Who knows but we may unearth a\ngenius?\"\n\n\"Who knows?\" echoed Selma, with her spiritual look. \"Yes, you are right,\nMrs. Taylor. I will help you. As you say, there must be hundreds of\nyoung men who would like to do just that sort of thing. I know myself\nwhat it is to have lived in a small place without the opportunity to\nshow what one could do; to feel the capacity, but to be without the\nmeans and occasion to reveal what is in one. And now that I understand\nwe really look at things the same way, I'm glad to join with you in\nmaking Benham beautiful. As you say, we women can do much if we only\nwill. I've the greatest faith in woman's mission in this new,\ninteresting nation of ours. Haven't you, Mrs. Taylor? Don't you believe\nthat she, in her new sphere of usefulness, is one of the great moving\nforces of the Republic?\" Selma was talking rapidly, and had lost every\ntrace of suspicious restraint. She spoke as one transfigured.\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" answered Mrs. Taylor, checking any disposition she may\nhave felt to interpose qualifications. She could acquiesce generally\nwithout violence to her convictions, and she could not afford to imperil\nthe safety of the immediate issue--her church. \"I felt sure you would\nfeel so if you only had time to reflect,\" she added. \"If you vote with\nus, you will have the pleasant consciousness of knowing that you have\nadvanced woman's cause just so much.\"\n\n\"You may count on my vote.\"\n\nSelma stopped on her way home, although it was late, to purchase some\nwhite cuffs. As she approached, her husband stood on the grass-plot in\nhis shirt sleeves with a garden-hose. He was whistling, and when he saw\nher he kissed his hand at her jubilantly,\n\n\"Well, sweetheart, where you been?\"\n\n\"Visiting. Taking tea with Mrs. Taylor. I've promised her to vote to\ninvite bids for the church plans.\"\n\nBabcock looked surprised. \"That'll throw Pierce out, won't it?\"\n\n\"Not unless some one else submits a better design than he.\"\n\nLewis scratched his head. \"I considered that order for varnish as good\nas booked.\"\n\n\"I'm not sure Mr. Pierce knows as much as he thinks he does,\" said Selma\noracularly. \"We shall get plans from New York and Boston. If we don't\nlike them we needn't take them. But that's the way to get an artistic\nthing. And we're going to have the most artistic church in Benham. I'm\nsorry about the varnish, but a principle is involved.\"\n\nBabcock was puzzled but content. He cared far more for the\ndisappointment to Pierce than for the loss of the order. But apart from\nthe business side of the question, he never doubted that his wife must\nbe right, nor did he feel obliged to inquire what principle was\ninvolved. He was pleased to have her associate with Mrs. Taylor, and was\nsatisfied that she would be a credit to him in any situation where\noccult questions of art or learning were mooted. He dropped his hose and\npulled her down beside him on the porch settee. There was a beautiful\nsunset, and the atmosphere was soft and refreshing. Selma felt satisfied\nwith herself. As Mrs. Taylor had said, it was her vote which would turn\nthe scale on behalf of progress. Other things, too, were in her mind.\nShe was not ready to admit that she had been instructed, but she was\nalready planning changes in her own domestic interior, suggested by what\nshe had seen.\n\nShe let her husband squeeze her hand, but her thoughts were wandering\nfrom his blandishments. Presently she said: \"Lewis, I've begun lately to\ndoubt if that stag is really pretty.\"\n\n\"The stag? Well, now, I've always thought it tasty--one of the features\nof our little place.\"\n\n\"No one would mistake it for a real deer. It looks to me almost\ncomical.\"\n\nBabcock turned to regard judicially the object of her criticism.\n\n\"I like it,\" he said somewhat mournfully, as though he were puzzled.\n\"But if you don't, we'll change the stag for something else. I wish you\nto be pleased first of all. Instead we might have a fountain; two\nchildren under an umbrella I saw the other day. It was cute. How does\nthat strike you?\"\n\n\"I can't tell without seeing it. And, Lewis, promise me that you won't\nselect anything new of that sort until I have looked at it.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" Babcock answered submissively. But he continued to look\npuzzled. In his estimate of his wife's superiority to himself in the\nsubtleties of life, it had never occurred to him to include the choice\nof every-day objects of art. He had eyes and could judge for himself\nlike any other American citizen. Still, he was only too glad to humor\nSelma in such an unimportant matter, especially as he was eager for her\nhappiness.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nSeven designs for the new church were submitted, including three from\nBenham architects. The leaven of influence exercised by spirits like\nMrs. Taylor was only just beginning to work, and the now common custom\nof competing outside one's own bailiwick was still in embryo. Mr.\nPierce's design was bold and sumptuous. His brother-in-law stated\noracularly not long before the day when the plans were to be opened:\n\"Pierce is not a man to be frightened out of a job by frills. Mark my\nwords; he will give us an elegant thing.\" Mr. Pierce had conceived the\nhappy thought of combining a Moorish mosque and New England\nmeeting-house in a conservative and equitable medley, evidently hoping\nthereby to be both picturesque and traditional. The result, even on\npaper, was too bold for some of his admirers. The chairman was heard to\nremark: \"I shouldn't feel as though I was in church. That dome set among\nspires is close to making a theatre of the house of God.\"\n\nThe discomfiture of the first architect of Benham cleared the way for\nthe triumph of Mrs. Taylor's taste. The design submitted by Wilbur\nLittleton of New York, seemed to her decidedly the most meritorious. It\nwas graceful, appropriate, and artistic; entirely in harmony with\nreligious associations, yet agreeably different from every day\nsanctuaries. The choice lay between his and that presented by Mr. Cass,\na Benham builder--a matter-of-fact, serviceable, but very conventional\nedifice. The hard-headed stove dealer on the committee declared in favor\nof the native design, as simpler and more solid.\n\n\"It'll be a massive structure\" he said, \"and when it's finished no one\nwill have to ask what it is. It'll speak for itself. Mr. Cass is a solid\nbusiness man, and we know what we'll get. The other plan is what I call\ndandified.\"\n\nIt was evident to the committee that the stove dealer's final criticism\ncomprehended the architect as well as his design. Several\ncompetitors--Littleton among them--had come in person to explain the\nmerits of their respective drawings, and by the side of solid,\nred-bearded, undecorative Mr. Cass, Littleton may well have seemed a\ndandy. He was a slim young man with a delicate, sensitive face and\nintelligent brown eyes. He looked eager and interesting. In his case the\nalmost gaunt American physiognomy was softened by a suggestion of poetic\nimpulses. Yet the heritage of nervous energy was apparent. His\nappearance conveyed the impression of quiet trigness and gentility. His\nfigure lent itself to his clothes, which were utterly inconspicuous,\njudged by metropolitan standards, but flawless in the face of\nhard-headed theories of life, and aroused suspicion. He spoke in a\ngentle but earnest manner, pointing out clearly, yet modestly, the\nmerits of his composition.\n\nSelma had never seen a man just like him before, and she noticed that\nfrom the outset his eyes seemed to be fastened on her as though his\nwords were intended for her special benefit. She had never read the\nlines--indeed they had not been written--\n\n\"I think I could be happy with a gentleman like you.\"\n\nNor did the precise sentiment contained in them shape itself in her\nthought. Yet she was suddenly conscious that she had been starving for\nlack of intellectual companionship, and that he was the sort of man she\nhad hoped to meet--the sort of man who could appreciate her and whom she\ncould appreciate.\n\nIt did not become necessary for Selma to act as Mr. Littleton's\nchampion, for the stove dealer's criticism found only one supporter. The\nNew Yorker's design for the church was so obviously pretty and suitable\nthat a majority of the Committee promptly declared in its favor. The\nsuccessful competitor, who had remained a day to learn the result, was\nsolemnly informed of the decision, and then elaborately introduced to\nthe members. In shaking hands with him, Selma experienced a shade of\nembarrassment. It was plain that his words to her, spoken with a low\nbow--\"I am very much gratified that my work pleases you\" conveyed a more\nspiritual significance than was contained in his thanks to the others.\nStill he seemed more at his ease with Mrs. Taylor, who promptly broke\nthe ice of the situation by fixing him as a close relative of friends in\nBaltimore. Straightway he became sprightly and voluble, speaking of\nthings and people beyond Selma's experience. This social jargon\nirritated Selma. It seemed to her a profanation of a noble character,\nyet she was annoyed because she could not understand.\n\nMrs. Taylor, having discovered in Mr. Littleton one who should have been\na friend long before, succeeded in carrying him off to dinner. Yet,\nbefore taking his leave, he came back to Selma for a few words. She had\noverheard Mrs. Taylor's invitation, and she asked herself why she too\nmight not become better acquainted with this young man whose attitude\ntoward her was that of respectful admiration. To have a strange young\nman to dine off-hand struck her as novel. She had a general conviction\nthat it would seem to Lewis closely allied to light conduct, and that\nonly foreigners or frivolous people let down to this extent the bars of\nfamily life. Now that Mrs. Taylor had set her the example, she was less\ncertain of the moral turpitude of such an act, but she concluded also\nthat her husband would be in the way at table. What she desired was an\nopportunity for a long, interesting chat about high things.\n\nWhile she reflected, he was saying to her, \"I understand that your\ncommittee is to supervise my work until the new church is completed, so\nI shall hope to have the opportunity to meet you occasionally. It will\nbe necessary for me to make trips here from time to time to see that\neverything is being done correctly by the mechanics.\"\n\n\"Do you go away immediately?\"\n\n\"It may be that I shall be detained by the arrangements which I must\nmake here until day after to-morrow.\"\n\n\"If you would really like to see me, I live at 25 Onslow Avenue.\"\n\n\"Thank you very much.\" Littleton took out a small memorandum book and\ncarefully noted the address. \"Mrs. Babcock, 25 Onslow Avenue. I shall\nmake a point of calling to-morrow afternoon if I stay--and probably I\nshall.\"\n\nHe bowed and left Selma pleasantly stirred by the interview. His voice\nwas low and his enunciation sympathetically fluent. She said to herself\nthat she would give him afternoon tea and they would compare ideas\ntogether. She felt sure that his must be interesting.\n\nLater in the evening at Mrs. Taylor's, when there was a pause in their\nsympathetic interchange of social and æsthetic convictions, Littleton\nsaid abruptly:\n\n\"Tell me something, please, about Mrs. Babcock. She has a suggestive as\nwell as a beautiful face, and it is easy to perceive that she is\ngenuinely American--not one of the women of whom we were speaking, who\nseem to be ashamed of their own institutions, and who ape foreign\nmanners and customs. I fancy she would illustrate what I was saying just\nnow as to the vital importance of our clinging to our heritage of\nindependent thought--of accepting the truth of the ancient order of\nthings without allowing its lies and demerits to enslave us.\"\n\n\"I suppose so,\" said Mrs. Taylor. \"She certainly does not belong to the\ndangerous class of whom you were speaking. I was flattering myself that\nneither did I, for I was agreeing with all you said as to the need of\ncherishing our native originality. Yet I must confess that now that you\ncompare me with her (the actual comparison is my own, but you instigated\nit), I begin to feel more doubts about myself--that is if she is the\ntrue species, and I'm inclined to think she is. Pray excuse this\nindirect method of answering your inquiry; it is in the nature of a\nsoliloquy; it is an airing of thoughts and doubts which have been\nharassing me for a fortnight--ever since I knew Mrs. Babcock. Really,\nMr. Littleton, I can tell you very little about her. She is a new-comer\non the horizon of Benham; she has been married very recently; I believe\nshe has taught school and that she was brought up not far from here. She\nis as proud as Lucifer and sometimes as beautiful; she is profoundly\nserious and--and apparently very ignorant. I fancy she is clever and\ncapable in her way, but I admit she is an enigma to me and that I have\nnot solved it. I can see she does not approve of me altogether. She\nregards me with suspicion, and yet she threw the casting vote in favor\nof my proposal to open the competition for the church to architects from\nother places. I am trying to like her, for I wish to believe in\neverything genuinely American if I can. There, I have told you all I\nknow, and to a man she may seem altogether attractive and inspiring.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I had no conception that I was broaching such a complex\nsubject. She sounds interesting, and my curiosity is whetted. You have\nnot mentioned the husband.\"\n\n\"To be sure. A burly, easy-going manufacturer of varnish, without much\neducation, I should judge. He is manifestly her inferior in half a dozen\nways, but I understand that he is making money, and he looks kind.\"\n\nWilbur Littleton's life since he had come to man's estate had been a\nstruggle, and he was only just beginning to make headway. He had never\nhad time to commiserate himself, for necessity on the one hand and\nyouthful ambition on the other had kept his energies tense and his\nthoughts sane and hopeful. He and his sister Pauline, a year his senior,\nhad been left orphans while both were students by the death of their\nfather on the battlefield. To persevere in their respective tastes and\nwork out their educations had been a labor of love, but an undertaking\nwhich demanded rigorous self-denial on the part of each. Wilbur had\ndetermined to become an architect. Pauline, early interested in the\ndogma that woman must no longer be barred from intellectual\ncompanionship with man, had sought to cultivate herself intelligently\nwithout sacrificing her brother's domestic comfort. She had succeeded.\nTheir home in New York, despite its small dimensions and frugal\nhospitality, was already a favorite resort of a little group of\nprofessional people with busy brains and light purses. Wilbur was in the\nthroes of early progress. He had no relatives or influential friends to\ngive him business, and employment came slowly. He had been an architect\non his own account for two years, but was still obliged to supplement\nhis professional orders by work as a draughtsman for others. Yet his\nenthusiasm kept him buoyant. In respect to his own work he was\nscrupulous; indeed, a stern critic. He abhorred claptrap and specious\neffects, and aimed at high standards of artistic expression. This gave\nhim position among his brother architects, but was incompatible with\nmeteoric progress. His design for the church at Benham represented much\nthought and hope, and he felt happy at his success.\n\nLittleton's familiarity with women, apart from his sister, had been\nslight, but his thoughts regarding them were in keeping with a poetic\nand aspiring nature. He hoped to marry some day, and he was fond of\npicturing to himself in moments of reverie the sort of woman to whom his\nheart would be given. In the shrine of his secret fancy she appeared\nprimarily as an object of reverence, a white-souled angel of light clad\nin the graceful outlines of flesh, an Amazon and yet a winsome, tender\nspirit, and above all a being imbued with the stimulating intellectual\nindependence he had been taught to associate with American womanhood.\nShe would be the loving wife of his bosom and the intelligent sharer of\nhis thoughts and aspirations--often their guide. So pure and exacting\nwas his ideal that while alive to the value of coyness and coquetry as\nelements of feminine attraction for others, Wilbur had chosen to regard\nthe maiden of his faith as too serious a spirit to condescend to such\nvanities; and from a similar vein of appreciation he was prone to think\nof her as unadorned, or rather untarnished, by the gewgaws of\nfashionable dressmaking and millinery. His first sight of Selma had made\nhim conscious that here was a face not unlike what he had hoped to\nencounter some day, and he had instinctively felt her to be sympathetic.\nHe was even conscious of disappointment when he heard her addressed as\nMrs. Babcock. Evidently she was a free-born soul, unhampered by the\nsocial weaknesses of a large city, and illumined by the spiritual grace\nof native womanliness. So he thought of her, and Mrs. Taylor's diagnosis\nrather confirmed than impaired his impression, for in Mrs. Taylor Wilbur\nfelt he discerned a trace of antagonism born of cosmopolitan\nprejudice--an inability to value at its true worth a nature not moulded\non conventional lines. Rigorous as he was in his judgments, and eager to\ndisown what was cheap or shallow, mere conventionalism, whether in art\nor daily life, was no less abhorrent to him. Here, he said to himself,\nwas an original soul, ignorant and unenlightened perhaps, but endowed\nwith swift perception and capable of noble development.\n\nThe appearance of Selma's scroll and glass bedizened house did not\naffect this impression. Wilbur was first of all appreciatively an\nAmerican. That is he recognized that native energy had hitherto been\nexpended on the things of the spirit to the neglect of things material.\nAs an artist he was supremely interested in awakening and guiding the\nnational taste in respect to art, but at the same time he was thoroughly\naware that the peculiar vigor and independence of character which he\nknew as Americanism was often utterly indifferent to, or ignorant of,\nthe value of æsthetics. After all, art was a secondary consideration,\nwhereas the inward vision which absorbed the attention of the thoughtful\namong his countrymen and countrywomen was an absolute essential without\nwhich the soul must lose its fineness. He himself was seeking to show\nthat beauty, in external material expression, was not merely consistent\nwith strong ideals but requisite to their fit presentment. He recognized\ntoo that the various and variegated departures from the monotonous\nhomely pattern of the every-day American house, which were evident in\neach live town, were but so many indicators that the nation was\nbeginning to realize the truth of this. His battle was with the\ndesigners and builders who were guiding falsely and flamboyantly, not\nwith the deceived victims, nor with those who were still satisfied\nmerely to look inwardly, and ignored form and color. Hence he would have\nbeen able to behold the Babcocks' iron stag without rancor had the\nanimal still occupied the grass-plot. Selma, when she saw the figure of\nher visitor in the door-way, congratulated herself that it had been\nremoved. It would have pleased her to know that Mr. Littleton had\nalready placed her in a niche above the level of mere grass-plot\nconsiderations. That was where she belonged of course; but she was\nfearful on the score of suspected shortcomings. So it was gratifying to\nbe able to receive him in a smarter gown, to be wearing white cuffs, and\nto offer him tea with a touch of Mrs. Taylor's tormenting urbanity. Not\nso unreservedly as she. That would never do. It was and never would be\nin keeping with her own ideas of serious self-respect. Still a touch of\nit was grateful to herself. She felt that it was a grace and enhanced\nher effectiveness.\n\nA few moments later Selma realized that for the first time since she had\nlived in Benham she was being understood and appreciated. She felt too\nthat for the first time she was talking to a kindred spirit--to be sure,\nto one different, and more technically proficient in concrete knowledge,\npossibly more able, too, to express his thoughts in words, but eminently\na comrade and sympathizer. She was not obliged to say much. Nor were,\nindeed, his actual words the source of her realization. The revelation\ncame from what was left unsaid--from the silent recognition by him that\nshe was worthy to share his best thoughts and was herself a serious\nworker in the struggle of life. No graceful but galling attitude of\nsuperiority, no polite indifference to her soul-hunger, no disposition\nto criticise. And yet he was no less voluble, clever, and spirited than\nMrs. Taylor. She listened with wrapt interest to his easy talk, which\nwas ever grave in tone, despite his pleasant sallies. He spoke of Benham\nwith quick appreciation of its bustling energy, and let her see that he\ndivined its capacity for greatness. This led him to refer with kindling\neyes to the keen impulse toward education and culture which was\nanimating the younger men and women of the country; to the new\nbeginnings of art, literature, and scientific investigation. At scarcely\na hint from her he told briefly of his past life and his hopes, and\nfondly mentioned his sister and her present absorption in some history\ncourses for women.\n\n\"And you?\" he said. \"You are a student, too. Mrs. Taylor has told me,\nbut I should have guessed it. Duties even more interesting claim you\nnow, but it is easy to perceive that you have known that other\nhappiness, 'To scorn delights and live laborious days.'\"\n\nHis words sounded musical, though the quotation from Lycidas was\nunfamiliar to her ears. Her brain was thrilling with the import of all\nhe had told her--with his allusions to the intellectual and ethical\nmovements of Boston and New York, in which she felt herself by right and\nwith his recognition a partner and peer.\n\n\"You were teaching school when you married, I believe?\" he added.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And before that, if I may ask?\"\n\n\"I lived at Westfield with my father. It is a small country town, but we\ntried to be in earnest.\"\n\n\"I understand--I understand. You grew up among the trees, and the\nbreezes and the brooks, those wonderful wordless teachers. I envy you,\nfor they give one time to think--to expand. I have known only city life\nmyself. It is stimulating, but one is so easily turned aside from one's\ndirect purpose. Do you write at all?\"\n\n\"Not yet. But I have wished to. Some day I shall. Just now I have too\nmany domestic concerns to--\"\n\nShe did not finish, for Babcock's heavy tread and whistle resounded in\nthe hall and at the next moment he was calling \"Selma!\"\n\nShe felt annoyed at being interrupted, but she divined that it would\nnever do to show it.\n\n\"My husband,\" she said, and she raised her voice to utter with a sugared\ndignity which would have done credit to Mrs. Taylor,\n\n\"I am in the parlor, Lewis.\"\n\n\"Enter your chief domestic concern,\" said Littleton blithely. \"A happy\nhome is preferable to all the poems and novels in the world.\"\n\nBabcock, pushing open the door, which stood ajar, stopped short in his\nmelody.\n\n\"This is Mr. Littleton, Lewis. The architect of our new church.\"\n\n\"Pleased to make your acquaintance.\" And by way of accounting for the\nsudden softening of his brow, Babcock added, \"I set you down at first as\none of those lightning-rod agents. There was one here last week who\nwouldn't take 'no' for an answer.\"\n\n\"He has an advantage over me,\" answered Littleton with a laugh. \"In my\nbusiness a man can't solicit orders. He has to sit and wait for them to\ncome to him.\"\n\n\"I want to know. My wife thinks a lot of your drawings for the new\nchurch.\"\n\n\"I hope to make it a credit to your city. I've just been saying to your\nwife, Mr. Babcock, that Benham has a fine future before it. The very\natmosphere seems charged with progress.\"\n\nBabcock beamed approvingly. \"It's a driving place, sir. The man in\nBenham who stops by the way-side to scratch his head gets left behind.\nWhen we moved into this house a year ago looking through that window we\nwere at the jumping-off place; now you see houses cropping up in every\ndirection. It's going to be a big city. Pleased to have you stop to\nsupper with us,\" he added with burly suavity as their visitor rose.\n\nLittleton excused himself and took his leave. Babcock escorted him to\nthe front door and full of his subject delayed him on the porch to touch\nonce more on the greatness of Benham. There was a clumsy method too in\nthis optimistic garrulity, for at the close he referred with some pride\nto his own business career, and made a tender of his business card,\n\"Lewis Babcock & Company, Varnishes,\" with a flourish. \"If you do\nanything in my line, pleased to accommodate you.\"\n\nLittleton departing, tickled by a pleasant sense of humor, caught\nthrough the parlor window a last glimpse of Selma's inspired face bowing\ngravely, yet wistfully, in acknowledgment of his lifted hat, and he\nstrode away under the spell of a brain picture which he transmuted into\nwords: \"There's the sort of case where the cynical foreigner fails to\nappreciate the true import of our American life. That couple typifies\nthe elements of greatness in our every-day people. At first blush the\nhusband's rough and material, but he's shrewd and enterprising and\nvigorous--the bread winner. He's enormously proud of her, and he has\nreason to be, for she is a constant stimulus to higher things. Little by\nlittle, and without his knowing it, perhaps, she will smoothe and\nelevate him, and they will develop together, growing in intelligence and\ncultivation as they wax in worldly goods. After all, woman is our most\nmarvellous native product--that sort of woman. Heigho!\" Having given\nvent to this sigh, Littleton proceeded to recognize the hopelessness of\nthe personal situation by murmuring with a slightly forced access of\nsprightliness\n\n     \"If she be not fair for me,\n     What care I how fair she be?\"\n\nStill he intended to see more of Mrs. Babcock, and that without\ninfringing the tenth or any other commandment. To flirt with a married\nwoman savored to him of things un-American and unworthy, and Littleton\nhad much too healthy an imagination to rhapsodize from such a\nstand-point. Yet he foresaw that they might be mutually respecting\nfriends.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nSelma knew intuitively that an American woman was able to cook a smooth\ncustard, write a poem and control real society with one and the same\nbrain and hand, and she was looking forward to the realization of the\napotheosis; but, though she was aware that children are the natural\nincrement of wedlock, she had put the idea from her ever since her\nmarriage as impersonal and vaguely disgusting. Consequently her\nconfinement came as an unwelcome interruption of her occupations and\nplans.\n\nHer connection with the committee for the new church had proved an\nintroduction to other interests, charitable and social. One day she was\ntaken by Mrs. Taylor to a meeting of the Benham Woman's Institute, a\nliterary club recently established by Mrs. Margaret Rodney Earle, a\nWestern newspaper woman who had made her home in Benham. Selma came in\nupon some twenty of her own sex in a hotel private parlor hired weekly\nfor the uses of the Institute. Mrs. Earle, the president, a large florid\nwoman of fifty, with gray hair rising from the brow, fluent of speech,\nendowed with a public manner, a commanding bust and a vigorous,\ningratiating smile, wielded a gavel at a little table and directed the\nexercises. A paper on Shakespeare's heroines was read and discussed.\nSelections on the piano followed. A thin woman in eye-glasses, the\nliterary editor of the _Benham Sentinel_, recited \"Curfew must not ring\nto-night,\" and a visitor from Wisconsin gave an exhibition in melodious\nwhistling. In the intervals, tea, chocolate with whipped cream and\nlittle cakes were dispensed.\n\nSelma was absorbed and thrilled. What could be more to her taste than\nthis? At the close of the whistling exercise, Mrs. Earle came over and\nspoke to her. They took a strong fancy to each other on the spot. Selma\npreferred a person who would tell you everything about herself and to\nwhom you could tell everything about yourself without preliminaries.\nPeople like Mrs. Taylor repressed her, but the motherly loquacity and\ncomprehension of Mrs. Earle drew her out and thawed at once and forever\nthe ice of acquaintanceship. Before she quite realized the extent of\nthis fascination she had promised to recite something, and as in a\ndream, but with flushing cheeks, she heard the President rap the table\nand announce \"You will be gratified to hear that a talented friend who\nis with us has kindly consented to favor us with a recital. I have the\nhonor to introduce Mrs. Lewis Babcock.\"\n\nAfter the first flush of nervousness, Selma's grave dignity came to her\nsupport, and justified her completely in her own eyes. Her father had\nbeen fond of verse, especially of verse imbued with moral melancholy,\nand at his suggestion she had learned and had been wont to repeat many\nof the occasional pieces which he cut from the newspapers and collected\nin a scrap-book. Her own preference among these was the poem, \"O why\nshould the spirit of mortal be proud?\" which she had been told was a\ngreat favorite of Abraham Lincoln. It was this piece which came into her\nmind when Mrs. Earle broached the subject, and this she proceeded to\ndeliver with august precision. She spoke clearly and solemnly without\nthe trace of the giggling protestation which is so often incident to\nfeminine diffidence. She treated the opportunity with the seriousness\nexpected, for though the Institute was not proof against light and\ndiverting contributions, as the whistling performance indicated, levity\nof spirit would have been out of place.\n\n     \"'Tis a twink of the eye, 'tis a draught of the breath\n     From the blossom of health to the paleness of death;\n     From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,\n     O why should the spirit of mortal be proud?\"\n\nSelma enjoyed the harmony between the long, slow cadence of the metre\nand the important gravity of the theme. She rolled out the verses with\nthe intensity of a seer, and she looked a beautiful seer as well.\nLiberal applause greeted her as she sat down, though the clapping woman\nis apt to be a feeble instrument at best. Selma knew that she had\nproduced an impression and she was moved by her own effectiveness. She\nwas compelled to swallow once or twice to conceal the tears in her voice\nwhile listening to the congratulations of Mrs. Earle. The words which\nshe had just recited were ringing through her brain and seemed to her to\nexpress the pitch at which her life was keyed.\n\nSelma was chosen a member of the Institute at the next meeting, and\nforthwith she became intimate with the president. Mrs. Margaret Rodney\nEarle was, as she herself phrased it, a live woman. She supported\nherself by writing for the newspapers articles of a morally utilitarian\ncharacter--for instance a winter's series, published every Saturday,\n\"Hints on Health and Culture,\" or again, \"Receipts for the Parlor and\nthe Kitchen.\" She also contributed poetry of a pensive cast, and chatty\nspecial correspondence flavored with personal allusion. She was one of\nthe pioneers in modern society journalism, which at this time, however,\nwas comparatively veiled and delicate in its methods. Besides, she was a\nwoman of tireless energy, with theories on many subjects and an ardor\nfor organization. She advocated prohibition, the free suffrage of woman,\nthe renunciation of corsets, and was interested in reforms relating to\nlabor, the pauper classes and the public schools. In behalf of any of\nthese causes she was ready from time to time to dash off an article at\nshort notice or address an audience. But her dearest concern was the\npromotion of woman's culture and the enlargement of woman's sphere of\nusefulness through the club. The idea of the woman's club, which was\ntaking root over the country, had put in the shade for the time being\nall her other plans, including the scheme of a society for making the\ngolden-rod the national flower. As the founder and president of the\nBenham Institute, she felt that she had found an avocation peculiarly\nadapted to her capacities, and she was already actively in\ncorrespondence with clubs of a similar character in other cities, in the\nhope of forming a national organization for mutual enlightenment and\nsupport.\n\nMrs. Earle received Selma by invitation at her lodgings the following\nday, and so quickly did their friendship ripen that at the end of two\nhours each had told the other everything. Selma was prone instinctively\nto regard as aristocratic and un-American any limitations to confidence.\nThe evident disposition on the part of Mrs. Earle to expose promptly and\nwithout reserve the facts of her past and her plans for the future\nseemed to Selma typical of an interesting character, and she was\nthankful to make a clean breast in her turn as far as was possible. Mrs.\nEarle's domestic experience had been thorny.\n\n\"I had a home once, too,\" she said, \"a happy home, I thought. My husband\nsaid he loved me. But almost from the first we had trouble. It went on\nso from month to month, and finally we agreed to part. He objected, my\ndear, to my living my own life. He didn't like me to take an interest in\nthings outside the house--public matters. I was elected on the\nschool-board--the only woman--and he ought to have been proud. He said\nhe was, at first, but he was too fond of declaring that a woman's place\nis in her kitchen. One day I said to him, 'Ellery, this can't go on. If\nwe can't agree we'd better separate. A cat-and-dog life is no life at\nall.' He answered back, 'I'm not asking you to leave me, but if you're\nset on it don't let me hinder you, Margaret. You don't need a man to\nsupport you. You're as good as a man yourself.' He meant that to be\nsarcastic, I suppose. 'Yes,' said I, 'thank God, I think I can take care\nof myself, even though I am a woman.' That was the end of it. There was\nno use for either of us to get excited. I packed my things, and a few\nmornings later I said to him, 'Good-by, Ellery Earle: I wish you well,\nand I suppose you're my husband still, but I'm going to live my own life\nwithout let or hindrance from any man. There's your ring.' My holding\nout the ring was startling to him, for he said, 'Aren't you going to be\nsorry for this, Margaret?' 'No,' said I, 'I've thought it all out, and\nit's best for both of us. There's your ring.' He wouldn't take it, so I\ndropped it on the table and went out. Some people miss it, and\nmisbelieve I was ever married. That was close on to twenty years ago,\nand I've never seen him since. When the war broke out I heard he\nenlisted, but what's become of him I don't know. Maybe he got a divorce.\nI've kept right on and lived my own life in my own way, and never lacked\nfood or raiment. I'm forty-five years old, but I feel a young woman\nstill.\"\n\nNotwithstanding Mrs. Earle's business-like directness and the\nprotuberance of her bust in conclusion, by way of reasserting her\nsatisfaction with the results of her action, there was a touch of\nplaintiveness in her confession which suggested the womanly author of\n\"Hints on Culture and Hygiene,\" rather than the man-hater. This was lost\non Selma, who was fain to sympathize purely from the stand-point of\nrighteousness.\n\n\"It was splendid,\" she said. \"He had no right to prevent you living your\nown life. No husband has that right.\"\n\nMrs. Earle brushed her eyes with her handkerchief. \"You musn't think, my\ndear, that I'm not a believer in the home because mine has been\nunhappy--because my husband didn't or couldn't understand. The true home\nis the inspirer and nourisher of all that is best in life--in our\nAmerican life; but men must learn the new lesson. There are many\nhomes--yours, I'm sure--where the free-born American woman has\nencouragement and the opportunity to expand.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. My husband lets me do as I wish. I made him promise before I\naccepted him that he wouldn't thwart me; that he'd let me live my own\nlife.\"\n\nSelma was so appreciative of Mrs. Earle, and so energetic and suggestive\nin regard to the scope of the Institute, that she was presently chosen a\nmember of the council, which was the body charged with the supervision\nof the fortnightly entertainments. It occurred to her as a brilliant\nconception to have Littleton address the club on \"Art,\" and she broached\nthe subject to him when he next returned to Benham and appeared before\nthe church committee. He declared that he was too busy to prepare a\nsuitable lecture, but he yielded finally to her plea that he owed it to\nhimself to let the women of Benham hear his views and opinions.\n\n\"They are wives and they are mothers,\" said Selma sententiously. \"It was\na woman's vote, you remember, which elected you to build our church. You\nowe it to Art; don't you think so?\"\n\nA logical appeal to his conscience was never lost on Littleton. Besides\nhe was glad to oblige Mrs. Babcock, who seemed so earnest in her desire\nto improve the æsthetic taste of Benham. Accordingly, he yielded. The\nlecture was delivered a few weeks later and was a marked success, for\nLittleton's earnestness of theme and manner was relieved by a graceful,\nsympathetic delivery. Selma, whose social aplomb was increasing every\nday, glided about the rooms with a contented mien receiving\nfelicitations and passing chocolate. She enjoyed the distinction of\nbeing the God behind the curtain.\n\nA few days later the knowledge that she herself was to become a mother\nwas forced upon her attention, and was a little irksome. Of necessity\nher new interests would be interrupted. Though she did not question that\nshe would perform maternal duties fitly and fully, they seemed to her\nless peculiarly adapted to her than concerns of the intellect and the\nspirit. However, the possession of a little daughter was more precious\nto her than she had expected, and the consciousness that the tiny doll\nwhich lay upon her breast, was flesh of her flesh and bone of her bone\naffected her agreeably and stirred her imagination. It should be reared,\nfrom the start, in the creed of soul independence and expansion, and she\nherself would find a new and sacred duty in catering to the needs of\nthis budding intelligence. So she reflected as she lay in bed, but the\noutlook was a little marred by the thought that the baby was the living\nimage of its father--broad-featured and burly--not altogether desirable\ncast of countenance for a girl. What a pity, when it might just as well\nhave looked like her.\n\nBabcock, on his part, was transported by paternity. He was bubbling over\nwith appreciation of the new baby, and fondly believed it to be a human\nwonder. He was solicitous on the score of its infantile ailments, and\nloaded it with gifts and toys beyond the scope of its enjoyment. He went\nabout the house whistling more exuberantly than ever. There was no speck\non his horizon; no fly in his pot of ointment. It was he who urged that\nthe child should be christened promptly, though Dr. Glynn was not\ndisposed to dwell on the clerical barbarism as to the destiny of\nunbaptized infants. Babcock was cultivating a conservative method: He\nrealized that there was no object in taking chances. Illogical as was\nthe theory that a healthy dog which had bitten him should be killed at\nonce, lest it subsequently go mad and he contract hydrophobia, he was\ntoo happy and complacent to run the risk of letting it live. So it was\nwith regard to baby. But Selma chose the name. Babcock preferred in this\norder another Selma, Sophia, after his mother, or a compliment to the\nwife of the President of the United States. But Selma, as the result of\ngrave thought, selected Muriel Grace. Without knowing exactly why, she\nasked Mrs. Taylor to be godmother. The ceremony was solemn and inspiring\nto her. She knew from the glass in her room that she was looking very\npretty. But she was weak and emotional. The baby behaved admirably, even\nwhen Lewis, trembling with pride, held it out to Mr. Glynn for baptism\nand held it so that the blood rushed to its head. \"I baptize thee in the\nname of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.\" She was happy and the\ntears were in her eyes. The divine blessing was upon her and her house,\nand, after all, baby was a darling and her husband a kind, manly soul.\nWith the help of heaven she would prove herself their good angel.\n\nWhen they returned home there was a whistle of old silver of light,\ngraceful design, a present from Mrs. Taylor to Muriel. Her aunt, Mrs.\nFarley, compared this to its disparagement with one already purchased by\nLewis, on the gaudily embossed stem of which perched a squirrel with a\nnut in its mouth. But Selma shook her head. \"Both of you are wrong,\" she\nsaid with authority. \"This is a beauty.\"\n\n\"It doesn't look new to my eyes,\" protested Mrs. Parley.\n\n\"Of course it isn't new. I shouldn't wonder if she bought it while\ntravelling abroad in Europe. It's artistic, and--and I shan't let baby\ndestroy it.\"\n\nBabcock glanced from one gift to the other quizzically. Then by way of\ndisposing of the subject he seized his daughter in his arms and dandling\nher toward the ceiling cried, \"If it's artistic things we must have,\nthis is the most artistic thing which I know of in the wide world.\nAren't you, little sugar-plum?\"\n\nMrs. Farley, with motherly distrust of man, apprehensively followed with\nher eyes and arms the gyrations of rise and fall; but Selma, though she\nsaw, pursued the current of her own thought which prompted her to\nexamine her wedding-ring. She was thinking that, compared with Mrs.\nTaylor's, it was a cart wheel--a clumsy, conspicuous band of metal,\ninstead of a delicate hoop. She wondered if Lewis would object to\nexchange it for another.\n\nWith the return of her strength, Selma took up again eagerly the tenor\nof her former life, aiding and abetting Mrs. Earle in the development of\nthe Institute. The president was absorbed in enlarging its scope by the\nenrollment of more members, and the establishment of classes in a\nvariety of topics--such as literature, science, philosophy, current\nevents, history, art, and political economy. She aimed to construct a\nclub which should be social and educational in the broadest sense by\nmutual co-operation and energy. Selma, in her eagerness to make the most\nof the opportunities for culture offered, committed herself to two of\nthe new topic classes--\"Italian and Grecian Art,\" and \"The Governments\nof Civilization,\" and as a consequence found some difficulty in\naccommodating her baby's nursing hours to these engagements. It was\nindeed a relief to her when the doctor presently pronounced the supply\nof her breast-milk inadequate. She was able to assuage Lewis' regret\nthat Muriel should be brought up by hand with the information that a\nlarge percentage of Benham and American mothers were similarly barren\nand that bottle babies were exceedingly healthy. She had gleaned the\nfirst fact from the physician, the second from Mrs. Earle, and her own\nconclusion on the subject was that a lack of milk was an indication of\nfeminine evolution from the status of the brute creation, a sign of\nspiritual as opposed to animal quality. Selma found Mrs. Earle\nsympathetic on this point, and also practical in her suggestions as to\nthe rearing of infants by artificial means, recommendations concerning\nwhich were contained in one of her series of papers entitled \"Mother\nLore.\"\n\nThe theory of the new classes was co-operation. That is, the members\nsuccessively, turn by turn, lectured on the topic, and all were expected\nto study in the interim so as to be able to ask questions and discuss\nthe views of the lecturer. Concerning both Italian and Grecian Art and\nthe Governments of Civilization, Selma knew that she had convictions in\nthe abstract, but when she found herself face to face with a specific\nlecture on each subject, it occurred to her as wise to supplement her\nideas by a little preparation. The nucleus of a public library had been\nrecently established by Joel Flagg and placed at the disposal of Benham.\nHere, by means of an encyclopædia and two hand-books, Selma was able in\nthree forenoons to compile a paper satisfactory to her self-esteem on\nthe dynasties of Europe and their inferiority to the United States, but\nher other task was illumined for her by a happy incident, the promise of\nLittleton to lend her books. Indeed he seemed delightfully interested in\nboth of her classes, which was especially gratifying in view of the fact\nthat Mrs. Taylor, who was a member of the Institute, had combated the\nnew programme on the plea that they were attempting too much and that it\nwould encourage superficiality. But Littleton seemed appreciative of the\nvalue of the undertaking, and he made his promise good forthwith by\nforwarding to her a package of books on art, among them two volumes of\nRuskin. Selma, who had read quotations from Ruskin on one or two\noccasions and believed herself an admirer of, and tolerably familiar\nwith, his writings, was thrilled. She promptly immersed herself in\n\"Stones of Venice\" and \"Seven Lamps of Architecture,\" sitting up late at\nnight to finish them. When she had read these and the article in the\nencyclopædia under the head of Art, she felt bursting with her subject\nand eager to air her knowledge before the class. Her lecture was\nacknowledged to be the most stirring and thorough of the course.\n\nReports of its success came back to her from Littleton, who offered to\nassist his pupil further by practical demonstration of the eternal\narchitectural fitness and unfitness of things--especially the latter--in\nwalks through the streets of Benham. But six times in as many months,\nhowever. There was no suggestion of coquetry on either side in these\nexcursions, yet each enjoyed them. Littleton's own work was beginning to\nassume definite form, and his visits to Benham became of necessity more\nfrequent; flying trips, but he generally managed to obtain a few words\nwith Selma. He continued to lend her books, and he invited her criticism\non the slowly growing church edifice. The responsibility of critic was\nan absorbing sensation to her, but the stark glibness of tongue which\nstood her in good stead before the classes of the Institute failed her\nin his presence--the presence of real knowledge. She wished to praise,\nbut to praise discriminatingly, with the cant of æsthetic appreciation,\nso that he should believe that she knew. As for the church itself, she\nwas interested in it; it was fine, of course, but that was a secondary\nconsideration compared with her emotions. His predilection in her favor,\nhowever, readily made him deaf in regard to her utterances. He scarcely\nheeded her halting, solemn, counterfeit transcendentalisms; or rather\nthey passed muster as subtle and genuine, so spell bound was he by the\nDelphic beauty of her criticising expression. It was enough for him to\nwatch her as she stood with her head on one side and the worried\narchangel look transfiguring her profile. What she said was lost in his\nreverie as to what she was--what she represented in his contemplation.\nAs she looked upon his handiwork he was able to view it with different\neyes, to discern its weaknesses and to gain fresh inspiration from her\npresence. He felt that it was growing on his hands and that he should be\nproud of it, and though, perhaps, he was conscious in his inner soul\nthat she was more to him than another man's wife should be, he knew too,\nthat no word or look of his had offended against the absent husband.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nBy the end of another six months Littleton's work was practically\ncompleted. Only the finishing touches to the interior decoration\nremained to be done. The members of Rev. Mr. Glynn's congregation,\nincluding Mrs. Hallett Taylor, were thoroughly satisfied with the\nappearance of the new church. It was attractive in its lines, yet it was\nsimple and, consequently, in keeping with the resources of the treasury.\nThere was no large bill for extras to be audited, as possibly would have\nbeen the case had a hard-headed designer like Mr. Pierce been employed.\nThe committee felt itself entitled to the congratulations of the\ncommunity. Nor was the community on the whole disposed to grumble, for\nhome talent had been employed by the architect; under rigorous\nsupervision, to be sure, so that poor material and slap-dash workmanship\nwere out of the question. Still, payments had been prompt, and Benham\nwas able to admire competent virtue. The church was a monument of\nsuggestion in various ways, artistic and ethical, and it shone neatly\nwith Babcock varnish.\n\nOne morning Selma set forth by agreement with Littleton, in order to\ninspect some fresco work. Muriel Grace was ailing slightly, but as she\nwould be home by mid-day, she bade the hired girl be watchful of baby,\nand kept her appointment. The child had grown dear to her, for Muriel\nwas a charming little dot, and Selma had already begun to enjoy the\nmaternal delight of human doll dressing, an extravagance in which she\nwas lavishly encouraged by her husband. Babcock was glad of any excuse\nto spend money on his daughter, who seemed to him, from day to day, a\ngreater marvel of precocity--such a child as became Selma's beauty and\ncleverness and his own practical common-sense.\n\nSelma was in a pensive frame of mind this morning. Two days before she\nhad read a paper at the Institute on \"Motherhood,\" which had been\nenthusiastically received. Mrs. Earle had printed a flattering item\nconcerning it in the _Benham Sentinel_. It was agreeable to her to be\ngoing to meet Littleton, for he was the most interesting masculine\nfigure in her life. She was sure of Lewis. He was her husband and she\nknew herself to be the apple of his eye; but she knew exactly what he\nwas going to say before he said it, and much of what he said grated on\nher. She was almost equally sure of Littleton; that is of his\nadmiration. His companionship was a constant pleasure to her. As a\nmarried woman, and as a Christian and American woman, she desired no\nmore than this. But on the other hand, she would fain have this admiring\ncompanionship continue; and yet it could not. Littleton had told her the\nday before that he was going back to New York and that it was doubtful\nif he would return. She would miss him. She would have the Institute and\nMrs. Earle still, but her life would be less full.\n\nLittleton was waiting for her at the church entrance. She followed him\ndown the nave to the chancel where she listened dreamily to his\npresentation of the merits of the new decoration. He seemed inclined to\ntalk, and from this presently branched off to describe with enthusiasm\nthe plates of a French book on interior architecture, which he had\nrecently bought as a long-resisted but triumphant piece of extravagance.\nMechanically, they turned from the chancel and slowly made the round of\nthe aisles. A short silence succeeded his professional ardor. His\ncurrent of thought, in its reversion to home matters, had reminded him\nafresh of what was perpetually this morning uppermost in his\nconsciousness--his coming departure.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, abruptly, \"is the most favorable opportunity I shall\nhave, Mrs. Babcock, to tell you how much I am your debtor. I shan't\ndespair of our meeting again, for the world is small, and good friends\nare sure to meet sooner or later. But the past is secure to me at any\nrate. If this church is in some measure what I have dreamed and wished\nit to be, if my work with all its faults is a satisfaction to myself, I\nwish you to know how much you have contributed to make it what it is.\"\n\nThe words were as a melody in Selma's ears, and she listened greedily.\nLittleton paused, as one seriously moved will pause before giving the\ndetails of an important announcement. She, thinking he had finished,\ninterjected with a touch of modesty, \"I'm so glad. But my suggestions\nand criticisms have not been what I meant them to be. It was all new to\nme, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. It hasn't been so much what you have said in words which has\nhelped me, though that has been always intelligent and uplifting. I did\nnot look for technical knowledge. You do not possess that, of course.\nThere are women in New York who would be able to confuse you with their\nfamiliarity with these things. And yet it is by way of contrast with\nthose very women--fine women, too, in their way--that you have been my\ngood angel. There is no harm in saying that. I should be an ingrate,\nsurely, if I would not let you know that your sane, simple outlook upon\nlife, your independent vision, has kept my brain clear and my soul free.\nI am a better artist and a better man for the experience. Good-by, and\nmay all happiness attend you. If once in a while you should find time to\nwrite to a struggling architect named Littleton, he will be charmed to\ndo your bidding--to send you books and to place his professional\nknowledge at your service. Good-by.\"\n\nHe held out his hand with frank effusion. He was obviously happy at\nhaving given utterance to his sense of obligation. Selma was tingling\nfrom head to foot and a womanly blush was on her cheek, though the\nserious seraph spoke in her words and eyes. She felt moved to a wave of\nunreserved speech.\n\n\"What you have said is very interesting to me. I wish to tell you how\nmuch I, too, have enjoyed our friendship. The first time we met I felt\nsure we should be sympathetic, and we have been, haven't we? One of the\nfine things about friendships between men and women in this country is\nthat they can really get to know each other without--er--harm to either.\nIsn't it? It's such a pleasure to know people really, and I feel as if I\nhad known you, as if we had known each other really. I've never known\nany man exactly in that way, and I have always wanted to. Except, of\ncourse, my husband. And he's extremely different--that is, his tastes\nare not like yours. It's a happiness to me to feel that I have been of\nassistance to you in your work, and you have been equally helpful to me\nin mine. As you say, I have never had the opportunity to learn the\ntechnical parts of art, and your books have instructed me as to that. I\nhave never been in New York, but I understand what you meant about your\nfriends, those other women. I suppose society people must be constantly\ndiverted from serious work--from the intellectual and spiritual life. Oh\nyes, we ought to write. Our friendship mustn't languish. We must let\neach other know what we are thinking and doing. Good-by.\"\n\nAs Selma walked along the street her heart was in her mouth. She felt\npity for herself. To just the right person she would have confessed the\ndiscovery that she had made a mistake and tied herself for life to the\nwrong man. It was not so much that she fancied Littleton which\ndistressed her, for, indeed, she was but mildly conscious of\ninfatuation. What disturbed her was the contrast between him and\nBabcock, which definite separation now forced upon her attention. An\nindefinable impression that Littleton might think less of her if she\nwere to state this soul truth had restrained her at the last moment from\ndisclosing the secret. Not for an instant did she entertain the idea of\nbeing false to Lewis. Her confession would have been but a dissertation\non the inexorable irony of fate, calling only for sympathy, and in no\nway derogating from her dignity and self-respect as a wife. Still, she\nhad restrained herself, and stopped just short of the confidence. He was\ngone, and she would probably not see him again for years. That was\nendurable. Indeed, a recognition of the contrary would not have seemed\nto her consistent with wifely virtue. What brought the tears to her eyes\nwas the vision of continued wedlock, until death intervened, with a\nhusband who could not understand. Could she bear this? Must she endure\nit? There was but one answer: She must. At the thought she bit her lip\nwith the intensity and sternness of a martyr. She would be faithful to\nher marriage vows, but she would not let Lewis's low aims interfere with\nthe free development of her own life.\n\nIt was after noon when she reached home. She was met at the door by the\nhired girl with the worried ejaculation that baby was choking. The\ndoctor was hastily summoned. He at once pronounced that Muriel Grace had\nmembranous croup, and was desperately ill. Remedies of various sorts\nwere tried, and a consulting physician called, but when Babcock returned\nfrom his office her condition was evidently hopeless. The child died in\nthe early night. Selma was relieved to hear the doctor tell her husband\nthat it was a malignant case from the first, and that nothing could have\naverted the result. In response to questions from Lewis, however, she\nwas obliged to admit that she had not been at home when the acute\nsymptoms appeared. This afforded Babcock an outlet for his suffering. He\nspoke to her roughly for the first time in his life, bitterly suggesting\nneglect on her part.\n\n\"You knew she wasn't all right this morning, yet you had to go\nfiddle-faddling with that architect instead of staying at home where you\nbelonged. And now she's dead. My little girl, my little girl!\" And the\nbig man burst out sobbing.\n\nSelma grew deadly pale. No one had ever spoken to her like that before\nin her life. To the horror of her grief was added the consciousness that\nshe was being unjustly dealt with. Lewis had heard the doctor's\nstatement, and yet he dared address her in such terms. As if the loss of\nthe child did not fall equally on her.\n\n\"If it were to be done over again, I should do just the same,\" she\nanswered, with righteous quietness. \"To all appearances she had nothing\nbut a little cold. You have no right to lay the blame on me, her\nmother.\" At the last word she looked ready to cry, too.\n\nBabcock regarded her like a miserable tame bull. \"I didn't mean to,\" he\nblubbered. \"She's taken away from me, and I'm so wretched that I don't\nknow what I'm saying. I'm sorry, Selma.\"\n\nHe held out his arms to her. She was ready to go to them, for the angel\nof death had entered her home and pierced her heart, where it should be\nmost tender. She loved her baby. Yet, when she had time to think, she\nwas not sure that she wished to have another. When the bitterness of his\ngrief had passed away, that was the hope which Lewis ventured to\nexpress, at first in a whisper, and later with reiterated boldness.\nSelma acquiesced externally, but she had her own opinions. Certain\nthings which were not included in \"Mother Lore,\" had been confided by\nMrs. Margaret Rodney Earle by word of mouth in the fulness of their\nmutual soul-scourings, and had remained pigeon-holed for future\nreference in Selma's inner consciousness. Another baby just at this time\nmeant interference with everything elevating. There was time enough. In\na year or two, when she had established herself more securely in the\nsocial sphere of Benham, she would present her husband with a second\nchild. It was best for them both to wait, for her success was his\nsuccess; but it would be useless to try to make that clear to him in his\npresent mood.\n\nSo she put away her baby things, dropping tears over the little socks\nand other reminders of her sorrow, and took up her life again, keeping\nher own counsel. The sympathy offered her was an interesting experience.\nMrs. Earle came to her at once, and took her to her bosom; Mrs. Taylor\nsent her flowers with a kind note, which set Selma thinking whether she\nought not to buy mourning note-paper; and within a week she received a\nvisit of condolence from Mr. Glynn, rather a ghastly visit. Ghastly,\nbecause Lewis sat through it all with red eyes, very much as though he\nwere listening to a touching exhortation in church. To be sure, he\ngripped the pastor's hand like a vice, at the end, and thanked him for\ncoming, but his silent, afflicted presence had interfered with the free\ninterchange of thought which would have been possible had she been alone\nwith the clergyman. The subject of death, and the whole train of\nreflections incident to it, were uppermost in her mind, and she would\nhave been glad to probe the mysteries of the subject by controversial\nargument, instead of listening to hearty, sonorous platitudes. She\nlistened rather contemptuously, for she recognized that Mr. Glynn was\nsaying the stereotyped thing in the stereotyped way, without realizing\nthat it was nothing but sacerdotal pap, little adapted to an intelligent\nsoul. What was suited to Lewis was not fit for her. And yet her baby's\ndeath had served to dissipate somewhat the immediate discontent which\nshe felt with her husband. His strong grief had touched her in spite of\nherself, and, though she blamed him still for his inconsiderate\naccusation, she was fond of him as she might have been fond of some\nloving Newfoundland, which, splendid in awkward bulk, caressed her and\nlicked her hand. It was pleasant enough to be in his arms, for the touch\nof man--even the wrong man--was, at times, a comfort.\n\nShe took up again with determined interest her relations to the\nInstitute, joining additional classes and pursuing a variety of topics\nof study, in regard to some of which she consulted Littleton. She missed\nhis presence less than she had expected, especially after they had begun\nto correspond and were able to keep in touch by letter. His letters were\ndelightful. They served her in her lecture courses, for they so clearly\nand concisely expressed her views that she was able to use long extracts\nfrom them word for word. And every now and then they contained a\nrespectful allusion which showed that he still retained a personal\ninterest in her. So the weeks slipped away and she was reasonably happy.\nShe was absorbed and there was nothing new to mar the tenor of her life,\nthough she was vaguely conscious that the loss of their little girl had\nwidened the breach between her and her husband--widened it for the\nreason that now, for the first time, he perceived how lonely he was. The\nbaby had furnished him with constant delight and preoccupation. He had\nlooked forward all day to seeing it at night, and questions relating to\nit had supplied a never-ceasing small change of conversation between him\nand her. He had let her go her way with a smile on his face. Selma did\nnot choose to dwell on the situation, but it was obvious that Lewis\ncontinued to look glum, and that there were apt to be long silences\nbetween them at meals. Now and again he would show some impatience at\nthe continuous recurrence of the Institute classes as a bar to some\nproject of domesticity or recreation, as though she had not been an\nactive member of the Institute before baby was born.\n\nOne of the plans in which Mrs. Earle was most interested was a Congress\nof Women's Clubs, and in the early summer of the same year--some four\nmonths subsequent to the death of Muriel Grace--a small beginning toward\nthis end was arranged to take place in Chicago. There were to be six\ndelegates from each club, and Selma was unanimously selected as one of\nthe delegation from the Benham Women's Institute. The opinion was\ngenerally expressed that a change would do her good, and there was no\nquestion that she was admirably fitted to represent the club. Selma, who\nhad not travelled a hundred miles beyond Benham in her life, was elated\nat the prospect of the expedition; so much so that she proudly recounted\nto Lewis the same evening the news of her appointment. It never occurred\nto her that he would wish to accompany her, and when he presently\ninformed her that he had been wishing to go to Chicago on business for\nsome time, and that the date proposed would suit him admirably, she was\ndumfounded. Half of the interest of the expedition would consist in\ntravelling as an independent delegation. A husband would be in the way\nand spoil the savor of the occasion. It would never do, and so Selma\nproceeded to explain. She wished to go alone.\n\n\"A pack of six women travel by themselves?\" blurted Lewis. \"Suppose\nthere were an accident?\" he added, after searching his brain for a less\nfeeble argument.\n\n\"We should either be killed or we shouldn't be,\" said Selma firmly. \"We\nare perfectly well able to take care of ourselves. Women travel alone\neverywhere every-day--that is, intelligent American women.\"\n\nLewis looked a little sad. \"I thought, perhaps, it would seem nice for\nyou to go with me, Selma. We haven't been off since we were married, and\nI can get away now just as well as not.\"\n\n\"So it would have been if I weren't one of the delegation. I should\nthink you would see, Lewis, that your coming is out of the question.\"\n\nSo it proved. Selma set forth for Chicago on the appointed day, made\nmany new acquaintances among the delegates, and was pleased to be\nintroduced and referred to publicly as Mrs. Selma Babcock--a form of\naddress to which she was unaccustomed at Benham. On the night before her\ndeparture, being in pleasant spirits, she told Lewis that her absence\nwould do him good, and that he would appreciate her all the more on her\nreturn.\n\nShe was to be gone a week. The first twenty-four hours passed gloomily\nfor Babcock. Then he began to take notice. He noticed that the county\nfair was fixed for the following days. He had hoped to carry Selma\nthere, but, as she was not to be had, it seemed to him sensible to get\nwhat enjoyment from it he could alone. Then it happened that a former\ncompanion of his bachelor days and his bachelor habits, a commercial\ntraveller, whom he had not seen since his marriage, appeared on the\nscene.\n\n\"The very man for me!\" he ejaculated, jubilantly.\n\nThe obscurity of this remark was presently made clear to his friend, who\nhad hoped perhaps to enjoy a snug evening at Babcock's domestic hearth,\nbut who was not averse to playing a different part--that of cheering up\na father who had lost his baby, and whose wife had left him in the\nlurch. He assured Babcock that a regular old time outing--a shaking\nup--would do him good, and Babcock was ready to agree with him,\nintending thereby a free-handed two days at the fair. As has been\nintimated, his manner of life before marriage had not been\nirreproachable, but he had been glad of an opportunity to put an end to\nthe mildly riotous and coarse bouts which disfigured his otherwise\ncommonplace existence. He had no intention now of misbehaving himself,\nbut he felt the need of being enlivened. His companion was a man who\ndelighted in what he called a lark, and whose only method of insuring a\nlark was by starting in with whiskey and keeping it up. That had been\nalso Babcock's former conception of a good time, and though he had dimly\nin mind that he was now a husband and church-member, he strove to\nconduct himself in such a manner as to maintain his self-respect without\nbecoming a spoil sport.\n\nDuring the first day at the fair Babcock managed to preserve this nice\ndistinction. On the second, he lost account of his conduct, and by the\nlate afternoon was sauntering with his friend among the booths in the\ncompany of two suspicions looking women. With these same women the pair\nof revellers drove off in top buggies just before dusk, and vanished in\nthe direction of the open country.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nBabcock returned to his home twenty-four hours later like a whipped cur.\nHe was disgusted with himself. It seemed to him incredible that he\nshould have fallen so low. He had sinned against his wife and his own\nself-respect without excuse; for it was no excuse that he had let\nhimself be led to drink too much. His heart ached and his cheek burned\nat the recollection of his two days of debauchery. What was to be done?\nIf only he were able to cut this ugly sore in his soul out with a knife\nand have done with it forever! But that was impossible. It stared him in\nthe face, a haunting reality. In his distress he asked himself whether\nhe would not go to Mr. Glynn and make a clean breast of it; but his\npractical instincts answered him that he would none the less have made a\nbeast of himself. He held his head between his hands, and stared\ndejectedly at his desk. Some relief came to him at last only from the\nreflection that it was a single fault, and that it need never--it should\nnever be repeated. Selma need not know, and he would henceforth avoid\nall such temptations. Terrible as it was, it was a slip, not a\ndeliberate fault, and his love for his wife was not in question.\n\nThus reasoning, he managed by the third day after his return to reach a\nless despondent frame of mind. While busy writing in his office a lady\nwas announced, and looking up he encountered the meretricious smile of\nthe courtesan with whom he had forgotten himself. She had taken a fancy\nto her victim, and having learned that he was well to do, she had come\nin order to establish, if possible, on a more permanent basis, her\nrelations with him. She was a young woman, who had been drifting from\nplace to place, and whose professional inclination for a protector was\nheightened by the liking which she had conceived for him. Babcock\nrecalled in her smile merely his shame, and regarded her reappearance as\neffrontery. He was blind to her prettiness and her sentimental mood. He\nasked her roughly what she wanted, and rising from his chair, he bade\nher be gone before she had time to answer. Nine out of ten women of her\nclass would have taken their dismissal lightly. Some might have answered\nback in tones loud enough to enlighten the clerks, and thus have\naccomplished a pretty revenge in the course of retreat. This particular\nLesbian was in no humor to be harshly treated. She was a little\ndesperate and Babcock had pleased her. It piqued her to be treated in\nsuch a fashion; accordingly, she held her ground and sat down. She tried\nupon him, alternately, irony and pathos. He was angry but confused under\nthe first, he became savage and merciless under the second, throwing\nback in her teeth the suggestion of her fondness, and stigmatizing her\ncoarsely. Then she became angry in her turn--angry as a woman whose\nproffered love is spurned. The method for revenge was obvious, and she\ntold him plainly what she intended. His wife should know at once how her\nhusband passed his time during her absence. She had posted herself, and\nshe saw that her shaft hurt. Babcock winced, but mad and incredulous, he\nthreatened her with arrest and drove her from the room. She went out\nsmiling, but with an ominous look in her eyes, the remembrance of which\nmade him ask himself now and again if she could be vicious enough, or\nfool enough, to keep her promise. He dismissed the idea as improbable;\nstill the bare chance worried him. Selma was to arrive early the next\nmorning, and he had reconciled himself to the conclusion that she need\nnever know, and that he would henceforth be a faithful husband. Had he\nnot given an earnest of his good faith in his reception of his visitor?\nSurely, no such untoward and unnatural accident would dash the cup of\nreturning happiness from his lips. A more clever man would have gone\nstraight to police headquarters, instead of trusting to chance.\n\nA night's rest reassured him as to the idleness of the threat, so that\nhe was able to welcome Selma at the railroad station with a\ncomparatively light heart. She was in high spirits over the success of\nher expedition, and yet graciously ready to admit that she was glad to\nreturn home--meaning thereby, to her own bed and bathing facilities; but\nthe general term seemed to poor Lewis a declaration of wifely devotion.\nHe went to his business with the mien of a man who had passed through an\nordeal and is beginning life again; but when he returned at night, as\nsoon as he beheld Selma, he suspected what had happened.\n\nShe was awaiting him in the parlor. Though he saw at a glance that she\nlooked grave, he went forward to kiss her, but she rose and, stepping\nbehind the table, put out her hand forbiddingly.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" he faltered.\n\n\"That woman has been here,\" was her slow, scornful response.\n\n\"Selma, I--\" A confusing sense of hopelessness as to what to say choked\nBabcock's attempt to articulate. There was a brief silence, while he\nlooked at her imploringly and miserably.\n\n\"Is it true what she says? Have you been false to your marriage vows?\nHave you committed adultery?\"\n\n\"My God! Selma, you don't understand.\"\n\n\"It is an easy question to answer, yes or no?\"\n\n\"I forgot myself, Selma. I was drunk and crazy. I ask your pardon.\"\n\nShe shook her head coldly. \"I shall have nothing more to do with you. I\ncannot live with you any longer.\"\n\n\"Not live with me?\"\n\n\"Would you live with me if it were I who had forgotten myself?\"\n\n\"I think I would, Selma. You don't understand. I was a brute. I have\nbeen wretched ever since. But it was a slip--an accident. I drank too\nmuch, and it happened. I love you, Selma, with all my heart. I have\nnever been false to you in my affection.\"\n\n\"It is a strange time to talk of affection. I went away for a week, and\nin my absence you insulted me by debauchery with a creature like that.\nLove? You have no conception of the meaning of the word. Oh no, I shall\nnever live with you again.\"\n\nBabcock clinched his palms in his distress and walked up and down. She\nstood pale and determined looking into space. Presently he turned to her\nand asked with quiet but intense solicitude, \"You don't mean that you're\ngoing to leave me for one fault, we being husband and wife and the\nlittle girl in her grave? I said you don't understand and you don't. A\nman's a man, and there are times when he's been drinking when he's\nliable to yield to temptation, and that though he's so fond of his wife\nthat life without her would be misery. This sounds strange to a woman,\nand it's a poor excuse. But it ought to count, Selma, when it comes to a\nquestion of our separating. There would be happy years before us yet if\nyou give me another chance.\"\n\n\"Not happy years for me,\" she replied concisely. \"The American woman\ndoes not choose to live with the sort of man you describe. She demands\nfrom her husband what he demands from her, faithfulness to the marriage\ntie. We could never be happy again. Our ideal of life is different. I\nhave made excuses for you in other things, but my soul revolts at this.\"\n\nBabcock looked at her for a moment in silence, then he said, a little\nsternly, \"You shouldn't have gone away and left me. I'm not blaming you,\nbut you shouldn't have gone.\" He walked to the window but he saw\nnothing. His heart was racked. He had been eager to humiliate himself\nbefore her to prove his deep contrition, but he had come to the end of\nhis resources, and yet she was adamant. Her charge that she had been\nmaking excuses for him hitherto reminded him that they had not been\nreally sympathetic for some time past. With his back turned to her he\nheard her answer:\n\n\"It was understood before I agreed to marry you that I was to be free to\nfollow my tastes and interests. It is a paltry excuse that, because I\nleft you alone for a week in pursuit of them, I am accessory to your\nsin.\"\n\nBabcock faced her sadly. \"The sin's all mine,\" he said. \"I can't deny\nthat. But, Selma, I guess I've been pretty lonely ever since the baby\ndied.\"\n\n\"Lonely?\" she echoed. \"Then my leaving you will not matter so much.\nHere,\" she said, slipping off her wedding-ring, \"this belongs to you.\"\nShe remembered Mrs. Earle's proceeding, and though she had not yet\ndecided what course to pursue in order to maintain her liberty, she\nregarded this as the significant and definite act. She held out the\nring, but Babcock shook his head.\n\n\"The law doesn't work as quick as that, nor the church either. You can\nget a divorce if you're set on it, Selma. But we're husband and wife\nyet.\"\n\n\"Only the husk of our marriage is left. The spirit is dead,\" she said\nsententiously. \"I am going away. I cannot pass another night in this\nhouse. If you will not take this ring, I shall leave it here.\"\n\nBabcock turned to hide the tears which blinded his eyes. Selma regarded\nhim a moment gravely, then she laid her wedding-ring on the table and\nwent from the room.\n\nShe put her immediate belongings into a bag and left the house. She had\ndecided to go to Mrs. Earle's lodgings where she would be certain to\nfind shelter and sympathy. Were she to go to her aunt's she would be\nexposed to importunity on her husband's behalf from Mrs. Farley, who was\npartial to Lewis. Her mind was entirely made up that there could be no\nquestion of reconciliation. Her duty was plain; and she would be doing\nherself an injustice were she to continue to live with one so weak and\nregardless of the honor which she had a right to demand of the man to\nwhom she had given her society and her body. His gross conduct had\nentitled her to her liberty, and to neglect to seize it would be to\ncondemn herself to continuous unhappiness, for this overt act of his was\nmerely a definite proof of the lack of sympathy between them, of which\nshe had for some time been well aware at heart. As she walked along the\nstreet she was conscious that it was a relief to her to be sloughing off\nthe garment of an uncongenial relationship and to be starting life\nafresh. There was nothing in her immediate surroundings from which she\nwas not glad to escape. Their house was full of blemishes from the\nstand-point of her later knowledge, and she yearned to dissociate\nherself, once and for all, from the trammels of her pitiful mistake. She\nbarely entertained the thought that she was without means. She would\nhave to support herself, of course, but it never occurred to her to\ndoubt her ability to do so, and the necessity added a zest to her\ndecision. It would be plain sailing, for Mrs. Earle had more than once\ninvited her to send copy to the _Benham Sentinel_, and there was no form\nof occupation which would be more to her liking than newspaper work. It\nwas almost with the mien of a prisoner escaped from jail that she walked\nin upon her friend and said:\n\n\"I have left my husband. He has been unfaithful to me.\"\n\nIn Mrs. Earle, conventional feminine instincts were apt, before she had\ntime to think, to get the upper hand of her set theories. \"You, poor,\npoor child,\" she cried extending her arms.\n\nSelma had not intended to weep. Still the opportunity was convenient,\nand her nerves were on edge. She found herself sobbing with her head on\nMrs. Earle's, bosom, and telling her sad story.\n\n\"He was never good enough for you. I have always said so,\" Mrs. Earle\nmurmured stroking her hair.\n\n\"I ought to have known from the first that it was impossible for us to\nbe happy. Why did I ever marry him? He said he loved me, and I let\nmyself be badgered into it,\" Selma answered through her tears. \"Well,\nit's all over now,\" she added, sitting up and drying her eyes. \"He has\ngiven me back my liberty. I am a free woman.\"\n\n\"Yes, dear, if you are perfectly sure of yourself, there is only one\ncourse to pursue. Only you should consider the matter solemnly. Perhaps\nin a few days, after he has apologized and shown proper contrition, you\nmight feel willing to give him another chance.\"\n\nSelma was unprepared for Mrs. Earle's sentimentality. \"Surely,\" she\nexclaimed with tragic earnestness, \"you wouldn't have me live with him\nafter what occurred? Contrition? He said everything he could think of to\nget me to stay, but I made my decision then and there.\"\n\nMrs. Earle put her own handkerchief to her eyes. \"Women have forgiven\nsuch things; but I respect you all the more for not being weak. I know\nhow you feel. It is hard to do, but if I had it to do over again, I\nwould act just the same--just the same. It's a serious responsibility to\nencourage any one to desert a home, but under the circumstances I would\nnot live with him another minute, my child--not another minute.\"\nThereupon Mrs. Earle protruded her bosom to celebrate the triumph of\njustice in her own mental processes over conventional and maudlin\nscruples. \"You will apply for a divorce, I suppose?\"\n\n\"I have not considered that. All I care for is never to see him again.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, you must get a divorce. It is much better, you know. In my case\nI couldn't, for he did nothing public. A divorce settles matters, and\nputs you back where you were before. You might wish some day to marry\nagain.\"\n\n\"I have had enough of marriage.\"\n\n\"It isn't any harm to be a free woman--free in the eye of the law as\nwell as of conscience. I know an excellent lawyer--a Mr. Lyons, a\nsympathetic and able man. Besides your husband is bound to support you.\nYou must get alimony.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't touch a dollar of his money,\" Selma answered with scorn. \"I\nintend to support myself. I shall write--work.\"\n\n\"Of course you will, dear; and it will be a boon and a blessing to me to\nhave you in our ranks--one of the new army of self-supporting,\nself-respecting women. I suppose you are right. I have never had a\nsixpence. But your husband deserves to be punished. Perhaps it is\npunishment enough to lose you.\"\n\n\"He will get over that. It is enough for me,\" she exclaimed, ardently,\nafter a dreamy pause, \"that I am separated from him forever--that I am\nfree--free--free.\"\n\nA night's sleep served to intensify Selma's determination, and she awoke\nclearly of the opinion that a divorce was desirable. Why remain fettered\nby a bare legal tie to one who was a husband only in name? Accordingly,\nin company with Mrs. Earle, she visited the office of James O. Lyons,\nand took the initiatory steps to dissolve the marriage.\n\nMr. Lyons was a large, full-bodied man of thirty-five, with a fat,\ncleanly-shaven, cherubic countenance, an aspect of candor, and keen,\nsolemn eyes. His manner was impressive and slightly pontificial; his\nvoice resonant and engaging. He knew when to joke and when to be grave\nas an owl. He wore in every-day life a shiny, black frock-coat, a\nstanding collar, which yawned at the throat, and a narrow, black tie.\nHis general effect was that of a cross between a parson and a shrewd\nYankee--a happy suggestion of righteous, plain, serious-mindedness,\nprotected against the wiles of human society--and able to protect\nothers--by a canny intelligence. For a young man he had already a\nconsiderable clientage. A certain class of people, notably the\nhard-headed, God-fearing, felt themselves safe in his hands. His\nmagnetic yet grave manner of conducting business pleased Benham,\nattracting also both the distressed and the bilious portions of the\ncommunity, and the farmers from the surrounding country. As Mrs. Earle\ninformed Selma, he was in sympathy with all progressive and stimulating\nideas, and he already figured in the newspapers politically, and before\nthe courts as a friend of the masses, and a fluent advocate of social\nreforms. His method of handling Selma's case was smooth. To begin with,\nhe was sympathetic within proper limits, giving her tacitly to\nunderstand that, though as a man and brother, he deplored the necessity\nof extreme measures, he recognized that she had made up her mind, and\nthat compromise was out of the question. To put it concisely, his manner\nwas grieved, but practical. He told her that he would represent to\nBabcock the futility of contesting a cause, which, on the evidence, must\nbe hopeless, and that, in all probability, the matter could be disposed\nof easily and without publicity. He seemed to Selma a very sensible and\ncapable man, and it was agreeable to her to feel that he appreciated\nthat, though divorce in the abstract was deplorable, her experience\njustified and called for the protection of the law.\n\nIn the meantime Babcock was very unhappy, and was casting about for a\nmethod to induce his wife to return. He wrote to her a pitiful letter,\nsetting forth once more the sorry facts in the best light which he could\nbring to bear on them, and implored her forgiveness. He applied to her\naunt, Mrs. Farley, and got her to supplement his plea with her\ngood-natured intervention. \"There are lots of men like that,\" she\nconfided to Selma, \"and he's a kind, devoted creature.\" When this\nfailed, he sought Rev. Mr. Glynn as a last resort, and, after he had\nlistened to a stern and fervid rating from the clergyman on the lust of\nthe flesh, he found his pastor on his side. Mr. Glynn was opposed to\ndivorce on general ecclesiastical principles; moreover, he had been\neducated under the law of England, by which a woman cannot obtain a\ndivorce from her husband for the cause of adultery unless it be coupled\nwith cruelty--a clever distinction between the sexes, which was\ndoubtless intended as a cloak for occasional lapses on the part of man.\nIt was plain to him, as a Christian and as a hearty soul, that there had\nbeen an untoward accident--a bestial fault, a soul-debasing carnal sin,\nbut still an accident, and hence to be forgiven by God and woman. It was\nhis duty to interfere; and so, having disciplined the husband, he\nessayed the more delicate matter of propitiating the wife. And he\nessayed it without a thought of failure.\n\n\"I'm afraid she's determined to leave me, and that there's not much\nhope,\" said Babcock, despondently, as he gripped the clergyman's hand in\ntoken of his gratitude.\n\n\"Nonsense, my man,\" asserted Mr. Glynn briskly. \"All she needs is an\nexhortation from me, and she will take you back.\"\n\nSelma was opposed to divorce in theory. That is, she had accepted on\ntrust the traditional prejudice against it as she had accepted\nShakespeare and Boston. But theory stood for nothing in her regard\nbefore the crying needs of her own experience. She had not the least\nintention of living with her husband again. No one could oblige her to\ndo that. In addition, the law offered her a formal escape from his\ncontrol and name. Why not avail herself of it? She recollected, besides,\nthat her husband's church recognized infidelity as a lawful ground of\nrelease from the so-called sacrament of marriage. This had come into her\nmind as an additional sanction to her own decision. But it had not\ncontributed to that decision. Consequently, when she was confronted in\nMrs. Earle's lodgings by the errand of Mr. Glynn, she felt that his\ncoming was superfluous. Still, she was glad of the opportunity to\nmeasure ideas with him in a thorough interview free from interruption.\n\nMr. Glynn's confidence was based on his intention to appeal to the ever\nwomanly quality of pity. He expected to encounter some resistance, for\nindisputably here was a woman whose sensibilities had been justly and\nseverely shocked--a woman of finer tissue than her husband, as he had\nnoted in other American couples. She was entitled to her day in\ncourt--to a stubborn, righteous respite of indignation. But he expected\nto carry the day in the end, amid a rush of tears, with which his own\nmight be mingled. He trusted to what he regarded as the innate\nreluctance of the wife to abandon the man she loved, and to the leaven\nof feminine Christian charity.\n\nAs a conscientious hater of sin, he did not attempt to minimize\nBabcock's act or the insult put upon her. That done, he was free to\nintercede fervently for him and to extol the virtue and the advisability\nof forgiveness. This plea, however cogent, was narrow, and once stated\nadmitted merely of duplication in the same form. It was indeed no\nargument, merely an appeal, and, in proportion as it failed to move the\nlistener, became feeble. Selma listened to him with a tense face, her\nhands clasped before her in the guise of an interested and\nself-scrutinizing spirit. But she betrayed no sign of yielding, or\nsymptom of doubt. She shook her head once or twice as he proceeded, and,\nwhen he paused, asked why she should return to a man who had broken\nfaith with her; asked it in such a genuine tone of conviction that Dr.\nGlynn realized the weakness of his own case, and became slightly nettled\nat the same time.\n\n\"True,\" he said, rather sternly, \"your husband has committed a hideous,\ncarnal sin, but he is genuinely repentant. Do you wish to ruin his life\nforever?\"\n\n\"His life?\" said Selma. \"It would ruin my life to return to him. I have\nother plans--plans which will bring me happiness. I could never be happy\nwith him.\"\n\nThe clergyman was baffled. Other plans! The words offended him, and yet\nhe could not dispute her right to do as she chose. Still he saw fit to\nmurmur: \"He that findeth his life shall lose it, and he that loseth his\nlife for my sake shall find it.\"\n\nSelma flushed. To be accused of acting contrary to Christian precepts\nwas painful and surprising to her. \"Mr. Glynn,\" she said, \"I see you\ndon't understand. My husband and I ought never to have married. It has\nall been a dreadful mistake. We have not the same tastes and interests.\nI am sorry for him, but I can never consent to return to him. To do so\nwould condemn us both to a life of unhappiness. We were not intended for\nhusband and wife, and it is best--yes, more Christian--for us to\nseparate. We American women do not feel justified in letting a mistake\nruin our lives when there is a chance to escape.\"\n\nMr. Glynn regarded her in silence for a moment. He was accustomed to\nconvince, and he had not succeeded, which to a clergyman is more\nannoying than to most men. Still what she said made his plea seem\ndoubtful wisdom.\n\n\"Then you do not love your husband?\" he said.\n\n\"No,\" said Selma quietly, \"I do not love him. It is best to be frank\nwith one's self--with you, in such a matter, isn't it? So you see that\nwhat you ask is out of the question.\"\n\nMr. Glynn rose. Clearly his mission had failed, and there was nothing\nmore to be said. Being a just man, he hesitated to pass an unkind\njudgment on this bright-faced, pensive woman. She was within her moral\nrights, and he must be careful to keep within his. But he went away\nbewildered and discomfited. Selma would have liked to dismiss the\nsubject and keep him longer. She would have been glad to branch off on\nto other ethical topics and discuss them. She was satisfied with the\nresult of the interview, for she had vindicated her position and spiked\nLewis's last gun.\n\nSo, indeed, it proved. Mr. Glynn sent for Babcock and told him the naked\ntruth, that his wife's love for him was dead and reconciliation\nimpossible. He properly refrained from expressing the doubt lurking in\nhis own mind as to whether Selma had ever loved her husband. Thus\nconvinced of the hopelessness of his predicament, Babcock agreed to Mr.\nLyons's suggestion not to contest the legal proceedings. The lawyer had\nbeen diligent, and the necessary evidence--the testimony of the\nwoman--was secure. She was ready to carry her revenge to the end,\nhoping, perhaps, that the victim of it would return to her when he had\nlost his wife. Accordingly, a few weeks later, Selma was granted a\ndivorce nisi and the right to resume her maiden name. She had decided,\nhowever, to retain the badge of marriage as a decorous social prefix,\nand to call herself Mrs. Selma White.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nThe consciousness that she was dependent for the means of support solely\non her own exertions was a genuine pleasure to Selma, and she applied\nherself with confidence and enthusiasm to the problem of earning her\nlivelihood. She had remained steadfast to her decision to accept nothing\nfrom her husband except the legal costs of the proceedings, though Mr.\nLyons explained to her that alimony was a natural and moral increment of\ndivorce. Still, after her refusal, he informed her as a man and a friend\nthat he respected and admired the independence of her action, which was\nan agreeable tribute. She had fixed definitely on newspaper work as the\nmost inviting and congenial form of occupation. She believed herself to\nbe well fitted for it. It would afford her an immediate income, and it\nwould give her the opportunity which she craved for giving public\nexpression to her ideas and fixing attention on herself. There was room\nfor more than one Mrs. Earle in Benham, for Benham was growing and\nwide-awake and on the alert for originality of any kind--especially in\nthe way of reportorial and journalistic cleverness. Selma had no\nintention of becoming a second Mrs. Earle. That is, she promised herself\nto follow, but not to follow blindly; to imitate judiciously, but to\nimprove on a gradually diverging line of progress. This was mere\ngeneralization as yet. It was an agreeable seething brain consciousness\nfor future development. For the moment, however, she counted on Mrs.\nEarle to obtain for her a start by personal influence at the office of\nthe _Benham Sentinel_. This was provided forthwith in the form of an\ninvitation to prepare a weekly column under the caption of \"What Women\nWear;\" a summary of passing usages in clothes. The woman reporter in\ncharge of it had just died. Selma's first impulse was to decline the\nwork as unworthy of her abilities, yet she was in immediate need of\nemployment to avoid running in debt and she was assured by Mrs. Earle\nthat she would be very foolish to reject such an offer. Reflection\ncaused her to think more highly of the work itself. It would afford her\na chance to explain to the women of Benham, and indirectly to the\ncountry at large, that taste in dress was not necessarily inconsistent\nwith virtue and serious intentions--a truth of which she herself had\nbecome possessed since her marriage and which it seemed to her might be\nutilized delightfully in her department. She would endeavor to treat\ndress from the standpoint of ethical responsibility to society, and to\nshow that both extravagance and dowdy homeliness were to be avoided.\nClothes in themselves had grown to be a satisfaction to her, and any\nassociation of vanity would be eliminated by the introduction of a\nserious artistic purpose into a weekly commentary concerning them.\nAccordingly she accepted the position and entered upon its duties with\ngrave zeal.\n\nFor each of these contributions Selma was to receive eight dollars--four\nhundred a year, which she hoped to expand to a thousand by creative\nliterary production--preferably essays and poetry. She hired a room in\nthe same neighborhood as Mrs. Earle, in the boarding-house district\nappurtenant to Central Avenue--that is to say, on the ragged edge of\nBenham's social artery, and set up her new household gods. The interest\nof preparing the first paper absorbed her to the exclusion of everything\nelse. She visited all the dress-making and dry-goods establishments in\ntown, examined, at a hint from Mrs. Earle, the fashion departments of\nthe New York papers, and then, pen in hand, gave herself up to her\nsubject. The result seemed to her a happy blending of timely philosophy\nand suggestions as to toilette, and she took it in person to the editor.\nHe saw fit to read it on the spot. His brow wrinkled at first and he\nlooked dubious. He re-read it and said with some gusto, \"It's a novelty,\nbut I guess they'll like it. Our women readers have been used to fashion\nnotes which are crisp and to the point, and the big houses expect to\nhave attention called to the goods they wish to sell. If you'll run over\nthis again and set your cold facts in little paragraphs by themselves\nevery now and then, I shouldn't wonder if the rest were a sort of\nlecture course which will catch them. It's a good idea. Next time you\ncould work in a pathetic story--some references to a dead\nbaby--verses--anecdotes--a little variety. You perceive the idea?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Selma, appropriately sober at the allusion yet ecstatic.\n\"That's just what I should like to do. It would give me more scope. I\nwish my articles to be of real use--to help people to live better, and\nto dress better.\"\n\n\"That's right, that's right; and if they make the paper sell, we'll know\nthat folks like them,\" responded the editor with Delphic urbanity.\n\nThe first article was a success. That is, Selma's method was not\ninterfered with, and she had the satisfaction of reading in the\n_Sentinel_ during the week an item calling gratified attention to the\nchange in its \"What Women Wear\" column, and indicating that it would\ncontain new features from week to week. It gave her a pleasant thrill to\nsee her name, \"Selma White,\" signed at the end of the printed column,\nand she set to work eagerly to carry out the editor's suggestions. At\nthe same time she tried her hand at a short story--the story of an\nAmerican girl who went to Paris to study art, refused to alter her mode\nof life to suit foreign ideas of female propriety, displayed exceptional\ntalent as an artist, and finally married a fine-spirited young American,\nto the utter discomfiture of a French member of the nobility, who had\nbegun by insulting her and ended with making her an offer of marriage.\nThis she sent to the _Eagle_, the other Benham newspaper, for its Sunday\nedition.\n\nIt took her a month to compose this story, and after a week she received\nit back with a memorandum to the effect that it was one-half too long,\nbut intimating that in a revised form it would be acceptable. This was a\nlittle depressing, especially as it arrived at a time when the novelty\nof her occupation had worn off and she was realizing the limitations of\nher present life. She had begun to miss the advantages of a free purse\nand the importance of a domestic establishment. She possessed her\nliberty, and was fulfilling her mission as a social force, but her life\nhad been deprived of some of its savor, and, though she was thankful to\nbe rid of Babcock, she felt the lack of an element of personal devotion\nto herself, an element which was not to be supplied by mere admiration\non the part of Mrs. Earle and the other members of the Institute. It did\nnot suit her not to be able to gratify her growing taste in clothes and\nin other lines of expenditure, and there were moments when she\nexperienced the need of being petted and made much of by a man. She was\nconscious of loneliness, and in this mood she pitied herself as a victim\nof untoward circumstances, one who had wasted the freshness of her young\nlife, and missed the happiness which the American wife is apt to find\nwaiting for her. Under the spell of this nostalgia she wrote a poem\nentitled \"The Bitter Sweets of Solitude,\" and disposed of it for five\ndollars to the _Sentinel_. The price shocked her, for the verses seemed\nflesh of her flesh. Still, five dollars was better than nothing, and she\ndiscerned from the manner of the newspaper editor that he cared little\nwhether she left them or not. It was on that evening that she received a\nletter from Littleton, stating that he was on the eve of leaving New\nYork for Benham. He was coming to consult concerning certain further\ninterior decorations which the committee had decided to add to the\nchurch.\n\nSelma's nerves vibrated blissfully as she read the news. For some\nreason, which she had never seen fit definitely to define, she had\nchosen not to acquaint Littleton with the fact of her divorce. Their\nletters had been infrequent during the last six months, for this visit\nhad been impending, having been put off from time to time because the\ncommittee had been dilatory and he otherwise engaged. Perhaps her secret\nmotive had been to surprise him, to let him find himself confronted with\nan accomplished fact, which would obviate argument and reveal her\nestablished in her new career, a happy, independent citizen, without\nties. At any rate she smiled now at the address on the envelope--Mrs.\nLewis Babcock. Obviously he was still in the dark as to the truth, and\nit would be her privilege to enlighten him. She began to wonder what\nwould be the upshot of his coming, and tears came to her eyes, tears of\nself-congratulation that the narrow tenor of her daily life was to be\nirradiated by a sympathetic spirit.\n\nWhen Littleton duly appeared at the committee meeting on the following\nday, Selma saw at a glance that he was unaware of what had happened. He\nlooked slightly puzzled when one of the members addressed her as Mrs.\nWhite, but evidently he regarded this as a slip of the tongue. Selma\nlooked, as she felt, contented and vivacious. She had dressed herself\nsimply, but with effective trigness. To those who knew her experience,\nher appearance indicated courage and becoming self-respect. Public\nopinion, even as embodied in the church committee, while deploring the\nnecessity, was not disposed to question the propriety of her action.\nThat is, all except Mrs. Taylor. In her, Selma thought she had detected\nsigns of coldness, a sort of suspicious reservation of judgment, which\ncontrasted itself unpleasantly with the sympathetic attitude of the\nothers, who were fain to refer to her, in not altogether muffled\nwhispers, as a plucky, independent, little woman. Hence, she was glad\nthat Mrs. Taylor happened to be detained at home by illness on this\nafternoon, and that, accordingly, she was free to enjoy unreservedly the\ndramatic nature of the situation. Her heart beat a little faster as the\nchairman, turning to her to ask a question, addressed her unmistakably\nas Mrs. White. She could not refrain from casting half-amused,\nhalf-pathetic sheep's eyes at Littleton. He started visibly, regarded\nher for, a moment in obvious amazement, then flushed to the roots of his\nhair. She felt the blood rising to her own cheeks, and a sensation of\nmild triumph. The meeting was over and the members were merely lingering\nto tie up the loose threads of the matter arranged for. In a few moments\nSelma found herself with the architect sufficiently apart from the\nothers for him to ask:\n\n\"Two persons have addressed you this afternoon as Mrs. White. I do not\nunderstand.\"\n\nShe cast down her eyes, as a woman will when a question of modesty is\ninvolved, then she raised them and said: \"You did not know, then, that I\nhad left my husband?\"\n\n\"Left him?\"\n\n\"Yes. I have obtained a divorce. He was unfaithful to me.\"\n\n\"I see\"--said Littleton with a sort of gasp--\"I see. I did not know. You\nnever wrote to me.\"\n\n\"I did not feel like writing to any body. There was nothing to be done\nbut that.\"\n\nLittleton regarded her with a perturbed, restless air.\n\n\"Then you live no longer at 25 Onslow Avenue?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. I left there more than six months ago. I live in lodgings. I am\nsupporting myself by literary work. I am Mrs. Selma White now, and my\ndivorce has been absolute more than a month.\"\n\nShe spoke gravely and quietly, with less than her usual assurance, for\nshe felt the spell of his keen, eager scrutiny and was not averse to\nyield at the moment to the propensity of her sex. She wondered what he\nwas thinking about. Did he blame her? Did he sympathize with her?\n\n\"Where are you going when you leave here?\" he asked.\n\n\"Home--to my new home. Will you walk along with me?\"\n\n\"That is what I should like. I am astonished by what you have told me,\nand am anxious to hear more about it, if to speak of it would not wound\nyou. Divorced! How you must have suffered! And I did not have the chance\nto offer you my help--my sympathy.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have suffered. But that is all over now. I am a free woman. I am\nbeginning my life over again.\"\n\nIt was a beautiful afternoon, and by mutual consent, which neither put\ninto words, they diverged from the exact route to Selma's lodging house\nand turned their steps to the open country beyond the city limits--the\npicturesque dell which has since become the site of Benham's public\npark. There they seated themselves where they would not be interrupted.\nSelma told him on the way the few vital facts in her painful story, to\nwhich he listened in a tense silence, broken chiefly by an occasional\nejaculation expressive of his contempt for the man who had brought such\nunhappiness upon her. She let him understand, too, that her married\nlife, from the first, had been far less happy than he had\nimagined--wretched makeshift for the true relation of husband and wife.\nShe spoke of her future buoyantly, yet with a touch of sadness, as\nthough to indicate that she was aware that the triumphs of intelligence\nand individuality could not entirely be a substitute for a happy home.\n\n\"And what do you expect to do?\" he inquired in a bewildered fashion, as\nthough her delineation of her hopes had been lost on him.\n\n\"Do? Support myself by my own exertions, as I have told you. By writing\nI expect. I am doing very well already. Do you question my ability to\ncontinue?\"\n\n\"Oh, no; not that. Only--\"\n\n\"Only what? Surely you are not one of the men who grudge women the\nchance to prove what is in them--who would treat us like china dolls and\ncircumscribe us by conventions? I know you are not, because I have heard\nyou inveigh against that very sort of narrow mindedness. Only what?\"\n\n\"I can't make up my mind to it. And I suppose the reason is that it\nmeans so much to me--that you mean so much to me. What is the use of my\ndodging the truth, Selma--seeking to conceal it because such a short\ntime has elapsed since you ceased to be a wife? Forgive me if I hurt\nyou, if it seem indelicate to speak of love at the very moment when you\nare happy in your liberty. I can't help it; it's my nature to speak\nopenly. And there's no bar now. The fact that you are free makes clear\nto me what I have not dared to countenance before, that you are the one\nwoman in the world for me--the woman I have dreamed of--and longed to\nmeet--the woman whose influence has blessed me already, and without whom\nI shall lack the greatest happiness which life can give. Selma, I love\nyou--I adore you.\"\n\nSelma listened with greedy ears, which she could scarcely believe. It\nseemed to her that she was in dream-land, so unexpected, yet entrancing,\nwas his avowal. She had been vaguely aware that he admired her more than\nhe had allowed himself to disclose, and conscious, too, that his\npresence was agreeable to her; but in an instant now she recognized that\nthis was love--the love she had sought, the love she had yearned to\ninspire and to feel. Compared with it, Babcock's clumsy ecstasy and her\nown sufferance of it had been a sham and a delusion. Of so much she was\nconscious in a twinkling, and yet what she deemed proper self-respect\nrestrained her from casting herself into his arms. It was, indeed, soon,\nand she had been happy in her liberty. At least, she had supposed\nherself so; and she owed it to her own plans and hopes not to act\nhastily, though she knew what she intended to do. She had been lonely,\nyes starving, for lack of true companionship, and here was the soul\nwhich would be a true mate to hers.\n\nThey were sitting on a grassy bank. He was bending toward her with\nclasped hands, a picture of fervor. She could see him out of the corner\nof her glance, though she looked into space with her gaze of seraphic\nworry. Yet her lips were ready to lend themselves to a smile of blissful\nsatisfaction and her eyes to fill with the melting mood of the thought\nthat at last happiness had come to her.\n\nThe silence was very brief, but Littleton, as would have seemed fitting\nto her, feared lest she were shocked.\n\n\"I distress you,\" he said. \"Forgive me. Listen--will you listen?\" Selma\nwas glad to listen. The words of love, such love as this, were\ndelicious, and she felt she owed it to herself not to be won too easily.\n\"I am listening,\" she answered softly with the voice of one face to face\nwith an array of doubts.\n\n\"Before I met you, Selma, woman but was a name to me. My life brought me\nlittle into contact with them, except my dear sister, and I had no\ntemptation to regret that I could not support a wife. Yet I dreamed of\nwoman and of love and of a joy which might some day come to me if I\ncould meet one who fulfilled my ideal of what a true woman should be. So\nI dreamed until I met you. The first time I saw you, Selma, I knew in my\nheart that you were a woman whom I could love. Perhaps I should have\nrecognized more clearly as time went on that you were more to me even\nthen than I had a right to allow; yet I call heaven to witness that I\ndid not, by word or sign, do a wrong to him who has done such a cruel\nwrong to you.\"\n\n\"Never by word or sign,\" echoed Selma solemnly. The bare suggestion that\nBabcock had cause to complain of either of them seemed to her\npreposterous. Yet she was saying to herself that it was easy to perceive\nthat he had loved her from the first.\n\n\"And since I love you with all my soul must I--should I in justice to\nmyself--to my own hopes of happiness, refrain from speaking merely\nbecause you have so recently been divorced? I must speak--I am speaking.\nIt is too soon, I dare say, for you to be willing to think of marriage\nagain--but I offer you the love and protection of a husband. My means\nare small, but I am able now to support a wife in decent comfort. Selma,\ngive me some hope. Tell me, that in time you may be willing to trust\nyourself to my love. You wish to work--to distinguish yourself. Would I\nbe a hindrance to that? Indeed, you must know that I would do every\nthing in my power to promote your desire to be of service to the world.\"\n\nThe time for her smile and her tears had come. He had argued his case\nand her own, and it was clear to her mind that delay would be futile.\nSince happiness was at hand, why not grasp it? As for her work, he need\nnot interfere with that. And, after all, now that she had tried it, was\nshe so sure that newspaper work--hack work, such as she was pursuing,\nwas what she wished? As a wife, re-established in the security of a\nhome, she could pick and choose her method of expression. Perhaps,\nindeed, it would not be writing, except occasionally. Was not New York a\nwide, fruitful field, for a reforming social influence? She saw herself\nin her mind's eye a leader of movements and of progress. And that with a\nman she loved--yes, adored even as he adored her.\n\nSo she turned to Littleton with her smile and in tears--the image of\nbewitching but pathetic self-justification and surrender. Her mind was\nmade up; hence why procrastinate and coyly postpone the desirable, and\nthe inevitable? That was what she had the shrewdness to formulate in the\necstasy of her transport; and so eloquent was the mute revelation of her\nlove that Littleton, diffident reverencer of the modesty of woman as he\nwas, without a word from her clasped her to his breast, a victor in a\nbreath. As, regardless of the possible invasion of interlopers, he took\nher in his embrace, she felt with satisfaction once more the grasp of\nmasculine arms. She let her head fall on his shoulder in delighted\ncontentment. While he murmured in succession inarticulate terms of\nendearment, she revelled in the thrill of her nerves and approved her\nown sagacious and commendable behavior.\n\n\"Dearest,\" she whispered, \"you are right. We are right. Since we love\neach other, why should we not say so? I love you--I love you. The ugly\nhateful past shall not keep us apart longer. You say you loved me from\nthe first; so did I love you, though I did not know it then. We were\nmeant for each other--God meant us--did he not? It is right, and we\nshall be so happy, Wilbur.\"\n\n\"Yes, Selma.\" Words seemed to him an inadequate means for expressing his\nemotions. He pressed his lips upon hers with the adoring respect of a\nworshipper touching his god, yet with the energy of a man. She sighed\nand compared him in her thought with Babcock. How gentle this new lover!\nHow refined and sensitive and appreciative! How intelligent and\ngentlemanly!\n\n\"If I had my wish, darling,\" he said, \"we should be married to-night and\nI would carry you away from here forever.\"\n\nShe remembered that Babcock had uttered the same wish on the occasion\nwhen he had offered himself. To grant it then had been out of the\nquestion. To do so now would be convenient--a prompt and satisfactory\nblotting out of her past and present life--a happy method of solving\nmany minor problems of ways and means connected with waiting to be\nmarried. Besides it would be romantic, and a delicious, fitting crowning\nof her present blissful mood.\n\nHe mistook her silence for womanly scruples, and he recounted with a\nlittle laugh the predicament in which he should find himself on his own\naccount were they to be so precipitate. \"What would my sister think if\nshe were to get a telegram--'Married to-night. Expect us to-morrow?' She\nwould think I had lost my senses. So I have, darling; and you are the\ncause. She knows about you. I have talked to her about you.\"\n\n\"But she thinks I am Mrs. Babcock.\"\n\n\"Oh yes. Ha! ha! It would never do to state to whom I was married,\nunless I sent a telegram as long as my arm. Dear Pauline! She will be\nradiant. It is all arranged that she is to stay where she is in the old\nquarters, and I am to take you to a new house. We've decided on that,\ntime and again, when we've chanced to talk of what might happen--of 'the\nfair, the chaste and unexpressive she'--my she. Dearest, I wondered if I\nshould ever find her. Pauline has always said that she would never run\nthe risk of spoiling everything by living with us.\"\n\n\"It would be very nice--and very simple,\" responded Selma, slowly. \"You\nwouldn't think any the worse of me, Wilbur, if I were to marry you\nto-night?\"\n\n\"The worse of you? It is what I would like of all things. Whom does it\nconcern but us? Why should we wait in order to make a public spectacle\nof ourselves?\"\n\n\"I shouldn't wish that. I should insist on being married very quietly.\nUnder all the circumstances there is really no reason--it seems to me it\nwould be easier if we were to be married as soon as possible. It would\navoid explanations and talk, wouldn't it? That is, if you are perfectly\nsure.\"\n\n\"Sure? That I love you? Oh Selma!\"\n\nShe shut her eyes under the thrill which his kiss gave her. \"Then we\nwill be married whenever you wish,\" she said.\n\nIt was already late in the afternoon, so that the prospects of obtaining\na license did not seem favorable. Still it happened that Littleton knew\na clergyman of his own faith--Unitarian--in Benham, a college classmate,\nwhom he suggested as soon as he understood that Selma preferred not to\nbe married by Mr. Glynn. They found him at home, and by diligent\npersonal effort on his part the necessary legal forms were complied with\nand they were made husband and wife three hours before the departure of\nthe evening train for New York. After the ceremony they stepped\nbuoyantly, arm in arm in the dusk, along the street to send the telegram\nto Miss Littleton, and to snatch a hasty meal before Selma went to her\nlodgings to pack. There were others in the restaurant, so having\ndiscovered that they were not hungry, they bought sandwiches and\nbananas, and resumed their travels. The suddenness and surprise of it\nall made Selma feel as if on wings. It seemed to her to be of the\nessence of new and exquisite romance to be walking at the side of her\nfond, clever lover in the democratic simplicity of two paper bags of\nprovender and an open, yet almost headlong marriage. She felt that at\nlast she was yoked to a spirit who comprehended her and who would\nstimulate instead of repress the fire of originality within her. She had\nfound love and she was happy. Meanwhile she had decided to leave Benham\nwithout a word to anyone, even Mrs. Earle. She would write and explain\nwhat had happened.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\nTHE STRUGGLE\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nLittleton had not expected that Selma would accede to his request to be\nmarried at once, but he was delighted at her decision. He had uttered\nhis wish in sincerity, for there was really no reason for waiting, and\nby an immediate marriage they would escape the tedium of an engagement\nduring which they could hope to see each other but rarely. He was able\nto support a wife provided they were to live simply and economically. He\nfelt sure that Selma understood his circumstances and was no less ready\nthan he to forego luxuries in order that they might be all in all to\neach other spiritually as husband and wife. Besides he had hopes that\nhis clientage would continue to grow so that he would be able to provide\nall reasonable comforts for his new home. Consequently he drove up from\nthe station in New York with a light heart, fondly pointing out to his\nwife this and that building and other objects of interest. He mistook\nher pensive silence for diffidence at the idea of descending suddenly on\nanother woman's home--a matter which in this instance gave him no\nconcern, for he had unlimited confidence in Pauline's executive ability\nand her tendency not to get ruffled. She had been his good angel,\ndomestically speaking, and, indeed, in every way, since they had first\nbegun to keep house together, and it had rather amused him to let fall\nsuch a bombshell as the contents of his telegram upon the regularity of\nher daily life.\n\n\"Don't be nervous, darling,\" he said gayly. \"You will find Pauline\nbubbling over with joy at our coming, and everything arranged as though\nwe were expected to live there all our lives.\"\n\nSelma looked at him blankly and then remembered. She was not feeling\nnervous, and Pauline was not in her thoughts. She had been lost in her\nown reflections--lost in the happy consciousness of the contrast between\nher new and her old husband, and in the increasing satisfaction that she\nwas actually in New York. How bright and busy the streets looked! The\nthrong of eager passers and jostling vehicles against the background of\nbrilliant shop-windows bewildered and stimulated her. She was saying to\nherself that here was the place where she was suited to live, and mutely\nacknowledging its superiority to Benham as a centre of life. This was a\nrash, swift conclusion, but Selma prided herself on her capacity to\narrive at wise judgments by rapid mental processes. So absorbed was she\nin the glittering, stirring panorama that Wilbur's efforts at\nenlightenment were practically wasted. She was in no humor for details;\nshe was glorying in the exalted impression which the whole vivid scene\nproduced upon her.\n\nHis remark caused her to realize that they must be near their\ndestination. She had no misgivings on the score of her own reception,\nbut she was interested and curious to see Pauline, this wonderful sister\nof whom Wilbur was so fond and so proud. Then her husband cried, \"Here\nwe are!\" and in another moment she found herself in the hearty embrace\nof a large, comely woman who met her at the door. This of course must be\nPauline. Selma was just a little shocked by the fervor of the greeting;\nfor though she delighted in rapid intimacies, unexpected liberties with\nher person were contrary to her conceptions of propriety. Still it was\ndelightful to be welcomed so heartily. She returned the embrace warmly\nbut with dignity, and allowed herself to be convoyed into the house arm\nin arm with her new relation who seemed, indeed, to be bubbling over\nwith joy. It was not until they were in the same room that Selma could\nget a good look at her.\n\nPauline Littleton was fine looking rather than pretty. She was tall and\nsubstantial, with an agreeable face, an intelligent brow, a firm yet\nsweet mouth, and steady, honest eyes which now sparkled with pleasure.\nHer physique was very different from her brother's. Selma noticed that\nshe was taller than herself and only a little shorter than Wilbur. She\nhad Wilbur's smile too, suggesting a disposition to take things\nhumorously; but her expression lacked the poetic cast which made him so\nattractive and congenial to herself and excused the existence of the\nlighter vein. Selma did not admire women who were inclined to be stout.\nShe associated spareness of person with high thinking, and an abundance\nof flesh as an indication of material or commonplace aims. She reflected\nthat Pauline was presumably business-like and a good house-keeper, and,\nvery likely, an industrious teacher in her classes, but she set her down\nin her mind as deficient in the finer sensibilities of the spirit\nbelonging to herself and Wilbur. It was instinctive with Selma to form a\nprompt estimate of every one she met, and it was a relief to her to come\nto the agreeable conclusion that there was nothing in her\nsister-in-law's appearance to make her discontented with herself. This\nwarmed her heart at once toward Pauline. To be sure Pauline manifested\nthe same sort of social grace which distinguished Mrs. Hallett Taylor,\nbut Selma, though she still regarded this with suspicion, for the reason\nthat she had not yet become mistress of it, was secretly content to know\nthat she had married into a family which possessed it. Altogether she\nwas agreeably impressed by her scrutiny of her new sister, who, in her\nopinion, would not be an irritating rival either in looks or character,\nand yet who was a pleasing and sufficiently serious-minded person--in\nshort just the sort of sister-in-law which she yearned to have.\n\nPauline, on her part, was duly fascinated by the delicate and inspiring\nbeauty of her brother's wife. She understood at once why Wilbur had\nchosen her in preference to any one of his own circle. Selma obviously\nsymbolized by her grave, tense, thin face the serious ideals of living\nand womanhood, which had been dear to his meditation as a youth and a\npart of his heritage from his New England ancestors. It made her joyous\nto feel that he had found a wife who would be a constant source of\ninspiration to him, for she knew that Wilbur would not be happy with any\none who fell short of his ideal as to what a woman should be. She knew\nher brother well, and she understood how deeply in earnest he was to\nmake the most of his life, and what an exalted vision he entertained as\nto the possibilities for mutual sympathy and help between husband and\nwife.\n\nPartly as a consequence of their limited means, partly owing to\nabsorption in their respective studies and interests, the Littletons,\nthough of gentle stock, lived simple lives according to New York\nstandards. They were aware of the growth of luxury resulting from the\naccumulation of big fortunes since the war. As an architect, Wilbur saw\nlarger and more elaborate public and private buildings being erected on\nevery side. As a house-keeper and a woman with social interests, Pauline\nknew that the power of money was revolutionizing the public taste in the\nmatter of household expenditure; that in the details of domestic life\nthere was more color and more circumstance, and that people who were\nwell-to-do, and many who were not, were requiring as daily comforts all\nsorts of things to which they had been unaccustomed. But though they\nboth thus knew vaguely that the temper of society had changed, and that\nsober citizens and their wives, who, twenty years before, would have\nprated solemnly against a host of gay, enlivening or pretty customs as\nincompatible with American virtue, were now adopting these as rapidly as\nmoney could procure them--the brother and sister had remained\ncomparatively unaffected by the consequences of the transformation\nscene. Certainly their home had. It was old-fashioned in its garniture\nand its gentility. It spoke of a day, not so many years before, when\nhigh thinking had led to blinking where domestic decoration was\nconcerned, and people had bought ugly wooden and worsted things to live\nwith because only the things of the spirit seemed of real importance.\nStill time, with its marvellous touch, has often the gift of making\nfurniture and upholstery, which were hideous when bought, look\ninteresting and cosey when they have become old-fashioned. In this way\nPauline Wilbur's parlor was a delightful relic of a day gone by. There\nwas scarcely a pretty thing in it, as Wilbur himself well knew, yet, as\na whole, it had an atmosphere--an atmosphere of simple unaffected\nrefinement. Their domestic belongings had come to them from their\nparents, and they had never had the means to replenish them. When, in\ndue time, they had realized their artistic worthlessness, they had held\nto them through affection, humorously conscious of the incongruity that\ntwo such modern individuals as themselves should be living in a domestic\nmuseum. Then, presto! friends had begun to congratulate them on the\nuniqueness of their establishment, and to express affection for it. It\nhad become a favorite resort for many modern spirits--artists, literary\nmen, musicians, self-supporting women--and Pauline's oyster suppers,\ncooked in her grandmother's blazer, were still a stimulus to high\nthinking.\n\nSo matters stood when Selma entered it as a bride. Her coming signified\nthe breaking up of the household and the establishment. Pauline had\nthought that out in her clear brain over night since receiving Wilbur's\ntelegram. Wilbur must move into a modern house, and she into a modern\nflat. She would keep the very old things, such as the blazer and some\nandirons and a pair of candlesticks, for they were ancient enough to be\nreally artistic, but the furniture of the immediate past, her father and\nmother's generation, should be sold at auction. Wilbur and she must, if\nonly for Selma's sake, become modern in material matters as well as in\ntheir mental interests.\n\nPauline proceeded to unfold this at the dinner-table that evening. She\nhad heard in the meanwhile from her brother, the story of Selma's\ndivorce and the explanation of his sudden marriage; and in consequence,\nshe felt the more solicitous that her sister-in-law's new venture should\nbegin propitiously. It was agreed that Wilbur should make inquiries at\nonce about houses further uptown, and that his present lease from year\nto year should not be renewed. She said to Selma:\n\n\"You have saved us from becoming an old-fashioned bachelor and maid. Our\nfriends began to leave this neighborhood five years ago, and there is no\none left. We are surrounded by boarding-houses and shops. We were\ncomfortable, and we were too busy to care. But it would never do for a\nyoung married couple to begin house-keeping here. You must have a brand\nnew house uptown, Selma. You must insist on that. Don't be alarmed,\nWilbur. I know it will have to be small, but I noticed the other day\nseveral blocks of new houses going up on the side streets west of the\nPark, which looked attractive and cheap.\"\n\n\"I will look at them,\" said Wilbur. \"Since you seem determined not to\nlive with us, and we are obliged to move, we will follow the procession.\nBut Selma and I could be happy anywhere.\" He turned from his sister to\nher as he spoke with a proud, happy look.\n\nSelma said nothing to mar his confidence. She had no intention of living\neither with Pauline or in their present house, and she felt that her\nsister-in-law had shown good sense in recognizing that neither was\npossible. She necessarily had vague ideas as to New York houses and\nlocations, but she had seen enough in her drive from the station to\nunderstand that it was a wonderful and decorative place. Although her\nexperience of Benham had taught her that some old things--such as Mrs.\nHallett Taylor's gleanings from Europe--were desirable, she associated\nnew things with progress--especially American progress. Consequently the\nLittleton household possessions had puzzled her, for though she thought\nthem ugly, she was resolved not to commit herself too hastily. But now\nthat Pauline had sounded a note of warning, the situation was clear.\nThey had suffered themselves to fall behind the times, and she was to be\nher husband's good angel by helping him to catch up with them. And it\nwas evident that Pauline would be her ally. Selma for the first time\nasked herself whether it might be that Wilbur was a little visionary.\n\nMeanwhile he was saying: \"Pauline is right, Selma. I had already asked\nmyself if it would not be fairer to you to move uptown where we should\nbe in the van and in touch with what is going on. Pauline is gently\nhinting to you that you must not humor me as she has done, and let me\neat bread and milk out of a bowl in this old curiosity shop, instead of\nfollowing in the wake of fashion. She has spoiled me and now she deserts\nme at the critical moment of my life. Selma, you shall have the most\ncharming modern house in New York within my means. It must be love in a\ncottage, but the cottage shall have the latest improvements--hot and\ncold water, tiles, hygienic plumbing and dados.\"\n\n\"Bravo!\" said Pauline. \"He says I have spoiled him, Selma. Perhaps I\nhave. It will be your turn now. You will fail to convert him as I have\nfailed, and the world will be the better for it. There are too few men\nwho think noble thoughts and practice them, who are true to themselves\nand the light which is in them through thick and thin. But you see, he\nadmits himself that he needs to mix with the world a little more.\nOtherwise he is perfect. You know that perhaps, already, Selma. But I\nwish to tell it to you before him. Take care of him, dear, won't you?\"\n\n\"It was because I felt that his thoughts were nobler than most men's\nthat I wished to marry him,\" Selma replied, seraphically. \"But I can see\nthat it is sensible to live where your friends live. I shall try not to\nspoil him, Pauline.\" She was already conscious of a mission which\nappealed to her. She had been content until now in the ardor of her love\nto regard Wilbur as flawless--as in some respects superior to herself;\nbut it was a gratification to her to detect this failing, and to\nperceive her opportunity for usefulness. Surely it was important for her\nhusband to be progressive and not merely a dreamer.\n\nLittleton looked from one to the other fondly. \"Not many men are blessed\nwith the love of two such women,\" he said. \"I put myself in your hands.\nI bow my neck to the yoke.\"\n\nIn New York in the early seventies the fashionable quarter lay between\nEighth and Fortieth Streets, bounded on either side by Fourth and Sixth\nAvenues. Central Park was completed, but the region west of it was, from\nthe social stand-point, still a wilderness, and Fifth Avenue in the\nneighborhood of Twenty-third Street was the centre of elegant social\nlife. Selma took her first view of this brilliant street on the\nfollowing day on her way to hunt for houses in the outlying district.\nThe roar and bustle of the city, which thrilled yet dazed her, seemed\nhere softened by the rows of tall, imposing residences in brown stone.\nAlong the sunny sidewalks passed with jaunty tread an ever-hurrying\nprocession of stylishly clad men and women; and along the roadbed sped\nan array of private carriages conducted by coachmen in livery. It was a\nbrilliant day, and New Yorkers were making the most of it.\n\nSelma had never seen such a sight before. Benham faded into\ninsignificance in comparison. She was excited, and she gazed eagerly at\nthe spectacle. Yet her look, though absorbed, was stern. This sort of\nthing was unlike anything American within her personal experience. This\navenue of grand houses and this procession of fine individuals and fine\nvehicles made her think of that small section of Benham into which she\nhad never been invited, and the thought affected her disagreeably.\n\n\"Who are the people who live in these houses?\" she asked, presently.\n\nLittleton had already told her that it was the most fashionable street\nin the city.\n\n\"Oh, the rich and prosperous.\"\n\n\"Those who gamble in stocks, I suppose.\" Selma wished to be assured that\nthis was so.\n\n\"Some of them,\" said Littleton, with a laugh. \"They belong to people who\nhave made money in various ways or have inherited it--our well-to-do\nclass, among them the first families in New York, and many of them our\nbest citizens.\"\n\n\"Are they friends of yours?\"\n\nLittleton laughed again. \"A few--not many. Society here is divided into\nsets, and they are not in my set. I prefer mine, and fortunately, for I\ncan't afford to belong to theirs.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\nThe frigidity and dryness of the exclamation Littleton ascribed to\nSelma's intuitive enmity to the vanities of life.\n\n\"You mustn't pass judgment on them too hastily,\" he said. \"New York is a\nwonderful place, and it's likely to shock you before you learn to\nappreciate what is interesting and fine here. I will tell you a secret,\nSelma. Every one likes to make money. Even clergymen feel it their duty\nto accept a call from the congregation which offers the best salary, and\nprobing men of science do not hesitate to reap the harvest from a\nwonderful invention. Yet it is the fashion with most of the people in\nthis country who possess little to prate about the wickedness of\nmoney-getters and to think evil of the rich. That proceeds chiefly from\nenvy, and it is sheer cant. The people of the United States are engaged\nin an eager struggle to advance themselves--to gain individual\ndistinction, comfort, success, and in New York to a greater extent than\nin any other place can the capable man or woman sell his or her wares to\nthe best advantage--be they what they may, stocks, merchandise, law,\nmedicine, pictures. The world pays well for the things it wants--and the\nworld is pretty just in the long run. If it doesn't like my designs,\nthat will be because they're not worth buying. The great thing--the\ndifficult thing to guard against in the whirl of this great city, where\nwe are all striving to get ahead--is not to sell one's self for money,\nnot to sacrifice the thing worth doing for mere pecuniary advantage.\nIt's the great temptation to some to do so, for only money can buy fine\nhouses, and carriages and jewels--yes, and in a certain sense, social\npreferment. The problem is presented in a different form to every man.\nSome can grow rich honestly, and some have to remain poor in order to be\ntrue to themselves. We may have to remain poor, Selma mia.\" He spoke\ngayly, as though that prospect did not disturb him in the least.\n\n\"And we shall be just as good as the people who own these houses.\" She\nsaid it gravely, as if it were a declaration of principles, and at the\nsame moment her gaze was caught and disturbed by a pair of blithe,\nfashionably dressed young women gliding by her with the quiet,\nunconscious grace of good-breeding. She was inwardly aware, though she\nwould never acknowledge it by word or sign, that such people troubled\nher. More even than Mrs. Taylor had troubled her. They were different\nfrom her and they tantalized her.\n\nAt the same moment her husband was saying in reply, \"Just as good, but\nnot necessarily any better. No--other things being equal--not so good.\nWe mustn't deceive ourselves with that piece of cant. Some of them are\nfrivolous enough, and dishonest enough, heaven knows, but so there are\nfrivolous and dishonest people in every class. But there are many more\nwho endeavor to be good citizens--are good citizens, our best citizens.\nThe possession of money gives them the opportunity to become arbiters of\nmorals and taste, and to seek culture under the best advantages. After\nall, an accumulation of money represents brains and energy in some one.\nLook at this swell,\" he continued, indicating an attractive looking\nyoung man who was passing. \"His grandfather was one of the ablest men in\nthe city--an intelligent, self-respecting, shrewd, industrious,\npublic-spirited citizen who made a large fortune. The son has had\nadvantages which I have never had, and I happen to know that he is a\nfine fellow and a very able one. If it came to comparisons, I should be\nobliged to admit that he's a more ornamental member of society than\nJones, Brown, or Robinson, and certainly no less useful. Do I shock\nyou--you sweet, unswerving little democrat of the democrats?\"\n\nIt always pleased Selma to be called endearing names, and it suited her\nin her present frame of mind to be dubbed a democrat, for it did not\nsuit her to be painfully realizing that she was unable, at one brilliant\nswoop, to take her place as a leader in social influence. Somehow she\nhad expected to do this, despite her first difficulties at Benham, for\nshe had thought of New York as a place where, as the wife of Littleton,\nthe architect, she would at once be a figure of importance. She shook\nher head and said, \"It's hard to believe that these people are really in\nearnest; that they are serious in purpose and spirit.\" Meanwhile she was\nbeing haunted by the irritating reflection that her clothes and her\nbearing were inferior to those of the women she was passing. Secretly\nshe was making a resolve to imitate them, though she believed that she\ndespised them. She put her hand through her husband's arm and added,\nalmost fiercely, as she pressed closer to him, \"We needn't trouble our\nheads about them, Wilbur. We can get along without being rich and\nfashionable, you and I. In spite of what you say, I don't consider this\nsort of thing American.\"\n\n\"Get along? Darling, I was merely trying to be just to them; to let you\nsee that they are not so black as they're painted. We will forget them\nforever. We have nothing in common with them. Get along? I feel that my\nlife will be a paradise living with you and trying to make some\nimpression on the life of this big, striving city. But as to its not\nbeing American to live like these people--well you know they are\nAmericans and that New York is the Mecca of the hard-fisted sons of toil\nfrom all over the country who have made money. But you're right, Selma.\nThose who go in for show and extravagance are not the best\nAmericans--the Americans whom you and I believe in. Sometimes I get\ndiscouraged when I stop to think, and now I shall have you to keep me\nsteadfast to our faith.\"\n\n\"Yes, Wilbur. And how far from here are we to live?\"\n\n\"Oh, a mile or more. On some side street where the land is cheap and the\nrent low. What do we care for that, Selma mia?\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nShortly before Selma Littleton took up her abode in New York, Miss\nFlorence, or, as she was familiarly known, Miss Flossy Price, was an\ninhabitant of a New Jersey city. Her father was a second cousin of\nMorton Price, whose family at that time was socially conspicuous in\nfashionable New York society. Not aggressively conspicuous, as ultra\nfashionable people are to-day, by dint of frequent newspaper\nadvertisement, but in consequence of elegant, conservative\nrespectability, fortified by and cushioned on a huge income. In the\nearly seventies to know the Morton Prices was a social passport, and by\nno means every one socially ambitious knew them. Morton Price's\ngreat-grandfather had been a peddler, his grandfather a tea merchant,\nhis father a tea merchant and bank organizer, and he himself did nothing\nmercantile, but was a director in diverse institutions, representing\ntrusts or philantrophy, and was regarded by many, including himself, as\nthe embodiment of ornamental and admirable citizenship. He could talk by\nthe hour on the degeneracy of state and city politics and the evil deeds\nof Congress, and was, generally speaking, a conservative, fastidious,\nwell-dressed, well-fed man, who had a winning way with women and a happy\nfaculty of looking wise and saying nothing rash in the presence of men.\nSome of the younger generation were apt, with the lack of reverence\nbelonging to youth, to speak of him covertly as \"a stuffed club,\" but no\necho of this epithet had ever reached the ear of his cousin, David\nPrice, in New Jersey. For him, as for most of the world within a radius\nof two hundred miles, he was above criticism and a monument of social\npower.\n\nDavid Price, Miss Flossy's father, was the president of a small and\nunprogressive but eminently solid bank. Respectable routine was his\nmotto, and he lived up to it, and, as a consequence, no more sound\ninstitution of the kind existed in his neighborhood. He and his\ndirectors were slow to adopt innovations of any kind; they put stumbling\nblocks in the path of business convenience whenever they could; in\nshort, David Price in his humble way was a righteous, narrow, hide-bound\nretarder of progress and worshipper of established local custom.\nTherefore it was a constant source of surprise and worry to him that he\nshould have a progressive daughter. There were four other children,\npatterns of quiet, plodding conservatism, but--such is the irony of\nfate--the youngest, prettiest, and his favorite, was an independent,\nopinionated young woman, who seemed to turn a deaf ear to paternal and\nmaternal advice of safest New Jersey type. In her father's words, she\nhad no reverence for any thing or any body, which was approximately\ntrue, for she did not hesitate to speak disrespectfully even of the head\nof the house in New York.\n\n\"Poppa,\" she said one day, \"Cousin Morton doesn't care for any of us a\nlittle bit. I know what you're going to say,\" she added; \"that he sends\nyou two turkeys every Thanksgiving. The last were terribly tough. I'm\nsure he thinks that we never see turkeys here in New Jersey, and that he\nconsiders us poor relations and that we live in a hole. If one of us\nshould call on him, I know it would distress him awfully. He's right in\nthinking that this is a hole. Nothing ever happens here, and when I\nmarry I intend to live in New York.\"\n\nThis was when she was seventeen. Her father was greatly shocked,\nespecially as he suspected in his secret soul that the tirade was true\nin substance. He had been the recipient of Thanksgiving turkeys for\nnearly twenty years on the plea that they had been grown on the donor's\nfarm in Westchester county, and he had seen fit to invite his\nfellow-directors annually to dine off one of them as a modest notice\nthat he was on friendly terms with his aristocratic New York cousin. But\nin all these twenty years turkeys had been the only medium of\nintercourse between them. David Price, on the few occasions when he had\nvisited New York, had not found it convenient to call. Once he had\nwalked by on the other side of Fifth avenue and looked at the house, but\nshyness and the thought that he had no evening clothes in his valise had\nrestrained him from ringing the doorbell.\n\n\"You do your cousin Morton great injustice--great injustice, Florence,\"\nhe answered. \"He never forgets to send the turkeys, and as to the rest\nof your speech, I have only to say that it is very disrespectful and\nvery foolish. The next time I go to New York I will take you to call on\nyour cousins.\"\n\n\"And what would I say to them? No thank you, poppa.\" The young woman\nshook her head decisively, and then she added, \"I'm not going to call on\nthem, until I'm fit to. There!\"\n\nThe ambiguity of this remark gave Mr. Price the opportunity to say that,\nin view of her immediate shortcomings, it was a wise conclusion, but he\nknew what she really meant and was distressed. His feeling toward his\ncousin, though mildly envious, did not extend to self-depreciation, nor\nhad it served to undermine his faith in the innate dignity and worth of\nNew Jersey family life. He could not only with a straight face, but with\na kindling eye inveigh against the perils of New York fashionable life,\nand express gratification that no son or daughter of his had wandered so\nfar from the fold. It distressed him to think that Florence should be\ncasting sheep's eyes at the flesh-pots of Gotham, and so failing to\nappreciate the blessings and safety of a quiet American home.\n\nMiss Flossy continued to entertain and to express opinions of her own,\nand as a result became socially interesting. At eighteen, by her beauty,\nher engaging frankness and lack of self-consciousness, she spread havoc\namong the young men of her native city, several of whom offered her\nmarriage. But marriage was far from her thoughts. Life seemed too\ninteresting and she wished to see the world. She was erect and alert\nlooking, with a compact figure of medium height, large brown eyes and\nrich red hair, and a laughing mouth; also an innocent demeanor, which\nserved to give her, by moonlight, the effect of an angel. She succeeded\nin visiting Bar Harbor, where she promptly became a bright particular\nstar among the galaxy of young women who at that period were\nestablishing the reputation of the summer girl. She continued to be a\nsummer girl for four seasons without injury to her own peace of mind. At\nthe end of the fourth summer she appeared on close scrutiny to be a\nlittle worn, and her innocent air seemed a trifle deliberate. She\nreturned to her home in New Jersey in not quite her usual spirits. In\nfact she became pensive. She had seen the world, and lo! she found it\nstuffed with sawdust. She was ready to settle down, but the only man\nwith whom she would have been willing to settle had never asked her. He\nwas the brother of one of the girls who had been forbidden by her mother\nto stay out in canoes with young men after nine at night. The rumor had\nreached Flossy that this same mother had referred to her in \"the fish\npond\" at Rodick's as \"that dreadful girl.\" It would have pleased her\nafter that to have wrung an offer of marriage from the son and heir, who\nknew her cousins, the Morton Prices, and to whom she would have been\nwilling to engage herself temporarily at all events. He was very\ndevoted; they stayed out in his canoe until past midnight; he wrote\nverses to her and told her his innermost thoughts; but he stopped there.\nHe went away without committing himself, and she was left to chew the\ncud of reflection. It was bitter, not because she was in love with him,\nfor she was not. In her heart she knew he bored her a little. But she\nwas piqued. Evidently he had been afraid to marry \"that dreadful girl.\"\nShe was piqued and she was sad. She recognized that it was another case\nof not being fit. When would she be fit? What was she to do in order to\nbecome fit--fit like the girl who was not allowed to stay on the water\nafter nine o'clock? She had ceased to think of the young man, but the\nimage of his sister haunted her. How stylish she was, yet how simple and\nquiet! \"I wonder,\" thought Flossy to herself, \"if I could ever become\nlike her.\" The reflection threw her into a brown study in which she\nremained for weeks, and during which she refused the hand of a staid and\nrespectable townsman, who, in her father's words, was ready to take her\nwith all her follies. David Price was disappointed. He loved this\nindependent daughter, and he had hopes that her demure and reticent\ndeportment signified that the effervescence of youth had evaporated. But\nit was only an effort on Flossy's part to imitate the young man's\nsister.\n\nAt this juncture and just when she was bored and dispirited by the\nprocess, Gregory Williams appeared on the scene. Flossy met him at a\ndancing party. He had a very tall collar, a very friendly, confident,\nand (toward her) devoted manner, and good looks. It was whispered among\nthe girls that he was a banker from New York. He was obviously not over\nthirty, which was young for a banker, but so he presently described\nhimself to Flossy with hints of impending prosperity. He spoke glibly\nand picturesquely. He had a convincing eloquence of gesture--a wave of\nthe hand which suggested energy and compelled confidence. He had picked\nher out at once to be introduced to, and sympathy between them was\nspeedily established. Her wearing, as a red-headed girl, a white horse\nin the form of a pin, in order to prevent the attention of the men to\nwhom she talked from wandering, delighted him. He said to himself that\nhere was a girl after his own heart. He had admired her looks at the\noutset, but he gazed at her now more critically. He danced every dance\nwith her, and they sat together at supper, apart from everybody else.\nFlossy's resolutions were swept away. That is, she had become in an\ninstant indifferent to the fact that the New York girl she had yearned\nto imitate would not have made herself so conspicuous. Her excuse was\nthat she could not help herself. It was a case of genuine, violent\nattraction, which she made no effort to straggle against.\n\nThe attraction was violent on both sides. Gregory Williams was not\nseeking to be married. He had been, until within six months, a broker's\nclerk, and had become a banker on the strength of ten thousand dollars\nbequeathed to him by a grandmother. He and a clerk from another broker's\noffice, J. Willett VanHorne, had recently formed a partnership as\nWilliams & VanHorne, Bankers and Dealers in Stocks and Bonds. He was not\nseeking to be married, but he intended to be married some day, and it\nwas no part of his scheme of life to deny himself anything he wished.\nSupport a wife? Of course he could; and support her in the same\ngrandiose fashion which he had adopted for himself since he had begun\nbusiness on his own account. He had chosen as a philosophy of life the\nsmart paradox, which he enjoyed uttering, that he spent what he needed\nfirst and supplied the means later; and at the same time he let it be\nunderstood that the system worked wonderfully. He possessed unlimited\nconfidence in himself, and though he was dimly aware that a very small\nturn of the wheel of fortune in the wrong direction would ruin him\nfinancially, he chose to close his eyes to the possibilities of disaster\nand to assume a bold and important bearing before the world. He had\nimplicit faith in his own special line of ability, and he appreciated\nthe worth of his partner, VanHorne. He had joined forces with VanHorne\nbecause he knew that he was the opposite of himself--that he was a\ndelving, thorough, shrewd, keen office man--and able too. How genuinely\nable Williams did not yet know. He himself was to be the showy partner,\nthe originator of schemes and procurer of business, the brilliant man\nbefore the world. So there was some method in his madness. And with it\nall went a cheery, incisive, humorous point of view which was congenial\nand diverting to Flossy.\n\nHe went away, but he came back once--twice--thrice in quick succession.\nOn business, so he said casually to Mr. and Mrs. Price, but his language\nto their daughter was a declaration of personal devotion. It remained\nfor her to say whether she would marry him or no. Of one thing she was\nsure without need of reflection, that she loved him ardently. As a\nconsequence she surrendered at once, though, curiously enough, she was\nconscious when she permitted him to kiss her with effusion that he was\nnot the sort of man she had intended to marry--that he was not fit in\nher sense of the word. Yet she was determined to marry him, and from the\nmoment their troth was plighted she found herself his eager and faithful\nally, dreaming and scheming on their joint account. She would help him\nto succeed; they would conquer the world together; she would never doubt\nhis ability to conquer it. And in time--yes, in time they would make\neven the Morton Prices notice them.\n\nAnd so after some bewildered opposition on the part of Mr. Price, who\nwas alternately appalled and fascinated by the magniloquent language of\nhis would-be son-in-law, they were married. Flossy gave but a single\nsign to her husband that she understood him and recognized what they\nreally represented. It was one evening a few months after they had set\nup housekeeping while they were walking home from the theatre. They had\npreviously dined at Delmonico's, and the cost of the evening's\nentertainment, including a bottle of champagne at dinner, their tickets\nand a corsage bouquet of violets for Flossy, had been fifteen dollars.\nFlossy wore a resplendent theatre hat and fashionable cape--one of the\nseveral stylish costumes with which her husband had hastened to present\nher, and Gregory was convoying her along the Avenue with the air of a\nman not averse to have the world recognize that they were a well set up\nand prosperous couple. Flossy had put her arm well inside his and was\ndoing her best to help him produce the effect which he desired, when she\nsuddenly said:\n\n\"I wonder, Gregory, how long it will be before we're really anybody.\nNow, of course, we're only make believe swell.\"\n\nGregory gave an amused laugh. \"What a clever little woman! That's just\nwhat we are. We'll keep it a secret, though, and won't advertise it to\nthe world.\"\n\n\"Mum's the word,\" she replied, giving his arm a squeeze. \"I only wished\nyou to know that I was not being fooled; that I understood.\"\n\nFate ordained that the Williamses and the Littletons should take houses\nside by side in the same block. It was a new block, and at first they\nwere the sole occupants. Williams bought his house, giving a mortgage\nback to the seller for all the man would accept, and obtaining a second\nmortgage from a money lender in consideration of a higher rate of\ninterest, for practically the remaining value. He furnished his house\nornately from top to bottom in the latest fashion, incurring bills for a\nportion of the effects, and arranging to pay on the instalment plan\nwhere he could not obtain full credit. His reasoning was convincing to\nhimself and did not alarm Flossy, who was glad to feel that they were\nthe owners of the house and attractive furniture. It was that the land\nwas sure to improve in value before the mortgage became due, and as for\nthe carpets and curtains and other outlays, a few points in the stock\nmarket would pay for them at any time.\n\nWilbur Littleton did not possess the ready money to buy; consequently he\ntook a lease of his new house for three years, and paid promptly for the\nfurniture he bought, the selection of which was gradual. Gregory\nWilliams had a marvellous way of entering a shop and buying everything\nwhich pleased his eye at one fell swoop, but Wilbur, who desired to\naccomplish the best æsthetic effects possible consistent with his\nlimited means, trotted Selma from one shop to another before choosing.\nThis process of selecting slowly the things with which they were to pass\ntheir lives was a pleasure to him, and, as he supposed, to Selma. She\ndid enjoy keenly at first beholding the enticing contents of the various\nstores which they entered in the process of procuring wall-papers,\ncarpets, and the other essentials for house-keeping. It was a revelation\nto her that such beautiful things existed, and her inclination was to\npurchase the most showy and the most costly articles. In the adornment\nof her former home Babcock had given her a free hand. That is, his\ndisposition had been to buy the finest things which the shopkeepers of\nBenham called to his attention. She understood now that his taste and\nthe taste of Benham, and even her's, had been at fault, but she found\nherself hampered now by a new and annoying limitation, the smallness of\ntheir means. Almost every thing was very expensive, and she was obliged\nto pass by the patterns and materials she desired to possess, and accept\narticles of a more sober and less engaging character. Many of these, to\nbe sure, were declared by Wilbur to be artistically charming and more\nsuitable than many which she preferred, but it would have suited her\nbetter to fix on the rich upholstery and solid furniture, which were\nevidently the latest fashion in household decoration, rather than go\nmousing from place to place, only at last to pick up in the back corner\nof some store this or that object which was both reasonably pretty and\nreasonably cheap. When it was all over Selma was pleased with the effect\nof her establishment, but she had eaten of the tree of knowledge. She\nhad visited the New York shops. These, in her capacity of a God-fearing\nAmerican, she would have been ready to anathematize in a speech or in a\nnewspaper article, but the memory of them haunted her imagination and\nleft her domestic yearnings not wholly satisfied.\n\nWilbur Littleton's scheme of domestic life was essentially spiritual,\nand in the development of it he felt that he was consulting his wife's\ntastes and theories no less than his own. He knew that she understood\nthat he was ambitious to make a name for himself as an architect; but to\nmake it only by virtue of work of a high order; that he was unwilling to\nbecome a time-server or to lower his professional standards merely to\nmake temporary progress, which in the end would mar a success worth\nhaving. He had no doubt that he had made this clear to her and that she\nsympathized with him. As a married man it was his desire and intention\nnot to allow his interest in this ambition to interfere with the\nenjoyment of the new great happiness which had come into his life. He\nwould be a professional recluse no longer. He would cast off his work\nwhen he left his office, and devote his evenings to the æsthetic\ndelights of Selma's society. They would read aloud; he would tell her\nhis plans and ask her advice; they would go now and then to the theatre;\nand, in justice to her, they would occasionally entertain their friends\nand accept invitations from them. With this outlook in mind he had made\nsuch an outlay as would render his home attractive and cosey--simple as\nbecame a couple just beginning life, yet the abode of a gentleman and a\nlover of inspiring and pretty things.\n\nAs has been mentioned, Littleton was a Unitarian, and one effect of his\nfaith had been to make his point of view broad and straightforward. He\ndetested hypocrisy and cant, subterfuge and self-delusion. He was\ncontent to let other people live according to their own lights without\ntoo much distress on their account, but he was too honest and too\nclear-headed to be able to deceive himself as to his own motives and his\nown conduct. He had no intention to be morbid, but he saw clearly that\nit was his privilege and his duty to be true to both his loves, his wife\nand his profession, and that if he neglected either, he would be so far\nfalse to his best needs and aspirations. Yet he felt that for the moment\nit was incumbent on him to err on the side of devotion to his wife until\nshe should become accustomed to her new surroundings.\n\nThe problem of the proper arrangement and subdivision of life in a large\ncity and in these seething, modern times is perplexing to all of us.\nThere are so many things we would like to do which we cannot; so many\nthings which we do against our wills. We are perpetually squinting at\nhappiness, but just as we get a delightful vision before our eyes we are\nwhisked off by duty or ambition or the force of social momentum to try a\ndifferent view. Consequently our perennial regret is apt to be that we\nhave seen our real interests and our real friends as in a panorama, for\na fleeting moment, and then no more until the next time. For Littleton\nthis was less true than for most. His life was deep and stable rather\nthan many-sided. To be sure his brain experienced, now and then, the\ndazing effects of trying to confront all the problems of the universe\nand adapt his architectural endeavors to his interpretation of them; and\nhe knew well the bewildering difficulties of the process of adjusting\nprofessional theories to the sterile conditions which workaday practice\noften presented. But this crowding of his mental canvas was all in the\nline of his life purpose. The days were too short, and sometimes left\nhim perplexed and harassed by their rush; yet he was still pursuing the\ntenor of his way. The interest of marriage was not, therefore, in his\ncase a fresh burden on a soul already laden with a variety of side\npursuits. He was neither socially nor philanthropically active; he was\nnot a club man, nor an athletic enthusiast; he was on no committees; he\nvoted on election days, but he did not take an active part in politics.\nFor Selma's sake all this must be changed; and he was glad to\nacknowledge that he owed it to himself as well as to her to widen his\nsympathies.\n\nAs a first step in reform he began to leave his office daily at five\ninstead of six, and, on Saturdays, as soon after two as possible. For a\nfew months these brands of time snatched from the furnace of his\nprofessional ardor were devoted to the shopping relative to\nhouse-furnishing. When that was over, to walking with Selma; sometimes\nas a sheer round of exercise in company, sometimes to visit a\nprint-shop, exhibition of pictures, book-store, or other attraction of\nthe hour. But the evening was for him the ideal portion of the day;\nwhen, after dinner was done, they made themselves comfortable in the new\nlibrary, their living room, and it became his privilege to read aloud to\nher or to compare ideas with her regarding books and pictures and what\nwas going on in the world. It had been a dream of Littleton's that some\nday he would re-read consecutively the British poets, and as soon as the\nfurniture was all in place and the questions of choice of rugs and\nchairs and pictures had been settled by purchase, he proposed it as a\ndefinite occupation whenever they had nothing else in view. It delighted\nhim that Selma received this suggestion with enthusiasm. Accordingly,\nthey devoted their spare evenings to the undertaking, reading aloud in\nturn. Littleton's enunciation was clear and intelligent, and as a happy\nlover he was in a mood to fit poetic thoughts to his own experience, and\nto utter them ardently. While he read, Selma knew that she was ever the\nheroine of his imagination, which was agreeable, and she recognized\nbesides that his performance in itself was æsthetically attractive. Yet\nin spite of the personal tribute, Selma preferred the evenings when she\nherself was the elocutionist. She enjoyed the sound of her own voice,\nand she enjoyed the emotions which her utterance of the rhythmic stanzas\nset coursing through her brain. It was obvious to her that Wilbur was\ncaptivated by her reading, and she delighted in giving herself up to the\nspirit of the text with the reservations appropriate to an enlightened\nbut virtuous soul. For instance, in the case of Shelley, she gloried in\nhis soaring, but did not let herself forget that fire-worship was not\npractical; in the case of Byron, though she yielded her senses to the\nspell of his passionate imagery, she reflected approvingly that she was\na married woman.\n\nBut Littleton appreciated also that his wife should have the society of\nothers beside himself. Pauline introduced her promptly to her own small\nbut intelligent feminine circle, and pending Pauline's removal to a\nflat, the Saturday evening suppers were maintained at the old\nestablishment. Here Selma made the acquaintance of her husband's and his\nsister's friends, both men and women, who dropped in often after the\nplay and without ceremony for a weekly interchange of thought and\ncomradeship. Selma looked forward to the first of these occasions with\nan eager curiosity. She expected a renewal of the Benham Institute, only\nin a more impressive form, as befitted a great literary centre; that\npapers would be read, original compositions recited, and many\ninteresting people of both sexes perform according to their specialties.\nShe confidently hoped to have the opportunity to declaim, \"Oh, why\nshould the spirit of mortal be proud?\" \"Curfew must not ring to-night,\"\nor some other of her literary pieces.\n\nTherefore, it was almost a shock to her that the affair was so informal,\nand that the company seemed chiefly occupied in behaving gayly--in\nmaking sallies at each other's expense, which were greeted with\nmerriment. They seemed to her like a lot of children let loose from\nschool. There were no exercises, and no allusion was made to the\nattainments of the various guests beyond an occasional word of\nintroduction by Pauline or Wilbur; and this word was apt to be of\nserio-comic import. Selma realized that among the fifteen people present\nthere were representatives of various interesting crafts--writers,\nartists, a magazine editor, two critics of the stage, a prominent\nmusician, and a college professor--but none of them seemed to her to act\na part or to have their accomplishments in evidence, as she would have\nliked. Every one was very cordial to her, and appeared desirous to\nrecognize her as a permanent member of their circle, but she could not\nhelp feeling disappointed at the absence of ceremony and formal events.\nThere was no president or secretary, and presently the party went into\nthe dining-room and sat around a table, at either end of which Pauline\nand Wilbur presided over a blazer. Interest centred on the preparation\nof a rabbit and creamed oysters, and pleasant badinage flew from tongue\nto tongue. Selma found herself between the magazine editor and a large,\npowerfully built man with a broad, rotund, strong face, who was\nintroduced to her as Dr. Page, and who was called George by every one\nelse. He had arrived late, just as they were going in to supper, and his\nappearance had been greeted with a murmur of satisfaction. He had placed\nhimself between Pauline and her, and he showed himself, to Selma's\nthinking, one of the least dignified of the company.\n\n\"My dear Mrs. Littleton,\" he said, with a counterfeit of great gravity,\n\"you are now witnessing an impressive example of the politeness of true\nfriendship. There are cynics who assert that the American people are\nlacking in courtesy, and cast in our teeth the superiority of Japanese\nmanners. I wish they were here to-night. There is not a single\nindividual present, male or female, married or single, who does not\nsecretly cherish the amiable belief that he or she can cook things on a\nblazer better than any one else. And yet we abstain from criticism; we\noffer no suggestions; we accept, without a murmur, the proportions of\ncheese and beer and butter inflicted upon us by our hostess and her\nbrother, and are silent. We shall even become complimentary later. Can\nthe Japanese vie with this?\"\n\nThe contrast between his eager, grave gaze, and the levity of his words,\npuzzled Selma. He looked interesting, but his speech seemed to her\ntrivial and unworthy of the occasion. Still she appreciated that she\nmust not be a spoil-sport, and that it was incumbent on her to resign\nherself to the situation, so she smiled gayly, and said: \"I am the only\none then not suffering from self-restraint. I never made a Welsh rabbit,\nnor cooked on a blazer.\" Then, in her desire for more serious\nconversation, she added: \"Do you really think that we, as a people, are\nless polite than the Japanese?\"\n\nThe doctor regarded her with solemn interest for an instant, as though\nhe were pondering the question. As a matter of fact, he was thinking\nthat she was remarkably pretty. Then he put his finger on his lips, and\nin a hoarse whisper, said, \"Sh! Be careful. If the editorial ear should\ncatch your proposition the editorial man would appropriate it. There!\"\nhe added, as her left-hand neighbor bent toward them in response to the\nsummons, \"he has heard, and your opportunity to sell an idea to the\nmagazine is lost. It is all very fine for him to protest that he has\nheard nothing. That is a trick of his trade. Let us see now if he will\nagree to buy. If he refuses, it will be a clear case that he has heard\nand purloined it. Come, Dennison, here's a chance for a ten\nthousand-word symposium debate, 'Are we, as a nation, less polite than\nthe Japanese?' We offer it for a hundred and fifty cash, and cheap at\nthe price.\"\n\nMr. Dennison, who was a keen-eyed, quiet man, with a brown, closely-cut\nbeard, had paused in his occupation of buttering hot toast for the\nimpending rabbit, and was smiling quizzically. \"If you have literary\nsecrets to dispose of, Mrs. Littleton, let me warn you against making a\nconfidant of Dr. Page. Had you spoken to me first, there is no knowing\nwhat I might have--\"\n\n\"What did I tell you?\" broke in the doctor. \"A one hundred and\nfifty-dollar idea ruthlessly appropriated. These editors, these\neditors!\"\n\nIt was tantalizing to Selma to be skirting the edge of themes she would\nhave enjoyed to hear treated seriously. She hoped that Mr. Dennison\nwould inquire if she really wrote, and at least he would tell her\nsomething about his magazine and literary life in New York. But he took\nup again his task of buttering toast, and sought to interest her in\nthat. Presently she was unable to resist the temptation of remarking\nthat the editorship of a magazine must be one of the most interesting of\nall occupations; but he looked at her with his quizzical smile, and\nanswered:\n\n\"Between you and me, Mrs. Littleton, I will confide to you that a\nconsiderable portion of the time it is a confounded bore. To tell the\ntruth, I much prefer to sit next to you and butter toast.\"\n\nThis was depressing and puzzling to Selma; but after the consumption of\nthe rabbit and the oysters there was some improvement in the general\ntone of the conversation. Yet, not so far as she was concerned. Mr.\nDennison neglected to confide to her the secrets of his prison house,\nand Dr. Page ruthlessly refused to discuss medicine, philosophy, or the\nJapanese. But here and there allusion was made by one or another of the\ncompany to something which had been done in the world of letters, or\nart, or music, which possessed merit or deserved discouragement. What\nwas said was uttered simply, often trenchantly and lightly, but never as\na dogma, or with the solemnity which Mrs. Earle had been wont to impart\nto her opinions. Just as the party was about to break up, Dr. Page\napproached Selma and offered her his hand. \"It is a great pleasure to me\nto have met you,\" he said, looking into her face with his honest eyes.\n\"A good wife was just what Wilbur needed to insure him happiness and a\nfine career. His friends have great confidence in his ability, and we\nintrust him to you in the belief that the world will hear from him--and\nI, for one, shall be very grateful to you.\"\n\nHe spoke now with evident feeling, and his manner suggested the desire\nto be her friend. Selma admired his large physique and felt the\nattraction of his searching gaze.\n\n\"Perhaps he did need a wife,\" she answered with an attempt at the\nsprightliness which he had laid aside. \"I shall try not to let him be\ntoo indifferent to practical considerations.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\n\"Who is Dr. Page?\" asked Selma of her husband when they left the house.\n\n\"One of our best friends, and one of the leading physicians in the city.\nThe energy of that man is tireless. He is absorbed in his profession.\nThe only respite he allows himself are these Saturday evenings, and his\ndevotion to his little son who has hip disease. He told me to-night that\nhe had finished his day's work only just before he came in. What did you\nthink of him? He likes to tease.\"\n\n\"Then he is married?\"\n\n\"He is a widower.\"\n\n\"He seems interested in you. He was good enough to say that he thought\nyou needed a wife.\"\n\n\"Then he must have admired you, Selma. Poor fellow! I wish he might have\nthat happiness himself. I'll tell you a secret: He has desired to marry\nPauline for years. They are devoted friends--but until now that is all.\nHis wife was an actress--a handsome creature. Two years after they were\nmarried she ran away with another man and left him. Left him with one\nlittle boy, a cripple, on whom he lavishes all the love of his big\nnature.\"\n\n\"How dreadful!\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a sad story. That was ten years ago. He was very young and\nthe woman was very beautiful. It has been the making of him, though, in\none way. He had the pride and confidence of ability, but he lacked\nsympathy. His experience and the appealing presence of his son have\ndeveloped his nature and given him tenderness. He has not been\nimbittered; he has simply become gentle. And how he works! He is already\nfamous in his profession.\"\n\n\"Does Pauline care for him?\"\n\n\"I don't know her feelings. I am sure she is fond of him, and admires\nhim. I fancy, though, that she hesitates to renounce her own ambitions.\nAs you are aware, she is greatly interested in her classes, and in\nmatters pertaining to the higher education of women. George Page knew\nher at the time of his marriage. I do not mean that he paid her serious\nattention then, but he had the opportunity to ask her instead of the\nother. Now, when she has become absorbed in her life-work, she would\nnaturally decline to give it up unless she felt sure that she could not\nbe happy without him.\"\n\n\"I would not marry him if I were she,\" said Selma. \"He has given his\nbest to the other woman. He is the one at fault, not Pauline. Why should\nshe sacrifice her own career in order to console him?\"\n\n\"She might love him sufficiently to be willing to do so, Selma. Love\nmakes women blind to faults. But poor George was scarcely at fault. It\nwas a misfortune.\"\n\n\"He made his choice and was deceived. It would be weak of her to give up\nher own life merely because he is lonely. We modern women have too much\nself-respect for that. Love is love, and it is not to be trifled with.\"\n\n\"Yes, love is love,\" murmured Littleton, \"and I am happy in mine.\"\n\n\"That is because neither of us has loved before, you foolish boy. But as\nto this evening, it wasn't at all what I expected. Are your friends\nalways like that?\"\n\nLittleton laughed. \"Did they seem to you frivolous and undignified,\nthen?\"\n\n\"Almost. They certainly said nothing serious.\"\n\n\"It is their holiday--their evening out. They have to be serious during\nthe rest of the week--busy with problems and cares, for they are a set\nof hard workers. The stress of life is so rigorous and constant here in\nNew York that we have learned not to take our pleasure sadly. When you\nbecome accustomed to their way you will realize that they are no less\nserious at heart because they frolic now and then.\"\n\nSelma was silent a moment; then she said, \"That reminds me; have you\nfound out about our next-door neighbors yet?\"\n\n\"He is a banker named Williams, I believe.\"\n\n\"I saw his wife pass the window this morning. She was beautifully\ndressed. They must be rich.\"\n\n\"I dare say.\"\n\n\"But they live in the same style of house as ours.\"\n\n\"Bankers have mysterious ways of making money. We cannot compete with\nthose.\"\n\n\"I suppose not. I was thinking that she had the same manner as some of\nyour friends this evening, only more pronounced. She stopped to speak to\nsome one just in front of the house, so I could observe her. I should\nthink she was frivolous, but fascinating. That must be the New York\nmanner, and, consequently, she may be very much in earnest.\"\n\n\"It isn't given to every woman to be attractive all the time just\nbecause she looks in earnest, as it is to you, dearest. But you musn't\nbe too severe on the others.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, I think I shall like Mrs. Williams. She may teach us\nto be practical. You know that is what your friends would like to have\nme help you to be, Wilbur.\"\n\n\"Then they did talk a word or two of sense?\"\n\n\"They said that. Do you think it is true that you are visionary?\"\n\n\"It is your duty to tell me so, Selma, when you think it, just as I have\ntold you that we can afford to laugh now and then. Come, begin.\"\n\n\"I haven't been your wife long enough yet. I shall know better by the\nend of another six months.\"\n\nA fortnight elapsed before Selma made the acquaintance of Mrs. Gregory\nWilliams. It was not a chance meeting. Flossy rang the bell deliberately\none afternoon and was ushered in, thereby bridging over summarily the\nyawning chasm which may continue to exist for an indefinite period\nbetween families in the same block who are waiting to be introduced.\n\n\"I said to my husband last night, Mrs. Littleton, that it was ridiculous\nfor us to be living side by side without knowing one another, and that I\nwas going to call. We moved in three weeks before you, so I'm the one\nwho ought to break the ice. Otherwise we might have stared at each other\nblankly for three months, looked at each other sheepishly out of the\ncorner of our eyes for another three, half bowed for six months, and\nfinally, perhaps, reached the stage where we are now. Neighbors should\nbe neighborly, don't you think so?\"\n\n\"Indeed I do. Of course I knew you by sight; and I felt I should like to\nmake your acquaintance.\" Selma spoke with enthusiasm. Here was some one\nwhose social deftness was no less marked than Mrs. Hallett Taylor's,\nand, to her mind, more brilliant, yet whom she felt at once to be\ncongenial. Though she perceived that her neighbor's clothes made her own\napparel seem dull, and was accordingly disposed to be on her guard, she\nrealized instinctively that she was attracted by the visitor.\n\n\"That is very nice of you,\" said Flossy. \"I told my\nhusband--Gregory--the other day that I was sure you were something\nliterary--I mean Mr. Littleton, of course--and when he found out that he\nwas I said we must certainly cultivate you as an antidote to the banking\nbusiness. Gregory's a banker. It must be delightful to plan houses. This\nroom is so pretty and tasteful.\"\n\n\"It isn't wholly furnished yet. We are buying things by degrees, as we\nfind pieces which we like.\"\n\n\"We bought all our things in two days at one fell swoop,\" said Flossy\nwith a gay laugh. \"Gregory gave the dealers carte blanche. That's his\nway,\" she added with a touch of pride. \"I dare say the house would have\nbeen prettier if we could have taken more time. However, it is all paid\nfor now. Some of it was bought on the instalment plan, but Gregory\nbought or sold something in stocks the next week which covered the\nfurniture and paid for a present for me of this besides,\" she said,\nindicating her seal-skin cape. \"Wasn't he a dear?\"\n\nSelma did not know precisely what the instalment plan was, but she\nunderstood that Mr. Williams had been distinctly clever in his wife's\nestimation. She perceived that Mrs. Williams had the same light, half\njocular manner displayed by Wilbur's friends, and that she spoke with\nbubbling, jaunty assurance, which was suggestive of frivolity. Still\nWilbur had intimated that this might be the New York manner, and clearly\nher neighbor had come in a friendly spirit and was duly appreciative of\nthe distinction of being literary. Besides, her ready disposition to\ntalk about herself and her affairs seemed to Selma the sign of a\nwillingness to be truly friendly. The seal-skin cape she wore was very\nhandsome, and she was more conspicuously attired from head to foot than\nany woman with whom Selma had ever conversed. She was pretty, too--a\ntype of beauty less spiritual than her own--with piquant, eager\nfeatures, laughing, restless gray eyes, and light hair which escaped\nfrom her coquettish bonnet in airy ringlets. If they had met three years\nearlier Selma would certainly have regarded her as an incarnation of\nvolatility and servility to foreign fashions. Now, though she classed\nher promptly as a frivolous person, she regarded her with a keen\ncuriosity not unmixed with self-distress, and the reflection came to her\nthat a little of the New York manner might perhaps be desirable when in\nNew York.\n\n\"Yes, it's beautiful,\" she replied, referring to the cape.\n\n\"Gregory is always making me presents like that. He gave me this\nbracelet yesterday. He saw it in the shop-window and went in and bought\nit. Speaking of husbands, you won't mind my saying that I think Mr.\nLittleton is very distinguished looking? I often see him pass the window\nin the morning.\"\n\n\"Of course _I_ think so,\" said Selma. \"I suppose it would seem flat if I\nwere to say that I admired Mr. Williams's appearance also.\"\n\n\"The truth is no harm. Wouldn't it be nice if we should happen to become\nfriends? We are the pioneers in this block, but I hear three other\nhouses have been sold. I suppose you own your house?\"\n\n\"I believe not. We have a lease of it.\"\n\n\"That's a pity, because Gregory bought ours on a mortgage, thinking the\nland is sure to become more valuable. He hopes to be able to sell some\nday for a great deal more than he paid for it. May I ask where you lived\nbefore you were married?\"\n\nSelma told her briefly.\n\n\"Then you are almost Western. I felt sure you weren't a New Yorker, and\nI didn't think you were from Boston. You have the Boston earnest\nexpression, but somehow you're different. You don't mind my analyzing\nyou, do you? That's a Boston habit by the way. But I'm not from Boston.\nI've lived all my life in New Jersey. So we are both strangers in New\nYork. That is, I'm the same as a stranger, though my father is a cousin\nof the Morton Prices. We sent them wedding cards and they called one day\nwhen I was out. I shall return the call and find them out, and that will\nbe the last move on either side until Gregory does something remarkable.\nI'm rather glad I wasn't at home, because it would have been awkward.\nThey wouldn't have known what to say to me, and they might have felt\nthat they ought to ask me to dinner, and I don't care to have them ask\nme until they're obliged to. Do I shock you running on so about my own\naffairs?\" Flossy asked, noticing Selma draw herself up sternly.\n\n\"Oh no, I like that. I was only thinking that it was very strange of\nyour cousins. You are as good as they, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Mercy, no. We both know it, and that's what makes the situation so\nawkward. As Christians, they had to call on me, but I really think they\nare justified in stopping there. Socially I'm nobody.\"\n\n\"In this country we are all free and equal.\"\n\n\"You're a dear--a delicious dear,\" retorted Flossy, with a caressing\nlaugh. \"There's something of the sort in the Declaration of\nIndependence, but, as Gregory says, that was put in as a bluff to\nconsole salesladies. Was everybody equal in Benham, Mrs. Littleton?\"\n\n\"Practically so,\" said Selma, with an air of haughtiness, which was\nevoked by her recollection of the group of houses on Benham's River\nDrive into which she had never been invited. \"There were some people who\nwere richer than others, but that didn't make them better than any one\nelse.\"\n\n\"Well, in New York it's different. Of course, every body has the same\nright to vote or to be elected President of the United States, but\nequality ends there. People here are either in society or out of it, and\nsociety itself is divided into sets. There's the conservative\naristocratic set, the smart rapid set, the set which hasn't much money,\nbut has Knickerbocker or other highly respectable ancestors, the new\nmillionaire set, the literary set, the intellectual philanthropic set,\nand so on, according to one's means or tastes. Each has its little\ncircle which shades away into the others, and every now and then there\nis a big entertainment to which they all go.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Selma, coldly.\n\n\"Now, to make it plain, I will confide to you in strictest confidence\nthat Gregory and I aren't yet really in any set. We are trying to get a\nfooting and are holding on by our teeth to the fringe of the social\nmerry-go-round. I wouldn't admit it to any one but you; but as you are a\nstranger like myself and in the same block, I am glad to initiate you\ninto the customs of this part of the country,\" Flossy gave a merry toss\nto her head which set her ringlets bobbing, and rose to go.\n\n\"And in what set are your cousins?\" asked Selma.\n\n\"If you wish to hear about them, I shall have to sit down again. The\nMorton-Prices belong to the ultra-conservative, solid, stupid,\naristocratic set--the most dignified and august of all. They are almost\nas sacred as Hindoo gods, and some people would walk over red-hot coals\nto gain admission to their house. And really, it's quite just in one way\nthat incense should be burnt before them. You mustn't look so disgusted,\nbecause there's some sense in it all. As Gregory says, it's best to look\nthings squarely in the face. Most of the people in these different sets\nare somebodies because either their grandfathers or they have done\nsomething well--better than other people, and made money as a\nconsequence. And when a family has made money or won distinction by its\nbrains and then has brushed its teeth twice a day religiously for two\ngenerations, the members of it, even though dull, are entitled to\nrespect, don't you think so?\"\n\nSelma, who brushed her teeth but once a day, looked a little sharp at\nFlossy.\n\n\"It makes money of too much importance and it establishes class\ndistinctions. I don't approve of such a condition of affairs at all.\"\n\nFlossy shrugged her shoulders. \"I have never thought whether I approve\nof it or not. I am only telling you what exists. I don't deny that money\ncounts for a great deal, for, as Gregory says, money is the measure of\nsuccess. But money isn't everything. Brains count and refinement, and\nnice honorable ways of looking at things. Of course, I'm only telling\nyou what my ambition is. People have different kinds of bees in their\nbonnets. Some men have the presidential bee; I have the social bee. I\nshould like to be recognized as a prominent member of the charmed circle\non my own merits and show my cousins that I am really worthy of their\nattention. There are a few who are able to be superior to that sort of\nthing, who go on living their own lives attractively and finely, without\nthinking of society, and who suddenly wake up some day to find\nthemselves socially famous--to find that they have been taken up. That's\nthe best way, but one requires to be the right sort of person and to\nhave a lot of moral courage. I can imagine it happening to you and your\nhusband. But it would never happen to Gregory and me. We shall have to\nmake money and cut a dash in order to attract attention, and by-and-by,\nif we are persistent and clever enough, we may be recognized as\nsomebodies, provided there is something original or interesting about\nus. There! I have told you my secret and shocked you into the bargain. I\nreally must be going. But I'll tell you another secret first: It'll be a\npleasure to me to see you, if I may, because you look at things\ndifferently and haven't a social bee. I wish I were like that--really\nlike it. But then, as Gregory would say, I shouldn't be myself, and not\nto be one's self is worse than anything else after all, isn't it? You\nand your husband must come and dine with us soon.\"\n\nAfter Mrs. Williams had gone, Selma fell into a brown study. She had\nlistened to sentiments of which she thoroughly disapproved, and which\nwere at variance with all her theories and conceptions. What her\nfriendly, frivolous visitor had told her with engaging frankness\noffended her conscience and patriotism. She did not choose to admit the\nexistence of these class-distinctions, and she knew that even if they\ndid exist, they could not possibly concern Wilbur and herself. Even Mrs.\nWilliams had appreciated that Wilbur and her literary superiority put\nthem above and beyond the application of any snobbish, artificial,\nsocial measuring-tape. And yet Selma's brow was clouded. Her thought\nreverted to the row of stately houses on either side of Fifth Avenue,\ninto none of which she had the right of free access, in spite of the\nfact that she was leading her life attractively and finely, without\nregard to society. She thought instinctively of Sodom and Gomorrah, and\nshe saw righteously with her mind's eye for a moment an angel with a\nflaming sword consigning to destruction these offending mansions and\ntheir owners as symbols of mammon and contraband to God.\n\nThat evening she told Wilbur of Mrs. Williams's visit. \"She's a bright,\namusing person, and quite pretty. We took a fancy to each other. But\nwhat do you suppose she said? She intimated that we haven't any social\nposition.\"\n\n\"Very kind of her, I'm sure. She must be a woman of\ndiscrimination--likewise something of a character.\"\n\n\"She's smart. So you think it's true?\"\n\n\"What? About our social position? Ours is as good as theirs, I fancy.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, Wilbur. She acknowledges that herself. She admires us both and\nshe thinks it fine that we don't care for that sort of thing. What she\nsaid was chiefly in connection with herself, but she intimated that\nneither they, nor we, are the--er--equals of the people who live on\nFifth Avenue and thereabouts. She's a cousin of the Morton Prices,\nwhoever they may be, and she declared perfectly frankly that they were\nbetter than she. Wasn't it funny?\"\n\n\"You seem to have made considerable progress for one visit.\"\n\n\"I like that, you know, Wilbur. I prefer people who are willing to tell\nme their real feelings at once.\"\n\n\"Morton Price is one of the big bugs. His great grandfather was among\nthe wise, shrewd pioneers in the commercial progress of the city. The\npresent generation are eminently respectable, very dignified, mildly\nphilanthropic, somewhat self-indulgent, reasonably harmless, decidedly\nornamental and rather dull.\"\n\n\"But Mrs. Williams says that she will never be happy until her relations\nand the people of that set are obliged to take notice of her, and that\nshe and her husband are going to cut a dash to attract attention. It's\nher secret.\"\n\n\"The cat which she let out of the bag is a familiar one. She must be\namusing, provided she is not vulgar.\"\n\n\"I don't think she's vulgar, Wilbur. She wears gorgeous clothes, but\nthey're extremely pretty. She said that she called on me because she\nthought that we were literary, and that she desired an antidote to the\nbanker's business, which shows she isn't altogether worldly. She wishes\nus to dine with them soon.\"\n\n\"That's neighborly.\"\n\n\"Why was it, Wilbur, that you didn't buy our house instead of hiring\nit?\"\n\n\"Because I hadn't money enough to pay for it.\"\n\n\"The Williamses bought theirs. But I don't believe they paid for it\naltogether. She says her husband thinks the land will increase in value,\nand they hope some day to make money by the rise. I imagine Mr. Williams\nmust be shrewd.\"\n\n\"He's a business man. Probably he bought, and gave a mortgage back. I\nmight have done that, but we weren't sure we should like the location,\nand it isn't certain yet that fashion will move in just this direction.\nI have very little, and I preferred not to tie up everything in a house\nwe might not wish to keep.\"\n\n\"I see. She appreciates that people may take us up any time. She thinks\nyou are distinguished looking.\"\n\n\"If she isn't careful, I shall make you jealous, Selma. Was there\nanything you didn't discuss?\"\n\n\"I regard you as the peer of any Morton Price alive. Why aren't you?\"\n\n\"Far be it from me to discourage such a wifely conclusion. Provided you\nthink so, I don't care for any one else's opinion.\"\n\n\"But you agree with her. That is, you consider because people of that\nsort don't invite us to their houses, they are better than we.\"\n\n\"Nothing of the kind. But there's no use denying the existence of social\nclasses in this city, and that, though I flatter myself you and I are\ntrying to make the most of our lives in accordance with the talents and\nmeans at our disposal, we are not and are not likely to become, for the\npresent at any rate, socially prominent. That's what you have in mind, I\nthink. I don't know those people; they don't know me. Consequently they\ndo not ask me to their beautiful and costly entertainments. Some day,\nperhaps, if I am very successful as an architect, we may come more in\ncontact with them, and they will have a chance to discover what a\ncharming wife I have. But from the point of view of society, your\nneighbor Mrs. Williams is right. She evidently has a clear head on her\nshoulders and knows what she desires. You and I believe that we can get\nmore happiness out of life by pursuing the even tenor of our way in the\nposition in which we happen to find ourselves.\"\n\n\"I don't understand it,\" said Selma, shaking her head and looking into\nspace with her spiritual expression. \"It troubles me. It isn't American.\nI didn't think such distinctions existed in this country. Is it all a\nquestion of money, then? Do intelligence and--er--purpose count for\nnothing?\"\n\n\"My dear girl, it simply means that the people who are on top--the\npeople who, by force of success, or ability, or money, are most\nprominent in the community, associate together, and the world gives a\ncertain prominence to their doings. Here, where fortunes have been made\nso rapidly, and we have no formal aristocracy, money undoubtedly plays a\nconspicuous part in giving access to what is known as society. But it is\nonly an entering wedge. Money supplies the means to cultivate manners\nand the right way of looking at things, and good society represents the\nbest manners and, on the whole, the best way of looking at things.\"\n\n\"Yes. But you say that we don't belong to it.\"\n\n\"We do in the broad, but not in the narrow sense. We have neither the\nmeans nor the time to take part in fashionable society. Surely, Selma,\nyou have no such ambition?\"\n\n\"I? You know I disapprove of everything of the sort. It is like Europe.\nThere's nothing American in it.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that. The people concerned in it are Americans. If a\nman has made money there is no reason why he shouldn't build a handsome\nhouse, maintain a fine establishment, give his children the best\neducational advantages, and choose his own friends. So the next\ngeneration becomes more civilized. It isn't the best Americanism to\nwaste one's time in pursuing frivolities and excessive luxury, as some\nof these people do; but there's nothing un-American in making the most\nof one's opportunities. As I've said to you before, Selma, it's the way\nin which one rises that's the important thing in the individual\nequation, and every man must choose for himself what that shall be. My\nambition is to excel in my profession, and to mould my life to that end\nwithout neglecting my duties as a citizen or a husband. If, in the end,\nI win fame and fortune, so much the better. But there's no use in\nworrying because other people are more fashionable than we.\"\n\n\"Of course. You speak as if you thought I was envious of them, Wilbur.\nWhat I don't understand is why such people should be allowed to exist in\nthis country.\"\n\n\"We're a free people, Selma. I'm a good democrat, but you must agree\nthat the day-laborer in his muddy garb would not find himself at ease in\na Fifth Avenue drawing-room. On that account shall we abolish the\ndrawing-room?\"\n\n\"We are not day-laborers.\"\n\n\"Not precisely; but we have our spurs to win. And, unlike some people in\nour respectable, but humble station, we have each other's love to give\nus courage to fight the battle of life bravely. I had a fresh order\nto-day--and I have bought tickets for to-night at the theatre.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nAlmost the first persons at the theatre on whom Selma's eyes rested were\nthe Gregory Williamses. They were in a box with two other people, and\nboth Flossy and her husband were talking with the festive air peculiar\nto those who are willing to be noticed and conscious that their wish is\nbeing gratified. Flossy wore a gay bonnet and a stylish frock,\nsupplemented by a huge bunch of violets, and her husband's evening dress\nbetrayed a slight exaggeration of the prevailing fashion in respect to\nhis standing collar and necktie. Selma had never had a thorough look at\nhim before, and she reflected that he was decidedly impressive and\nhandsome. His face was full and pleasant, his mustache large and\ngracefully curved, and his figure manly. His most distinguishing\ncharacteristic was a dignity of bearing uncommon in so young a man,\nsuggesting that he carried, if not the destiny of republics on his\nshoulders, at least, important financial secrets in his brain. The man\nand woman with them were almost elderly and gave the effect of being\nstrangers to the city. They were Mr. and Mrs. Silas S. Parsons. Mr.\nParsons was a prosperous Western business man, who now and then visited\nNew York, and who had recently become a customer of Williams's. He had\ndealt in the office where Williams was a clerk, and, having taken a\nfancy to him, was disposed to help the new firm. Gregory had invited\nthem to dinner and to the theatre, by way of being attentive, and had\ntaken a box instead of stalls, in order to make his civility as\nmagnificent as the occasion would permit. A box, besides being a\ndelicate testimonial to his guest, would cause the audience to notice\nhim and his wife and to ask who they were.\n\nIn the gradual development of the social appetite in this country a\ncertain class has been evolved whose drawing-room is the floor of the\nleading theatres. Society consists for them chiefly in being present\noften at theatrical performances in sumptuous dress, not merely to\nwitness the play, but to be participants in a social function which\nenhances their self-esteem. To be looked at and to look on these\noccasions takes the place with them of balls and dinner parties. They\nare not theatregoers in the proper sense, but social aspirants, and the\nboxes and stalls are for them an arena in which for a price they can\nshow themselves in their finery and attractions, for lack of other\nopportunities.\n\nOur theatres are now in the full blaze of this harmless appropriation\nfor quasi-ballroom uses. At the time when Selma was a New York bride the\nmovement was in its infancy. The people who went to the theatre for\nspectacular purposes no less than to see the actors on the stage were\ncomparatively few in number. Still the device was practised, and from\nthe very fact that it was not freely employed, was apt to dazzle the\neyes of the uninitiated public more unreservedly than to-day. The sight\nof Mrs. Williams in a box, in the glory of her becoming frock and her\nviolets, caused even so stern a patriot and admirer of simplicity as\nSelma to seize her husband's arm and whisper:\n\n\"Look.\" What is more she caught herself a moment later blushing with\nsatisfaction on account of the friendly bow which was bestowed on her.\n\nWilbur Littleton's ambitions were so definite and congenial that the\nsight of his neighbors' splendor neither offended nor irritated him. He\ndid not feel obliged to pass judgment on them while deriving amusement\nfrom their display, nor did he experience any qualms of regret that he\nwas not able to imitate them. He regarded Flossy and her husband with\nthe tolerant gaze of one content to allow other people to work out their\nsalvation, without officious criticism, provided he were allowed the\nsame privilege, and ready to enjoy any features of the situation which\nappealed to his sense of humor or to his human sympathy. Flossy's frank,\nopen nod and ingenuous face won his favor at once, especially as he\nappreciated that she and Selma had found each other attractive, and\nthough he tabooed luxury and fashionable paraphernalia where he was\nimmediately concerned, it occurred to him that this evidently\nwide-awake, vivacious-looking couple might, as friends, introduce just\nthe right element of variety into their lives. He had no wish to be a\nbanker himself, nor to hire boxes at the theatre, but he was disposed to\nmeet half-way these entertaining and gorgeous neighbors.\n\nSelma, in spite of her wish to watch the play, found her glance\nreturning again and again to the occupants of the box, though she\nendeavored to dispose of the matter by remarking presently that she\ncould not understand why people should care to make themselves so\nconspicuous, particularly as the seats in the boxes were less desirable\nfor seeing the stage than their own.\n\n\"We wouldn't care for it, but probably it's just what they like,\" said\nWilbur. \"Some society reporter may notice them; in which case we shall\nsee in the Sunday newspaper that Mr. Gregory Williams and party occupied\na private box at the Empire Theatre last Tuesday evening, which will be\nanother straw toward helping them to carry out their project of\nattracting attention. I like the face of your new friend, my dear. I\nmean to say that she looks unaffected and honest, and as if she had a\nsense of humor. With those three virtues a woman can afford to have some\nfaults. I suppose she has hers.\"\n\nLittleton felt that Selma was disposed to fancy her neighbor, but was\nrestrained by conscientious scruples due to her dislike for society\nconcerns. He had fallen in love with and married his wife because he\nbelieved her to be free from and superior to the petty weaknesses of the\nfeminine social creed; but though extremely proud of her uncompromising\nstandards, he had begun to fear lest she might indulge her point of view\nso far as to be unjust. Her scornful references from time to time to\nthose who had made money and occupied fine houses had wounded his own\nsense of justice. He had endeavored to explain that virtue was not the\nexclusive prerogative of the noble-minded poor, and now he welcomed an\nopportunity of letting her realize from personal experience that society\nwas not so bad as it was painted.\n\nSelma returned Mrs. Williams's call during the week, but did not find\nher at home. A few days later arrived a note stamped with a purple and\ngold monogram inviting them to dinner. When the evening arrived they\nfound only a party of four. A third couple had given out at the last\nminute, so they were alone with their hosts. The Williams house in its\ndecoration and upholstery was very different from their own. The\ndrawing-room was bright with color. The furniture was covered with light\nblue plush; there were blue and yellow curtains, gay cushions, and a\nprofusion of gilt ornamentation. A bear-skin, a show picture on an\neasel, and a variety of florid bric-à-brac completed the brilliant\naspect of the apartment. Selma reflected at once that that this was the\nsort of drawing-room which would have pleased her had she been given her\nhead and a full purse. It suggested her home at Benham refurnished by\nthe light of her later experience undimmed by the shadow of economy. On\nthe way down to dinner she noticed in the corner of the hall a suit of\nold armor, and she was able to perceive that the little room on one side\nof the front door, which they learned subsequently was Mr. Williams's\nden, contained Japanese curiosities. The dinner-table shone with glass\nand silver ware, and was lighted by four candles screened by small pink\nshades. By the side of Flossy's plate and her own was a small bunch of\nviolets, and there was a rosebud for each of the men. The dinner, which\nwas elaborate, was served by two trig maids. There were champagne and\nfrozen pudding. Selma felt almost as if she were in fairy-land. She had\nnever experienced anything just like this before; but her exacting\nconscience was kept at bay by the reflection that this must be a further\nmanifestation of the New York manner, and her self-respect was\npropitiated by the cordiality of her entertainers. The conversation was\nbubbling and light-hearted on the part of both Mr. and Mrs. Williams.\nThey kept up a running prattle on the current fads of the day, the\ntheatre, the doings of well-known social personages, and their own\nhousehold possessions, which they naïvely called to the attention of\ntheir guests, that they might be admired. But Selma enjoyed more than\nthe general conversation her talk with the master of the house, who\npossessed all the friendly suavity of his wife and also the valuable\nmasculine trait of seeming to be utterly absorbed in any woman to whom\nhe was talking. Gregory had a great deal of manner and a confidential\nfluency of style, which gave distinction even to commonplace remarks.\nHis method did not condescend to nudging when he wished to note a point,\nbut it fell only so far short of it as he thought social elegance\nrequired. His conversation presently drifted, or more properly speaking,\nflowed into a graphic and frank account of his own progress as a banker.\nHe referred to past successful undertakings, descanted on his present\nroseate responsibilities, and hinted sagely at impending operations\nwhich would eclipse in importance any in which he had hitherto been\nengaged. In answer to Selma's questions he discoursed alluringly\nconcerning the methods of the Stock Exchange, and gave her to understand\nthat for an intelligent and enterprising man speculation was the high\nroad to fortune. No doubt for fools and for people of mediocre or torpid\nabilities it was a dangerous trade; but for keen and bold intellects\nwhat pursuit offered such dazzling opportunities?\n\nSelma listened, abhorrent yet fascinated. It worried her to be told that\nwhat she had been accustomed to regard as gambling should be so quickly\nand richly rewarded. Yet the fairy scene around her manifestly confirmed\nthe prosperous language of her host and left no room for doubt that her\nneighbors were making brilliant progress. Apparently, too, this business\nof speculation and of vast combinations of railroad and other capital,\nthe details of which were very vague to her, was, in his opinion, the\nmost desirable and profitable of callings.\n\n\"Do you know,\" she said, \"that I have been taught to believe that to\nspeculate in stocks is rather dreadful, and that the people of the\ncountry don't approve of it.\" She spoke smilingly, for the leaven of the\nNew York manner was working, but she could not refrain from testifying\non behalf of righteousness.\n\n\"The people of the country!\" exclaimed Gregory, with a smile of\ncomplacent amusement. \"My dear Mrs. Littleton, you must not let yourself\nbe deceived by the Sunday school, Fourth of July, legislative or other\npublic utterances of the American people. It isn't necessary to shout it\non the house-tops, but I will confide to you that, whatever they may\ndeclaim or publish to the contrary, the American people are at heart a\nnation of gamblers. They don't play little horses and other games in\npublic for francs, like the French, for the law forbids it, but I don't\nbelieve that any one, except we bankers and brokers, realizes how widely\nexists the habit of playing the stock-market. Thousands of people, big\nand little, sanctimonious and highly respectable, put up their margins\nand reap their profits or their losses. Oh no, the country doesn't\napprove of it, especially those who lose. I assure you that the letters\nwhich pass through the post-office from the godly, freeborn voters in\nthe rural districts would tell an eloquent story concerning the wishes\nof the people of the country in regard to speculation.\"\n\nFlossy was rising from table as he finished, so he accompanied the close\nof his statement with a sweeping bow which comported with his jaunty\ndignity.\n\n\"I am afraid you are a wicked man. You ought not to slander the American\npeople like that,\" Selma answered, pleased as she spoke at the light\ntouch which she was able to impart to her speech.\n\n\"It's true. Every word of it is true,\" he said as she passed him. He\nadded in a low tone--\"I would almost even venture to wager a pair of\ngloves that at some time or other your husband has had a finger in the\npie.\"\n\n\"Never,\" retorted Selma.\n\n\"What is that Gregory is saying?\" interrupted Flossy, putting her arm\ninside Selma's. \"I can see by his look that he has been plaguing you.\"\n\n\"Yes, he has been trying to shatter my ideals, and now he is trying to\ninduce me to make an odious bet with him.\"\n\n\"Don't, for you would be certain to lose. Gregory is in great luck\nnowadays.\"\n\n\"That is evident, for he has had the good fortune to make the\nacquaintance of Mrs. Littleton,\" said Williams gallantly.\n\nThe two men were left alone with their cigars. After these were lighted,\nas if he were carrying out his previous train of thought, Gregory\nremarked, oracularly, at the end of a puff: \"Louisville and Nashville is\ncertain to sell higher.\"\n\nLittleton looked blank for a moment. He knew so little of stocks that at\nfirst he did not understand what was meant. Then he said, politely:\n\"Indeed!\"\n\n\"It is good for a ten-point rise in my opinion,\" Williams continued\nafter another puff. He was of a liberal nature, and was making a present\nof this tip to his guest in the same spirit of hospitality as he had\nproffered the dinner and the champagne. He was willing to take for\ngranted that Littleton, as a gentleman, would give him the order in case\nhe decided to buy, which would add another customer to his list. But his\nsuggestion was chiefly disinterested.\n\n\"I'm afraid I know very little about such matters,\" Littleton responded\nwith a smile. \"I never owned but ten shares of stock in my life.\" Then,\nby way, perhaps, of showing that he was not indifferent to all the good\nthings which the occasion afforded, he said, indicating a picture on the\nopposite wall: \"That is a fine piece of color.\"\n\nWilliams, having discharged his obligations as a host, was willing to\nexchange the stock-market as a topic for his own capacity as a lightning\nappreciator and purchaser of objects of art.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, urbanely, \"that is a good thing. I saw it in the\nshop-window, asked the price and bought it. I bought two other pictures\nat the same time. 'I'll take that, and that, and that,' I said, pointing\nwith my cane. The dealer looked astonished. He was used, I suppose, to\nhaving people come in and look at a picture every day for a fortnight\nbefore deciding. When I like a thing I know it. The three cost me\neighteen hundred dollars, and I paid for them within a week by a turn in\nthe market.\"\n\n\"You were very fortunate,\" said Littleton, who wished to seem\nsympathetic.\n\nMeanwhile the two wives had returned to the drawing-room arm in arm, and\nestablished themselves on one of those small sofas for two, constructed\nso that the sitters are face to face. They had taken a strong fancy to\neach other, especially Flossy to Selma, and in the half hour which\nfollowed they made rapid progress toward intimacy. Before they parted\neach had agreed to call the other by her Christian name, and Selma had\nconfided the story of her divorce. Flossy listened with absorbed\ninterest and murmured at the close:\n\n\"Who would have thought it? You look so pure and gentle and refined that\na man must have been a brute to treat you like that. But you are happy\nnow, thank goodness. You have a husband worthy of you.\"\n\nEach had a host of things still unsaid when Littleton and Williams\njoined them.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" said Wilbur as they left the house, \"that was a sort of\nArabian Nights entertainment for us, wasn't it? A little barbaric, but\nhandsome and well intentioned. I hope it didn't shock you too much.\"\n\n\"It struck me as very pleasant, Wilbur. I think I am beginning to\nunderstand New York a little better. Every thing costs so much here that\nit seems necessary to make money, doesn't it? I don't see exactly how\npoor people get along. Do you know, Mr. Williams wished to bet me a pair\nof gloves that you buy stocks sometimes.\"\n\n\"He would have lost his bet.\"\n\n\"So I told him at once. But he didn't seem to believe me. I was sure you\nnever did. He appears to be very successful; but I let him see that I\nknew it was gambling. You consider it gambling, don't you?\"\n\n\"Not quite so bad as that. Some stock-brokers are gamblers; but the\noccupation of buying and selling stocks for a commission is a well\nrecognized and fashionable business.\"\n\n\"Mr. Williams thinks that a great many Americans make money in\nstocks--that we are gamblers as a nation.\"\n\n\"I am, in my heart, of the same opinion.\"\n\n\"Oh, Wilbur. I find you are not so good a patriot as I supposed.\"\n\n\"I hate bunkum.\"\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\n\"Saying things for effect, and professing virtue which we do not\npossess.\"\n\nSelma was silent a moment. \"What does champagne cost a bottle?\"\n\n\"About three dollars and a half.\"\n\n\"Do you really think their house barbaric?\"\n\n\"It certainly suggests to me heterogeneous barbaric splendor. They\nbought their upholstery as they did their pictures, with free-handed\nself-confidence. Occasionally they made a brilliant shot, but oftener\nthey never hit the target at all.\"\n\n\"I think I like brighter colors than you do, Wilbur,\" mused Selma. \"I\nused to consider things like that as wrong; but I suppose that was\nbecause our fathers wished Europe to understand that we disapproved of\nthe luxury of courts and the empty lives of the nobility. But if people\nhere with purpose have money, it would seem sensible to furnish their\nhouses prettily.\"\n\n\"Subject always to the crucifying canons of art,\" laughed Littleton.\n\"I'm glad you're coming round to my view, Selma. Only I deny the ability\nof the free-born American, with the overflowing purse, to indulge his\nnewly acquired taste for gorgeous effects without professional\nassistance.\"\n\n\"I suppose so. I can see that their house is crude, though I do think\nthat they have some handsome things. It must be interesting to walk\nthrough shops and say: 'I'll take that,' just because it pleases you.\"\n\nDuring her first marriage Selma had found the problem of dollars and\ncents a simple one. The income of Lewis Babcock was always larger than\nthe demands made upon it, and though she kept house and was familiar\nwith the domestic disbursements, questions of expenditure solved\nthemselves readily. She had never been obliged to ask herself whether\nthey could afford this or that outlay. Her husband had been only too\neager to give her anything she desired. Consideration of the cost of\nthings had seemed to her beneath her notice, and as the concern of the\nproviding man rather than the thoughtful American wife and mother. After\nshe had been divorced the difficulty in supplying herself readily with\nmoney had been a dismaying incident of her single life. Dismaying\nbecause it had seemed to her a limitation unworthy of her aspirations\nand abilities. She had married Littleton because she believed him her\nideal of what a man should be, but she had been glad that he would be\nable to support her and exempt her from the necessity of asking what\nthings cost.\n\nBy the end of their first year and a half of marriage, Selma realized\nthat this necessity still stood, almost like a wolf at the door, between\nher and the free development of her desires and aspirations. New York\nprices were appalling; the demands of life in New York still more so.\nThey had started house-keeping on a more elaborate scale than she had\nbeen used to in Benham. As Mrs. Babcock she had kept one hired girl; but\nin her new kitchen there were two servants, in deference to the desire\nof Littleton, who did not wish her to perform the manual work of the\nestablishment. Men rarely appreciate in advance to the full extent the\nextra cost of married life, and Littleton, though intending to be\nprudent, found his bills larger than he had expected. He was able to pay\nthem promptly and without worry, but he was obliged to make evident to\nSelma that the margin over and above their carefully considered expenses\nwas very small. The task of watching the butcher's book and the\nprovision list, and thinking twice before making any new outlay, was\nsomething she had not bargained for. All through her early life as a\ngirl, the question of money had been kept in the background by the\nsimplicity of her surroundings. In her country town at home they had\nkept no servants. A woman relative had done the work, and she had been\nfree to pursue her mental interests and devote herself to her father.\nShe had thought then that the existence of domestic servants was an act\nof treason against the institutions of the country by those who kept\nthem. Yet she had accepted, with glee, the hired-girl whom Babcock had\nprovided, satisfying her own democratic scruples by dubbing her \"help,\"\nand by occasionally offering her a book to read or catechising her as to\nher moral needs. There is probably no one in the civilized world more\nproud of the possession of a domestic servant than the American woman\nwho has never had one, and no one more prompt to consign her to the\nobscurity of the kitchen after a feeble pretence at making her feel at\nhome. Selma was delighted to have two instead of one, and, after\nbeholding Mrs. Williams's trig maids, was eager to see her own arrayed\nin white caps and black alpaca dresses. Yet, though she had become keen\nto cultivate the New York manner, and had succeeded in reconciling her\nconscience to the possession of beautiful things by people with a\npurpose, it irked her to feel that she was hampered in living up to her\nnew-found faith by the bugbear of a lean purse. She had expected, as\nWilbur's wife, to figure quickly and gracefully in the van of New York\nintellectual and social progress. Instead, she was one among thousands,\nliving in a new and undeveloped locality, unrecognized by the people of\nwhom she read in the newspapers, and without opportunities for\ndisplaying her own individuality and talents. It depressed her to see\nthe long lines of houses, street after street, and to think that she was\nmerely a unit, unknown by name, in this great sea of humanity--she,\nSelma Littleton, free-born American, conscious of virtue and power. This\nmust not be; and she divined clearer and clearer every day that it need\nnot be if she had more money.\n\nIt began to be annoying to her that Wilbur's professional progress was\nnot more rapid. To be sure he had warned her that he could not hope to\nreach the front rank at once; that recognition must be gradual; and that\nhe must needs work slowly in order to do himself justice. She had\naccepted this chiefly as a manifestation of modesty, not doubting that\nmany orders would be forthcoming, especially now that he had the new\nstimulus of her love and inspiration. Instead there had been no marked\nincrease in the number of his commissions; moreover he had been\nunsuccessful in two out of three competitions for minor public buildings\nfor which he had submitted designs. From both the pecuniary and\nprofessional point of view these failures had been a disappointment. He\nwas in good spirits and obviously happy, and declared that he was doing\nas well as he could reasonably expect; yet on his discouraged days he\nadmitted that the cost of retaining his draughtsmen was a drain on the\nprofit side of his ledger.\n\nIn contrast with this the prosperity of her neighbors the Williamses was\na little hard to bear. The sudden friendship developed into neighborly\nintimacy, and she and Flossy saw much of each other, dropping in\nfamiliarly, and often walking and shopping together. The two men were on\nsufficiently cordial terms, each being tolerant of the other's\nlimitations, and seeking to recognize his good points for the sake of\nthe bond between their wives. The return dinner was duly given, and\nSelma, hopeless of imitating the barbaric splendor, sought refuge in the\nreflection that the æsthetic and intellectual atmosphere of her table\nwould atone for the lack of material magnificence, and limited her\nefforts to a few minor details such as providing candles with colored\nshades and some bonbon dishes. It was plain that Flossy admired her\nbecause she recognized her to be a fine and superior soul, and the\nappreciation of this served to make it more easy not to repine at the\ndifference between their entertainments. Still the constant acquisition\nof pretty things by her frank and engaging friend was an ordeal which\nonly a soul endowed with high, stern democratic faith and purpose could\nhope to endure with equanimity. Flossy bought new adornments for her\nhouse and her person with an amiable lavishness which required no\nconfession to demonstrate that her husband was making money. She made\nthe confession, though, from time to time with a bubbling pride, never\nsuspecting that it could harass or tempt her spiritual looking friend.\nShe prattled artlessly of theatre parties followed by a supper at one of\nthe fashionable restaurants, and of new acquaintances whom she\nentertained, and through whom her social circle was enlarged, without\ndivining that the sprightly narration was a thorn in the flesh of her\nhearer. Selma was capricious in her reception of these reports of\nprogress. At times she listened to them with grave, cold eyes, which\nFlossy took for signals of noble disdain and sought to deprecate by\nwooing promises to be less worldly. At others she asked questions with a\nfeverish, searching curiosity, which stimulated Mrs. Williams's free and\nindependent style into running commentaries on the current course of\nsocial events and the doings and idiosyncracies of contemporary leaders\nof fashion whom she had viewed from afar. One afternoon Selma saw from\nher window Flossy and her husband drive jubilantly away in a high cart\nwith yellow wheels drawn by a sleek cob, and at the same moment she\nbecame definitely aware that her draught from the cup of life had a\nbitter taste. Why should these people drive in their own vehicle rather\nthan she? It seemed clear to her that Wilbur could not be making the\nbest use of his talents, and that she had both a grievance against him\nand a sacred duty to perform in his and her own behalf. Justice and\nself-respect demanded that their mutual light should no longer be hid\nunder a bushel.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nPauline Littleton was now established in her new lodgings. Having been\nfreed by her brother's marriage from the responsibilities of a\nhousewife, she was able to concentrate her attention on the work in\nwhich she was interested. Her classes absorbed a large portion of her\ntime. The remainder was devoted to writing to girls in other cities who\nsought her advice in regard to courses of study, and to correspondence,\nconsultation, and committee meetings with a group of women in New York\nand elsewhere, who like herself were engrossed in educational matters.\nShe was glad to have the additional time thus afforded her for pursuing\nher own tastes, and the days seemed too short for what she wished to\naccomplish. She occupied two pleasant rooms within easy walking distance\nof her brother's house. Her classes took her from home four days in the\nweek, and two mornings in every seven were spent at her desk with her\nbooks and papers, in the agreeable labor of planning and correspondence.\n\nNaturally one of her chief desires was to be on loving terms with her\nbrother's wife, and to do everything in her power to add to Selma's\nhappiness. She summoned her women friends to meet her sister-in-law at\nafternoon tea. All of these called on the bride, and some of them\ninvited her to their houses. They were busy women like Pauline herself,\nintent in their several ways on their vocations or avocations. They were\ndisposed to extend the right hand of fellowship to Mrs. Littleton, whom\nthey without exception regarded as interesting in appearance, but they\nhad no leisure for immediate intimacy with her. Having been introduced\nto her and having scheduled her in their minds as a new and desirable\nacquaintance, they went their ways, trusting chiefly to time to renew\nthe meeting and to supply the evidence as to the stranger's social\nvalue. Busy people in a large city are obliged to argue that new-comers\nshould win their spurs, and that great minds, valuable opinions, and\nmoving social graces are never crushed by inhumanity, but are certain\nsooner or later to gain recognition. Therefore after being very cordial\nand expressing the hope of seeing more of her in the future, every one\ndeparted and left Selma to her duties and her opportunities as\nLittleton's wife, without having the courtesy to indicate that they\nconsidered her a superior woman.\n\nPauline regarded this behavior on the part of her friends as normal, and\nhaving done her social duty in the afternoon tea line, without a\nsuspicion that Selma was disappointed by the experience, she gave\nherself up to the congenial undertaking of becoming intimate with her\nsister-in-law. She ascribed Selma's reserve, and cold, serious manner\npartly to shyness due to her new surroundings, and partly to the\nspiritual rigor of the puritan conscience and point of view. She had\noften been told that individuals of this temperament possessed more\ndepth of character than more emotional and socially facile people, and\nshe was prepared to woo. In comparison with Wilbur, Pauline was\naccustomed to regard herself as a practical and easy-going soul, but she\nwas essentially a woman of fine and vigorous moral and mental purpose.\nLike many of her associates in active life, however, she had become too\noccupied with concrete possibilities to be able to give much thought to\nher own soul anatomy, and she was glad to look up to her brother's wife\nas a spiritual superior and to recognize that the burden lay on herself\nto demonstrate her own worthiness to be admitted to close intimacy on\nequal terms. Wilbur was to her a creature of light, and she had no doubt\nthat his wife was of the same ethereal composition.\n\nPauline was glad, too, of the opportunity really to know a countrywoman\nof a type so different from her own friends. She, like Wilbur, had heard\nall her life of these interesting and inspiring beings; intense,\nmarvellously capable, peerless, free-born creatures panoplied in\nchastity and endowed with congenital mental power and bodily charms, who\nwere able to cook, educate children, control society and write\nliterature in the course of the day's employment. The newspapers and\npopular opinion had given her to understand that these were the true\nAmericans, and caused her to ask herself whether the circle to which she\nherself belonged was not retrograde from a nobler ideal. In what way she\ndid not precisely understand, except that she and her friends did not\naltogether disdain nice social usages and conventional womanly ways.\nBut, nevertheless, the impression had remained in her mind that she must\nbe at fault somehow, and it interested her that she would now be able to\nunderstand wherein she was inferior.\n\nShe went to see Selma as often as she could, and encouraged her to call\nat her lodgings on the mornings when she was at home, expecting that it\nmight please her sister-in-law to become familiar with the budding\neducational enterprises, and that thus a fresh bond of sympathy would be\nestablished between them. Selma presented herself three or four times in\nthe course of the next three months, and on the first occasion expressed\ngratifying appreciation of the cosiness of the new lodgings.\n\n\"I almost envy you,\" she said, \"your freedom to live your own life and\ndo just what you like. It must be delightful away up here where you can\nsee over the tops of the houses and almost touch the sky, and there is\nno one to disturb the current of your thoughts. It must be a glorious\nplace to work and write. I shall ask you to let me come up here\nsometimes when I wish to be alone with my own ideas.\"\n\n\"As often as you like. You shall have a pass key.\"\n\n\"I should think,\" said Selma, continuing to gaze, with her far away\nlook, over the vista of roofs which the top story of the apartment house\ncommanded, \"that you would be a great deal happier than if you had\nmarried him.\"\n\nThe pause which ensued caused her to look round, and add jauntily, \"I\nhave heard, you know, about Dr. Page.\"\n\nA wave of crimson spread over Pauline's face--the crimson of wounded\nsurprise, which froze Selma's genial intentions to the core.\n\n\"I didn't think you'd mind talking about it,\" she said stiffly.\n\n\"There's nothing to talk about. Since you have mentioned it, Dr. Page is\na dear friend of mine, and will always continue to be, I hope.\"\n\n\"Oh, I knew you were nothing but friends now,\" Selma answered. She felt\nwounded in her turn. She had come with the wish to be gracious and\ncompanionable, and it had seemed to her a happy thought to congratulate\nPauline on the wisdom of her decision. She did not like people who were\nnot ready to be communicative and discuss their intimate concerns.\n\nThe episode impaired the success of the first morning visit. At the\nnext, which occurred a fortnight later, Pauline announced that she had a\npiece of interesting news.\n\n\"Do you know a Mr. Joel Flagg in Benham?\"\n\n\"I know who he is,\" said Selma. \"I have met his daughter.\"\n\n\"It seems he has made a fortune in oil and real estate, and is desirous\nto build a college for women in memory of his mother, Sarah Wetmore. One\nof my friends has just received a letter from a Mrs. Hallett Taylor, to\nwhom Mr. Flagg appears to have applied for counsel, and who wishes some\nof us who are interested in educational matters to serve as an advisory\ncommittee. Probably you know Mrs. Taylor too?\"\n\n\"Oh yes. I have been at her house, and I served with her on the\ncommittee which awarded Wilbur the church.\"\n\n\"Why, then you are the very person to tell us all about her. I think I\nremember now having heard Wilbur mention her name.\"\n\n\"Wilbur fancied her, I believe.\"\n\n\"Your tone rather implies that you did not. You must tell me everything\nyou know. My friend has corresponded with her before in regard to some\nartistic matters, but she has never met her. Her letter suggests a\nlady.\"\n\n\"I dare say you would like Mrs. Taylor,\" said Selma, gravely. \"She is\nattractive, I suppose, and seemed to know more or less about European\nart and pictures, but we in Benham didn't consider her exactly an\nAmerican. If you really wish to know my opinion, I think that she was\ntoo exclusive a person to have fine ideas.\"\n\n\"That's a pity.\"\n\n\"If she lived in New York she would like to be one of those society\nladies who live on Fifth Avenue; only she hasn't really any conception\nof what true elegance is. Her house there, except for the ornaments she\nhad bought abroad, was not so well furnished as the one I lived in. I\nwonder what she would think if she could look into the drawing-room of\nmy friend Mrs. Williams.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Pauline, though in truth she was puzzled. \"I am sorry if\nshe is a fine lady, but people like that, when they become interested,\nare often excellent workers. It is a noble gift of Mr. Flagg's--$500,000\nas a foundation fund. He's a good American at all events. Wilbur must\ncertainly compete for the buildings, and his having first met you there\nought to be an inspiration to him to do fine work.\"\n\nSelma had been glad of the opportunity to criticise Mrs. Hallett Taylor,\nwhom she had learned, by the light of her superior social knowledge, to\nregard as an unimportant person. Yet she had been conscious of a\nrighteous impulse in saying what she thought of her. She knew that she\nhad never liked Mrs. Taylor, and she was not pleased to hear that Mr.\nFlagg had selected her from among the women of Benham to superintend the\nadministration of his splendid gift. Benham had come to seem to her\nremote and primitive, yet she preferred, and was in the mood, to think\nthat it represented the principles which were dear to her, and that she\nhad been appreciated there far better than in her present sphere. She\nwas still tied to Benham by correspondence with Mrs. Earle. Selma had\nwritten at once to explain her sudden departure, and letters passed\nbetween them at intervals of a few weeks--letters on Selma's part fluent\nwith dazzled metropolitan condescension, yet containing every now and\nthen a stern charge against her new fellow-citizens on the score of\nlevity and worldliness.\n\nThe donation for the establishment of Wetmore College was made shortly\nafter another institution for the education of women in which Pauline\nwas interested--Everdean College--had been opened to students. The\nnumber of applicants for admission to Everdean had been larger than the\nauthorities had anticipated, and Pauline, who had been one of the\npromoters and most active workers in raising funds for and supervising\nthe construction of this labor of love, was jubilant over the outlook,\nand busy in regard to a variety of new matters presented for solution by\nthe suddenly evolved needs of the situation. Among these was the\nacquisition of two or three new women instructors; and it occurred to\nPauline at once that Selma might know of some desirable candidate. Selma\nappeared to manifest but little interest in this inquiry at the time,\nbut a few months subsequent to their conversation in regard to Mrs.\nTaylor she presented herself at Pauline's rooms one morning with the\nannouncement that she had found some one. Pauline, who was busy at her\ndesk, asked permission to finish a letter before listening; so there was\nsilence for a few minutes, and Selma, who wore a new costume of a more\nfashionable guise than her last, reflected while she waited that the\ndetails of such work as occupied her sister-in-law must be tedious.\nIndeed, she had begun to entertain of late a sort of contempt for the\ndeliberate, delving processes of the Littletons. She was inclined to ask\nherself if Wilbur and Pauline were not both plodders. Her own idea of\ndoing things was to do them quickly and brilliantly, arriving at\nconclusions, as became an American, with prompt energy and despatch. It\nseemed to her that Wilbur, in his work, was slow and elaborate, disposed\nto hesitate and refine instead of producing boldly and immediately. And\nhis sister, with her studies and letter-writing, suggested the same\nwearisome tendency. Why should not Wilbur, in his line, act with the\nconfident enterprise and capacity to produce immediate, ostensible\nresults which their neighbor, Gregory Williams, displayed? As for\nPauline, of course she had not Wilbur's talent and could not, perhaps,\nbe expected to shine conspicuously, but surely she might make more of\nherself if only she would cease to spend so much time in details and\ncogitation, with nothing tangible to show for her labor. Selma\nremembered her own experience as a small school teacher, and her\nthankfulness at her escape from a petty task unworthy of her\ncapabilities, and she smiled scornfully to herself, as she sat waiting,\nat what she regarded Pauline's willingness to spend her energies in such\ninconspicuous, self-effacing work. Indeed, when Pauline had finished her\nletter and announced that she was now entirely at leisure, Selma felt\nimpelled to remark:\n\n\"I should think, Pauline, that you would give a course of lectures on\neducation. We should be glad to have them at our house, and your friends\nought to be able to dispose of a great many tickets.\" Such a thing had\nnever occurred to Selma until this moment, but it seemed to her, as she\nheard her own words, a brilliant suggestion, both as a step forward for\nPauline and a social opportunity for herself.\n\n\"On education? My dear Selma, you have no idea of the depths of my\nignorance. Education is an enormous subject, and I am just beginning to\nrealize how little I know concerning it. People have talked and written\nabout education enough. What we need and what some of us are trying to\ndo is to study statistics and observe results. I am very much obliged to\nyou, but I should only make myself a laughing-stock.\"\n\n\"I don't think you would. You have spent a great deal of time in\nlearning about education, and you must have interesting things to say.\nYou are too modest and--don't you think it may be that you are not quite\nenterprising enough? A course of lectures would call public attention to\nyou, and you would get ahead faster, perhaps. I think that you and\nWilbur are both inclined to hide your light under a bushel. It seems to\nme that one can be conscientious and live up to one's ideals without\nneglecting one's opportunities.\"\n\n\"The difficulty is,\" said Pauline, with a laugh, \"that I shouldn't\nregard it as an opportunity, and I am sure it wouldn't help me to get\nahead, as you call it, with the people I desire to impress, to give\nafternoon tea or women-club lectures. I don't know enough to lecture\neffectively. As to enterprise, I am busy from morning until night. What\nmore can a woman do? You mustn't hurry Wilbur, Selma. All he needs is\ntime to let the world see his light.\"\n\n\"Very likely. Of course, if you don't consider that you know enough\nthere is nothing to be said. I thought of it because I used to lecture\nin Benham, at the Benham Institute, and I am sure it helped me to get\nahead. I used to think a great deal about educational matters, and\nperhaps I will set you the example by giving some lectures myself.\"\n\n\"That would be very interesting. If a person has new ideas and has\nconfidence in them, it is natural to wish to let the world hear them.\"\n\nPauline spoke amiably, but she was disposed to regard her sister with\nmore critical eyes. She felt no annoyance at the patronizing tone toward\nherself, but the reference to Wilbur made her blood rebel. Still she\ncould not bear to harbor distrust against that grave face with its\ndelicate beauty and spiritualized air, which was becomingly accommodated\nto metropolitan conditions by a more festive bonnet than any which she\nherself owned. Yet she noticed that the thin lips had an expression of\ndiscontent, and she wondered why.\n\nRecurring to the errand on which she had come, Selma explained that she\nhad just received a letter from Benham--from her friend, Mrs. Margaret\nRodney Earle, an authoress and a promulgator of advanced and original\nideas in respect to the cause of womanhood, asking if she happened to\nknow of an opening for a gifted young lady in any branch of intellectual\nwork.\n\n\"I thought at once of Everdean,\" said Selma, \"and have come to give you\nthe opportunity of securing her.\"\n\nPauline expressed her thanks cordially, and inquired if Mrs. Earle had\nreferred to the candidate's experience or special fitness for the duties\nof the position.\n\n\"She writes that she is very clever and gifted. I did not bring the\nletter with me, but I think Mrs. Earle's language was that Miss Bailey\nwill perform brilliantly any duties which may be intrusted to her.\"\n\n\"That is rather general,\" said Pauline. \"I am sorry that she didn't\nspecify what Miss Bailey's education has been, and whether she has\ntaught elsewhere.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Earle wouldn't have recommended her if she hadn't felt sure that\nshe was well educated. I remember seeing her at the Benham Institute on\none of the last occasions when I was present. She delivered a whistling\nsolo which every one thought clever and melodious.\"\n\n\"I dare say she is just the person we are looking for,\" said Pauline,\nleniently. \"It happens that Mrs. Grainger--my friend to whom Mrs. Taylor\nwrote concerning Mr. Flagg's gift--is to make Mrs. Taylor a visit at\nBenham next week, in order to consider the steps to be taken in regard\nto Wetmore College. She and Miss Bailey can arrange to meet, and that\nwill save Miss Bailey the expense of a journey to New York, at the\npossible risk of disappointment.\"\n\n\"I thought,\" said Selma, \"that you would consider yourselves fortunate\nto secure her services.\"\n\n\"I dare say we shall be very fortunate, Selma. But we cannot engage her\nwithout seeing her and testing her qualifications.\"\n\nSelma made no further demur at the delay, but she was obviously\nsurprised and piqued that her offer should be treated in this elaborate\nfashion. She was obliged to acknowledge to herself that she could not\nreasonably expect Pauline to make a definite decision without further\ninquiry, but she had expected to be able to report to Mrs. Earle that\nthe matter was as good as settled--that, if Miss Bailey would give a few\nparticulars as to her accomplishments, the position would be hers.\nSurely she and Mrs. Earle were qualified to choose a school-teacher.\nHere was another instance of the Littleton tendency to waste time on\nunimportant details. She reasoned that a woman with more wide-awake\nperceptions would have recognized the opportunity as unusual, and would\nhave snapped up Miss Bailey on the spot.\n\nThe sequel was more serious. Neither Selma nor Pauline spoke of the\nmatter for a month. Then it was broached by Pauline, who wrote a few\nlines to the effect that she was sorry to report that the authorities of\nEverdean, after investigation, had concluded not to engage the services\nof Miss Bailey as instructor. When Selma read the note her cheeks burned\nwith resentment. She regarded the decision as an affront. Pauline dined\nwith them on the evening of that day, and at table Selma was cold and\nformal. When the two women were alone, Selma said at once, with an\nattempt at calmness:\n\n\"What fault do you find with my candidate?\"\n\n\"I think it possible that she might have been satisfactory from the mere\npoint of scholarship,\" judicially answered Pauline, who did not realize\nin the least that her sister-in-law was offended, \"though Mrs. Grainger\nstopped short of close inquiry on that score, for the reason that Miss\nBailey failed to satisfy our requirements in another respect. I don't\nwish to imply by what I am going to say anything against her character,\nor her capacity for usefulness as a teacher under certain conditions,\nbut I confide to you frankly, Selma, that we make it an absolute\ncondition in the choice of instructors for our students that they should\nbe first of all lady-like in thought and speech, and here it was that\nshe fell short. Of course I have never seen Miss Bailey, but Mrs.\nGrainger reported that she was--er--impossible.\"\n\n\"You mean that your friend does not consider her a lady? She isn't a\nsociety lady, but I did not suppose an American girl would be refused a\nposition as a teacher for such a reason as that.\"\n\n\"A lady is a lady, whether she is what you term a society lady or not.\nMrs. Grainger told us that Miss Bailey's appearance and manners did not\nsuggest the womanly refinement which we deem indispensable in those who\nare to teach our college students. Five years ago only scholarship and\ncleverness were demanded, but experience has taught the educators of\nwomen that this was a mistake.\"\n\n\"I presume,\" said Selma, with dramatic scorn, \"that Mrs. Hallett Taylor\ndisapproved of her. I thought there would be some such outcome when I\nheard that she was to be consulted.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Taylor's name was not mentioned,\" answered Pauline, in\nastonishment. \"I had no idea, Selma, that you regarded this as a\npersonal matter. You told me that you had seen Miss Bailey but once.\"\n\n\"I am interested in her because--because I do not like to see a cruel\nwrong done. You do not understand her. You allow a prejudice, a\nclass-prejudice, to interfere with her career and the opportunity to\ndisplay her abilities. You should have trusted Mrs. Earle, Pauline, She\nis my friend, and she recommended Miss Bailey because she believed in\nher. It is a reflection on me and my friends to intimate that she is not\na lady.\"\n\nShe bent forward from the sofa with her hands clasped and her lips\ntightly compressed. For a moment she gazed angrily at the bewildered\nPauline, then, as though she had suddenly bethought her of her New York\nmanner, she drew herself up and said with a forced laugh--\"If the reason\nyou give were not so ridiculous, I should be seriously offended.\"\n\n\"Offended! Offended with Pauline,\" exclaimed Littleton, who entered the\nroom at the moment. \"It cannot be that my two guardian angels have had a\nfalling out.\" He looked from one to the other brightly as if it were\nreally a joke.\n\n\"It is nothing,\" said Selma.\n\n\"It seems,\" said Pauline with fervor, \"that I have unintentionally hurt\nSelma's feelings. It is the last thing in the world I wish to do, and I\ntrust that when she thinks the matter over she will realize that I am\ninnocent. I am very, very sorry.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\n\"Why don't you follow the advice of Mr. Williams and buy some shares of\nstock?\" asked Selma lightly, yet coaxingly, of her husband one day in\nthe third year of their marriage. The Williamses were dining with them\nat the time, and a statement by Gregory, not altogether without motive,\nas to the profits made by several people who had taken his advice,\ncalled forth the question. He and his wife were amiably inclined toward\nthe Littletons, and were proud of the acquaintance. Among their other\nfriends they boasted of the delightful excursions into the literary\ncircle which the intimacy afforded them. They both would have been\npleased to see their neighbors more amply provided with money, and\nGregory, partly at the instance of Flossy, partly from sheer good-humor\nin order to give a deserving but impractical fellow a chance to better\nhimself, threw out tips from time to time--crumbs from the rich man's\ntable, but bestowed in a friendly spirit. Whenever they were let fall,\nSelma would look at Wilbur hoping for a sign of interest, but hitherto\nthey had evoked merely a smile of refusal or had been utterly ignored.\n\nHer own question had been put on several occasions, both in the company\nof the tempter and in the privacy of the domestic hearth, and both in\nthe gayly suggestive and the pensively argumentative key. Why might they\nnot, by means of a clever purchase in the stock market, occasionally\nprocure some of the agreeable extra pleasures of life--provide the ready\nmoney for theatres, a larger wardrobe, trips from home, or a modest\nequipage? Why not take advantage of the friendly advice given? Mr.\nWilliams had made clear that the purchase of stocks on a sufficient\nmargin was no more reprehensible as a moral proposition than the\npurchase of cargoes of sugar, cotton, coffee or tea against which\nmerchants borrowed money at the bank. In neither instance did the\npurchaser own outright what he sought to sell at an advance; merely in\none case it was shares, in the other merchandise. Of course it was\nfoolish for inexperienced country folk with small means to dabble in\nstocks and bonds, but why should not city people who were clever and had\nclever friends in the business eke out the cost of living by shrewd\ninvestments? In an old-fashioned sense it might be considered gambling;\nbut, if it were true, as Wilbur and Mr. Williams both maintained, that\nthe American people were addicted to speculation, was not the existence\nof the habit strong evidence that the prejudice against it must be\nill-founded? The logical and the patriotic conclusion must needs be that\nbusiness methods had changed, and that the American nation had been\nclever enough to substitute dealings in shares of stock, and in\ncontracts relating to cereals and merchandise for the methods of their\ngrandfathers who delivered the properties in bulk.\n\nTo this condensation of Gregory's glib sophistries on the lips of his\nwife, Wilbur had seemed to turn a deaf ear. It did not occur to him, at\nfirst, that Selma was seriously in earnest. He regarded her suggestions\nof neglected opportunities, which were often whimsically uttered, as\nmore than half playful--a sort of make-believe envy of the meteoric\nprogress in magnificence of their friendly neighbors. He was even glad\nthat she should show herself appreciative of the merits of civilized\ncomfort, for he had been afraid lest her ascetic scruples would lead her\njudgments too far in the opposite direction. He welcomed them and\nencouraged her small schemes to make the establishment more festive and\nstylish in appearance, in modest imitation of the splendor next door.\nBut constant and more sombre reference to the growing fortunes of the\nWilliamses presently attracted his attention and made him more\nobservant. His income sufficed to pay the ordinary expenses of quiet\ndomestic life, and to leave a small margin for carefully, considered\namusements, but he reflected that if Selma were yearning for greater\nluxury, he could not afford at present to increase materially her\nallowance. It grieved him as a proud man to think that the woman he\nloved should lack any thing she desired, and without a thought of\ndistrust he applied himself more strenuously to his work, hoping that\nthe sum of his commissions would enable him presently to gratify some of\nher hankerings--such, for instance, as the possession of a horse and\nvehicle. Selma had several times alluded with a sigh to the satisfaction\nthere must be in driving in the new park. Babcock had kept a horse, and\nthe Williamses now drove past the windows daily in a phaeton drawn by\ntwo iron gray, champing steeds. He said to himself that he could\nscarcely blame Selma if she coveted now and then Flossy's fine\npossessions, and the thought that she was not altogether happy in\nconsequence of his failure to earn more kept recurring to his mind and\nworried him. No children had been born to them, and he pictured with\ngrowing concern his wife lonely at home on this account, yet without\nextra income to make purchases which might enable her to forget at times\nthat there was no baby in the house. Flossy had two children, a boy and\na girl, two gorgeously bedizened little beings who were trundled along\nthe sidewalk in a black, highly varnished baby-wagon which was reputed\nby the dealer who sold it to Gregory to have belonged to an English\nnobleman. Wilbur more than once detected Selma looking at the babies\nwith a wistful glance. She was really admiring their clothes, yet the\nthought of how prettily she would have been able to dress a baby of her\nown was at times so pathetic as to bring tears to her eyes, and cause\nher to deplore her own lack of children as a misfortune.\n\nAs the weeks slipped away and Wilbur realized that, though he was\ngaining ground in his profession, more liberal expenditures were still\nout of the question, he reached a frame of mind which made him yearn for\na means of relief. So it happened that, when Selma asked him once more\nwhy he did not follow the advice proffered and buy some stocks, he\nreplied by smiling at Gregory and inquiring what he should buy. During\nthe dinner, which had been pleasant, Wilbur's eye had been attracted by\nthe brilliancy of some new jewels which Mrs. Williams wore, and he had\nbeen conscious of the wish that he were able to make a present like that\nto his own wife.\n\n\"You take my breath away. Wonders will never cease,\" responded Gregory,\nwhile both the women clapped their hands. \"But you musn't buy anything;\nyou must sell,\" he continued. \"VanHorne and I both came to the\nconclusion to-day that it is time for a turn on the short side of the\nmarket. When the public are crazy and will buy any thing, then is the\ntime to let them have all they wish.\"\n\n\"What, then, am I to sell?\" asked Wilbur \"I am a complete lamb, you\nknow.\" He was already sorry that he had consented, but Selma's manifest\ninterest restrained him from turning the matter into a joke.\n\n\"Leave it all to me,\" said Williams with a magnificent gesture.\n\n\"But you will need some money from me.\"\n\n\"Not at all. If you would feel better, you may send me a check or a bond\nfor a thousand dollars. But it isn't necessary in your case.\"\n\n\"I will bring you in a bond to-morrow--one of the very few I own.\"\n\nWilbur having delivered his security the first thing in the morning,\nheard nothing further from Williams for a fortnight. One day he received\na formal account of certain transactions executed by Williams and\nVanHorne for Wilbur Littleton, Esq., and a check for two thousand\ndollars. The flush which rose to his cheeks was induced partly by\npleasure, partly by shame. His inclination, as he reflected, was to\nreturn the check, but he recognized presently that this was a foolish\nidea, and that the only thing to be done was to deposit it. He wrote a\ngrateful note of acknowledgment to Williams, and then gave himself up to\nthe agreeable occupation of thinking what he should buy for Selma with\nthe money. He decided not to tell her of his good fortune, but to treat\nher to a surprise. His first fancy was in favor of jewelry--some\nnecklace or lustrous ornament for the hair, which would charm the\nfeminine eye and might make Selma even more beautiful than she already\nappeared in evening dress. His choice settled on a horse and buggy as\nmore genuinely useful. To be sure there was the feed of the animal to be\nconsidered; but he would be able to reserve sufficient money to cover\nthis cost for some months, and by the end of that time he would perhaps\nbe able to afford the outlay from his income. Horse-flesh and vehicles\nwere not in his line, but he succeeded by investigation in procuring a\nmodest equipment for seven hundred dollars, which left him three hundred\nfor fodder, and the other thousand. This he had decided to hand over to\nSelma as pin money. It was for her sake that he had consented to\nspeculate, and it seemed meet that she should have the satisfaction of\nspending it.\n\nHe carried out his surprise by appearing one afternoon before the door\nand inviting her to drive. Selma became radiant at the news that the\nhorse and buggy were hers, though, when the particulars of the purchase\nwere disclosed she said to herself that she wished Wilbur had allowed\nher to choose the vehicle. She would have preferred one more stylish and\nless domestic looking. She flung her arms about his neck and gave him a\nkiss on their return to show her satisfaction.\n\n\"You see how easy it is, Wilbur,\" she said as she surveyed the check\nwhich he had handed her.\n\n\"It was not I, it was Williams.\"\n\n\"No, but you could, if you would only think so. I have the greatest\nconfidence in you, dear,\" she added, looking eagerly into his face; \"but\ndon't you sometimes go out of your way to avoid what is enterprising\nand--er--modern, just because it is modern?\"\n\n\"Gambling is as old as the hills, Selma.\"\n\n\"Yes. And if this were gambling--the sort of gambling you mean, do you\nthink I would allow you to do it? Do you think the American people would\ntolerate it for a minute?\" she asked triumphantly.\n\n\"It seems to me that your admiration for the American people sometimes\nmakes you a little weak in your logic,\" he answered with good-humor. He\nwas so pleased by Selma's gratification that he was disposed to exorcise\nhis scruples.\n\n\"I have always told you that I was more of a patriot than you, Wilbur.\"\n\nThe bond had not been returned by Williams at the time he sent the\nmoney, and some fortnight later--only a few days in fact after this\ndrive, Littleton received another cheque for $500 and a request that he\ncall at the office.\n\n\"I thought you would like to see the instruments of torture at work--the\nprocess of lamb-shearing in active operation,\" Williams explained as he\nshook hands and waved him into his private room. After a few easy\nremarks on the methods of doing business the broker continued, \"I\nflatter myself that for so small an investment and so short a time, I\nhave done tolerably well for you.\"\n\n\"I scarcely know how to express my thanks and my admiration for your\nskill. Indeed I feel rather awkwardly about--\"\n\n\"That's all right, my dear fellow. It's my business; I get my\ncommission. Still I admit friendly regard--and this is why I suggested\nyour dropping in--by introducing the personal equation, makes one\nnervous. If instead of closing out your account, I had in each instance\nheld on, you would have made more money. I was glad to take this\nresponsibility at first because you were a neophyte at the business, but\nI think it will be more satisfactory both for you and for me that in\nfuture transactions you should give me the word when to reap the profit.\nOf course you shall have all the information which I possess and my\nadvice will be at your command, but where a man's money is concerned his\nown head is apt to be the wisest counsellor. Now I took the liberty\nyesterday of selling for you two hundred shares of Reading railroad. You\ncan cover to-day at a profit of one point--about $200. I do not urge it.\nOn the contrary I believe that the market, barring occasional rallies,\nis still on the downward track. I wish, however, to put you in a\nposition where you can, if you desire, take advantage of the full\nopportunities of the financial situation and save myself from feeling\nthat I have robbed you by my friendly caution.\"\n\n\"In other words you don't wish to speculate with my money,\" said\nLittleton. \"You wish me to paddle my own canoe.\"\n\nWilliams' real desire was to escape the bother of personally\nsuperintending an insignificant account. His circumlocution was a suave\nway of stating that he had done all that could be expected of a neighbor\nand benevolent friend, and that the ordinary relation of broker and\ncustomer ought now be established. As for Littleton, he perceived that\nhe was not free to retire from the market on the profits of friendly\nregard unless he was prepared to fly in the face of advice and buy in\nhis two hundred Reading railroad. To do so would be pusillanimous;\nmoreover to retire and abstain from further dealings would make\nWilliams' two cheques more obviously a charitable donation, and the\nthought of them was becoming galling. Above all there were Selma's\nfeelings to be considered. The possession of the means to afford her\nhappiness was already a sweet argument in favor of further experiments.\n\nAnd so it happened that during the next nine months Littleton became a\nfrequenter of the office of Williams & VanHorne. He was not among those\nwho hung over the tape and were to be seen there daily; but he found\nhimself attracted as the needle by the magnet to look in once or twice a\nweek to ascertain the state of the market. His ventures continued to be\nsmall, and were conducted under the ken of Williams, and though the\noccasional rallies referred to by the broker harassed Wilbur's spirit\nwhen they occurred, the policy of selling short proved reasonably\nremunerative in the course of half a dozen separate speculations. In\nround figures he added another $2,500 to that which Williams had made\nfor him. The process kept him on pins and needles, and led him to scan\nthe list of stock quotations before reading anything else in the\nnewspaper. Selma was delighted at his success, and though he chose not\nto tell her the details of his dealings, she watched him furtively,\nfollowed the general tendency of the market, and when she perceived that\nhe was in good spirits, satisfied sufficiently her curiosity by\nquestions.\n\nOn the strength of this addition to their pecuniary resources, Selma\nbranched out into sundry mild extravagances. She augmented her wardrobe,\nengaged an additional house-maid and a more expensive cook, and\nentertained with greater freedom and elaboration. She was fond of going\nto the theatre and supping afterward at some fashionable restaurant\nwhere she could show her new plumage and be a part of the gay,\nchattering rout at the tables consuming soft-shelled crabs and\nchampagne. She was gradually increasing her acquaintance, chiefly among\nthe friends of the Williamses, people who were fond of display and\nluxury and who seemed to have plenty of money. In this connection she\nwas glad to avail herself of the reputation of belonging to the literary\ncircle, and she conceived the plan of mingling these new associates with\nWilbur's former set--to her thinking a delightful scheme, which she\ninaugurated by means of a dinner party. She included among the guests\nPauline and Dr. Page, and considered that she had acted gracefully in\nputting them side by side at table, thus sacrificing the theory of her\nentertainment to her feminine interest in romance. In her opinion it was\nmore than Pauline deserved, and she was proud of her generosity. There\nwere fourteen in the company, and after dinner they were regaled by a\nyoung woman who had brought a letter of introduction to Selma from Mrs.\nEarle, who read from her own poems. The dinner was given for her, and\nher seat was between Wilbur and Mr. Dennison, the magazine editor. Selma\nhad attended a dinner-party at the Williamses a fortnight earlier where\nthere had been music in the drawing-room by a ballad-singer at a cost of\n$100 (so Flossy had told her in confidence). A poetess reading from her\nown works, a guest and not invited in after dinner on a business\nfooting, appealed to Selma as more American, and less expensive. She, in\nher secret soul, would have liked to recite herself, but she feared to\nrun the gauntlet of the New York manner. The verses were intense in\ncharacter and were delivered by the young woman with a hollow-eyed\nfervor which, as one of the non-literary wing of the company stated,\nmade one creep and weep alternately. There was no doubt that the\nentertainment was novel and acceptable to the commercial element, and to\nSelma it seemed a delightful reminder of the Benham Institute. She was\ncurious to know what Mr. Dennison thought, though she said to herself\nthat she did not really care. She felt that anything free and earnest in\nthe literary line was likely to be frowned on by the coterie to which\nher husband's people belonged. Nevertheless she seized an opportunity to\nask the editor if he did not think the verses remarkable.\n\n\"They are certainly remarkable,\" answered Mr. Dennison. After a brief\npause he added, \"Being a strictly truthful person, Mrs. Littleton, I do\nnot wish to seek shelter behind the rampart which your word 'remarkable'\naffords. A dinner may be remarkable--remarkably good, like the one I\nhave just eaten, or remarkably bad. Some editors would have replied to\nyou as I have done, and yet been capable of a mental reservation\nunflattering to the ambitious young woman to whom we have been\nlistening. But without wishing to express an opinion, let me remind you\nthat poetry, like point-lace, needs close scrutiny before its merits can\nbe defined. I thought I recognized some ancient and well-worn flowers of\nspeech, but my editorial ear and eye may have been deceived. She has\nbeautiful hair at all events.\"\n\n     \"'Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare;\n      And beauty draws us by a single hair.'\n\n\"You cynical personage! I only hope she may prove a genius and that you\nwill realize when too late that you might have discovered her,\" said\nSelma, looking into his face brightly with a knowing smile and tapping\nher fan against her hand. She was in a gay humor at the success of the\nentertainment, despite the non-committal attitude of this censor, and\npleased at the appositeness of her quotation. Her figure had filled out\nsince her marriage. She was almost plump and she wore a single short fat\ncurl pendent behind her ear.\n\nA few months subsequent to this dinner party Flossy announced one day\nthat Mr. Silas S. Parsons, whom Selma had seen with the Williamses at\nthe theatre nearly three years before, had come to live in New York with\nhis wife and daughter. Flossy referred to him eagerly as one of her\nhusband's most valuable customers, a shrewd, sensible, Western business\nman, who had made money in patent machinery and was superbly rich. He\nhad gone temporarily to a hotel, but he was intending to build a large\nhouse on Fifth Avenue near the park. Selma heard this announcement with\nkeen interest, asking herself at once why Wilbur should not be the\narchitect. Why not, indeed? She promptly reasoned that here was her\nchance to aid her husband; that he, if left to his own devices, would do\nnothing to attract the magnate's attention, and that it behooved her, as\nan American wife and a wide-awake, modern woman, to let Mr. Parsons know\nhis qualifications, and to prepossess him in Wilbur's favor by her own\nattractions. The idea appealed to her exceedingly. She had been hoping\nthat some opportunity to take an active part in the furtherance of\nWilbur's career would present itself, for she felt instinctively that\nwith her co-operation he would make more rapid progress. Here was\nexactly the occasion longed for. She saw in her mind's eye Mr. Parsons's\ncompleted mansion, stately and beautiful, the admired precursor of a\nhost of important edifices--a revolutionizing monument in contemporary\narchitecture. Wilbur would become the fashion, and his professional\nsuccess be assured, thanks to the prompt ability of his wife to take\nadvantage of circumstances. So she would prove herself a veritable\nhelpmate, and the bond of marital sympathy would be strengthened and\nrefreshed.\n\nTo begin with, Selma hinted to Mrs. Williams that Mr. Parsons might do\nworse than employ Wilbur to design his house. Flossy accepted the\nsuggestion with enthusiasm and promised her support, adding that Mr.\nParsons was a person of sudden and strong fancies, and that if he were\nto take a fancy to Wilbur, the desired result would be apt to follow.\nSelma quickly decided that Mr. Parsons must be made to like her, for she\nfeared lest Wilbur's quiet, undemonstrative manner would fail to attract\nhim. Evidently he admired the self-confidence and manly assertion of\nGregory Williams, and would be liable to regard Wilbur as lacking in\nforce and enterprise. The reflection that she would thus be working--as\nnecessarily she would--for the eternal progress of truth, added a\npleasant savor to the undertaking, for it was clear that her husband was\nan ideal architect for the purpose, and she would be doing a true\nservice to Mr. Parsons in convincing him that this was so. Altogether\nher soul was in an agreeable flutter, notwithstanding that her neighbor\nFlossy had recently received invitations to two or three large balls,\nand been referred to in the society columns of the newspapers as the\nfascinating and clever wife of the rising banker Gregory Williams.\n\nThe Littletons were promptly given by Flossy the opportunity to make the\nacquaintance of the Parsons family. Mr. Parsons was a ponderous man of\nover sixty, with a solid, rotund, grave face and a chin whisker. He was\nabsorbed in financial interests, though he had retired from active\nbusiness, and had come to New York to live chiefly to please his wife\nand daughter. Mrs. Parsons, who was somewhat her husband's junior, was a\ndevotee, or more correctly, a debauchee, of hotel life. Since the time\nwhen they had become exceedingly rich, about ten years before, they had\nmade a grand tour of the hotels of this country and Europe. By so doing\nMrs. Parsons and her daughter felt that they became a part of the social\nlife of the cities which they visited. Although they had been used to\nplain, if not slovenly, house-keeping before the money came, both the\nwife and daughter had evolved into connoisseurs of modish and luxurious\nhotel apparatus and garniture. They had learned to revel in many\ncourses, radiantly upholstered parlors, and a close acquaintance with\nthe hotel register. Society for them, wherever they went, meant finding\nout the names of the other guests and dressing for them, being on easy\nterms with the head waiter and elevator boy, visiting the theatres, and\nkeeping up a round of shopping in pursuit of articles of apparel. They\nwore rich garments and considerable jewelry, and plastered\nthemselves--especially the daughter--with bunches of violets or roses\nself-bestowed. Mrs. Parsons was partial to perfume, and they both were\naddicted to the free consumption of assorted bonbons. To be sure they\nhad made some acquaintances in the course of their peregrinations, but\none reason for moving to New York was that Mrs. Parsons had come to the\nmelancholy conclusion that neither the princes of Europe nor the sons of\nAmerican leading citizens were paying that attention to her daughter\nwhich the young lady's charms seemed to her to merit. If living lavishly\nin hotels and seeing everybody right and left were not the high-road to\nelegant existence and hence to a brilliant match for Lucretia, Mrs.\nParsons was ready to try the effect of a house on Fifth Avenue, though\nshe preferred the comforts of her present mode of life. Still one\nadvantage of a stable home would be that Mr. Parsons could be constantly\nwith them, instead of an occasional and intermittent visitor\ncommunicated with more frequently by electricity than by word of mouth.\nWhile Mr. Parsons was selecting the land, she and Lucretia had abandoned\nthemselves to an orgy of shopping, and with an eye to the new house,\ntheir rooms at the hotel were already littered with gorgeous fabrics,\npatterns of wall-paper and pieces of pottery.\n\nSelma's facility in the New York manner was practised on Silas Parsons\nwith flattering success. He was captivated by her--more so than by\nFlossy, who amused him as a flibbertigibbet, but who seemed to him to\nlack the serious cast of character which he felt that he discerned\nbeneath the sprightliness of this new charmer. Mr. Parsons was what he\ncalled a \"stickler\" for the dignity of a serious demeanor. He liked to\nlaugh at the theatre, but mistrusted a daily point of view which savored\nof buffoonery. He was fond of saying that more than one public man in\nthe United States had come to grief politically from being a joker, and\nthat the American people could not endure flippancy in their\nrepresentatives. He liked to tell and listen to humorous stories in the\nsecurity of a smoking-room, but in his opinion it behooved a citizen to\nmaintain a dignified bearing before the world. Like other self-made men\nwho had come to New York--like Selma herself--he had shrunk from and\ndeplored at first the lighter tone of casual speech. Still he had grown\nused to it, and had even come to depend on it as an amusement. But he\nfelt that in the case of Selma there was a basis of ethical earnestness,\nappropriate to woman, beneath her chatty flow of small talk. That she\nwas comparatively a new-comer accounted partially for this impression,\nbut it was mainly due to the fact that she still reverted after her\nsallies of pleasantry to a grave method of deportment.\n\nSelma's chief hospitality toward the Parsonses took the form of a\ntheatre party, which included a supper at Delmonico's after the play. It\nwas an expensive kind of entertainment, which she felt obliged to\njustify to Wilbur by the assertion that the Williamses had been so civil\nshe considered it would be only decent to show attention to their\nfriends. She was unwilling to disclose her secret, lest the knowledge of\nit might make Wilbur offish and so embarrass her efforts. There were\neight in the party, and the affair seemed to Selma to go off admirably.\nShe was enthralled by the idea of using her own personal magnetism to\npromote her husband's business. She felt that it was just the sort of\nthing she would like and was fitted for, and that here was an\nopportunity for her individuality to display itself. She devoted herself\nwith engaging assiduity to Mr. Parsons, pleased during the active\nprocess of propitiation by the sub-consciousness that her table was one\nof the centres of interest in the large restaurant. She had dressed\nherself with formal care, and nothing in the way of compliment could\nhave gratified her more than the remark which Mr. Parsons made, as he\nregarded her appreciatively, when he had finished his supper, that she\nsuggested his idea of Columbia. Selma glowed with satisfaction. The\ncomparison struck her as apt and appropriate, and she replied with a\nproud erection of her head, which imparted to her features their\ntranscendental look, and caused her short curl to joggle tremulously, \"I\nsuppose I see what you mean, Mr. Parsons.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nOne evening, four or five days after this supper party, Wilbur laid down\nthe book which he was pretending to read, and said, \"Selma, I have come\nto the conclusion that I must give up dabbling in stocks. I am being\ninjured by it--not financially, for, as you know, I have made a few\nthousand dollars--but morally.\"\n\n\"I thought you were convinced that it was not immoral,\" answered Selma,\nin a constrained voice.\n\n\"I do not refer to whether speculation is justifiable in itself, but to\nits effect on me as an individual--its distraction to my mind and\nconsequent interference with my professional work.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\n\"For a year now, the greater portion of the time, I have had some\ninterest in the market, and as a consequence, have felt impelled to look\nin on Williams and VanHorne every day--sometimes oftener. I am unable to\ndismiss my speculations from my thoughts. I find myself wondering what\nhas happened to the stocks I am carrying, and I am satisfied that the\npractice is thoroughly demoralizing to my self-respect and to my\nprogress. I am going to give it up.\"\n\n\"I suppose you must give it up if it affects you like that,\" responded\nSelma drily. \"I don't see exactly why it should.\"\n\n\"It may seem foolish to you, but I am unable to put my ventures out of\nmy mind. The consequences of loss would be so serious to me that I\nsuppose my imagination becomes unduly active and apprehensive. Also, I\nfind myself eager to secure large gains. I must renounce Aladdin's lamp\nfrom this day forth, my dear, and trust to my legitimate business for my\nincome.\"\n\nSelma folded her hands and looked grave. \"It's disappointing that you\nfeel so just when we are beginning to get on, Wilbur.\"\n\n\"I have realized, Selma, that you have enjoyed and--er--been made\nhappier by the freedom to spend which this extra money has afforded you.\nBut I know, when you reflect, you will understand that I am right, and\nthat it would be disastrous to both of us if I were to continue to do\nwhat I believe demoralizing. It is a mortification to me to ask you to\nretrench, but I said to myself that Selma would be the first to insist\non our doing so if she knew my feelings, and it makes me happy to be\nsure of your approval.\"\n\nLittleton spoke with a tender plaintiveness which betrayed that in his\nsecret soul he was less confident on this score than his words declared,\nor than he himself supposed. \"Of course,\" he added, earnestly, \"I shall\nhope that it will not make much difference. My business is slowly, but\nsteadily, improving, and I am doing more this year than last. I am\nbending all my energies on my plans for Wetmore College. If I win in\nthat competition, I shall make a reputation and a respectable\ncommission.\"\n\n\"You have been on those plans three months.\"\n\n\"Yes, and shall not finish them for another two. I wish to do my best\nwork, and I shall be glad not to hear quotations of the ticker in my\nbrain. You desire me to be thorough, surely, Selma _mia_?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. Only, you know people very often spoil things by pottering\nover them.\"\n\n\"I never potter. I reject because I am dissatisfied rather than offer a\ndesign which does not please me, but I do not waste my time.\"\n\n\"Call it over-conscientiousness then. I wish you to do your best work,\nof course, but one can't expect to do best work invariably. Everything\nwas going so nicely that you must perceive it will be inconvenient to\nhave to economize as we did before.\"\n\nLittleton looked at his wife with a glance of loving distress. \"You\nwouldn't really care a button. I know you wouldn't, Selma,\" he said,\nstoutly.\n\n\"Of course not, if it were necessary,\" she answered. \"Only I don't wish\nto do so unless it is necessary. I am not controverting your decision\nabout the stocks, though I think your imagination, as you say, is to\nblame. I would rather cut my right hand off than persuade you to act\ncontrary to your conscience. But it _is_ inconvenient, Wilbur, you must\nadmit, to give up the things we have become accustomed to.\"\n\n\"We shall be able to keep the horse. I am certain of that.\"\n\n\"I wish you to see my side of it. Say that you do,\" she said, with\nshrill intensity.\n\n\"It is because I do see it that I am troubled, Selma. For myself I am no\nhappier now than I was when we lived more simply. I can't believe that\nyou will really find it a hardship to deny yourself such extravagances\nas our theatre party last week. Being a man,\" he added, after a pause,\n\"I suppose I may not appreciate how important and seductive some of\nthese social observances appear to a woman, and heaven knows my chief\nwish in life is to do everything in my power to make you happy. You must\nbe aware of that, dearest. I delight to work hard for your sake. But it\nseems almost ludicrous to be talking of social interests to you, of all\nwomen. Why, at the time we were married, I feared that you would cut\nyourself off from reasonable pleasures on account of your dislike of\neverything frivolous. I remember I encouraged you not to take too\nascetic a view of such things. So I am bound to believe that your side\nis my side--that we both will find true happiness in not attempting to\ncompete with people whose tastes are not our tastes, and whose aims are\nnot our aims.\"\n\n\"Then you think I have deteriorated,\" she said, with a superior smile.\n\n\"I think of you as the most conscientious woman I ever met. It was only\nnatural that you should be spurred by our neighbors, the Williamses, to\nmake a better showing socially before the world. I have been glad to see\nyou emulous up to a certain point. You must realize though, that we\ncannot keep pace with them, even if we so desire. Already they are in\nthe public eye. He appears to have made considerable money, and his\nviews on the stock-market are given prominence by the press. He and his\nwife are beginning to be recognized by people who were ignorant of their\nexistence four years ago. You told me last week that Mrs. Williams had\nattended one of the fashionable balls, and I saw in yesterday's\nnewspaper a description of her toilette at another. It begins to look as\nif, in a few years more, their ambition might be realized, and the doors\nof the Morton Price mansion open wide to admit this clever country\ncousin to the earthly paradise. It must be evident to you, Selma, that\nvery shortly we shall see only the dust of their chariot-wheels in the\ndim social distance. Williams told me to-day that he has bought a house\nnear the park.\"\n\n\"He has bought a new house? They are going to move?\" exclaimed Selma,\nsitting up straight, and with a fierce light in her eyes.\n\n\"Yes. He was going home to tell his wife. It seems that they have been\ntalking vaguely of moving for some time. An acquaintance happened to\noffer him a house, and Williams closed the bargain on the spot in his\ncustomary chain-lightning style. I shall be sorry to have them go on\nsome accounts, for they have always been friendly, and you seem fond of\nthe wife, but we shall find it easier, perhaps, when they are gone, to\nlive according to our own ideas.\"\n\n\"Flossy has not been quite so nice lately,\" said Selma; \"I am afraid she\nis disposed to put on airs.\"\n\n\"Her head may have been turned by her success. She has a kind heart, but\na giddy brain in spite of its cleverness.\"\n\n\"Flossy has been getting on, of course. But so are we getting on. Why\nshould they be recognized, as you call it, any more than we? In time, I\nmean. Not in the same way, perhaps, since you don't approve of the sort\nof things--\"\n\n\"Since I don't approve? Why, Selma, surely--\"\n\n\"Since _we_ don't approve, then. I only mean that Gregory Williams has\nshown initiative, has pushed ahead, and is--er--the talk of the town. I\nexpect you to be successful, too. Is there any reason on earth why the\ndoor of the Morton Prices should open wide to her and not to me?\"\n\n\"I suppose not, if--if you wish it.\"\n\nShe made a gesture of impatience and gazed at him a moment with an\nimperious frown, then suddenly, with the litheness of a cat, she slipped\nfrom her chair to the floor at his feet, and leaning against his knee,\nlooked up into his face.\n\n\"You dear boy, I am going to tell you something. You said to me once\nthat if ever the time came when I thought you visionary, I was to let\nyou know. Of course I understand you are worth a thousand _Gregorys_;\nbut don't you think you would get on faster if you were a little more\naggressive in your work?--if you weren't so afraid of being superficial\nor sensational? You were intimating a few minutes ago,\" she added,\nspeaking rapidly under the stress of the message she burned to deliver,\n\"that I seemed changed. I don't believe I am changed. But, if I seem\ndifferent, it is because I feel so strongly that those who wish to\nsucceed must assert themselves and seize opportunities. There is where\nit seems to me that Mr. Williams has the advantage over you, Wilbur. One\nof the finest and most significant qualities of our people, you know, is\ntheir enterprise and aggressiveness. Architecture isn't like the stock\nbusiness, but the same theory of progress must be applicable to both.\nDon't you think I may be right, Wilbur? Don't you see what I mean?\"\n\nHe stroked her hair and answered gently, \"What is it that I am not doing\nwhich you think I might do?\"\n\nSelma snuggled close to him, and put her hand in his. She was vibrating\nwith the proud consciousness of the duty vouchsafed to her to guide and\nassist the man she loved. It was a blissful and a precious moment to\nher. \"If I were you,\" she said, solemnly, \"I should build something\nstriking and original, something which would make everyone who beheld it\nask, 'what is the architect's name?' I would strike out boldly without\ncaring too much what the critics and the people of Europe would say. You\nmusn't be too afraid, Wilbur, of producing something American, and you\nmustn't be too afraid of the American ways of doing things. We work more\nquickly here in everything, and--and I still can't help feeling that you\npotter a little. Necessarily I don't know about the details of your\nbusiness, but if I were you, instead of designing small buildings or\ncompeting for colleges and churches, where more than half the time\nsomeone else gets the award, I should make friends with the people who\nlive in those fine houses on Fifth Avenue, and get an order to design a\nsplendid residence for one of them. If you were to make a grand success\nof that, as you surely would, your reputation would be made. You ask me\nwhy I like to entertain and am willing to know people like that. It is\nto help you to get clients and to come to the front professionally. Now\nisn't that sensible and practical and right, too?\"\n\nHer voice rang triumphantly with the righteousness of her plea.\n\n\"Selma, dear, if I am not worldly-wise enough, I am glad to listen to\nyour suggestions. But art is not to be hurried. I cannot vulgarize my\nart. I could not consent to that.\"\n\n\"Of course not, Wilbur. Not worldly-wise enough is just the phrase, I\nthink. You are so absorbed in the theory of fine things that I am sure\nyou often let the practical opportunities to get the fine things to do\nslip.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, dear. I will try to guard against it.\" Wilbur took her hands\nin his and looked down tenderly into her face. His own was a little\nweary. \"Above everything else in life I wish, to make you happy,\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"I am happy, you dear boy.\"\n\n\"Truly?\"\n\n\"Yes, truly. And if something happens which I am nearly sure will\nhappen, I shall be happier still. It's a secret, and I mustn't tell you,\nbut if it does happen, you can't help agreeing that your wife has been\nclever and has helped you in your profession.\"\n\n\"Helped me? Ah, Selma,\" he said, folding her in his arms, \"I don't think\nyou realize how much you are to me. In this modern world, what with\nself-consciousness, and shyness and contemporary distaste for fulsome\nexpression, it is difficult to tell adequately those we love how we feel\ntoward them. You are my darling and my inspiration. The sun rises and\nsets with you, and unless you were happy, I could never be. Each man in\nthis puzzling world must live according to his own lights, and I,\naccording to mine, am trying to make the most of myself, consistent with\nself-respect and avoidance of the low human aims and time-serving\nmethods upon which our new civilization is supposed to frown. If I am\nneglecting my lawful opportunities, if I am failing to see wisely and\ncorrectly, I shall be grateful for counsel. Ah, Selma, for your sake,\neven more than for my own, I grieve that we have no children. A baby's\nhands would, I fancy, be the best of counsellors and enlighteners.\"\n\n\"If children had come at first, it would have been very nice. But\nnow--now I think they might stand in the way of my being of help to you.\nAnd I am so anxious to help you, Wilbur.\"\n\nAs a result of this conversation Littleton devoted himself more\nassiduously than ever to his work. He was eager to increase his earnings\nso that his income should not be curtailed by his decision to avoid\nfurther ventures in the stock-market. He was troubled in soul, for\nSelma's accusation that he was visionary haunted him. Could it be that\nhe was too scrupulous, too uncompromising, and lacked proper enterprise?\nSelf-scrutiny failed to convince him that this was so, yet left a\nlurking doubt which was harassing. His clear mind was too modest to\nbelieve in its own infallibility, for he was psychologist enough to\nunderstand that no one can be absolutely sure that his perspective of\nlife is accurate. Possibly he was sacrificing his wife's legitimate\naspirations to too rigid canons of behavior, and to an unconscious lack\nof initiative. On the other hand, as a positive character, he believed\nthat he saw clearly, and he could not avoid the reflection that, if this\nwas the case, he and Selma were drifting apart--the more bitter\nalternative of the two, and a condition which, if perpetuated, would\ninvolve the destruction of the scheme of matrimonial happiness, the\nideal communion of two sympathetic souls, in which he was living as a\nproud partner. Apparently he was in one of two predicaments; either he\nwas self deceived, which was abhorrent to him as a thoughtful grappler\nwith the eternal mysteries, or he had misinterpreted the character of\nthe woman whose transcendent quality was a dearer faith to him than the\nintegrity of his own manhood.\n\nSo it was with a troubled heart that he applied himself to more rigorous\nprofessional endeavor. Like most architects he had pursued certain lines\nof work because orders had come to him, and the chances of employment\nhad ordained that his services should be sought for small churches,\nschool-houses and kindred buildings in the surrounding country rather\nthan for more elaborate and costly structures. On these undertakings it\nwas his habit to expend abundant thought and devotion. The class of work\nwas to his taste, for, though the funds at his disposal were not always\nso large as he desired for artistic effects, yet he enjoyed the\nopportunity of showing that simplicity need not be homely and\ndisenchanting, but could wear the aspect of grace and poetry. Latterly\nhe had been requested to furnish designs for some blocks of houses in\nthe outlying wards of the city, where the owners sought to provide\nattractive, modern flats for people with moderate means. Various\ncommissions had come to him, also, to design decorative work, which\ninterested him and gave scope to his refined and aspiring imagination,\nand he was enthusiastically absorbed in preparing his competitive plans\nfor the building of Wetmore College. His time was already well occupied\nby the matters which he had in hand. That is, he had enough to do and\nyet did not feel obliged to deny himself the luxury of deliberate\nthoroughness in connection with each professional undertaking. Save for\nthe thought that he must needs earn more in order to please Selma, he\nwould have been completely happy in the slow but flattering growth of\nhis business, and in feeling his way securely toward greater success.\nNow, however, he began to ask himself if it were not possible to hasten\nthis or that piece of work in order to afford himself the necessary\nleisure for new employment. He began also to consider whether he might\nnot be able, without loss of dignity, to put himself in the way of\nsecuring more important clients. To solicit business was not to be\nthought of, but now and again he put the question to himself whether he\nhad not been too indifferent as to who was who, and what was what, in\nthe development of his business.\n\nWhile Littleton was thus mulling over existing conditions, and\nsubjecting his conduct to the relentless lens of his own conscience and\ntheories, Selma announced to him jubilantly, about a fortnight\nsubsequent to their conversation, that her secret was a secret no\nlonger, and that Mr. Parsons desired to employ him to build an imposing\nprivate residence on Fifth Avenue near the Park. Mr. Parsons confirmed\nthis intelligence on the following day in a personal interview. He\ninformed Littleton that he was going to build in order to please his\nwife and daughter, and intimated that expense need not stand in the way\nof the gratification of their wishes. After the business matters were\ndisposed of he was obviously ready to intrust all the artistic details\nto his architect. Consequently Littleton enjoyed an agreeable quarter of\nan hour of exaltation. He was pleased at the prospect of building a\nhouse of this description, and the hope of being able to give free scope\nto his architectural bent without molestation made that prospect\nroseate. He could desire no better opportunity for expressing his ideas\nand proving his capacity. It was an ideal chance, and his soul thrilled\nas he called up the shadowy fabric of scheme after scheme to fill the\ntrial canvas of his fantasy. Nor did he fail to award due credit to\nSelma for her share in the transaction; not to the extent, perhaps, of\nconfessing incapacity on his own part, but by testifying lovingly to her\ncleverness. She was in too good humor at her success to insist on his\nhumiliation in set terms. The two points in which she was most vitally\ninterested--the advantage of her own interference and the consequent\nprompt extension of her husband's field of usefulness--had been\ntriumphantly proved, and there was no need that the third--Wilbur's lack\nof capacity to battle and discriminate for himself--should be\nemphasized. Selma knew what she thought in her own mind, and she\nentertained the hope that this lesson might be a lamp to his feet for\nfuture illumination. She was even generous enough to exclaim, placing\nher hands on his shoulders and looking into his face with complacent\nfervor:\n\n\"You might have accomplished it just as well yourself, Wilbur.\"\n\nLittleton shook his head and smiled. \"It was a case of witchery and\nfascination. He probably divined how eager you were to help me, and he\nwas glad to yield to the agreeable spell of your wifely devotion.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said Selma. \"I am sure he never guessed for one moment of what\nI was thinking. Of course, I did try to make him like me, but that was\nonly sensible. To make people like one is the way to get business, I\nbelieve.\"\n\nLittleton's quarter of an hour of exaltation was rudely checked by a\nnote from Mrs. Parsons, requesting an interview in regard to the plans.\nWhen he presented himself he found her and her daughter imbued with\ndefinite ideas on the subject of architects and architecture. In the\neyes of Mrs. Parsons the architect of her projected house was nothing\nbut a young man in the employ of her husband, who was to guide them as\nto measurements, carpentry, party-walls and plumbing, but was otherwise\nto do her bidding for a pecuniary consideration, on the same general\nbasis as the waiter at the hotel or the theatre ticket-agent. As to\narchitecture, she expected him to draw plans just as she expected\ndealers in carpets or wall-papers to show her patterns in easy\nsuccession. \"I don't care for that; take it away.\" \"That is rather\npretty, but let me see something else.\" What she said to Littleton was,\n\"We haven't quite decided yet what we want, but, if you'll bring some\nplans the next time you call, we'll let you know which we like best.\nThere's a house in Vienna I saw once, which I said at the time to\nLucretia I would copy if I ever built. I've mislaid the photograph of\nit, but I may be able to tell you when I see your drawings how it\ndiffered from yours. Lucretia has a fancy for something Moorish or\nOriental. I guess Mr. Parsons would prefer brown-stone, plain and\nmassive, but he has left it all to us, and both daughter and I think\nwe'd rather have a house which would speak for itself, and not be mixed\nup with everybody else's. You'd better bring us half a dozen to choose\nfrom, and between me and you and Lucretia, we'll arrive at something\nelegant and unique.\"\n\nThis was sadly disillusionizing to Littleton, and the second experience\nwas no less so. The refined outline sketches proffered by him were\nunenthusiastically surveyed and languidly discarded like so many\nwall-papers. It was evident that both the mother and daughter were\ndisappointed, and Littleton presently divined that their chief objection\nwas to the plainness of the several designs. This was made unmistakably\nobvious when Mrs. Parsons, after exhibiting a number of photographs of\nforeign public buildings with which she had armed herself, surveyed the\nmost ornate, holding it out with her head on one side, and exclaimed\nimpressively, \"This is more the sort of thing we should like. I think\nMr. Parsons has already explained to you that he desired our house to be\nas handsome as possible.\"\n\n\"I had endeavored to bear that in mind,\" Littleton retorted with spirit.\n\"I believe that either of these plans would give you a house which would\nbe handsome, interesting and in good taste.\"\n\n\"It does not seem to me that there is anything unique about any of\nthem,\" said Mrs. Parsons, with a cold sniff intended to be conclusive.\nNor did Littleton's efforts to explain that elaboration in a private\nresidence was liable to detract from architectural dignity and to\nproduce the effect of vulgarity fall upon receptive soil. The rich man's\nwife listened in stony silence, at times raising her lorgnette to\nexamine as a curiosity this young man who was telling her--an American\nwoman who had travelled around the world and seen everything to be\nseen--how she ought to build her own house. The upshot of this interview\nwas that Littleton was sent away with languid instructions to try again.\nHe departed, thinking melancholy thoughts and with fire in his soul,\nwhich, for Selma's sake, he endeavored to keep out of his eyes.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nThe departure of the Williamses to a smarter neighborhood was a trial\nfor Selma. She nursed the dispiriting reflection that she and Wilbur\nmight just as well be moving also; that a little foresight and\nshrewdness on her husband's part would have enabled him to sell at a\nhandsome profit the house in which they were living; and that there was\nno reason, except the sheer, happy faculty of making the most of\nopportunities, to account for the social recognition which Flossy and\nher husband were beginning to receive. It had not been easy to bear with\nequanimity during the last year the ingenuous, light-hearted warblings\nin which Flossy had indulged as an outlet to her triumphant spirits, and\nto listen to naïve recitals of new progress, as though she herself were\na companion or ladies' maid, to whom such developments could never\nhappen. She was weary of being merely a recipient of confidences and a\nsympathetic listener, and more weary still of being regarded as such by\nher self-absorbed and successful neighbor. Why should Flossy be so\ndense? Why should she play second fiddle to Flossy? Why should Flossy\ntake for granted that she did not intend to keep pace with her? Keep\npace, indeed, when, if circumstances would only shape themselves a\nlittle differently, she would be able speedily to outstrip her volatile\nfriend in the struggle for social preferment.\n\nNot unnaturally their friendship had been somewhat strained by the\nsimmering of these thoughts in Selma's bosom. If a recipient of\nconfidences becomes tart or cold, ingenuous prattle is apt to flow less\nspontaneously. Though Flossy was completely self-absorbed, and\nconsequently glad to pour out her satisfaction into a sympathetic ear,\nshe began to realize that there was something amiss with her friend\nwhich mere conscientious disapproval of her own frivolities did not\nadequately explain. It troubled her somewhat, for she liked the\nLittletons and was proud of her acquaintance with them. However, she was\nconscious of having acquitted herself toward them with liberality, and,\nespecially now that her social vista was widening, she was not disposed\nat first to analyze too deeply the cause of the lack of sympathy between\nthem. That is, she was struck by Selma's offish manner and frigid\nsilences, but forgot them until they were forced upon her attention the\nnext time they met. But as her friend continued to receive her bubbling\nannouncements with stiff indifference, Flossy, in her perplexity, began\nto bend her acute mental faculties more searchingly on her idol. A fixed\npoint of view will keep a shrine sacred forever, but let a worshipper's\nperspective be altered, and it is astonishing how different the features\nof divinity will appear. Flossy had worshipped with the eyes of faith.\nNow that her adoration was rejected without apparent cause, her\ncuriosity was piqued, and she sought an interpretation of the mystery\nfrom her clever wits. As she observed Selma more dispassionately her\nsuspicion was stirred, and she began to wonder if she had been burning\nincense before a false goddess. This doubt was agitating her mind at the\ntime when they moved from the street.\n\nSelma was unconscious of the existence of this doubt as she had been\nlargely unconscious of her own sour demeanor. She had no wish to lose\nthe advantages of intimate association with the Williamses. On the\ncontrary, she expected to make progress on her own account by admission\ninto their new social circle. She went promptly to call, and saw fit to\nshow herself tactfully appreciative of the new establishment and more\nready to listen to Flossy's volubility. Flossy, who was radiant and\nbubbling over with fresh experiences which she was eager to impart, was\nglad to dismiss her doubt and to give herself up to the delights of\nunbridled speech. She took Selma over her new house, which had been\npurchased just as it stood, completely furnished, from the previous\nowner, who had suffered financial reverses. \"Gregory bought it because\nit was really a bargain,\" she said. \"It will do very well for the\npresent, but we intend to build before long. I am keeping my eye on your\nhusband, and am expecting great things from the Parsons house. Do you\nknow, I believe in Mr. Littleton, and feel sure that some day we shall\nwake up and find him famous.\"\n\nThis was amiable, particularly as Flossy was very busily engaged in\ncontemplating the brilliant progress of Gregory Williams and his wife.\nBut Selma returned home feeling sore and dissatisfied. Flossy had been\ngracious, but still dense and naïvely condescending. Selma chose to\nforesee that her friend would neglect her, and her foresight was\ncorrect. The call was not returned for many weeks, although Flossy had\nassured her when they separated that distance would make no difference\nin their intimacy. But in the first place, her doubts recurred to Flossy\nafter the departure of her visitor, and in the second, the agitations\nincident to her new surroundings, fortified by these doubts, made\nneglect easy. When she did call, Selma happened to be out. A few days\nlater an invitation to dine with the Williamses arrived. Selma would\nhave preferred to remain at home as a rebuke, but she was miserably\nconscious that Flossy would not perceive the point of the refusal. So\nshe went, and was annoyed when she realized that the guests were only\npeople whom she knew already--the Parsonses, and some of Gregory\nWilliams's former associates, whom she had met at the old house. It was\na pleasant dinner, apparently, to all except Selma. The entertainment\nwas flatteringly lavish, and both the host and hostess with suavity put\nin circulation, under the rose, the sentiment that there are no friends\nlike old friends--a graceful insincerity which most of them present\naccepted as true. Indeed, in one sense it was not an insincerity, for\nGregory and his wife entertained cordial feelings toward them all. But\non the other hand, Selma's immediate and bitter conclusion was also\ntrue, that the company had been invited together for the reason that, in\nthe opinion of Flossy, they would not have harmonized well with anyone\nelse.\n\nSaid Wilbur as they drove away from the house--\"Barring a few moments of\nagony in the society of my tormentor, Mrs. Parsons, I had a pleasant\nevening. They were obviously potting their old acquaintance in one pie,\nbut to my thinking it was preferable to being sandwiched in between some\nof their new friends whom we do not know and who know nothing of us. It\nwas a little evident, but on the whole agreeable.\"\n\nSelma, shrouded in her wraps, made no reply at first. Suddenly she\nexclaimed, with, fierceness, \"I consider it rank impertinence. It was as\nmuch as to say that they do not think us good enough to meet their new\nfriends.\"\n\nLittleton, who still found difficulty in remembering that his wife would\nnot always enjoy the humor of an equivocal situation, was sorry that he\nhad spoken. \"Come, Selma,\" he said, \"there's no use in taking that view\nof the matter. You would not really care to meet the other people.\"\n\n\"Yes, I would, and she knows it. I shall never enter her house again.\"\n\n\"As to that, my dear, the probabilities are that we shall not be asked\nfor some time. You know perfectly well that, in the nature of things,\nyour intimacy with Mrs. Williams must languish now that she lives at a\ndistance and has new surroundings. She may continue to be very fond of\nyou, but you can't hope to see very much of her, unless I am greatly\nmistaken in her character.\"\n\n\"She is a shallow little worldling,\" said Selma, with measured\nintensity.\n\n\"But you knew that already. The fact that she invited us to dinner and\ndid not ignore our existence altogether shows that she likes us and\nwishes to continue the friendship. I've no doubt she believes that she\nis going to see a great deal of us, and you should blame destiny and the\nforce of fashionable circumstances, not Flossy, if you drift apart.\"\n\n\"She invited us because she wished to show off her new house.\"\n\n\"Not altogether. You musn't be too hard on her.\"\n\nSelma moved her shoulders impatiently, and there was silence for some\nmoments broken only by the tapping of her foot. Then she asked, \"How\nnearly have you finished the plans for the Parsons house?\"\n\nWilbur's brow clouded under cover of the night. He hesitated an instant\nbefore replying, \"I am sorry to say that Mrs. Parsons and I do not seem\nto get on very well together. Her ideas and mine on the subject of\narchitecture are wide apart, as I have intimated to you once or twice. I\nhave modified my plans again, and she has made airy suggestions which\nfrom my point of view are impossible. We are practically at loggerheads,\nand I am trying to make up my mind what I ought to do.\"\n\nThere was a wealth of condensation in the word 'impossible' which\nbrought back unpleasantly to Selma Pauline's use of the same word in\nconnection with the estimate which had been formed of Miss Bailey.\n\"There can be only one thing to do in the end,\" she said, \"if you can't\nagree. Mrs. Parsons, of course, must have her house as she wishes it. It\nis her house, Wilbur.\"\n\n\"It is her house, and she has that right, certainly. The question is\nwhether I am willing to allow the world to point to an architectural\nhotch-potch and call it mine.\"\n\n\"Isn't this another case of neglecting the practical side, Wilbur? I am\nsure you exaggerate the importance of the changes she desires. If I were\nbuilding a house, I should expect to have it built to suit me, and I\nshould be annoyed if the architect stood on points and were captious.\"\nSelma under the influence of this more congenial theme had partially\nrecovered her equanimity. Her duty was her pleasure, and it was clearly\nher duty to lead her husband in the right path and save him from\nbecoming the victim of his own shortcomings.\n\nWilbur sighed. \"I have told her,\" he said, \"that I would submit another\nentirely new sketch. It may be that I can introduce some of her and her\ndaughter's splurgy and garish misconceptions without making myself\nhopelessly ridiculous.\"\n\nHe entered the house wearily, and as he stood before the hall table\nunder the chandelier, Selma took him by the arm and turning him toward\nher gazed into his face. \"I wish to examine you. Pauline said to me\nto-day that she thinks you are looking pale. I don't see that you are;\nno more so than usual. You never were rosy exactly. Do you know I have\nan idea that she thinks I am working you to death.\"\n\n\"Pauline? What reason has she to think anything of the kind? Besides, I\nam perfectly well. It is a delight to work for a woman like you,\ndearest.\" He took her face between his hands and kissed her tenderly;\nyet gravely, too, as though the riddle of life did not solve itself at\nthe touch of her lips. \"You will be interested to hear,\" he added, \"that\nI shall finish and send off the Wetmore College plans this week.\"\n\n\"I am glad they are off your hands, for you will have more time for\nother work.\"\n\n\"Yes. I think I may have done something worth while,\" he said,\nwistfully.\n\n\"And I shall try not to be annoyed if someone else gets the award,\" she\nresponded, smoothing down the sheen of her evening dress and regarding\nherself in the mirror.\n\n\"Of course someone else may have taken equal pains and done a better\nthing. It is necessary always to be prepared for that.\"\n\n\"That is the trouble. That is why I disapprove of competitions.\"\n\n\"Selma, you are talking nonsense,\" Littleton exclaimed with sudden\nsternness.\n\nThe decision in his tone made her start. The color mounted to her face,\nand she surveyed him for an instant haughtily, as though he had done her\nan injury. Then with an oratorical air and her archangel look, she said,\n\"You do not seem to understand, Wilbur, that I am trying to save you\nfrom yourself.\"\n\nLittleton was ever susceptible to that look of hers. It suggested\nincarnate conscientiousness, and seemed incompatible with human\nimperfection or unworthy ambitions. He was too wroth to relent\naltogether, but he compressed his lips and returned her look\nsearchingly, as though he would scrutinize her soul.\n\n\"I'm bound to believe, I do believe, that you are trying to help me,\nSelma. I need your advice and help, even against myself, I dare say. But\nthere are some matters of which you cannot judge so well as I. You must\ntrust my opinion where the development of my professional life is\nconcerned. I shall not forget your caution to be practical, but for the\nsake of expediency I cannot be false to what I believe true. Come, dear,\nlet us go to bed.\"\n\nHe put his hand on her arm to lead her upstairs, but she turned from it\nto collect her fan and gloves. Looking, not at him, but at herself in\nthe mirror, she answered, \"Of course. I trust, though, that this does\nnot mean you intend to act foolishly in regard to the Parsons house.\"\n\n\"I have already told you,\" he said, looking back, \"that I am going to\nmake another attempt to satisfy that exasperating woman and her\ndaughter.\"\n\n\"And you can satisfy them, I'm sure, if you only choose to,\" said Selma,\nby way of a firm, final observation.\n\nLittleton's prophecy in regard to the waning of friendship between his\nwife and Mrs. Williams proved to be correct. Propinquity had made them\nintimate, and separation by force of circumstances put a summary end to\nfrequent and cordial intercourse between them. As he had predicted,\ntheir first invitation to the new house was still the last at the end of\nthree months, and save for a few words on one occasion in the street,\nSelma and Flossy did not meet during that period. But during that same\nthree months Selma's attention was constantly attracted to the\nWilliamses by prominent newspaper allusions to their prosperity and\ngrowing fashionable prestige. What they did and where they went were\nchronicled in the then new style journalistic social gossip, and the\nevery-day world was made familiar with his financial opinions and his\nequipages and her toilettes. The meeting in the street was an ordeal for\nSelma. Flossy had been shopping and was about to step into her carriage,\nthe door of which was held open by an imposing liveried footman, when\nthe two women nearly collided.\n\n\"I have not seen you for an age,\" Flossy exclaimed, with the genuine\nring of regret in her tone, with which busy people partially atone for\nhaving left undone the things they ought or would like to have done.\n\"Which way are you going? Can't I take you somewhere?\"\n\nSelma glanced sternly at the snug coupe and stylish horses. \"No, we\ndon't seem to meet very often,\" she said drily. \"I'm living, though, at\nthe same place,\" she added, with a determination to be sprightly.\n\n\"Yes, I know; I owe you a call. It's dreadful of me. I've been intending\nto come, but you can't imagine how busy I've been. Such a number of\ninvitations, and new things to be done. I'm looking forward to giving\nyou a full account of my experiences.\"\n\n\"I've read about them in the newspapers.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. Gregory is always civil to reporters. He says that the\nnewspapers are one of the great institutions of the country, and that it\nis sensible to keep in touch with them. I will confide to you that I\nthink the whole business vulgar, and I intend some day, when we are\nfirmly established, to be ugly to them. But at present the publicity is\nrather convenient and amusing,\" she exclaimed, with a gay shake of her\nhead, which set her ringlets bobbing.\n\n\"I should think it would be unpleasant to have the details of one's\nappearance described by the press.\"\n\nFlossy's doubts had returned in full force during the conversation. She\nsaid to herself, \"I wonder if that is true? I wonder if it wouldn't be\nthe very thing she would like?\" But she answered blithely, \"Oh, one gets\nused to it. Then I can't take you anywhere? I'm sorry. Some day I hope\nmy round of gayety will cease, so that we can have a quiet evening\ntogether. I miss your husband. I always find him suggestive and\ninteresting.\"\n\n\"'Her round of gayety! A quiet evening together!'\" murmured Selma as she\nwalked away. \"Wilbur is right; purse-proud, frivolous little thing! She\nis determined to destroy our friendship.\"\n\nFour weeks subsequent to this meeting the newspapers contained a fulsome\naccount of a dancing party given by Mr. and Mrs. Gregory Williams--\"an\nelegant and recherché entertainment,\" in the language of the reporter. A\nlist of the company followed, which Selma scrutinized with a brow like a\nthunder-cloud. She had acquired a feverish habit of perusing similar\nlists, and she recognized that Flossy's guests--among the first of whom\nwere Mr. and Mrs. Morton Price and the Misses Price--were chiefly\nconfined to persons whom she had learned to know as members of\nfashionable society. She read, in the further phraseology of the\nreporter, that \"it was a small and select affair.\" At the end of the\nlist, as though they had been invited on sufferance as a business\nnecessity, were the Parsonses; but these were the only former associates\nof the Williamses. Selma had just finished her second reading of this\nnews item when her meditation was interrupted by the voice of her\nhusband, who had been silent during dinner, as though he had some matter\non his mind, and was at the moment sitting close by, on the other side\nof the lamp which lighted the library table.\n\n\"I fear you will be disappointed, Selma, but I have informed Mr. Parsons\ndefinitely this morning, that he must get another architect. The ideas\nof his wife and daughter are hopelessly at variance with mine. He seemed\nto be sorry--indeed, I should think he was a reasonable and sensible\nman--but he said that he was building to please Mrs. Parsons, and we\nboth agreed that under the circumstances it was necessary that she\nshould make a fresh start. He asked me to send my bill, and we parted on\nthe best of terms. So it is all over, and except from the point of view\nof dollars and cents, I am very glad. Only the remembrance that you had\nset your heart on my making this my masterpiece, prevented me from\nthrowing over the contract weeks ago. Tell me, Selma _mia_, that you\napprove of what I have done and congratulate me.\" He pulled forward his\nchair so that he might see her face without interference from the lamp\nand leaned toward her with frank appeal.\n\n\"Yes, I had set my heart on it, and you knew it. Yet you preferred to\ngive up this fine opportunity to show what you could do and to get\nbusiness worth having rather than sacrifice your own ideas as to how a\nhouse should be built to the ideas of the women who were to live in it.\nI dare say I should agree with them, and that the things which they\nwished and you objected to were things I would have insisted on having.\"\n\nLittleton started as though she had struck him in the face. \"Selma! My\nwife! Do you realize what you are saying?\"\n\n\"Perfectly.\"\n\n\"Then--then--. Why, what have I said, what have I done that you should\ntalk like this?\"\n\n\"Done? Everything. For one thing you have thrown away the chance for\ngetting ahead in your profession which I procured for you. For another,\nby your visionary, unpractical ways, you have put me in the position\nwhere I can be insulted. Read that, and judge for yourself.\" She held\nout to him the newspaper containing the account of the dancing party,\npointing with her finger to the obnoxious passage.\n\nWith nervous hands Littleton drew the page under the light. \"What is all\nthis about? A party? What has it to do with our affairs?\"\n\n\"It has this to do with them--if you had been more practical and\nenterprising, our names would have been on that list.\"\n\n\"I am glad they are not there.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know. You would be content to have us remain nobodies all our\ndays. You do not care what becomes of my life, provided you can carry\nout your own narrow theory of how we ought to live. And I had such faith\nin you, too! I have refused to believe until now that you were not\ntrying to make the most of your opportunities, and to enable me to make\nthe most of mine.\"\n\n\"Selma, are you crazy? To think that you, the woman I have loved with\nall my soul, should be capable of saying such things to me! What does it\nmean?\"\n\nShe was quick to take advantage of his phrase. \"Have loved? Yes, I know\nthat you do not love me as you did; otherwise you could not have refused\nto build that house, against my wish and advice. It means this, Wilbur\nLittleton, that I am determined not to let you spoil my life. You forget\nthat in marrying you I gave up my own ambitions and hopes for your sake;\nbecause--because I believed that by living together we should be more,\nand accomplish more, than by living apart. You said you needed me, and I\nwas fool enough to believe it.\"\n\nThe fierce tragedy in her tone lapsed into self-pity under the influence\nof her last thought, and Littleton, eager in his bewilderment for some\nescape from the horror of the situation, put aside his anger and\ndropping on his knees beside her tried to take her hands.\n\n\"You are provoked, my darling. Do not say things which you will be sorry\nfor to-morrow. I call God to witness that I have sought above all else\nto make you happy, and if I have failed, I am utterly miserable. I have\nneeded you, I do need you. Do not let a single difference of opinion\nspoil the joy of both our lives and divide our hearts.\"\n\nShe pulled her hands away, and shunning his endearment, rose to her\nfeet.\n\n\"I am provoked, but I know what I am saying. A single difference of\nopinion? Do you not see, Wilbur, that none of our opinions are the same,\nand that we look at everything differently? Even your religion and the\nGod you call to witness are not mine. They are stiff and cold; you\nUnitarians permit your consciences to deaden your emotions and belittle\nyour outlook on life. When I went with Mr. Parsons the other day to the\nMethodist church, I could not help thinking how different it was. I was\nthrilled and I felt I could do anything and be anything. My mother was a\nMethodist. They sang 'Onward Christian Soldiers,' and it was glorious.\"\nShe paused a moment and, with an exalted look, seemed to be recalling\nthe movement of the hymn. \"With you, Wilbur, and the people like\nyou--Pauline is the same--everything is measured and pondered over, and\nnothing is spontaneous. I like action, and progress and prompt, sensible\nconclusions. That is the American way, and the way in which people who\nsucceed get on. But you won't see it--you can't see it. I've tried to\nexplain it to you, and now--now it's too late. We're nobodies, and, if\nour hearts are divided, that's fate I suppose. It's a very cruel fate\nfor me. But I don't choose to remain a nobody.\"\n\nLittleton's expression as she talked had changed from astonishment to\nanger, and from anger to a sternness which gave his words of response\nthe effect of calm and final decision. \"You have said so many things\nwith which I do not agree, and which I should have to dispute, that I\nwill not attempt to argue with you concerning them. One thing is clear,\nboth of us have made a horrible mistake. Each has misunderstood the\nother. You are dissatisfied with me; I realize suddenly that you are\nutterly different from what I supposed. I am overwhelmed, but your words\nmake plain many things which have distressed and puzzled me.\" He paused\nas though in spite of the certainty of his tone, he hoped that she would\nsee fit to deny his conclusions. \"We have made a mistake and we shall\nboth be miserable--that must needs be--but we must consider whether\nthere is any method by which we can be less unhappy. What would you like\nto have me do, Selma? We have no children, thank heaven! Would it be\nmore agreeable to live apart from me and receive support? A divorce does\nnot seem necessary. Besides, our misconception of each other would\nnot be a legal cause.\"\n\nSelma flushed at the reference to divorce. Littleton's sad, simple\nstatement wore on the surface no sign of a design to hark back to her\nexperience with her first husband, yet she divined that it must be in\nhis thoughts and she resented the recurrence. Moreover, separation,\ncertainly for the present, went beyond her purpose.\n\n\"I have no wish for divorce or separation. I see no reason why we should\nnot continue to live as we are,\" she answered. \"To separate would cause\nscandal. It is not necessary that people should know we have made a\nmistake. I shall merely feel more free now to live my own life--and\nthere is no telling that you may not some day see things from my point\nof view and sympathize with me more.\" She uttered the last words with a\nmixture of pathos and bright solicitation.\n\nLittleton shook his head. \"I agree with you that to go on as we are is\nour best course. As you say, we ought, if possible, to keep the\nknowledge of our sorrow to ourselves. God knows that I wish I could hope\nthat our life could ever be as it was before. Too many things have\nbecome plain to me in the last half-hour to make that possible. I could\nnever learn to accept or sympathize with your point of view. There can\nbe no half-love with me, Selma. It is my nature to be frank, and as you\nare fond of saying, that is the American way. I am your husband still,\nand while I live you shall have my money and my protection. But I have\nceased to be your lover, though my heart is broken.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Selma, after a painful pause. \"But you know, Wilbur,\"\nshe added in a tone of eager protestation, \"that I do not admit for a\nmoment that I am at fault. I was simply trying to help you. You have\nonly yourself to blame for your unhappiness and--and for mine. I hope\nyou understand that.\"\n\n\"Yes, I understand that you think so,\" he said sadly.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nThe breach between Littleton and his wife was too serious to be healed,\nfor he was confronted by the conviction that Selma was a very different\nbeing from the woman whom he had supposed that he was marrying. He had\nbeen slow to harbor distrust, and loath, even in the face of her own\nwords, to admit that he had misinterpreted her character; but this last\nconversation left no room for doubt. Selma had declared to him,\nunequivocally, that his ideas and theory of life were repugnant to her,\nand that, henceforth, she intended to act independently of them, so far\nas she could do so, and yet maintain the semblance of the married state.\nIt was a cruel shock and disappointment to him. At the time of his\nmarriage he would have said that the least likely of possible happenings\nwould be self-deception as to the character of the woman he loved. Yet\nthis was precisely what had befallen him.\n\nHaving realized his mistake, he did not seek to flinch from the bitter\ntruth. He saw clearly that their future relations toward each other must\nbe largely formal; that tender comradeship and mutual soul alliance were\nat an end. At the same time his simple, direct conscience promptly\nindicated to him that it was his duty to recognize Selma's point of view\nand endeavor to satisfy it as far as he could without sacrifice of his\nown principles. He chose to remember that she, too, had made a mistake,\nand that he was not the kind of husband whom she desired; that his\ntastes were not her tastes, nor his ambitions her's; that she had tastes\nand ambitions of her own which he, as the man to whom she was bound by\nthe law, must not disregard. Thus reasoning, he resolved to carry out\nthe scheme of life which she appeared to despise, but also to work hard\nto provide her with the means to fulfil her own aims. She craved money\nfor social advancement. She should have it from him, for there was no\nother source from which she could obtain it. The poignancy of his own\nsorrow should not cause him to ignore that she had given up her own\ncareer and pursuits in order to become his wife, and was now\ndisappointed and without independent resources. His pride was sorely\nwounded, his ideals shattered and his heart crushed; yet, though he\ncould not forbear from judging Selma, and was unconscious of having\nfailed in his obligations to her as a husband and a man, he saw what she\ncalled her side, and he took up the thread of life again under the spur\nof an intention to give her everything but love.\n\nOn her part Selma felt aggrieved yet emancipated. She had not looked for\nany such grave result from her vituperation. She had intended to reprove\nhis surrender of the Parsons's contract, in direct opposition to her own\nwishes, with the severity it deserved, and to let him understand clearly\nthat he was sacrificing her happiness, no less than his own, by his\nhysterical folly. When the conversation developed stubborn resistance on\nhis part, and she realized that he was defending and adhering to his\npurpose, a righteous sense of injury became predominant in her mind over\neverything else. All her past wrongs cried for redress, and she rejoiced\nin the opportunity of giving free vent to the pent up grievances which\nhad been accumulating for many months. Even then it was startling to her\nthat Wilbur should suddenly utter the tragic ultimatum that their\nhappiness was at an end, and hint at divorce. She considered that she\nloved him, and it had never occurred to her that he could ever cease to\nlove her. Rather than retract a word of her own accusations she would\nhave let him leave her, then and there, to live her own life without\nprotection or support from him, but his calmer decision that they should\ncontinue to live together, yet apart, suited her better. In spite of his\nresolute mien she was sceptical of the seriousness of the situation. She\nbelieved in her heart that after a few days of restraint they would\nresume their former life, and that Wilbur, on reflection, would\nappreciate that he had been absurd.\n\nWhen it became apparent that he was not to be appeased and that his\nthreat had been genuine, Selma accepted the new relation without demur,\nand prepared to play her part in the compact as though she had been\nequally obdurate in her outcry for her freedom. She met reserve with\nreserve, maintaining rigorously the attitude that she had been wronged\nand that he was to blame. Meantime she watched him narrowly, wondering\nwhat his grave, sad demeanor and solicitous politeness signified. When\npresently it became plain to her that not merely she was to be free to\nfollow her own bent, but that he was ready to provide her with the means\nto carry out her schemes, she regarded his liberality as weakness and a\nsign that he knew in his heart that she was in the right. Immediately,\nand with thinly concealed triumph, she planned to utilize the new\nliberty at her disposal, purging any scruples from her conscience by the\ngenerous reflection that when Wilbur's brow unbent and his lips moved\nfreely she would forgive him and proffer him once more her conjugal\ncounsel and sympathy. She was firmly of the opinion that, unless he thus\nacknowledged his shortcomings and promised improvement, the present\narrangement was completely to her liking, and that confidence and\nhappiness between them would be utterly impossible. She shed some tears\nover the thought that unkind circumstances had robbed her of the love by\nwhich she had set such store and which she, on her part, still\ncherished, but she comforted herself with the retort that its loss was\npreferable to sacrificing weakly the development of her own ideas and\nlife to its perpetuation.\n\nHer flush of triumph was succeeded, however, by a discontented mood,\nbecause cogitation constrained her to suspect that her social progress\nmight not be so rapid as her first rosy visions had suggested. She\ncounted on being able to procure the participation of Wilbur\nsufficiently to preserve the appearance of domestic harmony. This would\nbe for practical purposes a scarcely less effective furtherance of her\nplans than if he were heartily in sympathy with them. Were there not\nmany instances where busy husbands took part in the social undertakings\nof their wives, merely on the surface, to preserve appearances? The\nattitude of Wilbur seemed reasonably secure. That which harassed her as\nthe result of her reflections and efforts to plan was the unpalatable\nconsciousness that she did not know exactly what to do, and that no one,\neven now that she was free, appeared eager to extend to her the hand of\nrecognition. She was prompt to lay the blame of this on her husband. It\nwas he who, by preventing her from taking advantage of the social\nopportunities at their disposal, had consigned her to this eddy where\nshe was overlooked. This seemed to her a complete excuse, and yet,\nthough she made the most of it, it did not satisfy her. Her helplessness\nangered her, and aroused her old feelings of suspicion and resentment\nagainst the fashionable crew who appeared to be unaware of her\nexistence. She was glad to believe that the reason they ignored her was\nbecause she was too serious minded and spiritual to suit their frivolous\nand pleasure-loving tastes. Sometimes she reasoned that the sensible\nthing for her to do was to break away from her present life, where\nconvention and caste trammelled her efforts, and make a name for herself\nas an independent soul, like Mrs. Margaret Rodney Earle and other\nfree-born women of the Republic. With satisfaction she pictured herself\non the lecture platform uttering burning denunciation of the un-American\nsocial proclivities of this shallow society, and initiating a crusade\nwhich should sweep it from existence beneath the ban of the moral sense\nof the thoughtful people of the country.\n\nBut more frequently she nursed her resentment against Mrs. Williams, to\nwhom she ascribed the blame of her isolation, reasoning that if Flossy\nhad been a true friend, not even Wilbur's waywardness would have\nprevented her social recognition and success. That, instead, this\nvolatile, fickle prattler had used her so long as she needed her, and\nthen dropped her heartlessly. The memory of Flossy's ball still rankled\ndeeply, and appeared to Selma a more obvious and more exasperating\ninsult as the days passed without a sign of explanation on the part of\nher late neighbor, and as her new projects languished for lack of a few\nwords of introduction here and there, which, in her opinion, were all\nshe needed to ensure her enthusiastic welcome as a social leader. The\nappreciation that without those words of introduction she was helpless\nfor the time being focused her resentment, already keen, on the\nsuccessful Flossy, whose gay doings had disappeared from the public\nprints in a blaze of glory with the advent of the Lenten season.\nRefusing to acknowledge her dependence, Selma essayed several spasmodic\nattempts to assert herself, but they proved unsatisfactory. She made the\nmost of Mr. Parsons's predilection for her society, which had not been\nchecked by Wilbur's termination of the contract. She was thus enabled to\naffiliate with some of their new friends, but she was disagreeably\nconscious that she was not making real progress, and that Mr. and Mrs.\nParsons and their daughter had, like herself, been dropped by the\nWilliamses--dropped skilfully and imperceptibly, yet none the less\ndropped. Two dinner parties, which she gave in the course of a fortnight\nto the most important of these new acquaintances, by way of manifesting\nto Wilbur her intention to enjoy her liberty at his expense, left her\ndepressed and sore.\n\nIt was just at this time that Flossy took it into her head to call on\nher--one of her first Lenten duties, as she hastened to assure Selma,\nwith glib liveliness, as soon as she entered. Flossy was in too exalted\na frame of mind, too bubbling over with the desire to recite her\ntriumphs, to have in mind either her doubts concerning Selma or the need\nof being more than mildly apologetic for her lack of devotion. She felt\nfriendly, for she was in good humor, and was naïvely desirous to be\nreceived in the same spirit, so that she might unbosom herself\nunreservedly. Sweeping into the room, an animated vision of smiling,\nstylish cordiality, she sought, as it were, to carry before her by force\nof her own radiant mood all obstacles to an amiable reception.\n\n\"My dear, we haven't met for ages. Thank heaven, Lent has come, and now\nI may see something of you. I said to Gregory only yesterday that I\nshould make a bee-line for your house, and here I am. Well, dear, how\nare you? All sorts of things have happened, Selma, since we've had a\nreal chat together. Do you remember my telling you--of course you\ndo--not long after Gregory and I were married that I never should be\nsatisfied until one thing happened? Well, you may congratulate me; it\nhas happened. We dined a week ago to-night with my cousins--the Morton\nPrices--a dinner of fourteen, all of them just the people I wished to\nknow. Wasn't it lovely? I have waited for it to come, and I haven't\nmoved a finger to bring it about, except to ask them to my dancing\nparty--I had to do that, for after all they are my relations. They\naccepted and came and I was pleased by it; but they could easily have\nignored me afterward if they had wished. What really pleased me, Selma,\nwas their asking me to one of their select dinners, because--because it\nshowed that we are--\"\n\nFlossy's hesitation was due partly to the inherent difficulty of\nexpressing her thought with proper regard for modesty. With her rise in\nlife she had learned that unlimited laudation of self was not altogether\nconsistent with \"fitness,\" even in such a confidential interview as the\npresent. But she was also disconcerted by the look in Selma's eyes--a\nlook which, at first startled into momentary friendliness by the\nsuddenness of the onslaught, had become more and more lowering until it\nwas unpleasantly suggestive of scornful dislike. While she thus\nfaltered, Selma drily rounded out the sentence with the words, \"Because\nit showed that you are somebodies now.\"\n\nFlossy gave an embarrassed little laugh. \"Yes, that's what I meant. I\nsee you have a good memory, and it sounds nicer on your lips than it\nwould on mine.\"\n\n\"You have come here to-day on purpose to tell me this?\" said Selma.\n\n\"I thought you would be interested to hear that my cousins had\nrecognized me at last. I remember, you thought it strange that they\nshould take so little notice of me.\" Flossy's festive manner had\ndisappeared before the tart reception of her confidences, and her keen\nwits, baffled in their search for flattery, recalled the suspicions\nwhich were only slumbering. She realized that Selma was seriously\noffended with her, and though she did not choose to acknowledge to\nherself that she knew the cause, she had already guessed it. An\nencounter at repartee had no terrors for her, if necessary, and the\noccasion seemed to her opportune for probing the accumulating mysteries\nof Selma's hostile demeanor. Yet, without waiting for a response to her\nlast remark, she changed the subject, and said, volubly, \"I hear that\nyour husband has refused to build the new Parsons house because Mrs.\nParsons insisted on drawing the plans.\"\n\nSelma's pale, tense face flushed. She thought for a moment that she was\nbeing taunted.\n\n\"That was Mr. Littleton's decision, not mine.\"\n\n\"I admire his independence. He was quite right. What do Mrs. Parsons or\nher daughter know about architecture? Everybody is laughing at them. You\nknow I consider your husband a friend of mine, Selma.\"\n\n\"And we were friends, too, I believe?\" Selma exclaimed, after a moment\nof stern silence.\n\n\"Naturally,\" responded Flossy, with a slightly sardonic air, prompted by\nthe acerbity with which the question was put.\n\n\"Then, if we were friends--are friends, why have you ceased to associate\nwith us, simply because you live in another street and a finer house?\"\n\nFlossy gave a gasp. \"Oh,\" she said to herself, \"it's true. She is\njealous. Why didn't I appreciate it before?\"\n\n\"Am I not associating with you now by calling on you, Selma?\" she said\naloud. \"I don't understand what you mean.\"\n\n\"You are calling on me, and you asked us to dinner to meet--to meet just\nthe people we knew already, and didn't care to meet; but you have never\nasked us to meet your new friends, and you left us out when you gave\nyour dancing party.\"\n\n\"You do not dance.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"I have never associated you with dancing. I assumed that you did not\ndance.\"\n\n\"What grounds had you for such an assumption?\"\n\n\"Really, Selma, your catechism is most extraordinary. Excuse my smiling.\nAnd I don't know how to answer your questions--your fierce questions any\nbetter. I didn't ask you to my party because I supposed that you and\nyour husband were not interested in that sort of thing, and would not\nknow any of the people. You have often told me that you thought they\nwere frivolous.\"\n\n\"I consider them so still.\"\n\n\"Then why do you complain?\"\n\n\"Because--because you have not acted like a friend. Your idea of\nfriendship has been to pour into my ears, day after day, how you had\nbeen asked to dinner by this person and taken up by that person, until I\nwas weary of the sound of your voice, but it seems not to have occurred\nto you, as a friend of mine, and a friend and admirer of my husband, to\nintroduce us to people whom you were eager to know, and who might have\nhelped him in his profession. And now, after turning the cold shoulder\non us, and omitting us from your party, because you assumed I didn't\ndance, you have come here this morning, in the name of friendship, to\ntell me that your cousins, at last, have invited you to dinner. And yet\nyou think it strange that I'm not interested. That's the only reason you\ncame--to let me know that you are a somebody now; and you expected me,\nas a friend and a nobody, to tell you how glad I am.\"\n\nFlossy's eyes opened wide. Free as she was accustomed to be in her own\nutterances, this flow of bitter speech delivered with seer-like\nintensity was a new experience to her. She did not know whether to be\nangry or amused by the indictment, which caused her to wince\nnotwithstanding that she deemed it slander. Moreover the insinuation\nthat she had been a bore was humiliating.\n\n\"I shall not weary you soon again with my confidences,\" she answered.\n\"So it appears that you were envious of me all the time--that while you\nwere preaching to me that fashionable society was hollow and\nun-American, you were secretly unhappy because you couldn't do what I\nwas doing--because you weren't invited, too. Oh, I see it all now; it's\nclear as daylight. I've suspected the truth for some time, but I've\nrefused to credit it. Now everything is explained. I took you at your\nword; I believed in you and your husband and looked up to you as\nliterary people--people who were interested in fine and ennobling\nthings. I admired you for the very reason that I thought you didn't\ncare, and that you didn't need to care, about society and fashionable\nposition. I kept saying to you that I envied you your tastes, and let\nyou see that I considered myself your real inferior in my determination\nto attract attention and oblige society to notice us. I was guileless\nand simpleton enough to tell you of my progress--things I would have\nblushed to tell another woman like myself--because I considered you the\nembodiment of high aims and spiritual ideas, as far superior to mine as\nthe poetic star is superior to the garish electric light. I thought it\nmight amuse you to listen to my vanities. Instead, it seems you were\nmasquerading and were eating your heart out with envy of me--poor me.\nYou were ambitious to be like me.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't be like you for anything in the world.\"\n\n\"You couldn't if you tried. That's one of the things which this\nextraordinary interview has made plain beyond the shadow of a doubt. You\nare aching to be a social success. You are not fit to be. I have found\nthat out for certain to-day.\"\n\n\"It is false,\" exclaimed Selma, with a tragic intonation. \"You do not\nunderstand. I have no wish to be a social success. I should abhor to\nspend my life after the manner of you and your associates. What I object\nto, what I complain of, is that, in spite of your fine words and\npretended admiration of me, you have preferred these people, who are\nexclusive without a shadow of right, to me who was your friend, and that\nyou have chosen to ignore me for the sake of them, and behaved as if you\nthought I was not their equal or your equal. That is not friendship, it\nis snobbishness--un-American snobbishness.\"\n\n\"It is very amusing. Amusing yet depressing,\" continued Flossy, without\nheed to this asseveration. \"You have proved one of my ideals to be a\ndelusion, which is sad.\" She had arisen and stood gently swaying pendent\nby its crook her gay parasol, with her head on one side, and seeming for\nonce to be choosing her words judicially. \"When we met first and I\nnearly rushed into your arms, I was fascinated, and I said to myself\nthat here was the sort of American woman of whom I had dreamed--the sort\nof woman I had fondly imagined once that I might become. I saw you were\nunsophisticated and different from the conventional women to whom I was\naccustomed, and, even at first, the things you said every now and then\ngave me a creepy feeling, but you were inspiring to look at--though now\nthat the scales have fallen from my eyes I wonder at my infatuation--and\nI continued to worship you as a goddess on a pedestal. I used to say to\nGregory, 'there's a couple who are to the manner born; they never have\nto make believe. They are genuinely free and gentle souls.' Your\nhusband? I can't believe that I have been deluded in regard to him,\nalso. I just wonder if you appreciate him--if it is possible that he has\nbeen deluded, also. That's rank impertinence, I know; but after all, we\nare unbosoming our thoughts to each other to-day, and may as well speak\nopenly. You said just now that it was his decision not to go on with the\nParsons house. Did you disapprove of it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I disapproved of it,\" answered Selma with flashing eyes. \"And what\nif I did?\"\n\nShe rose and stood confronting her visitor as though to banish her from\nthe house.\n\n\"I'm going,\" said Flossy. \"It's none of my concern of course, and I'm\naware that I appear very rude. I'm anxious though not to lose faith in\nyour husband, and now that I've begun to understand you, my wits are\nbeing flooded with light. I was saying that you were not fit to be a\nsocial success, and I'm going to tell you why. No one else is likely to,\nand I'm just mischievous and frank enough. You're one of those American\nwomen--I've always been curious to meet one in all her glory--who\nbelieve that they are born in the complete panoply of flawless\nwomanhood; that they are by birthright consummate house-wives, leaders\nof the world's thought and ethics, and peerless society queens. All this\nby instinct, by heritage, and without education. That's what you\nbelieve, isn't it? And now you are offended because you haven't been\ninvited to become a leader of New York society. You don't understand,\nand I don't suppose you ever will understand, that a true lady--a\ngenuine society queen--represents modesty and sweetness and\nself-control, and gentle thoughts and feelings; that she is evolved by\ngradual processes from generation to generation, not ready made. Oh, you\nneedn't look at me like that. I'm quite aware that if I were the genuine\narticle I shouldn't be talking to you in this fashion. But there's hope\nfor me because I'm conscious of my shortcomings and am trying to correct\nthem; whereas you are satisfied, and fail to see the difference between\nyourself and the well-bred women whom you envy and sneer at. You're\npretty and smart and superficial and--er--common, and you don't know it.\nI'm rather dreadful, but I'm learning. I don't believe you will ever\nlearn. There! Now I'm going.\"\n\n\"Go!\" cried Selma with a wave of her arm. \"Yes, I am one of those women.\nI am proud to be, and you have insulted by your aspersions, not only me,\nbut the spirit of independent and aspiring American womanhood. You don't\nunderstand us; you have nothing in common with us. You think to keep us\ndown by your barriers of caste borrowed from effete European courts, but\nwe--I--the American people defy you. The time will come when we shall\nrise in our might and teach you your place. Go! Envy you? I would not\nbecome one of your frivolous and purposeless set if you were all on your\nbended knees before me.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes you would,\" exclaimed Flossy, glancing back over her shoulder.\n\"And it's because you've not been given the chance that we have\nquarrelled now.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nThe morning after her drastic interview with Mrs. Williams, Selma\nstudied herself searchingly in her mirror. Of all Flossy's candid\nstrictures the intimation that she was not and never would be completely\na lady was the only one which rankled. The effrontery of it made her\nblood boil; and yet she consulted her glass in the seclusion of her\nchamber in order to reassure herself as to the spiteful falsity of the\ncriticism. Wild horses would not have induced her to admit even to\nherself that there was the slightest ground for it; still it rankled,\nthereby suggesting a sub-consciousness of suspicion on the look out for\njust such a calumny.\n\nShe gave Littleton her own version of the quarrel. Her explanation was\nthat she had charged Flossy with a lack of friendship in failing to\ninvite her to her ball, and convicted her of detestable snobbery; that\nshe had denounced this conduct in vigorous language, that they had\nparted in anger, and that all intercourse between them was at an end.\n\n\"We understand each other now,\" she added. \"I have felt for some time\nthat we were no longer sympathetic; and that something of this kind was\ninevitable. I am glad that we had the chance to speak plainly, for I was\nable to show her that I had been waiting for an excuse to cut loose from\nher and her frivolous surroundings. I have wearied my spirit long enough\nwith listening to social inanities, and in lowering my standards to hers\nfor the sake of appearing friendly and conventional. That is all over\nnow, thank heaven.\"\n\nIt did not occur to Selma that there was any inconsistency in these\nobservations, or that they might appear a partial vindication of her\nhusband's point of view. The most salient effect of her encounter with\nFlossy had been suddenly to fuse and crystallize her mixed and seemingly\ncontradictory ambitions into utter hostility to conventional fashionable\nsociety. Even when her heart had been hungering for an invitation to\nFlossy's ball, she considered that she despised these people, but the\ninterview had served to establish her in the glowing faith that they, by\ntheir inability to appreciate her, had shown themselves unworthy of\nfurther consideration. The desire which she had experienced of late for\na renewal of her intimacy with Mrs. Earle and a reassertion of her\nformer life of independent feminine activity had returned to her,\ncoupled with the crusading intention to enroll herself openly once more\nin the army of new American women, whose impending victorious campaign\nshe had prophesied in her retort to Mrs. Williams's maledictions. She\nhad, in her own opinion, never ceased to belong to this army, and she\nfelt herself now more firmly convinced than ever that the course of life\nof those who had turned a cold shoulder on her was hostile to the spirit\nof American institutions. So far as her husband was concerned,\nimaginative enterprise and the capacity to take advantage of\nopportunities still seemed to her of the essence of fine character.\nIndeed, she was not conscious of any change in her point of view. She\nhad resented Flossy's charge that she desired to be a social success,\nand had declared that her wounded feelings were solely due to Flossy's\nbetrayal of friendship, not to balked social ambition. Consequently it\nwas no strain on her conscientiousness to feel that her real sentiments\nhad always been the same.\n\nNevertheless she scrutinized herself eagerly and long in her mirror, and\nthe process left her serious brow still clouded. She saw in the glass\nfeatures which seemed to her suggestive of superior womanhood, a slender\nclear-cut nose, the nostrils of which dilated nervously, delicately\nthin, compressed lips, a pale, transparent complexion, and clear,\nsteel-like, greenish-brown eyes looking straight and boldly from an\nanxious forehead surmounted with a coiffure of elaborately and smoothly\narranged hair. She saw indisputable evidence that she had ceased to be\nthe ethically attractive, but modishly unsophisticated and physically\nundeveloped girl, who had come to New York five years before, for her\nfigure was compact without being unduly plump, her cheeks becomingly\noval, and her toilette stylish. There were rings on her fingers, and her\nneck-gear was smart. Altogether the vision was satisfactory, yet she\nrecognized as she gazed that her appearance and general effect were not\nprecisely those of Flossy, Pauline, or Mrs. Hallett Taylor. She had\nalways prided herself on the distinction of her face, and admired\nespecially its freedom from gross or unintellectual lines. She did not\nintend to question its superiority now; but Flossy's offensive words\nrang in her ears and caused her to gnaw her lips with annoyance. What\nwas the difference between them? Flossy had dared to call her common and\nsuperficial; had dared to insinuate that she never could be a lady. A\nlady? What was there in her appearance not lady-like? In what way was\nshe the inferior of any of them in beauty, intelligence or character?\nRigorous as was the scrutiny, the face in the mirror seemed to her an\nunanswerable refutation of the slander. What was the difference? Was it\nthat her eyes were keener and brighter, her lips thinner and less\nfleshly, her general expression more wide-awake and self-reliant? If so,\nwere these not signs of superiority; signs that they, not she, were\ndeficient in the attributes of the best modern womanhood in spite of\ntheir affectation of exclusiveness?\n\nThe result of this process of self-examination in her looking-glass,\nwhich was not limited to a single occasion, established more firmly than\never in Selma's opinion the malignant falsity of the imputation, and yet\nshe was still haunted by it. She was tortured by the secret thought\nthat, though her ambition had been to become just like those other\nwomen, she was still distinguishable from them; and moreover, that she\nwas baffled in her attempt to analyze the distinction. Distinguishable\neven from Flossy--from Flossy, who had slighted and then reviled her!\nWhy had she ever faltered in her distrust of these enemies of true\nAmerican society? Yet this lingering sense of torture served to whet her\nnew-found purpose to have done with them forever, and to obtain the\nrecognition and power to which she was entitled, in spite of their\nimpertinence and neglect.\n\nThe announcement was made to her by Wilbur at about this time that his\nplans for Wetmore College had been accepted, and that he was to be the\narchitect of the new buildings. As he told her his face showed a\ntremulous animation which it had not worn for many weeks, and he\nregarded her for a moment with shy eagerness, as though he half hoped\nthat this vindication of his purposes by success might prompt her to\ntender some sort of apology, and thus afford him the chance to persuade\nhimself that he had been mistaken after all in his judgment of her.\n\n\"You must be very much pleased,\" she said. \"And so am I, of course.\"\nThen, after a moment of reflective abstraction, she asked with sudden\neagerness, \"How long will it take to build them?\"\n\n\"Two or three years, I suppose.\"\n\n\"And you would be obliged to go frequently to Benham?\"\n\n\"In order to oversee the work I should have to make short trips there\nfrom time to time.\"\n\n\"Yes. Wilbur,\" she exclaimed, with her exalted expression, \"why\nshouldn't we go to Benham to live? I have been thinking a great deal\nlately about what we said to each other that time when you felt so\nbadly, and I have come to the conclusion that our living in New York is\nwhat is really the trouble. I have the feeling, Wilbur, that in some\nother place than this cruel, conventional city we should be happier than\nwe are now--indeed, very happy. Has it ever occurred to you? You see,\nNew York doesn't understand me; it doesn't understand you, Wilbur. It\nsneers at our aspirations. Benham is a growing, earnest city--a city\nthrobbing with the best American spirit and energy. I suggest Benham\nbecause we both know it so well. The college buildings would give you a\ngrand start, and I--we both would be in our proper sphere.\"\n\nLittleton had started at the suggestion. As a drowning man will grasp at\na straw, his grieving soul for an instant entertained the plan as a\npanacea for their woes. But his brow grew grave and sad under the\ninfluence of reflection as she proceeded to set forth her reasons in her\nwrapt fashion. If he had not learned to remain cold under the witchery\nof her intense moods, he no longer hesitated to probe her fervid\nassertions with his self-respecting common-sense.\n\n\"I would he willing to go to the ends of the earth, Selma,\" he answered,\n\"if I believed that by so doing you and I could become what we once were\nto each other. But I cannot see why we should hope to be happier in\nBenham than here, nor do I agree with you that this is not our proper\nsphere. I do not share your sentiments in regard to New York; but\nwhatever its faults, New York is the place where I have established\nmyself and am known, and where the abilities which I possess can be\nutilized and will be appreciated soonest. Benham is twenty-five years\nbehind this city in all things which concern art and my professional\nlife, as you well know.\"\n\nSelma flushed. \"On the contrary, I have reason to believe that Benham\nhas made wonderful progress in the last five years. My friends there\nwrite that there are many new streets and beautiful buildings, and that\nthe spirit of the place is enthusiastic and liberal, not luxurious and\nsneering. You never appreciated Benham at its true worth, Wilbur.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not. But we chose New York.\"\n\n\"Then you insist on remaining here?\"\n\n\"I see no reason for sacrificing the fruits of the past five years--for\npulling myself up by the roots and making a fresh start. From a\nprofessional point of view, I think it would be madness.\"\n\n\"Not even to save our happiness?\" Selma's eyes swam and her lips\ntrembled as she spoke. She felt very miserable, and she yearned with the\ndesire that her husband would clasp her in his arms in a vast embrace,\nand tell her that she was right and that he would go. She felt that if\nhe did, the horror of the past would be wiped out and loving harmony be\nrestored.\n\nWilbur's lips trembled, too. He gazed at her for a moment without\nspeaking, in conflict with himself; then passing his hand across his\nforehead, as though he would sweep away a misty spell from his eyes,\nsaid, \"Be sensible, Selma. If we could be happy in Benham, we should be\nhappy here.\"\n\n\"Then you refuse?\"\n\n\"For the present, yes.\"\n\n\"And I must remain here to be insulted--and a nobody.\"\n\n\"For God's sake, Selma, let us not renew that discussion. What you ask\nis impossible at present, but I shall remember that it is your wish, and\nwhen I begin my work at Benham the circumstances and surroundings may be\nsuch that I shall feel willing to move.\"\n\nSelma turned to the table and took up a book, dissatisfied, yet buoyed\nby a new hope. She did not observe the tired lines on her husband's\nface--the weariness of a soul disappointed in its most precious\naspirations.\n\nWithin the next month it happened that a terrible and unusual fatality\nwas the occasion of the death of both Mrs. Parsons and her daughter.\nThey were killed by a fall of the elevator at the hotel in which they\nwere living--one of those dire casualties which are liable to happen to\nany one of us in these days of swift and complicated apparatus, but\nwhich always seem remote from personal experience. This cruel blow of\nfate put an end to all desire on the part of the bereaved husband and\nfather to remain in New York, whither he had come to live mainly to\nplease his women folk, as he called them. As soon as he recovered from\nthe bewilderment of the shock, Mr. Parsons sent for the architect who\nhad taken Littleton's place, and who had just begun the subservient task\nof fusing diverse types of architecture in order to satisfy an American\nwoman's appetite for startling effect, and told him to arrange to\ndispose of the lot and its immature walls to the highest bidder. His\nprecise plans for the future were still uncertain when Selma called on\nhim, and found comfort for her own miseries in ministering to his\nsolitude, but he expressed an inclination to return to his native\nWestern town, as the most congenial spot in which to end his days.\nSelma, whose soul was full of Benham, suggested it as an alternative,\nenlarging with contagious enthusiasm on its civic merits. The crushed\nold man listened with growing attention. Already the germs of a plan for\nthe disposition of his large property were sprouting in his mind to\nprovide him with a refuge from despondency. He was a reticent man, not\nin the habit of confiding his affairs until ready to act, but he paid\ninterested heed to Selma's eulogy of the bustling energy and rapid\ngrowth of Benham. His preliminary thought had been that it would make\nhim happy to endow his native town, which was a small and inconspicuous\nplace, with a library building. But, as his visitor referred to the\nattractions and admirable public spirit of the thriving city, which was\nin the same State as his own home, he silently reasoned that residence\nthere need not interfere with his original project, and that he might\nfind a wide and more important field for his benefactions in a community\nso representative of American ideas and principles.\n\nSelma's visits of condolence to Mr. Parsons were interrupted by the\nillness of her own husband. In reflecting, subsequently, she remembered\nthat he had seemed weary and out of sorts for several days, but her\nconscious attention was invoked by his coming home early in the\nafternoon, suffering from a violent chill, and manifestly in a state of\nphysical collapse. He went to bed at once; Selma brought blankets and a\nhot-water bottle, and Dr. George Page was sent for. Dr. Page was the one\nof Littleton's friends whom Selma had unsuccessfully yearned to know\nbetter. She had never been able to understand him exactly, but he\nfascinated her in spite of--perhaps because of--his bantering manner.\nShe found difficulty in reconciling it with his reputation for hard work\nand masterly skill in his profession. She was constantly hoping to\nextract from him something worthy of his large, solid face, with its\nfirm mouth and general expression of reserve force, but he seemed always\nbent on talking nonsense in her society, and more than once the\ndisagreeable thought had occurred to her that he was laughing at her. He\nhad come to the house after her marriage now and then, but during the\npast year or two she had scarcely seen him. The last time when they had\nmet, Selma had taxed him with his neglect of her.\n\nHis reply had been characteristically elusive and unsatisfactory. \"I\nwill not attempt to frame excuses for my behavior, Mrs. Littleton, for\nno reason which I could offer would be a justification.\"\n\nBut on the present occasion his greeting was grave and eager.\n\n\"Wilbur sick? I feared as much. I warned Pauline two months ago that he\nwas overworking, and only last week I told him that he would break down\nif he did not go away for a fortnight's rest.\"\n\n\"I wish you had spoken to me.\"\n\nSelma noted with satisfaction that there was no raillery in his manner\nnow. He bent his gaze on her searchingly.\n\n\"Have you not noticed that he looked ill and tired?\"\n\nShe did not flinch. Why indeed should she? \"A little. He tired himself,\nI think, over the designs for Wetmore College, which he did in addition\nto his other work. But since the award was made it has seemed to me that\nhe was looking better.\"\n\nShe started to lead the way to Wilbur's room, but the doctor paused, and\nregarding her again fixedly, as though he had formed a resolution to\nferret the secrets of her soul, said laconically:\n\n\"Is he happy?\"\n\n\"Happy?\" she echoed.\n\n\"Has he anything on his mind, I mean--anything except his work?\"\n\n\"Nothing--that is,\" she added, looking up at her inquisitor\nwith bright, interested eyes, \"nothing except that he is very\nconscientious--over-conscientious I sometimes think.\" To be bandying\npsychological analyses with this able man was an edifying experience\ndespite her concern for Wilbur.\n\n\"I see,\" he answered dryly, and for an instant there was a twinkle in\nhis eyes. Yet he added, \"To make a correct diagnosis it is important to\nknow all the facts of the case.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" she said solemnly, reassured in her belief that she was\nbeing consulted and was taking part in the treatment of her husband's\nmalady.\n\nShe accompanied Dr. Page to Wilbur's bed-side. He conversed in a cheery\ntone with his friend while he took his temperature and made what seemed\nto her a comparatively brief examination. Selma jumped to the conclusion\nthat there was nothing serious the matter. The moment they had left the\nroom, the doctor's manner changed, and he said with alert concern:\n\n\"Your husband is very ill; he has pneumonia. I am going to send for a\nnurse.\"\n\n\"A nurse? I will nurse him myself, Dr. Page.\"\n\nIt seemed to her the obvious thing to do. She spoke proudly, for it\nflashed into her mind that here was the opportunity to redeem the\nsituation with Wilbur. She would tend him devotedly and when he had been\nrestored to health by her loving skill, perhaps he would appreciate her\nat her worth, and recognize that she had thwarted him only to help him.\n\nThe doctor's brow darkened, and he said with an emphasis which was\nalmost stern: \"Mrs. Littleton, I do not wish to alarm you, but it is\nright that you should know that Wilbur's symptoms are grave. I hope to\nsave his life, but it can be saved only by trained skill and attendance.\nInexperienced assistance, however devoted, would be of no use in a case\nlike this.\"\n\n\"But I only wished to nurse him.\"\n\n\"I know it; I understand perfectly. You supposed that anyone could do\nthat. At least that you could. I shall return in an hour at the latest\nwith a nurse who was trained for three years in a hospital to fit her to\nbattle for valuable lives.\"\n\nSelma flushed with annoyance. She felt that she was being ridiculed and\ntreated as though she were an incapable doll. She divined that by his\nraillery he had been making fun of her, and forthwith her predilection\nwas turned to resentment. Not nurse her husband? Did this brow-beating\ndoctor realize that, as a girl, she had been the constant attendant of\nher invalid father, and that more than once it had occurred to her that\nher true mission in life might be to become a nurse? Training? She would\nprove to him that she needed no further training. These were her\nthoughts, and she felt like crying, because he had humiliated her at a\ntime like this. Yet she had let Dr. Page go without a word. She returned\nto Wilbur and established herself beside his bed. He tried to smile at\nher coming.\n\n\"I think I shall be better to-morrow. It is only a heavy cold,\" he said,\nbut already he found difficulty in speaking.\n\n\"I have come to nurse you. The blankets and hot-water bottle have made\nyou warmer, haven't they? Nod; you mustn't talk.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he whispered huskily.\n\nShe felt his forehead, and it was burning. She took his hand and saying,\n\"Sh! You ought not to talk,\" held it in her own. Then there was silence\nsave for Wilbur's uneasy turning. It was plain that he was very\nuncomfortable. She realized that he was growing worse, and though she\nchose to believe that the doctor had exaggerated the seriousness of the\ncase in order to affront her, the thought came that he might die. She\nhad never considered such a possibility before. What should she do? She\nwould be a widow without children and without means, for she knew that\nWilbur had laid up little if anything. She would have to begin life over\nagain--a pathetic prospect, yet interesting. Even this conjecture of\nsuch a dire result conjured up a variety of possible methods of\nlivelihood and occupation which sped through her mind.\n\nThe return of Dr. Page with a nurse cut short these painful yet\nengrossing speculations. His offensive manner appeared to have exhausted\nitself, but he proceeded to install his companion in Wilbur's room.\nSelma would have liked to turn her out of the house, but realized that\nshe could not run the risk of taking issue with him at a time when her\nhusband's life might be in danger. With an injured air yet in silence\nshe beheld the deliberate yet swift preparations. Once or twice Dr. Page\nasked her to procure for him some article or appliance likely to be in\nthe house, speaking with a crisp, business-like preoccupation which\nvirtually ignored her existence, yet was free from offence. His soul\nevidently was absorbed by his patient, whom he observed with alert\nwatchfulness, issuing brief directions now and then to his white-capped,\nmethodical, and noiseless assistant. Selma sat with her hands before her\nin a corner of the bed-room, practically ignored. The shadows deepened\nand a maid announced dinner. Dr. Page looked at his watch.\n\n\"I shall pass the night here,\" he said.\n\n\"Is he worse?\"\n\n\"The disease is making progress and must run its course. This is only\nthe beginning. You should eat your dinner, for you will need your\nstrength,\" he added with simple graciousness.\n\n\"But I am doing nothing,\" she blurted.\n\n\"If there is anything you can do I will let you know.\"\n\nTheir eyes met. His were gray and steady, but kind. She felt that he\nchose to treat her like a child, yet that he was trying to be\nconsiderate. She was galled, but after all, he was the doctor, and\nWilbur had the utmost confidence in him, so she must submit. She ate her\ndinner, and when she returned preparations were being made for the\nnight. The nurse was to use a lounge at the foot of Wilbur's bed. Dr.\nPage asked permission to occupy the dressing-room adjoining, so as to be\nwithin easy call. He established himself there with a book, returning at\nshort intervals to look at his patient. Selma had resumed her seat. It\nwas dark save for a night lamp. In the stillness the only sounds were\nthe ticking of the clock on the mantel-piece and Wilbur's labored\nbreathing. It seemed as though he were struggling for his life. What\nshould she do if he died? Why was she debarred from tending him? It was\ncruel. Tears fell on her hand. She stared into the darkness, twisting\nher fingers, until at last, as though to show her independence, she\nstepped to the bed on tip-toe. Wilbur's eyes were open. He put out his\nhand, and, taking hers, touched it to his burning lips.\n\n\"Good-night, Selma,\" he murmured.\n\nShe stooped and kissed his brow. \"I am here beside you, Wilbur.\"\n\nA figure stood behind her. She turned, expecting to encounter the\nwhite-capped sentinel. It was Dr. Page. He touched her gently on the\narm. \"We must let him rest now. You can do no good. Won't you go to\nbed?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. I shall sit with him all night.\"\n\n\"Very well. But it is important that you should not speak to him,\" he\nsaid with another touch of emphasis.\n\nShe resumed her seat and sat out the night, wide-awake and conscious of\neach movement on Wilbur's part. He was restless and moaning. Twice the\nnurse summoned the doctor, and two or three times he came to the\nbed-side of his own accord. She felt slighted, and once, when it seemed\nto her that Wilbur was in distress and anxious for something, she\nforestalled the nurse.\n\n\"He wishes water,\" Selma said sternly, and she fetched a glass from the\ntable and let him drink.\n\nDr. Page took breakfast with her. She was conscious that somehow her\nvigil had affected his estimate of her, for his speech was frank and\ndirect, as though he considered her now more fit to be treated with\nconfidence.\n\n\"He is very ill, but he is holding his own. If you will lie down for a\nfew hours, I will call you to take Miss Barker's place while she rests.\"\n\nThis was gratifying, and tended to assuage her bitterness. But the\ndoctor appeared to her anxious, and spent only a few minutes at table.\nHe said as he rose,\n\n\"Excuse me, but Pauline--does she know?\"\n\n\"I will send her word.\"\n\nSelma would have been glad to dispense with the presence of her\nsister-in-law. Their relations had not been sympathetic since the\nepisode of Miss Bailey, and, though Pauline still dined at the house\nonce a week, the intercourse between them had become reserved and\nperfunctory. She grudged sharing with her what might be Wilbur's last\nhours. She grudged, too, permitting her to help to nurse him, especially\nnow that her own capabilities were in the way of being recognized, for\nshe remembered Dr. Page's partiality for her. Still, she appreciated\nthat she must let her know.\n\nPauline arrived speedily, and Selma found herself sobbing in her arms.\nShe was pleased by this rush of feeling on her own part, and, confirmed\nin her belief that her sister-in-law was cold because she did not break\ndown, and, shrinking from her efforts to comfort her, she quickly\nregained her self-control. Pauline seemed composed and cheerful, but the\nunceasing watchfulness and manifest tension of the doctor were\ndisconcerting, and as the afternoon shadows deepened, the two women sat\ngrave and silent, appalled by the suspicion that Wilbur's condition was\neminently critical. Yet Dr. Page volunteered to say to them presently:\n\n\"If his heart holds out, I am hopeful that he will pull through.\"\n\nDr. Page had given up all his duties for the sake of Wilbur. He never\nleft the house, manifestly devoting, as shown by the unflagging,\nabsorbed scrutiny with which he noted every symptom and change, the\nfullest measure of his professional skill and a heart-felt purpose to\nsave his friend's life if human brain or human concentration could\navail. And yet he stated to Pauline in Selma's hearing that, beyond\nkeeping up the patient's strength by stimulants, science was practically\nhelpless, and that all they could do was to wait.\n\nAnd so they sat, still and unemployed watchers, while day turned into\ndarkness. From time to time, by the night-lamp, Selma saw Pauline\nsmiling at her as though in defiance of whatever fate might have in\nstore. Selma herself felt the inclination neither to smile nor to weep.\nShe sat looking before her with her hands clasped, resenting the\npowerlessness of the few remedies used, and impatient of the inactivity\nand relentless silence. Why did not the doctor adopt more stringent\nmeasures? Surely there was something to be done to enable Wilbur to\ncombat the disease. Dr. Page had the reputation of being a skilful\nphysician, and, presumably, was doing his best; but was it not possible,\nwas it not sensible, to suppose there was a different and better way of\ntreating pneumonia--a way which was as superior to the conventional and\nstereotyped method as the true American point of view was superior in\nother matters?\n\nIt came over her as a conviction that if she were elsewhere--in Benham,\nfor instance--her husband could be readily and brilliantly cured. This\nimpassive mode of treatment seemed to her of one piece with the entire\nLittleton surroundings, the culmination of which was Pauline smiling in\nthe face of death. She yearned to do something active and decided. Yet,\nhow helpless she was! This arbitrary doctor was following his own\ndictates without a word to anyone, and without suspecting the existence\nof wiser expedients.\n\nIn a moment of rebellion she rose, and swiftly approaching Wilbur's bed,\nexclaimed, fervently: \"Is there not something we can do for you,\ndarling? Something you feel will do you good?\"\n\nThe sufferer faintly smiled and feebly shook his head, and at the same\nmoment she was drawn away by a firm hand, and Dr. Page whispered: \"He is\nvery weak. Entire rest is his only chance. The least exertion is a drain\non his vitality.\"\n\n\"Surely there must be some medicine--some powerful application which\nwill help his breathing,\" she retorted, and she detected again the\nsemblance of laughter in the doctor's eyes.\n\n\"Everything which modern science can do is being done, Mrs. Littleton.\"\n\nWhat was there but to resume her seat and helpless vigil? Modern\nscience? The word grated on her ears. It savored to her of narrow\nmedical tyranny, and distrust of aspiring individuality. Wilbur was\ndying, and all modern science saw fit to do was to give him brandy and\nwait. And she, his wife--the one who loved him best in the world, was\npowerless to intervene. Nay, she had intervened, and modern science had\nmocked her.\n\nSelma's eyes, like the glint of two swords, bent themselves on her\nhusband's bed. A righteous anger reinforced her grieving heart and made\nher spirit militant, while the creeping hours passed. Over and over she\npursued the tenor of her protest until her wearied system sought refuge\nin sleep. She was not conscious of slumbering, but she reasoned later\nthat she must have slept, for she suddenly became conscious of a touch\non the shoulder and a vibrant utterance of her name.\n\n\"Selma, Selma, you must come at once.\"\n\nHer returning wits realized that it was Pauline who was arousing her and\nurging her to Wilbur's bed-side. She sprang forward, and saw the light\nof existence fading from her husband's eyes into the mute dulness of\ndeath. Dr. Page was bending over him in a desperate, but vain, effort to\nforce some restorative between his lips. At the foot of the bed stood\nthe nurse, with an expression which betrayed what had occurred.\n\n\"What is it, Wilbur? What have they done to you? What has happened?\"\nSelma cried, looking from one to the other, though she had discerned the\ntruth in a flash. As she spoke, Dr. Page desisted from his undertaking,\nand stepped back from the bed, and instantly Selma threw herself on her\nknees and pressed her face upon Littleton's lifeless features. There was\nno response. His spirit had departed.\n\n\"His heart could not stand the strain. That is the great peril in\npneumonia,\" she heard the doctor murmur.\n\n\"He is dead,\" she cried, in a horrified outburst, and she looked up at\nthe pitying group with the gaze of an afflicted lioness. She caught\nsight of Pauline smiling through her tears--that same unprotesting,\nsubmissive smile--and holding out her hands to her. Selma, rising,\nturned away, and as her sister-in-law sought to put her arm about her,\nevaded the caress.\n\n\"No--no,\" she said. Then facing her, added, with aggrieved conviction:\n\n\"I cannot believe that Wilbur's death was necessary. Why was not\nsomething energetic done?\"\n\nPauline flushed, but, ascribing the calumny to distress, she held her\npeace, and said, simply:\n\n\"Sh! dear. You will understand better by and by.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III.\n\nTHE SUCCESS\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nIt had never occurred to Selma that she might lose her husband. Even\nwith his shortcomings he was so important to her from the point of view\nof support, and her scheme of life was so interwoven with his, she had\ntaken for granted that he would live as long as she desired. She felt\nthat destiny had a second time been signally cruel to her, and that she\nwas drinking deeply of the cup of sorrow. She was convinced that Wilbur,\nhad he lived, would have moved presently to Benham, in accordance with\nher desire, and that they would then have been completely happy again.\nInstead he was dead and under the sod, and she was left to face the\nworld with no means save $5,000 from his life insurance and the natural\ngifts and soul which God had given her.\n\nShe appreciated that she was still a comparatively young woman, and\nthat, notwithstanding her love for Wilbur, she had been unable as his\nwife to exhibit herself to the world in her true light. She was free\nonce more to lead her own life, and to obtain due recognition for her\nideas and principles. She deplored with a grief which depleted the curve\nof her oval cheeks the premature end of her husband's artistic\ncareer--an aspiring soul cut off on the threshold of success--yet,\nthough of course she never squarely made the reflection, she was aware\nthat the development of her own life was more intrinsically valuable to\nthe world than his, and that of the two it was best that he should be\ntaken. She was sad, sore against Providence, and uncertain as to the\nfuture. But she was keenly conscious that she had a future, and she was\neager to be stirring. Still, for the moment, the outlook was perplexing.\nWhat was she to do? First, and certainly, she desired to shake the dust\nof New York from her feet at the earliest opportunity. She inclined\ntoward Benham as a residence, and to the lecture platform, supplemented\nby literature, and perhaps eventually the stage, as a means of\nlivelihood. She believed in her secret soul that she could act. Her\nsupposed facility in acquiring the New York manner had helped to\ngenerate that impression. It seemed to her more than probable that with\na little instruction as to technical stage business she could gain fame\nand fortune almost at once as an actress of tragedy or melodrama. Comedy\nshe despised as unworthy of her. But the stage appealed to her only on\nthe ground of income. The life of an actress lacked the ethical\ncharacter which she liked to associate with whatever she did. To be\nsure, a great actress was an inspiring influence. Nevertheless she\npreferred some more obviously improving occupation, provided it would\nafford a suitable support. Yet was it fitting that she should be\ncondemned to do hack work for her daily bread instead of something to\nenlighten and uplift the community in which she lived? She considered\nthat she had served her apprenticeship by teaching school and writing\nfor the newspapers, and she begrudged spending further time in\nsubordinate work. Better on the whole a striking success on the stage\nthan this, for after she had made a name and money she could retire and\ndevote herself to more congenial undertakings. Nevertheless her\nconscience told her that a theatrical career must be regarded as a last\nresort, and she appreciated the importance of not making a hasty\ndecision as to what she would do. The lease of her house would not\nexpire for six months, and it seemed to her probable that even in New\nYork, where she was not understood, someone would realize her value as a\nmanager of some intellectual or literary movement and make overtures to\nher. She wrote to Mrs. Earle and received a cordial response declaring\nthat Benham would welcome her with open arms, a complimentary though\nsomewhat vague certificate. She sent a line also to Mr. Dennison,\ninforming him that she hoped soon to submit some short stories for his\nmagazine, and received a guarded but polite reply to the effect that he\nwould be glad to read her manuscripts.\n\nWhile she was thus deliberating and winding up her husband's affairs,\nMr. Parsons, who had been absent from New York at the time of Wilbur's\ndecease, called and bluntly made the announcement that he had bought a\nhouse in Benham, was to move there immediately, and was desirous that\nshe should live with him as his companion and housekeeper on liberal\npecuniary terms.\n\n\"I am an old man,\" he said, \"and my health is not what it used to be. I\nneed someone to look after me and to keep me company. I like your chatty\nways, and, if I have someone smart and brisk around like you, I sha'n't\nbe thinking so often that I'm all alone in the world. It'll be dull for\nyou, I guess; but you'll be keeping quiet for the present wherever you\nare; and when the time comes that you wish to take notice again I won't\nstand in the way of your amusing yourself.\"\n\nTo this homely plea Selma returned a beatific smile. It struck her as an\nideal arrangement; a golden opportunity for him, and convenient and\npromising for her. In the first place she was accorded the mission of\ncheering and guarding the declining years of this fine old man, whom she\nhad come to look on with esteem and liking. And at the same time as his\ncompanion--the virtual mistress of his house, for she knew perfectly\nwell that as a genuine American he was not offering her a position less\nthan this--she would be able to shape her life gradually along congenial\nlines, and to wait for the ripe occasion for usefulness to present\nitself. In an instant a great load was lifted from her spirit. She was\nthankful to be spared conscientious qualms concerning the career of an\nactress, and thankful to be freed at one bound from her New York\nassociations--especially with Pauline, whose attitude toward her had\nbeen further strained by her continued conviction that Wilbur's life\nmight have been saved. Indeed, so completely alleviating was Mr.\nParsons's proposition that, stimulated by the thought that he was to be\na greater gainer from the plan than she, Selma gave rein to her emotions\nby exclaiming with fervor:\n\n\"Usually I like to think important plans over before coming to a\ndecision; but this arrangement seems to me so sensible and natural and\nmutually advantageous, Mr. Parsons, that I see no reason why I shouldn't\naccept your offer now. God grant that I may be a worthy daughter to\nyou--and in some measure take the place of the dear ones you have lost.\"\n\n\"That's what I want,\" he said. \"I took a liking to you the first time we\nmet. Then it's settled?\"\n\n\"Yes. I suppose,\" she added, after a moment's hesitation--speaking with\nan accent of scorn--\"I suppose there may be people--people like those\nwho are called fashionable here--who will criticise the arrangement on\nthe ground--er--of propriety, because I'm not a relation, and you are\nnot very old. But I despise conventions such as that. They may be\nnecessary for foreigners; but they are not meant for self-respecting\nAmerican women. I fancy my sister-in-law may not wholly approve of it,\nbut I don't know. I shall take pleasure in showing her and the rest that\nit would be wicked as well as foolish to let a flimsy suggestion of evil\ninterfere with the happiness of two people situated as we are.\"\n\nMr. Parsons seemed puzzled at first, as though he did not understand\nexactly what she meant, but when she concluded he said:\n\n\"You come to me, as you have yourself stated, on the footing of a\ndaughter. If folk are not content to mind their own business, I guess we\nneedn't worry because they don't happen to be suited. There's one or two\nrelations of mine would be glad to be in your shoes, but I don't know of\nanything in the Bible or the Constitution of the United States which\nforbids an old man from choosing the face he'll have opposite to him at\ntable.\"\n\n\"Or forbids the interchange of true sympathy--that priceless privilege,\"\nanswered Selma, her liking for a sententious speech rising paramount\neven to the pleasure caused her by the allusion to her personal\nappearance. Nevertheless it was agreeable to be preferred to his female\ncousins on the score of comeliness.\n\nAccordingly, within six months of her husband's death, the transition to\nBenham was accomplished, and Selma was able to encounter the\nmetaphorically open arms, referred to by Mrs. Earle, without feeling\nthat she was a less important person than when she had been whisked off\nas a bride by Littleton, the rising architect. She was returning as the\nconfidential, protecting companion of a successful, self-made old man,\nwho was relying on her to make his new establishment a pleasure to\nhimself and a credit to the wide-awake city in which he had elected to\npass his remaining days. She was returning to a house on the River Drive\n(the aristocratic boulevard of Benham, where the river Nye makes a broad\nsweep to the south); a house not far distant from the Flagg mansion at\nwhich, as Mrs. Lewis Babcock, she had looked askance as a monument\ninimical to democratic simplicity. Wilbur had taught her that it was\nvery ugly, and now that she saw it again after a lapse of years she was\npleased to note that her new residence, though slightly smaller, had a\nmore modern and distinguished air.\n\nThe new house was of rough-hewn red sandstone, combining solid dignity\nand some artistic merit, for Benham had not stood still architecturally\nspeaking. The River Drive was a grotesque, yet on the whole encouraging\nexhibit. Most of the residences had been designed by native talent, but\nunder the spur of experiment even the plain, hard-headed builders had\nbeen constrained to dub themselves \"architects,\" and adopt modern\nmethods; and here and there stood evidences that the seed planted by\nMrs. Hallett Taylor and Littleton had borne fruit, for Benham possessed\nat least half a dozen private houses which could defy criticism.\n\nThe one selected by Mr. Parsons was not of these half dozen; but the\nplain, hard-headed builder who had erected it for the original owner was\nshrewd and imitative, and had avoided ambitious deviations from the type\nhe wished to copy--the red sandstone, swell front variety, which ten\nyears before would have seemed to the moral sense of Benham unduly\ncheerful. Mr. Parsons was so fortunate as to be able to buy it just\nafter it had been completed, together with a stable and half an acre of\nground, from one of the few Benhamites whose financial ventures had\nended in disaster, and who was obliged to sell. It was a more ambitious\nresidence than Mr. Parsons had desired, but it was the most available,\ninasmuch as he could occupy it at once. It had been painted and\ndecorated within, but was unfurnished. Mr. Parsons, as a practical\nbusiness man, engaged the builder to select and supply the bedroom and\nsolid fittings, but it occurred to him to invite Selma to choose the\nfurnishings for what he called the show rooms.\n\nSelma was delighted to visit once more the New York stores, free from\nthe bridle of Wilbur's criticism and unrestrained by economy. She found\nto her satisfaction that the internal decoration of the new house was\nnot unlike that of the Williamses' first habitation--that is, gay and\nbedizened; and she was resolved in the selection of her draperies and\nornaments to buy things which suggested by their looks that they were\nhandsome, and whose claim to distinction was not mere sober\nunobtrusiveness. She realized that some of her purchases would have made\nWilbur squirm, but since his death she felt more sure than ever that\neven where art was concerned his taste was subdued, timid, and\nunimaginative. For instance, she believed that he would not have\napproved her choice of light-blue satin for the upholstery of the\ndrawing-room, nor of a marble statue--an allegorical figure of Truth,\nduly draped, as its most conspicuous ornament.\n\nSelma was spared the embarrassment of her first husband's presence.\nDivorce is no bar to ordinary feminine curiosity as to the whereabouts\nof a former partner for life, and she had proved no exception to the\nrule. Mrs. Earle had kept her posted as to Babcock's career since their\nseparation, and what she learned had tended merely to demonstrate the\nwisdom and justice of her action. As a divorced man he had, after a\ntime, resumed the free and easy, coarse companionship to which he had\nbeen partial before his marriage, and had gradually become a heavy\ndrinker. Presently he had neglected his business, a misfortune of which\na rival concern had been quick to take advantage. The trend of his\naffairs had been steadily downhill, and had come to a crisis three\nmonths before Littleton's death, when, in order to avoid insolvency, he\nsold out his factory and business to the rival company, and accepted at\nthe same hands the position of manager in a branch office in a city\nfurther west. Consequently, Selma could feel free from molestation or an\nappeal to her sensibilities. She preferred to think of Babcock as\ncompletely outside her life, as dead to her, and she would have disliked\nthe possibility of meeting him in the flesh while shopping on Central\navenue. It had been the only drawback to her proposed return to Benham.\n\nDuring the years of Selma's second marriage Benham had waxed rapidly in\npopulation and importance. People had been attracted thither by the\nvaried industries of the city--alike those in search of fortune, and\nthose offering themselves for employment in the mills, oil-works, and\npork factories; and at the date of Littleton's death it boasted over one\nhundred and fifty thousand inhabitants. It was already the second city\nof the State in point of population, and was freely acknowledged to be\nthe most wide-awake and enterprising. The civic spirit of Benham was\nreputed to be constantly and increasingly alert and progressive,\nnotwithstanding the river Nye still ran the color of bean-soup above\nwhere it was drawn for drinking purposes, and the ability of a plumber,\nwho had become an alderman, to provide a statue or lay out a public park\nwas still unquestioned by the majority. Even to-day, when trained\nability has obtained recognition in many quarters, the Benhamites at\nlarge are apt to resent criticism as aristocratic fault-finding; yet at\nthis time that saving minority of souls who refused to regard everything\nwhich Benham did as perfection, and whose subsequent forlorn hopes and\ndesperately won victories have little by little taught the community\nwisdom, if not modesty, was beginning to utter disagreeable strictures.\n\nMrs. Margaret Rodney Earle, when she opened her arms to Selma and folded\nher to her bosom with a hug of welcome, was raging inwardly against this\nminority, and they had not been many minutes together before she gave\nutterance to her grievance.\n\n\"You have come just in time to give us your sympathy and support in an\nimportant matter, my dear. Miss Bailey has been nominated for the School\nBoard at the instance of the Executive Committee of the Benham\nInstitute. We supposed that she would have plain sailing, for many of\nthe voters have begun to recognize the justice of having one or two\nwomen on the School Board, and by hard work we had succeeded in getting\nher name put on the Democratic ticket. Judge, then, of our feelings when\nwe learned that the Reform Club had decided to blacklist and refuse to\nsupport at the polls three of the six names on the ticket, including our\nLuella Bailey, on the ground of lack of experience in educational\nmatters. The Reform Club has nominated three other persons--one of them\na woman. And who do you suppose is the head and front of this unholy\ncrusade?\"\n\n\"It sounds like Mrs. Hallett Taylor,\" answered Selma, sternly.\n\n\"How did you know? What made you think so? How clever of you, Selma!\nYes, she is the active spirit.\"\n\n\"It was she who was at the bottom of Miss Bailey's rejection when she\nwas my candidate for a position at Everdean College.\"\n\n\"To be sure. I remember. This Reform Club, which was started a year or\nso ago, and which sets itself up as a censor of what we are trying to do\nin Benham, has nominated a Miss Snow, who is said to have travelled\nabroad studying the school systems of Europe.\"\n\n\"As if that would help us in any way.\"\n\n\"Precisely. She has probably come home with her head full of\nqueer-fangled notions which would be out of keeping with our\ninstitutions. Just the reason why she shouldn't be chosen. We are\ngreatly troubled as to the result, dear, for though we expect to win,\nthe prejudice of some men against voting for a woman under any\ncircumstances will operate against our candidate, so that this action of\nthe Reform Club may possibly be the means of electing one of the men on\nthe Republican ticket instead of Luella. Miss Snow hasn't the ghost of a\nchance. But that isn't all. These Reform Club nominations are\npreliminary to a bill before the Legislature to take away from the\npeople the right to elect members of the school committee, and\nsubstitute an appointive board of specialists to serve during long terms\nof good behavior. As Mr. Lyons says, that's the real issue involved.\nIt's quixotic and it isn't necessary. Haven't we always prided ourselves\non our ability to keep our public schools the best in the world? And is\nthere any doubt, Selma, that either you or I would be fully qualified to\nserve on the School Board though we haven't made any special study of\nprimers and geographies? Luella Bailey hasn't had any special training,\nbut she's smart and progressive, and the poor thing would like the\nrecognition. We fixed on her because we thought it would help her to get\nahead, for she has not been lucky in obtaining suitable employment. As\nMr. Lyons says, a serious principle is involved. He has come out strong\nagainst the movement and declares that it is a direct menace to the\nintelligence of the plain people of the United States and a subtle\ninvasion of their liberties.\"\n\n\"Mr. Lyons? What Mr. Lyons is that?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear, it is the same one who managed your affair. Your Mr. Lyons.\nHe has become an important man since you left Benham. He speaks\ndelightfully, and is likely to receive the next Democratic nomination\nfor Congress. He is in accord with all liberal movements, and a foe of\neverything exclusive, unchristian or arbitrary. He has declared his\nintention to oppose the bill when it is introduced, and I shall devote\nmyself body and soul to working against it in case Luella Bailey is\ndefeated. It is awkward because Mrs. Taylor is a member of the\nInstitute, though she doesn't often come, and the club has never been in\npolitics. But here when there was a chance to do Luella Bailey a good\nturn, and I'd been able through some of my newspaper friends to get her\non the ticket, it seems to me positively unchristian--yes, that's the\nword--to try to keep her off the board. There are some things of course,\nLuella couldn't do--and if the position were superintendent of a\nhospital, for instance, I dare say that special training would be\nadvantageous, though nursing can be picked up very rapidly by a keen\nintelligence: but to raise such objections in regard to a candidate for\nthe School Board seems to me ridiculous as well as cruel. What\nwe need there are open, receptive minds, free from fads and\nprejudice--wide-awake, progressive enthusiastic intellects. It worries\nme to see the Institute dragged into politics, but it is my duty to\nresist this undemocratic movement.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" exclaimed Selma, with fire. \"I am thankful I have come in time\nto help you. I understand exactly. I have been passing through just such\nexperiences in New York--encountering and being rebuffed by just such\npeople as those who belong to this Reform Club. My husband was beginning\nto see through them and to recognize that we were both tied hand and\nfoot by their narrowness and lack of enthusiasm when he died. If he had\nlived, we would have moved to Benham shortly in order to escape from\nbondage. And one thing is certain, dear Mrs. Earle,\" she continued with\nintensity, \"we must not permit this carping spirit of hostility to\noriginal and spontaneous effort to get a foothold in Benham. We must\ncrush it, we must stamp it out.\"\n\n\"Amen, my dear. I am delighted to hear you talk like that. I declare you\nwould be very effective in public if you were roused.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am roused, and I am willing to speak in public if it becomes\nnecessary in order to keep Benham uncontaminated by the insidious canker\nof exclusiveness and the distrust of aspiring souls which a few narrow\nminds choose to term untrained. Am _I_ untrained? Am _I_ superficial and\ncommon? Do _I_ lack the appearance and behavior of a lady?\"\n\nSelma accompanied these interrogatories with successive waves of the\nhand, as though she were branding so many falsehoods.\n\n\"Assuredly not, Selma. I consider you\"--and here Mrs. Earle gasped in\nthe process of choosing her words--\"I consider you one of our best\ntrained and most independent minds--cultured, a friend of culture, and\nan earnest seeker after truth. If you are not a lady, neither am I,\nneither is anyone in Benham. Why do you ask, dear?\" And without waiting\nfor an answer, Mrs. Earle added with a touch of material wisdom, \"You\nreturn to Benham under satisfactory, I might say, brilliant auspices.\nYou will be the active spirit in this fine house, and be in a position\nto promote worthy intellectual and moral movements.\"\n\n\"Thank heavens, yes. And to combat those which are unworthy and\ndangerous,\" exclaimed Selma, clasping her fingers, \"I can count on the\nsupport of Mr. Parsons, God bless him! And it would seem at last as if I\nhad, a real chance--a real chance at last. Mrs. Earle--Cora--I know you\ncan keep a secret. I feel almost as though you were my mother, for there\nis no one else now to whom I can talk like this. I have not been happy\nin New York. I thought I was happy at first, but lately we have been\nmiserable. My marriage--er--they drove my husband to the wall, and\nkilled him. He was sensitive and noble, but not practical, and he fell a\nvictim to the mercenary despotism of our surroundings. When I tried to\nhelp him they became jealous of me, and shut their doors in our faces.\"\n\n\"You poor, poor child. I have suspected for some time that something was\nwrong.\"\n\n\"It nearly killed me. But now, thank heaven, I breathe freely once more.\nI have lost my dear husband, but I have escaped from that prison-house;\nand with his memory to keep me merciless, I am eager to wage war against\nthose influences which are conspiring to fetter the free-born soul and\nstifle spontaneity. Luella Bailey must be elected, and these people be\ntaught that foreign ideas may flourish in New York, but cannot obtain\nroot in Benham.\"\n\nMrs. Earle wiped her eyes, which were running over as the result of this\ncombination of confidence and eloquence.\n\n\"If you don't mind my saying so, Selma, I never saw anyone so much\nimproved as you. You always had ideas, and were well equipped, but now\nyou speak as though you could remove mountains if necessary. It's a\nblessing for us as well as you that you're back among us once more.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nWhen Selma uttered her edict that Luella Bailey must be elected she did\nnot know that the election was only three days off. When she was told\nthis by Mrs. Earle, she cast about feverishly during a few hours for the\nmeans to compass certain victory, then promptly and sensibly disclaimed\nresponsibility for the result, suggesting even that her first appearance\nas a remover of mountains be deferred to the time when the bill should\nbe before the Legislature. As she aptly explained to Mrs. Earle, the\ncanvass was virtually at an end, she was unacquainted with the practical\nfeatures of the situation, and was to all intents a stranger in Benham\nafter so long an absence. Mrs. Earle was unable to combat the logic of\nthese representations, but she obtained from Selma a ready promise to\naccompany the Benham Institute to the final rally on the evening before\nelection day and sit in a prominent place on the platform. The Institute\nwas to attend as a body by way of promoting the cause of its candidate,\nfor though the meeting was called in aid of the entire Democratic\nmunicipal ticket, Hon. James O. Lyons, the leading orator of the\noccasion, had promised to devote special attention to Miss Bailey, whose\nelection, owing to the attitude of the Reform Club, was recognized as in\ndoubt. Selma also agreed to accompany Mrs. Earle in a hack on the day\nitself, and career through the city in search of recalcitrant or\nindifferent female voters, for the recently acquired right of Benham\nwomen to vote for members of the School Board had not as yet been\nexercised by any considerable number of the emancipated sex.\n\nAs a part of the programme of the meeting the Benham Institute, or the\nmajor portion of it (for there were a few who sympathized openly with\nMrs. Taylor), filed showily on to the platform headed by Mrs. Earle, who\nwaved her pocket handkerchief at the audience, which was the occasion\nfor renewed hand-clapping and enthusiasm. Selma walked not far behind\nand took her seat among the forty other members, who all wore white silk\nbadges stamped in red with the sentiment \"A vote for Luella Bailey is a\nvote for the liberty of the people.\" Her pulses were throbbing with\ninterest and pleasure. This was the sort of thing she delighted in, and\nwhich she had hoped would be a frequent incident of her life in New\nYork. It pleased her to think how naturally and easily she had taken her\nplace in the ranks of these earnest, enthusiastic workers, and that she\nhad merely to express a wish in order to have leadership urged upon her.\nMatters had shaped themselves exactly as she desired. Mr. Parsons not\nonly treated her completely as an equal, but consulted her in regard to\neverything. He had already become obviously dependent on her, and had\nbegun to develop the tendencies of an invalid.\n\nThe exercises were of a partisan cast. The theory that municipal\ngovernment should be independent of party politics had been an adage in\nBenham since its foundation, and been disregarded annually by\nnine-tenths of the population ever since. This was a Democratic\nlove-feast. The speakers and the audience alike were in the best of\nspirits, for there was no uncertainty in the minds of the party prophets\nas to the result of the morrow's ballot--excepting with regard to Miss\nBailey. The rest of the ticket would unquestionably be elected;\naccordingly all hands and voices were free to focus their energies in\nher behalf and thus make the victory a clean sweep. Nevertheless the\nearlier speakers felt obliged to let their eloquence flow over the whole\nrange of political misgovernment from the White House and the national\nplatform down, although the actual issue was the choice of a mayor,\ntwelve aldermen and a school committee, so that only casual reference\nwas made to the single weak spot on the ticket until the Hon. James O.\nLyons rose to address the meeting. The reception accorded him was more\nspontaneous and effusive than that which had been bestowed on either of\nhis predecessors, and as he stood waiting with dignified urbanity for\nthe applause to subside, some rapturous admirer called for three cheers,\nand the tumult was renewed.\n\nSelma was thrilled. Her acquaintance with Mr. Lyons naturally heightened\nher interest, and she observed him eagerly. Time had added to his\ncorporeal weight since he had acted as her counsel, and enhanced the\nsober yet genial decorum of his bearing. His slightly pontifical air\nseemed an assurance against ill-timed levity. His cheeks were still fat\nand smooth shaven, but, like many of the successful men of Benham, he\nnow wore a chin beard--a thick tuft of hair which in his case tapered so\nthat it bore some resemblance to the beard of a goat, and gave a\nrough-and-ready aspect to his appearance suggestive alike of smart,\nsolid worth and an absence of dandified tendencies. Mr. Parsons had a\nthicker beard of the same character, which Selma regarded with favor as\na badge of serious intentions.\n\n\"My friends,\" he began when the applause had subsided; then paused and\nsurveyed his audience in a manner which left them in doubt as to whether\nhe was struggling with emotion or busy in silent prayer. \"My friends, a\nmonth ago to-day the citizens of Benham assembled to crown with\nappropriate and beautiful services the monument which they, the\nsurvivors, have erected with pious hands to perpetuate the memory of\nthose who laid down their lives to keep intact our beloved union of\nStates and to banish slavery forever from the confines of our aspiring\ncivilization. A week ago an equally representative assembly, without\nregard to creed or party, listened to the exercises attending the\ndedication of the new Court House which we have raised to Justice--that\nwhite-robed goddess, the guardian of the liberties of the people. Each\nwas a notable and significant event. On each occasion I had the honor to\nsay a few poor words. We celebrated with bowed heads and with garlands\nthe deeds of the heroic dead, and now have consecrated ourselves to the\nopportunities and possibilities of peace under the law--to the\nrevelation of the temper of our new civilization which, tried in the\nfurnace of war, is to be a grand and vital power for the advancement of\nthe human race, for the righteous furtherance of the brotherhood of man.\nWhat is the hope of the world?\" he asked. \"America--these United States,\na bulwark against tyranny, an asylum for the aspiring and the\ndowntrodden. The eyes of the nations are upon us. In the souls of the\nsurvivors and of the sons and daughters of the patriots who have died in\ndefence of the liberties of our beloved country abide the seed and\ninspiration for new victories of peace. Our privilege be it as the heirs\nof Washington and Franklin and Hamilton and Lincoln and Grant to set the\nnations of the earth an example of what peace under the law may\naccomplish, so that the free-born son of America from the shores of Cape\nCod to the western limits of the Golden Gate may remain a synonym for\nnoble aims and noble deeds, for truth and patriotism and fearlessness of\nsoul.\"\n\nThe speaker's words had been uttered slowly at the outset--ponderous,\nsonorous, sentence by sentence, like the big drops before a heavy\nshower. As he warmed to his theme the pauses ceased, and his speech\nflowed with the musical sweep of a master of platform oratory. When he\nspoke of war his voice choked; in speaking of peace he paused for an\nappreciable moment, casting his eyes up as though he could discern the\nangel of national tranquillity hovering overhead. Although this opening\nperoration seemed scarcely germane to the occasion, the audience\nlistened in absorbed silence, spell-bound by the magnetism of his\ndelivery. They felt sure that he had a point in reserve to which these\nsplendid and agreeable truths were a pertinent introduction.\n\nProceeding, with his address, Mr. Lyons made a panegyric on these United\nStates of America, from the special standpoint of their dedication to\nthe \"God of our fathers,\" a solemn figure of speech. The sincerity of\nhis patriotism was emphasized by the religious fervor of his deduction\nthat God was on the side of the nation, and the nation on the side of\nGod. Though he abstained from direct strictures, both his manner and his\nmatter seemed to serve a caveat, so to speak, on the other nations by\ndeclaring that for fineness of heart and thought, and deed, the world\nmust look to the land \"whose wide and well-nigh boundless prairies were\nblossoming with the buds of truth fanned by the breeze of liberty and\nfertilized by the aspirations of a God-fearing and a God-led population.\nWhat is the hope of the world, I repeat?\" he continued. \"The plain and\nsovereign people of our beloved country. Whatever menaces their\nliberties, whatever detracts from their, power and infringes on their\nprerogatives is a peril to our institutions and a step backward in the\nscience of government. My friends, we are here to-night to protest\nagainst a purpose to invade those liberties--a deliberately conceived\ndesign to take away from the sovereign people of this city one of their\ncherished privileges--the right to decide who shall direct the policy of\nour free public-school system, that priceless heritage of every\nAmerican. I beg to remind you that this contest is no mere question of\nhealthy rivalry between two great political parties; nor again is it\nonly a vigorous competition between two ambitious and intelligent women.\nA ballot in behalf of our candidate will be a vote of confidence in the\nability of the plain people of this country to adopt the best\neducational methods without the patronizing dictation of aboard of\nspecialists nurtured on foreign and uninspiring theories of instruction.\nA ballot against Miss Luella Bailey, the competent and cultivated lady\nwhose name adds strength and distinction to our ticket, and who has been\nneedlessly and wantonly opposed by those who should be her proud\nfriends, will signify a willingness to renounce one of our most precious\nliberties--the free man's right to choose those who are to impart to his\nchildren mastery of knowledge and love of country. I take my stand\nto-night as the resolute enemy of this aristocratic and un-American\nsuggestion, and urge you, on the eve of election, to devote your\nenergies to overwhelming beneath the shower of your fearless ballots\nthis insult to the intelligence of the voters of Benham, and this menace\nto our free and successful institutions, which, under the guidance of\nthe God of our fathers, we purpose to keep perpetually progressive and\nundefiled.\"\n\nA salvo of enthusiasm greeted Mr. Lyons as he concluded. His speeches\nwere apt to cause those whom he addressed to feel that they were no\ncommon campaign utterances, but eloquent expressions of principle and\nconviction, clothed in memorable language, as, indeed, they were. He was\nfond of giving a moral or patriotic flavor to what he said in public,\nfor he entertained both a profound reverence for high moral ideas and an\nabiding faith in the superiority of everything American. He had arrayed\nhimself on the threshold of his legal career as a friend and champion of\nthe mass of the people--the plain and sovereign people, as he was apt to\nstyle them in public. His first and considerable successes had been as\nthe counsel for plaintiffs before juries in accident cases against large\ncorporations, and he had thought of himself with complete sincerity as a\nplain man, contesting for human rights before the bar of justice, by the\nsheer might of his sonorous voice and diligent brain. His political\ndevelopment had been on the same side. Latterly the situation had become\na little puzzling, though to a man of straightforward intentions, like\nhimself, not fundamentally embarrassing. That is, the last four or five\nyears had altered both the character of his practice and his\ncircumstances, so that instead of fighting corporations he was now the\nclose adviser of a score of them; not the defender of their accident\ncases, but the confidential attorney who was consulted in regard to\ntheir vital interests, and who charged them liberal sums for his\nservices. He still figured in court from time to time in his capacity of\nthe plain man's friend, which he still considered himself to be no less\nthan before, but most of his time was devoted to protecting the legal\ninterests of the railroad, gas, water, manufacturing, mining and other\nundertakings which, the rapid growth of Benham had forgotten. And as a\nresult of this commerce with the leading men of affairs in Benham, and\nknowledge of what was going on, he had been able to invest his large\nfees to the best advantage, and had already reaped a rich harvest from\nthe rapid rise in value of the securities of diverse successful\nenterprises. When new projects were under consideration he was in a\nposition to have a finger in the pie, and he was able to borrow freely\nfrom a local bank in which he was a director.\n\nHe was puzzled--it might be said distressed--how to make these rewards\nof his professional prominence appear compatible with his real political\nprinciples, so that the plain and sovereign people would recognize as\nclearly as he that there was no inconsistency in his having taken\nadvantage of the opportunities for professional advancement thrown in\nhis way. He was ambitious for political preferment, sharing the growing\nimpression that he was well qualified for public office, and he desired\nto rise as the champion of popular ideas. Consequently he resented\nbitterly the calumnies which had appeared in one or two irresponsible\nnewspapers to the effect that he was becoming a corporation attorney and\na capitalist. Could a man refuse legitimate business which was thrust\nupon him? How were his convictions and interest in the cause of\nstruggling humanity altered or affected by his success at the bar? Hence\nhe neglected no occasion to declare his allegiance to progressive\ndoctrine, and to give utterance to the patriotism which at all times was\non tap in his emotional system. He had been married, but his wife had\nbeen dead a number of years, and he made his home with his aged mother,\nto whom he was apt to refer with pious tremulousness when he desired to\nemphasize some domestic situation before a jury. As a staunch member of\nthe Methodist Church, he was on terms of intimate association with his\npastor, and was known as a liberal contributor to domestic and foreign\nmissions.\n\nSelma was genuinely carried away by the character of his oratory. His\nsentiments were so completely in accord with her own ideas that she felt\nhe had left nothing unsaid, and had put the case grandly. Here at last\nwas a man who shared with her the convictions with which her brain was\nseething--a man who was not afraid to give public expression to his\nviews, and who possessed a splendid gift of statement. She had felt sure\nthat she would meet sympathy and kindred spirits in Benham, but her\nexperience in New York had so far depressed her that she had not allowed\nherself to expect such a thorough-going champion. What a contrast his\nsolid, devotional, yet business-like aspect was to the quizzical\nlightness of the men in New York she had been told were clever, like Dr.\nPage and Mr. Dennison! He possessed Wilbur's ardor and reverence, with a\nrobustness of physique and a practical air which Wilbur had\nlacked--lacked to his and her detriment. If Wilbur had been as vigorous\nin body as he ought to have been, would he have died? She had read\nsomewhere lately that physical delicacy was apt to react on the mind and\nmake one's ideas too fine-spun and unsubstantial. Here was the advantage\nwhich a man like Mr. Lyons had over Wilbur. He was strong and thickset,\nand looked as though he could endure hard work without wincing. So could\nshe. It was a great boon, an essential of effective manhood or\nwomanhood. These thoughts followed in the wake of the enthusiasm his\npersonality had aroused in her at the close of his address. She scarcely\nheard the remarks of the next speaker, the last on the programme. Her\neyes kept straying wistfully in the direction of Mr. Lyons, and she\nwondered if there would be an opportunity when the meeting was over to\nlet him know how much she approved of what he had said, and how\nnecessary she felt the promulgation, of such ideas was for the welfare\nof the country.\n\nShe was aroused from contemplation by the voice of Mrs. Earle, who, now\nthat everybody was standing up preliminary to departure, bent over her\nfront bench on the platform to whisper, \"Wasn't Mr. Lyons splendid?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said Selma. \"I should like so much to make his\nacquaintance, to compare notes with him and thank him for his brave,\ntrue words.\"\n\n\"I know he'd be pleased to meet you. I'll try to catch his eye. I wish\nsome of those Reform Club people could have heard what he thought of\nthem. There! He's looking this way. I'm going to attract his attention.\"\nWhereupon Mrs. Earle began to nod in his direction energetically. \"He\nsees us now, and has noticed you. I shouldn't wonder if he has\nrecognized you. Follow me close, Selma, and we'll be able to shake hands\nwith him.\"\n\nBy dint of squeezing and stertorous declarations of her desire, Mrs.\nEarle obtained a gradual passage through the crowd. Many from the\naudience had ascended to the platform for the purpose of accosting the\nspeakers, and a large share of the interest was being bestowed on Mr.\nLyons, who was holding an impromptu reception. When at last Mrs. Earle\nhad worked her way to within a few feet of him, her wheezing condition\nand bulk announced her approach, and procured her consideration from the\nothers in the line, so that she was able to plant herself pervasively\nand firmly in front of her idol and take possession of him by the fervid\nannouncement, \"You were simply unanswerable. Eloquent, convincing, and\nunanswerable. And I have brought with me an old friend, Mrs. Littleton,\nwho sympathizes with your superb utterances, and wishes to tell you so.\"\n\nAs Selma stepped forward in recognition of this introduction she\nvibrated to hear Mr. Lyons say, without a sign of hesitation, \"A friend\nwhom it is a pleasure to welcome back to Benham, Mrs. Littleton, I am\npleased to meet you again.\"\n\nSelma had hoped, and felt it her due, that he would recognize her. Still\nhis having done so at once was a compliment which served to enhance the\nfavorable opinion which she had already formed regarding him.\n\n\"I have been longing for months, Mr. Lyons,\" she said, \"to hear someone\nsay what you have said to-night. I am concerned, as we all are of\ncourse, in Miss Bailey's election, and your advocacy of her cause was\nmost brilliant; but what I refer to--what interested, me especially, was\nthe splendid protest you uttered against all movements to prevent the\nintelligence of the people from asserting itself. It gave me\nencouragement and made me feel that the outlook for the future is\nbright--that our truths must prevail.\"\n\nIt was a maxim with Lyons that it was desirable to remember everyone he\nmet, and he prided himself on his ability to call cordially by name\nclients or chance acquaintances whom he had not seen for years. Nature\nhad endowed him with a good memory for names and faces, but he had\nlearned to take advantage of all opportunities to brush up his wits\nbefore they were called into flattering, spontaneous action. When his\nglance, attracted by Mrs. Earle's remote gesticulation, rested on\nSelma's face, he began to ask himself at once where he had seen it\nbefore. In the interval vouchsafed by her approach he recalled the\nincident of the divorce, that her name had been Babcock, and that she\nhad married again, but he was still groping for the name of her husband\nwhen the necessary clew was supplied by Mrs. Earle, and he was able to\nmake his recognition of her exhaustive. He noticed with approval her\npretty face and compact figure, reflecting that the slight gain in flesh\nwas to her advantage, and noticed also her widow's mourning. But her\neager, fluent address and zealous manner had prevented his attention\nfrom secretly wandering with business-like foresight to the next persons\nin the line of those anxious to shake his hand, and led him to regard\nher a second time. He was accustomed to compliments, but he was struck\nby the note of discriminating companionship in her congratulation. He\nbelieved that he had much at heart the very issue which she had touched\nupon, and it gratified him that a woman whose appearance was so\nattractive to him should single out for sympathetic enthusiasm what was\nin his opinion the cardinal principle involved, instead of expatiating\non the assistance he had rendered Miss Bailey. Lyons said to himself\nthat here was a kindred spirit--a woman with whom conversation would be\na pleasure; with whom it would be possible to discourse on terms of\nmental comradeship. He was partial to comely women, but he did not\napprove of frivolity except on special and guarded occasions.\n\n\"I thank you cordially for your appreciation,\" he answered. \"You have\ngrasped the vital kernel of my speech and I am grateful for your good\nopinion.\"\n\nEven in addressing the other sex, Lyons could not forget the\nresponsibility of his frock-coat and that it was incumbent upon him to\nbe strictly serious in public. Nevertheless his august but glib demeanor\nsuited Selma's mood better than more obvious gallantry, especially as\nshe got the impression, which he really wished to convey, that he\nadmired her. It was out of the question for him to prolong the situation\nin the face of those waiting to grasp his hand, but Lyons heard with\ninterest the statement which Mrs. Earle managed to whisper hoarsely in\nhis ear just as he turned to welcome the next comer, and they were swept\nalong:\n\n\"She is one of our brightest minds. The poor child has recently lost her\nhusband, and has come to keep Mr. Parsons company in his new house--an\nideal arrangement.\"\n\nThe identity of Mr. Parsons was well known to Lyons. He had met him\noccasionally in the past in other parts of the State in connection with\nbusiness complications, and regarded him as a practical, intelligent\ncitizen whose name would be of value to an aspirant for Congressional\nhonors. It occurred to him as he shook hands with those next in line and\naddressed them that it would be eminently suitable if he should pay his\nrespects to this new-comer to Benham by a visit. By so doing he world\nkill two birds with one stone, for he had reasoned of late that he owed\nit to himself to see more of the other sex. He had no specific\nmatrimonial intentions; that is, he was not on the lookout for a wife;\nbut he approved of happy unions as one of the great bulwarks of the\ncommunity, and was well-disposed to encounter a suitable helpmate. He\nshould expect physical charms, dignity, capacity and a sympathetic mind;\na woman, in short, who would be an ornament to his home, a Christian\ninfluence in society and a companion whose intelligent tact would be\nlikely to promote his political fortunes. And so it happened that in the\ncourse of the next few days he found himself thinking of Mrs. Littleton\nas a fine figure of a woman. This had not happened to him before since\nthe death of his wife, and it made him thoughtful to the extent of\nasking \"Why not?\" For in spite of his long frock-coat and proper\ndemeanor, passion was not extinct in the bosom of the Hon. James O.\nLyons, and he was capable on special and guarded occasions of telling a\nwoman that he loved her.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nMiss Luella Bailey was not elected. The unenlightened prejudice of man\nto prefer one of his own sex, combined with the hostility of the Reform\nClub, procured her defeat, notwithstanding that the rest of her ticket\ntriumphed at the polls. There was some consolation for her friends in\nthe fact that her rival, Miss Snow, had a considerably smaller number of\nvotes than she. Selma solaced herself by the reflection that, as she had\nbeen consulted only at the twelfth hour, she was not responsible for the\nresult, but she felt nerved by the defeat to concentrate her energies\nagainst the proposed bill for an appointed school board.\n\nHer immediate attention and sympathy were suddenly invoked by the\nillness of Mr. Parsons, who had seemed lacking in physical vigor for\nsome weeks, and whose symptoms culminated in a slight paralysis, which\nconfined him to his bed for a month, and to his house during the\nremainder of the autumn. Selma rejoiced in this opportunity to develop\nher capacities as a nurse, to prove how adequate she would have been to\ntake complete charge of her late husband, had Dr. Page chosen to trust\nher. She administered with scrupulous regularity to the invalid such\nmedicines as were ordered, and kept him cheerful by reading and\nconversation, so that the physician in charge complimented her on her\nproficiency. Trained nurses were unknown in Benham at this time, and any\nold or unoccupied female was regarded as qualified to watch over the\nsick. Selma appreciated from what she had observed of the conduct of\nWilbur's nurse that there was a wrong and a right way of doing things,\nbut she blamed Dr. Page for his failure to appreciate instinctively that\nshe was sure to do things suitably. It seemed to her that he had lacked\nthe intuitive gift to discern latent capabilities--a fault of which the\nBenham practitioner proved blameless.\n\nFrom the large, sunny chamber in which Mr. Parsons slowly recovered some\nportion of his vitality, Selma could discern the distant beginnings of\nWetmore College, pleasantly situated on an elevation well beyond the\ncity limits on the further side of the winding river. An architect had\nbeen engaged to carry out Wilbur's plans, and she watched the outlines\nof the new building gradually take shape during the convalescence of her\nbenefactor. She recognized that the college would be theoretically a\nnoble addition to the standing of Benham as a city of intellectual and\næsthetic interests, but it provoked her to think that its management was\nin the hands of Mrs. Hallett Taylor and her friends, between whom and\nherself she felt that a chasm of irreconcilable differences of opinion\nexisted. Mrs. Taylor had not called on her since her return. She\nbelieved that she was glad of this, and hoped that some of the severely\nindignant criticism which she had uttered in regard to the Reform Club\nmovement had reached her ears. Or was Mrs. Taylor envious of her return\nto Benham as the true mistress of this fine establishment on the River\nDrive, so superior to her own? Nevertheless, it would have suited Selma\nto have been one of the trustees of this new college--her husband's\nhandiwork in the doing of which he had laid down his promising life--and\nthe fact that no one had sought her out and offered her the honor as a\nfitting recognition of her due was secretly mortifying. The Benham\nInstitute had been prompt to acknowledge her presence by giving a\nreception in her honor, at which she was able to recite once more, \"Oh,\nwhy should the Spirit of Mortal be proud?\" with old-time success, and\nshe had been informed by Mrs. Earle that she was likely to be chosen one\nof the Vice-Presidents at the annual meeting. But these Reform Club\npeople had not even done her the courtesy to ask her to join them or\nconsider their opinions. She would have spurned the invitation with\ncontempt, but it piqued her not to know more about them; it distressed\nher to think that there should exist in Benham an exclusive set which\nprofessed to be ethically and intellectually superior and did not\ninclude her, for she had come to Benham with the intention of leading\nsuch a movement, to the detriment of fashion and frivolity. With Mr.\nParsons's money at her back, she was serenely confident that the houses\nof the magnates of Benham--the people who corresponded in her mind's eye\nto the dwellers on Fifth Avenue--would open to her. Already there had\nbeen flattering indications that she would be able to command attention\nthere. She had expected to find this so; her heart would have been\nbroken to find it otherwise. Still, her hope in shaking the dust of New\nYork from her feet had been to find in Benham an equally admirable and\nsatisfactory atmosphere in regard to mental and moral progress. She had\ncome just in time, it is true, to utter her vehement protest against\nthis exclusive, aristocratic movement--this arrogant affectation of\nsuperiority, and to array herself in battle line against it, resolved to\ngive herself up with enthusiasm to its annihilation. Yet the sight of\nthe college buildings for the higher education of women, rising without\nher furtherance and supervision, and under the direction of these\npeople, made her sad and gave her a feeling of disappointment. Why had\nthey been permitted to obtain this foothold? Someone had been lacking in\nvigilance and foresight. Thank heaven, with her return and a strong,\npopular spirit like Mr. Lyons in the lead, these unsympathetic,\nso-called reformers would speedily be confounded, and the intellectual\nair of Benham restored to its original purity.\n\nOne afternoon while Selma's gaze happened to be directed toward the\nembryo college walls, and she was incubating on the situation, Mr.\nParsons, who had seemed to be dozing, suddenly said:\n\n\"I should like you to write to Mr. Lyons, the lawyer, and ask him to\ncome to see me.\"\n\n\"I will write to-night. You know he called while you were ill.\"\n\n\"Yes, I thought him a clever fellow when we met two or three times on\nrailroad matters, and I gather from what you told me about his speech at\nthe political meeting that he's a rising man hereabouts. I'm going to\nmake my will, and I need him to put it into proper shape.\"\n\n\"I'm sure he'd do it correctly.\"\n\n\"There's not much for him to do except to make sure that the language is\nlegal, for I've thought it all out while I've been lying here during\nthese weeks. Still, it's important to have in a lawyer to fix it so the\npeople whom I don't intend to get my money shan't be able to make out\nthat I'm not in my right mind. I guess,\" he added, with a laugh, \"that\nthe doctor will allow I've my wits sufficiently for that?\"\n\n\"Surely. You are practically well now.\"\n\nMr. Parsons was silent for a moment. He prided himself on being\nclose-mouthed about his private affairs until they were ripe for\nutterance. His intention had been to defer until after the interview\nwith his lawyer any statement of his purpose, but it suddenly occurred\nto him that it would please him to unbosom his secret to his companion\nbecause he felt sure in advance that she would sympathize fully with his\nplans. He had meant to tell her when the instrument was signed. Why not\nnow?\n\n\"Selma,\" he said, \"I've known ever since my wife and daughter died that\nI ought to make a will, but I kept putting it off until it has almost\nhappened that everything I've got went to my next of kin--folk I'm fond\nof, too, and mean to remember--but not fond enough for that. If I give\nthem fifty thousand dollars apiece--the three of them--I shall rest easy\nin my grave, even if they think they ought to have had a bigger slice.\nIt's hard on a man who has worked all his days, and laid up close to a\nmillion of dollars, not to have a son or a daughter, flesh of my flesh,\nto leave it to; a boy or a girl given at the start the education I\ndidn't get, and who, by the help of my money, might make me proud, if I\ncould look on, of my name or my blood. It wasn't to be, and I must grin\nand bear it, and do the next best thing. I caught a glimpse of what that\nthing was soon after I lost my wife and daughter, and it was the thought\nof that more than anything which kept me from going crazy with despair.\nI'm a plain man, an uneducated man, but the fortune I've made has been\nmade honestly, and I'm going to spend it for the good of the American\npeople--to contribute my mite toward helping the cause of truth and good\ncitizenship and free and independent ideas which this nation calls for.\nI'm going to give my money for benevolent uses.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Parsons,\" exclaimed Selma, clasping her hands, \"how splendid!\nhow glorious! How I envy you. It was what I hoped.\"\n\n\"I knew you would be pleased. I've had half a mind once or twice to let\nthe cat out of the bag, because I guessed it would be the sort of thing\nthat would take your fancy; but somehow I've kept mum, for fear I might\nbe taken before I'd been able to make a will. And then, too, I've been\nof several minds as to the form of my gift. I thought it would suit me\nbest of all to found a college, and I was disappointed when I learned\nthat neighbor Flagg had got the start of me with his seminary for women\nacross the river. I wasn't happy over it until one night, just after the\ndoctor had gone, the thought came to me, 'Why, not give a hospital?' And\nthat's what it's to be. Five hundred thousand dollars for a free\nhospital in the City of Benham, in memory of my wife and daughter.\nThat'll be useful, won't it? That'll help the people as much as a\ncollege? And, Selma,\" he added, cutting off the assuring answer which\ntrembled on her tongue and blazed from her eyes, \"I shan't forget you.\nAfter I'm gone you are to have twenty thousand dollars. That'll enable\nyou, in case you don't marry, to keep a roof over your head without\nworking too hard.\"\n\n\"Thank you. You are very generous,\" she said. The announcement was\npleasant to her, but at the moment it seemed of secondary importance.\nHer enthusiasm had been aroused by the fact and character of his public\ndonation, and already her brain was dancing with the thought of the\nprospect of a rival vital institution in connection with which her views\nand her talents would in all probability be consulted and allowed to\nexercise themselves. Her's, and not Mrs. Taylor's, or any of that\ncensorious and restricting set. In that hospital, at least, ambition and\noriginality would be allowed to show what they could do unfettered by\nenvy or paralyzed by conservatism. \"But I can't think of anything now,\nMr. Parsons, except the grand secret you have confided to me. A\nhospital! It is an ideal gift. It will show the world what noble uses\nour rich, earnest-minded men make of their money, and it will give our\ndoctors and our people a chance to demonstrate what a free hospital\nought to be. Oh, I congratulate you. I will write to Mr. Lyons at once.\"\n\nA note in prompt response stated the hour when the lawyer would call. On\nhis arrival he was shown immediately to Mr. Parsons's apartments, with\nwhom he was closeted alone. Selma managed to cross the hall at the\nmoment he was descending, and he was easily persuaded to linger and to\nfollow her into the library.\n\n\"I was anxious to say a few words to you, Mr. Lyons,\" she said. \"I know\nthe purpose for which Mr. Parsons sent for you. He has confided to me\nconcerning his will--told me everything. It is a noble disposition of\nhis property. A free hospital for Benham is an ideal selection, and one\nenvies him his opportunity.\"\n\n\"Yes. It is a superb and generous benefaction.\"\n\n\"I lay awake for hours last night thinking about it; thinking\nparticularly of the special point I am desirous to consult you in regard\nto. I don't wish to appear officious, or to say anything I shouldn't,\nbut knowing from what I heard you state in your speech the other day\nthat you feel as I do in regard to such matters, I take the liberty of\nsuggesting that it seems to me of very great importance that the\nmanagement of this magnificent gift should be in proper hands. May I ask\nyou without impropriety if you will protect Mr. Parsons so that captious\nor unenthusiastic persons, men or women, will be unable to control the\npolicy of his hospital? He would wish it so, I am sure. I thought of\nmentioning the matter to him myself, but I was afraid lest it might\nworry him and spoil the satisfaction of his generosity or retard his\ncure. Is what I ask possible? Do I make myself clear?\"\n\n\"Perfectly--perfectly. A valuable suggestion,\" he said. \"I am glad that\nyou have spoken--very glad. Alive as I am to the importance of\nprotecting ourselves at all points, I might not have realized this\nparticular danger had you not called it to my attention. Perhaps only a\nclever woman would have thought of it.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you. I felt that I could not keep silence, and run the risk\nof what might happen.\"\n\n\"Precisely. I think I can relieve your mind by telling you--which under\nthe circumstances is no breach of professional secrecy, for it is plain\nthat the testator desires you to know his purpose--that Mr. Parsons has\ndone me the honor to request me to act as the executor of his will. As\nsuch I shall be in a position to make sure that those to whom the\nmanagement of his hospital is intrusted are people in whom you and I\nwould have confidence.\"\n\n\"Ah! That is very satisfactory. It makes everything as it should be, and\nI am immensely relieved.\"\n\n\"Now that you have spoken,\" he added, meeting her eager gaze with a\npropitiating look of reflective wisdom, \"I will consider the\nadvisability of taking the further precaution of advising the testator\nto name in his will the persons who shall act as the trustees of his\ncharity. That would clinch the matter. The selection of the individuals\nwould necessarily lie with Mr. Parsons, but it would seem eminently\nnatural and fitting that he should name you to represent your sex on\nsuch a board. I hope it would be agreeable to you to serve?\"\n\nSelma flushed. \"It would be a position which I should prize immensely.\nSuch a possibility had not occurred to me, though I felt that some\ndefinite provision should be made. The responsibility would be congenial\nto me and very much in my line.\"\n\n\"Assuredly. If you will permit me to say so, you are just the woman for\nthe place. We have met only a few times, Mrs. Littleton, but I am a man\nwho forms my conclusions of people rapidly, and it is obvious to me that\nyou are thoughtful, energetic, and liberal-minded--qualities which are\nespecially requisite for intelligent progress in semi-public work. It is\nessentially desirable to enlist the co-operation of well-equipped women\nto promote the national weal.\"\n\nLyons departed with an agreeable impression that he had been talking to\na woman who combined mental sagacity and enterprise with considerable\nfascination of person. This capable companion of Mr. Parsons was no\ncoquettish or simpering beauty, no mere devotee of fashionable manners,\nbut a mature, well-poised character endowed with ripe intellectual and\nbodily graces. Their interview suggested that she possessed initiative\nand discretion in directing the course of events, and a strong sense of\nmoral responsibility, attributes which attracted his interest. He was\nobliged to make two more visits before the execution of the will, and on\neach occasion he had an opportunity to spend a half-hour alone in the\nsociety of Selma. He found her gravely and engagingly sympathetic with\nhis advocacy of democratic principles; he told her of his ambition to be\nelected to Congress--an ambition which he believed would be realized the\nfollowing autumn. He confided to her, also, that he was engaged in his\nleisure moments in the preparation of a literary volume to be entitled,\n\"Watchwords of Patriotism,\" a study of the requisites of the best\ncitizenship, exemplified by pertinent extracts from the public\nutterances of the most distinguished American public servants.\n\nSelma on her part reciprocated by a reference to the course of lectures\non \"Culture and Higher Education,\" which she had resolved to deliver\nbefore the Benham Institute during the winter. In these lectures she\nmeant to emphasize the importance of unfettered individuality, and to\ncomment adversely on the tendencies hostile to this fundamental\nprinciple of progress which she had observed in New York and from which\nBenham itself did not appear to her to be entirely exempt. After\ndelivering these lectures in Benham she intended to repeat them in\nvarious parts of the State, and in some of the large cities elsewhere,\nunder the auspices of the Confederated Sisterhood of Women's Clubs of\nAmerica, the Sorosis which Mrs. Earle had established on a firm basis,\nand of which at present she was second vice-president. As a token of\nsympathy with this undertaking, Mr. Lyons offered to procure her a free\npass on the railroads over which she would be obliged to travel. This\npleased Selma greatly, for she had always regarded free passes as a sign\nof mysterious and enviable importance.\n\nTwo months later Selma, as secretary of the sub-committee of the\nInstitute selected to oppose before the legislature the bill to create\nan appointed school board, had further occasion to confer with Mr.\nLyons. He agreed to be the active counsel, and approved of the plan that\na delegation of women should journey to the capital, two hours and a\nhalf by rail, and add the moral support of their presence at the hearing\nbefore the legislative committee.\n\nThe expedition was another gratification to Selma--who had become\npossessed of her free pass. She felt that in visiting the state-house\nand thus taking an active part in the work of legislation she was\nbeginning to fulfil the larger destiny for which she was qualified. Side\nby side with Mrs. Earle at the head of a delegation of twenty Benham\nwomen she marched augustly into the committee chamber. The contending\nfactions sat on opposite sides of the room. Through its middle ran a\nlong table occupied by the Committee on Education to which the bill had\nbeen referred. Among the dozen or fifteen persons who appeared in\nsupport of the bill Selma perceived Mrs. Hallett Taylor, whom she had\nnot seen since her return. She was disappointed to observe that Mrs.\nTaylor's clothes, though unostentatious, were in the latest fashion. She\nhad hoped to find her dowdy or unenlightened, and to be able to look\ndown on her from the heights of her own New York experience.\n\nThe lawyer in charge of the bill presented lucidly and with skill the\nmerits of his case, calling to the stand four prominent educators from\nas many different sections of the State, and several citizens of\nwell-known character, among them Babcock's former pastor, Rev. Henry\nGlynn. He pointed out that the school committee, as at present\nconstituted, was an unwieldy body of twenty-four members, that it was\nregarded as the first round in the ladder of political preferment, and\nthat the members which composed it were elected not on the ground of\ntheir fitness, but because they were ambitious for political\nrecognition.\n\nThe legislative committee listened politely but coldly to these\nstatements and to the testimony of the witnesses. It was evident that\nthey regarded the proposed reform with distrust.\n\n\"Do you mean us to understand that the public schools of this State are\nnot among the best, if not the best, in the world?\" asked one member of\nthe committee, somewhat sternly.\n\n\"I recognize the merits of our school system, but I am not blind to its\nfaults,\" responded the attorney in charge of the bill. He was a man who\npossessed the courage of his convictions, but he was a lawyer of tact,\nand he knew that his answer went to the full limit of what he could\nsafely utter by way of qualification without hopelessly imperilling his\ncause.\n\n\"Are not our public schools turning out yearly hundreds of boys and\ngirls who are a growing credit to the soundness of the institutions of\nthe country?\" continued the same inquisitor.\n\nHere was a proposition which opened such a vista of circuitous and\ncareful speech, were he to attempt to answer it and be true to\nconscience without being false to patriotism, that Mr. Hunter was driven\nto reply, \"I am unable to deny the general accuracy of your statement.\"\n\n\"Then why seek to harass those who are doing such good work by\nunfriendly legislation?\"\n\nThe member plainly felt that he had disposed of the matter by this\ntriumphant interrogation, for he listened with scant attention to a\nrepetition of the grounds on which, relief was sought.\n\nMr. Lyons's method of reply was a surprise to Selma. She had looked for\na fervid vindication of the principle of the people's choice, and an\neloquent, sarcastic setting forth of the evils of the exclusive and\naristocratic spirit. He began by complimenting the members of the\ncommittee on their ability to deal intelligently with the important\nquestion before them, and then proceeded to refer to the sincere but\nmistaken zeal of the advocates of the bill, whom he described as people\nanimated by conscientious motives, but unduly distrustful of the\ncapacity of the American people. His manner suggested a desire to be at\npeace with all the world and was agreeably conciliatory, as though he\ndeprecated the existence of friction. He said that he would not do the\nmembers of the committee the injustice to suppose that they could\nseriously favor the passage of a bill which would deprive the\nintelligent average voter of one of his dearest privileges; but that he\ndesired to put himself on record as thinking it a fortunate\ncircumstance, on the whole, that the well-intentioned promoters of the\nbill had brought this matter to the attention of the legislature, and\nhad an opportunity to express their views. He believed that the hearing\nwould be productive of benefit to both parties, in that on the one hand\nit would tend to make the voters more careful as to whom they selected\nfor the important duties of the school board, and on the other\nwould--he, as a lover of democratic institutions, hoped--serve to\nconvince the friends of the bill that they had exaggerated the evils of\nthe situation, and that they were engaged in a false and hopeless\nundertaking in seeking to confine by hard and fast lines the spontaneous\nyearnings of the American people to control the education of their\nchildren. \"We say to these critics,\" he continued, \"some of whom are\nenrolled under the solemn name of reformers, that we welcome their zeal\nand offer co-operation in a resolute purpose to exercise unswerving\nvigilance in the selection of candidates for the high office of\nguardians of our public schools. So far as they will join hands with us\nin keeping undefiled the traditions of our forefathers, to that extent\nwe are heartily in accord with them, but when they seek to override\nthose traditions and to fasten upon this community a method which is\nbased on a lack of confidence in democratic theories, then I--and\ngentlemen, I feel sure that you--are against them.\"\n\nLyons sat down, having given everyone in the room, with the exception of\na few discerning spirits on the other side, the impression that he had\nintended to be pre-eminently fair, and that he had held out the olive\nbranch when he would have been justified in using the scourge. The\ninclination to make friends, to smooth over seamy situations and to\navoid repellent language in dealing with adversaries, except in\ncorporation cases before juries and on special occasions when defending\nhis political convictions, had become a growing tendency with him now\nthat he was in training for public office. Selma did not quite know what\nto make of it at first. She had expected that he would crush their\nopponents beneath an avalanche of righteous invective. Instead he took\nhis seat with an expression of countenance which was no less benignant\nthan dignified. When the hearing was declared closed, a few minutes\nlater, he looked in her direction, and in the course of his passage to\nwhere she was sitting stopped to exchange affable greetings with\nassemblymen and others who came in his way. At his approach Mrs. Earle\nuttered congratulations so comprehensive that Selma felt able to refrain\nfor the moment from committing herself. \"I am glad that you were\npleased,\" he said. \"I think I covered the ground, and no one's feelings\nhave been hurt.\" As though he divined what was passing through Selma's\nmind, he added in an aside intended only for their ears, \"It was not\nnecessary to use all our powder, for I could tell from the way the\ncommittee acted that they were with us.\"\n\n\"I felt sure they would be,\" exclaimed Mrs. Earle. \"And, as you say, it\nis a pleasure that no one's feelings were hurt, and that we can all part\nfriends.\"\n\n\"Which reminds me,\" said Lyons, \"that I should be glad of an\nintroduction to Mrs. Taylor as she passes us on her way out. I wish to\nassure her personally of my willingness to further her efforts to\nimprove the quality of the school board.\"\n\n\"That would be nice of you,\" said Mrs. Earle, \"and ought to please and\nencourage her, for she will be disappointed, poor thing, and after all I\nsuppose she means well. There she is now, and I will keep my eye on\nher.\"\n\n\"But surely, Mr. Lyons,\" said Selma, dazed yet interested by this\ndoctrine of brotherly love, \"don't you think our school committee\nadmirable as it is?\"\n\n\"A highly efficient body,\" he answered. \"But I should be glad to have\nour opponents--mistaken as we believe them to be--appreciate that we no\nless than they are zealous to preserve the present high standard. We\nmust make them recognize that we are reformers and in sympathy with\nreform.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Selma. \"For, of course, we are the real reformers. Convert\nthem you mean? Be civil to them at least? I understand. Yes, I suppose\nthere is no use in making enemies of them.\" She was thinking aloud.\nThough ever on her guard to resent false doctrine, she was so sure of\nthe loyalty of both her companions that she could allow herself to be\ninterested by this new point of view--a vast improvement on the New York\nmanner because of its ethical suggestion. She realized that if Mr. Lyons\nwas certain of the committee, it was right, and at the same time\nsensible, not to hurt anyone's feelings unnecessarily--although she felt\na little suspicious because he had asked to be introduced to Mrs.\nTaylor. Indeed, the more she thought of this attitude, on the assumption\nthat the victory was assured, the more it appealed to her conscience and\nintelligence; so much so that when Mrs. Earle darted forward to detain\nMrs. Taylor, Selma was reflecting with admiration on his magnanimity.\n\nShe observed intently the meeting between Mr. Lyons and Mrs. Taylor. He\nwas deferential, complimentary, and genial, and he made a suave,\nimpressive offer of his personal services, in response to which Mrs.\nTaylor regarded him with smiling incredulity--a smile which Selma\nconsidered impertinent. How dared she treat his courtly advances with\nflippant distrust!\n\n\"Are you aware, Mr. Lyons,\" Mrs. Taylor was saying, \"that one of the\npresent members of the school board is a milkman, and another a\ncarpenter--both of them persons of very ordinary efficiency from an\neducational standpoint? Will you co-operate with us, when their terms\nexpire next year and they seek re-election, to nominate more suitable\ncandidates in their stead?\"\n\n\"I shall be very glad when the time comes to investigate carefully their\nqualifications, and if they are proved to be unworthy of the confidence\nof the people, to use my influence against them. You may rely on\nthis--rely on my cordial support, and the support of these ladies,\" he\nadded, indicating Mrs. Earle and Selma, with a wave of his hand, \"who,\nif you will permit me to say so, are no less interested than you in\npromoting good government.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, indeed. We thought we were making an ideal choice in Miss\nLuella Bailey,\" said Mrs. Earle with effusion. \"If Mrs. Taylor had seen\nmore of her, I feel sure she would have admired her, and then our\nInstitute would not have been dragged into politics.\"\n\nMrs. Taylor did not attempt to answer this appeal. Instead she greeted\nSelma civilly, and said, \"I was sorry to hear that you were against us,\nMrs. Littleton. We were allies once in a good cause, and in spite of Mr.\nLyons's protestations to the contrary, I assure you that this is another\ngenuine opportunity to improve the existing order of things. At least,\"\nshe added, gayly but firmly, \"you must not let Mr. Lyons's predilection\nto see everything through rose-colored spectacles prevent you from\nlooking into the matter on your own account.\"\n\n\"I have done so already,\" answered Selma, affronted at the suggestion\nthat she was uninformed, yet restrained from displaying her annoyance by\nthe sudden inspiration that here was an admirable opportunity to\npractise the proselytizing forbearance suggested by Mr. Lyons. The idea\nof patronizing Mrs. Taylor from the vantage-ground of infallibility,\ntinctured by magnanimous condescension, appealed to her. \"I have made a\nthorough study of the question, and I never could look at it as you do,\nMrs. Taylor. I sided with you before because I thought you were\nright--because you were in favor of giving everyone a chance of\nexpression. But now I'm on the other side for the same reason--because\nyou and your friends are disposed to deprive people of that very thing,\nand to regard their aspirations and their efforts contemptuously, if I\nmay say so. That's the mistake we think you make--we who, as Mr. Lyons\nhas stated, are no less eager than you to maintain the present high\ncharacter of everything which concerns our school system. But if you\nonly would see things in a little different light, both Mrs. Earle and I\nwould be glad to welcome you as an ally and to co-operate with you.\"\n\nSelma had not expected to make such a lengthy speech, but as she\nproceeded she was spurred by the desire to teach Mrs. Taylor her proper\nplace, and at the same time to proclaim her own allegiance to the\nattitude of optimistic forbearance.\n\n\"I knew that was the way they felt,\" said Lyons, ingratiatingly. \"It\nwould be a genuine pleasure to us all to see this unfortunate difference\nof opinion between earnest people obviated.\"\n\nMrs. Taylor, as Selma was pleased to note, flushed at her concluding\noffer, and she answered, drily, \"I fear that we are too far apart in our\nideas to talk of co-operation. If our bill is defeated this year, we\nshall have to persevere and trust to the gradual enlightenment of public\nsentiment. Good afternoon.\"\n\nSelma left the State-house in an elated frame of mind. She felt that she\nhad taken a righteous and patriotic stand, and it pleased her to think\nthat she was taking an active part in defending the institutions of the\ncountry. She chatted eagerly as she walked through the corridors with\nMr. Lyons, who, portly and imposing, acted as escort to her and Mrs.\nEarle, and invited them to luncheon at a hotel restaurant. Excitement\nhad given her more color than usual, to which her mourning acted as a\nfoil, and she looked her best. Lyons was proud of being in the company\nof such a presentable and spirited appearing woman, and made a point of\nstopping two or three members of the legislature and introducing them to\nher. When they reached the restaurant he established them at a table\nwhere they could see everybody and be seen, and he ordered scolloped\noysters, chicken-salad, ice-cream, coffee, and some bottles of\nsarsaparilla. Both women were in high spirits, and Selma was agreeably\nconscious that people were observing them. Before the repast was over a\nmessenger brought a note to Mr. Lyons, which announced that the\nlegislative committee had given the petitioners leave to withdraw their\nbill, which, in Selma's eyes, justified the management of the affair,\nand set the seal of complete success on an already absorbing and\ndelightful occasion.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nHer mourning and the slow convalescence of Mr. Parsons deprived Selma of\nconvincing evidence in regard to her social reception in Benham, for\nthose socially prominent were thus barred from inviting her to their\nhouses, and her own activities were correspondingly fettered. Indeed,\nher circumstances supplied her with an obvious salve for her proper\ndignity had she been disposed to let suspicion lie fallow. As it was a\nnumber of people had left cards and sent invitations notwithstanding\nthey could not be accepted, and she might readily have believed, had she\nchosen--and as she professed openly to Mr. Parsons--that everyone had\nbeen uncommonly civil and appreciative.\n\nShe found herself, however, in spite of her declared devotion to her\nserious duties, noting that the recognition accorded to Mr. Parsons and\nherself was not precisely of the character she craved. The\nvisiting-cards and invitations were from people residing on the River\nDrive and in that neighborhood, indeed--but from people like the Flaggs,\nfor instance, who, having acquired large wealth and erected lordly\ndwellings, were eager to dispense good-natured, lavish hospitality\nwithout social experience. Her sensitive ordeal in New York had\nquickened her social perceptions, so that whereas at the time of her\ndeparture from Benham as Mrs. Littleton she regarded her present\nneighborhood as an integral class, she was now prompt to separate the\nsheep from the goats, and to remark that only the goats seemed conscious\nof her existence. With the exception of Mrs. Taylor, who had called when\nshe was out, not one of a certain set, the outward manifestations of\nwhose stately being were constantly passing her windows, appeared to\ntake the slightest interest in her. Strictly speaking, Mrs. Taylor was\nof this set, yet apart from it. Hers was the exclusive intellectual and\næsthetic set, this the exclusive fashionable set--both alike execrable\nand foreign to the traditions of Benham. As Selma had discovered the one\nand declared war against it, so she promised herself to confound the\nother when the period of her mourning was over, and she was free to\nappear again in society. Once more she congratulated herself that she\nhad come in time to nip in the bud this other off-shoot of aristocratic\ntendencies. As yet either set was small in number, and she foresaw that\nit would be an easy task to unite in a solid phalanx of\noffensive-defensive influence the friendly souls whom these people\ntreated as outsiders, and purge the society atmosphere of the miasma of\nexclusiveness. In connection with the means to this end, when the winter\nslipped away and left her feeling that she had been ignored, and that\nshe was eager to assume a commanding position, she began to take more\nthan passing thought of the attentions of Mr. Lyons. That he was\ninterested by her there could be no doubt, for he plainly went out of\nhis way to seek her society, calling at the house from time to time, and\nexercising a useful, nattering superintendence over her lecture course\nin the other cities of the State, in each of which he appeared to have\nfriends on the newspaper press who put agreeable notices in print\nconcerning her performance. She had returned to Benham believing that\nher married life was over; that her heart was in the grave with Wilbur,\nand that she would never again part with her independence. The notice\nwhich Mr. Lyons had taken of her from the outset had gratified her, but\nthough she contrasted his physical energy with Wilbur's lack of vigor,\nit had not occurred to her to consider him in the light of a possible\nhusband. Now that a year had passed since Wilbur's death, she felt\nconscious once more, as had happened after her divorce, of the need of a\ncloser and more individual sympathy than any at her command. Her\nrelations with Mr. Parsons, to be sure, approximated those of father and\ndaughter, but his perceptions were much less acute than before his\nseizure; he talked little and ceased to take a vital interest in current\naffairs. She felt the lack of companionship and, also, of personal\ndevotion, such personal devotion as was afforded by the strenuous,\nardent allegiance of a man. On the other hand she was firmly resolved\nnever to allow the current of her own life to be turned away again by\nthe subordination of her purposes to those of any other person, and she\nhad believed that this resolution would keep her indifferent to\nmarriage, in spite of any sensations of loneliness or craving for\nmasculine idolatry. But as a widow of a year's standing she was now\nsuddenly interested by the thought that this solid, ambitious,\nsmooth-talking man might possibly satisfy her natural preference for a\nmate without violating her individuality. She began to ask herself if he\nwere not truly congenial in a sense which no man had ever been to her\nbefore; also, to ask if their aspirations and aims were not so nearly\nidentical that he would be certain as her husband to be proud of\neverything she did and said, and to allow her to work hand in hand with\nhim for the furtherance of their common purpose. She did not put these\nquestions to herself until his conduct suggested that he was seeking her\nsociety as a suitor; but having put them, she was pleased to find her\nheart throb with the hope of a stimulating and dear discovery.\n\nCertain causes contributed to convince her that this hope rested on a\nsure foundation--causes associated with her present life and point of\nview. She felt confident first of all of the godliness of Mr. Lyons as\nindicated not only by his sober, successful life, and his enthusiastic,\nbenignant patriotism, but by his active, reverent interest in the\naffairs of his church--the Methodist Church--to which Mr. Parsons\nbelonged, and which Selma had begun to attend since her return to\nBenham. It had been her mother's faith, and she had felt a certain\nfilial glow in approaching it, which had been fanned into pious flame by\nthe effect of the ministration. The fervent hymns and the opportunities\nfor bearing testimony at some of the services appealed to her needs and\ngave her a sense of oneness with eternal truth, which had hitherto been\nlacking from her religious experience. In judging Wilbur she was\ndisposed to ascribe the defects of his character largely to the coldness\nand analyzing sobriety of his creed. She had accompanied him to church\nlistlessly, and had been bored by the unemotional appeals to conscience\nand quiet subjective designations of duty. She preferred to thrill with\nthe intensity of words which now roundly rated sin, now passionately\ncalled to mind the ransom of the Saviour, and ever kept prominent the\nstirring mission of evangelizing ignorant foreign people. It appeared\nprobable to Selma that, as the wife of one of the leading\nchurch-members, who was the chairman of the local committee charged with\nspreading the gospel abroad, her capacity for doing good would be\nstrengthened, and the spiritual availability of them both be enhanced.\n\nThen, too, Mr. Lyons's political prospects were flattering. The thought\nthat a marriage with him would put her in a position to control the\nsocial tendencies of Benham was alluring. As the wife of Hon. James O.\nLyons, Member of Congress, she believed that she would be able to look\ndown on and confound those who had given her the cold shoulder. What\nwould Flossy say when she heard it? What would Pauline? This was a form\nof distinction which would put her beyond the reach of conspiracy and\nexclusiveness; for, as the wife of a representative, selected by the\npeople to guard their interests and make their laws, would not her\nsocial position be unassailable? And apart from these considerations, a\npolitical future seemed to her peculiarly attractive. Was not this the\nreal opportunity for which she had been waiting? Would she be justified\nin giving it up? In what better way could her talents be spent than as\nthe helpmate and intellectual companion of a public man--a statesman\ndevoted to the protection and development of American ideas? Her own\nindividuality need not, would not be repressed. She had seen enough of\nMr. Lyons to feel sure that their views on the great questions of life\nwere thoroughly in harmony. They held the same religious opinions. Who\ncould foretell the limit of their joint progress? He was still a young\nman--strong, dignified, and patriotic--endowed with qualities which\nfitted him for public service. It might well be that a brilliant future\nwas before him--before them, if she were his wife. If he were to become\nprominent in the councils of the nation--Speaker of the\nHouse--Governor--even President, within the bounds of possibility, what\na splendid congenial scope his honors would afford her own versatility!\nAs day by day she dwelt on these points of recommendation, Selma became\nmore and more disposed to smile on the aspirations of Mr. Lyons in\nregard to herself, and to feel that her life would develop to the best\nadvantage by a union with him. Until the words asking her to be his wife\nwere definitely spoken she could not be positive of his intentions, but\nhis conduct left little room for doubt, and moreover, was marked by a\ndeferential soberness of purpose which indicated to her that his views\nregarding marriage were on a higher plane than those of any man she had\nknown. He referred frequently to the home as the foundation on which\nAmerican civilization rested, and from which its inspiration was largely\nderived, and spoke feelingly of the value to a public man of a\nstimulating and dignifying fireside. It became his habit to join her\nafter morning service and to accompany her home, carrying her\nhymn-books, and he sent her from time to time, through the post,\nquotations which had especially struck his fancy from the speeches he\nwas collecting for his \"Watchwords of Patriotism.\"\n\nAnother six months passed, and at its close Lyons received the expected\nnomination for Congress. The election promised to be close and exciting.\nBoth parties were confident of victory, and were preparing vigorously to\nkeep their adherents at fever pitch by rallies and torch-light\nprocessions. Although the result of the caucus was not doubtful, it was\nunderstood between Lyons and Selma that he would call at the house that\nevening to let her know that he had been successful. She was waiting to\nreceive him in the library. Mr. Parsons had gone to bed. His condition\nwas not promising. He had recently suffered another slight attack of\nparalysis, which seemed to indicate that he was liable at any time to a\nfatal seizure.\n\nLyons entered smilingly. \"So far so good,\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Then you have won?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. As I told you, it was a foregone conclusion. Now the fight\nbegins.\"\n\nSelma, who had provided a slight refection, handed him a cup of tea. \"I\nfeel sure that you will be chosen,\" she said. \"See if I am not right.\nWhen is the election?\"\n\n\"In six weeks. Six weeks from to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Then you will go to Washington to live?\"\n\n\"Not until the fourth of March.\"\n\n\"I envy you. If I were a man I should prefer success in politics to\nanything else.\"\n\nHe was silent for a moment. Then he said, \"Will you help me to achieve\nsuccess? Will you go with me to Washington as my wife?\"\n\nHis courtship had been formal and elaborate, but his declaration was\nsignally simple and to the point. Selma noticed that the cup in his hand\ntrembled. While she kept her eyes lowered, as women are supposed to do\nat such moments, she was wondering whether she loved him as much as she\nhad loved Wilbur? Not so ardently, but more worthily, she concluded, for\nhe seemed to her to fulfil her maturer ideal of strong and effective\nmanhood, and to satisfy alike her self-respect and her physical fancy. A\nman of his type would not split hairs, but proceed straight toward the\ngoal of his ambition without fainting or wavering. Why should she not\nsatisfy her renewed craving to be yoked to a kindred spirit and\ncompanion who appreciated her true worth?\n\n\"I cannot believe,\" he was saying, \"that my words are a surprise to you.\nYou can scarcely have failed to understand that I admired you extremely.\nI have delayed to utter my desire to make you my wife because I did not\ndare to cherish too fondly the hope that the love inspired in me could\nbe reciprocated, and that you would consent to unite your life to mine\nand trust your happiness to my keeping. If I may say so, we are no boy\nand girl. We understand the solemn significance of marriage; what it\nimports and what it demands. Of late I have ventured to dream that the\nsympathy in ideas and identity of purpose which exist between us might\nbe the trustworthy sign of a spiritual bond which we could not afford to\nignore. I feel that without you the joy and power of my life will be\nincomplete. With you at my side I shall aspire to great things. You are\nto me the embodiment of what is charming and serviceable in woman.\"\n\nSelma looked up. \"I like you very much, Mr. Lyons. You, in your turn,\nmust have realized that, I think. As you say, we are no boy and girl.\nYou meant by that, too, that we both have been married before. I have\nhad two husbands, and I did not believe that I could ever think of\nmarriage again. I don't wish you to suppose that my last marriage was\nnot happy. Mr. Littleton was an earnest, talented man, and devoted to\nme. Yet I cannot deny that in spite of mutual love our married life was\nnot a success--a success as a contribution to accomplishment. That\nnearly broke my heart, and he--he died from lack of the physical and\nmental vigor which would have made so much difference. I am telling you\nthis because I wish you to realize that if I should consent to comply\nwith your wishes, it would be because I was convinced that true\naccomplishment--the highest accomplishment--would result from the union\nof our lives as the result of our riper experience. If I did not\nbelieve, Mr. Lyons, that man and woman as we are--no longer boy and\ngirl--a more perfect scheme of happiness, a grander conception of the\nmeaning of life than either of us had entertained was before us, I would\nnot consider your offer for one moment.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I understand,\" Lyons exclaimed eagerly. \"I share your belief\nimplicitly. It was what I would have said only--\"\n\nDespite his facility as an orator, Lyons left this sentence incomplete\nin face of the ticklish difficulty of explaining that he had refrained\nfrom suggesting such a hope to a widow who had lost her husband only two\nyears before. Yet he hastened to bridge over this ellipsis by saying,\n\"Without such a faith a union between us must fall short of its sweetest\nand grandest opportunities.\"\n\n\"It would be a mockery; there would be no excuse for its existence,\"\ncried Selma impetuously. \"I am an idealist, Mr. Lyons,\" she said\nclasping her hands. \"I believe devotedly in the mission and power of\nlove. But I believe that our conception of love changes as we grow. I\nwelcomed love formerly as an intoxicating, delirious potion, and as such\nit was very sweet. You have just told me of your own feelings toward me,\nso it is your right to know that lately I have begun to realize that my\nassociation with you has brought peace into my life--peace and religious\nfaith--essentials of happiness of which I have not known the blessings\nsince I was a child. You have dedicated yourself to a lofty work; you\nhave chosen the noble career of a statesman--a statesman zealous to\npromote principles in which we both believe. And you ask me to share\nwith you the labors and the privileges which will result from this\ndedication. If I accept your offer, it must be because I know that I\nlove you--love you in a sense I have not loved before--may the dead\npardon me! If I accept you it will be because I wish to perpetuate that\nfaith and peace, and because I believe that our joint lives will realize\nworthy accomplishment.\" Selma looked into space with her wrapt gaze,\napparently engaged in an intense mental struggle.\n\n\"And you will accept? You do feel that you can return my love? I cannot\ntell you how greatly I am stirred and stimulated by what you have said.\nIt makes me feel that I could never be happy without you.\" Lyons put\ninto this speech all his solemnity and all his emotional beneficence of\ntemperament. He was genuinely moved. His first marriage had been a love\nmatch. His wife--a mere girl--had died within a year; so soon that the\nmemory of her was a tender but hazy sentiment rather than a formulated\nimpression of character. By virtue of this memory he had approached\nmarriage again as one seeking a companion for his fireside, and a\ncomely, sensible woman to preside over his establishment and promote his\nsocial status, rather than one expecting to be possessed by or to\ninspire a dominant passion. Yet he, too, regarded himself distinctly as\nan idealist, and he had lent a greedy ear to Selma's suggestion that\nmature mutual sympathy and comradeship in establishing convictions and\nreligious aims were the source of a nobler type of love than that\nassociated with early matrimony. It increased his admiration for her,\nand gave to his courtship, the touch of idealism which--partly owing to\nhis own modesty as a man no longer in the flush of youth--it had lacked.\nHe nervously stroked his beard with his thick hand, and gave himself up\nto the spell of this vision of blessedness while he eagerly watched\nSelma's face and waited for her answer. To combine moral purpose and\nlove in a pervasive alliance appealed to him magnetically as a religious\nman.\n\nSelma, as she faced Lyons, was conscious necessarily of the contrast\nbetween him and her late husband. But she was attuned to regard his\ncoarser physical fibre as masculine vigor and a protest against\naristocratic delicacy, and to derive comfort and exaltation from it.\n\n\"Mr. Lyons,\" she said, \"I will tell you frankly that the circumstances\nof married life have hitherto hampered the expression of that which is\nin me, and confined the scope of my individuality within narrow and\nuncongenial limits. I am not complaining; I have no intention to rake up\nthe past; but it is proper you should know that I believe myself capable\nof larger undertakings than have yet been afforded me, and worthy of\nampler recognition than I have yet received. If I accept you as a\nhusband, it will be because I feel confident that you will give my life\nthe opportunity to expand, and that you sympathize with my desire to\nexpress myself adequately and to labor hand in hand, side by side, with\nyou in the important work of the world.\"\n\n\"That is what I would have you do, Selma. Because you are worthy of it,\nand because it is your right.\"\n\n\"On that understanding it seems that we might be very happy.\"\n\n\"I am certain of it. You fill my soul with gladness,\" he cried, and\nseizing her hand he pressed it to his lips and covered it with kisses,\nbut she withdrew it, saying, \"Not yet--not yet. This step represents so\nmuch to me. It means that if I am mistaken in you, my whole life will be\nruined, for the next years should be my best. We must not be too hasty.\nThere are many things to be thought of. I must consider Mr. Parsons. I\ncannot leave him immediately, if at all, for he is very dependent on\nme.\"\n\n\"I had thought of that. While Mr. Parsons lives, I realize that your\nfirst duty must be to him.\"\n\nThe reverential gravity of his tone was in excess of the needs of the\noccasion, and Selma understood that he intended to imply that Mr.\nParsons would not long need her care. The same thought was in her own\nmind, and it had occurred to her in the course of her previous\ncogitations in regard to Lyons, that in the event of his death it would\nsuit her admirably to continue to occupy the house as its real mistress.\nShe looked grave for a moment in her turn, then with a sudden access of\ncoyness she murmured, \"I do not believe that I am mistaken in you.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" he cried, and would have folded her in his arms, but she evaded\nhis onset and said with her dramatic intonation, \"The knights of old won\ntheir lady-loves by brilliant deeds. If you are elected a member of\nCongress, you may come to claim me.\"\n\nReflection served only to convince Selma of the wisdom of her decision\nto try matrimony once more. She argued, that though a third marriage\nmight theoretically seem repugnant if stated as a bald fact, the actual\ncircumstances in her case not merely exonerated her from a lack of\ndelicacy, but afforded an exhibition of progress--a gradual evolution in\ncharacter. She felt light-hearted and triumphant at the thought of her\nimpending new importance as the wife of a public man, and she interested\nherself exuberantly in the progress of the political campaign. She was\npleased to think that her stipulation had given her lover a new spur to\nhis ambition, and she was prepared to believe that his victory would be\ndue to the exhaustive efforts to win which the cruel possibility of\nlosing her obliged him to make.\n\nThis was a campaign era of torch-light processions. The rival factions\nexpressed their confidence and enthusiasm by parading at night in a\nseries of battalions armed with torches--some resplendently flaring,\nsome glittering gayly through colored glass--and bearing transparencies\ninscribed with trenchant sentiments. The houses of their adherents along\nthe route were illuminated from attic to cellar with rows of candles,\nand the atmosphere wore a dusky glow of red and green fire. To Selma all\nthis was entrancing. She revelled in it as an introduction to the more\nconspicuous life which she was about to lead. She showed herself a\nzealous and enthusiastic partisan, shrouding the house in the darkness\nof Erebus on the occasion when the rival procession passed the door, and\nimparting to every window the effect of a blaze of light on the\nfollowing evening--the night before election--when the Democratic party\nmade its final appeal to the voters. Standing on a balcony in evening\ndress, in company with Mrs. Earle and Miss Luella Bailey, whom she had\ninvited to view the procession from the River Drive, Selma looked down\non the parade in an ecstatic mood. The torches, the music, the fireworks\nand the enthusiasm set her pulses astir and brought her heart into her\nmouth in melting appreciation of the sanctity of her party cause and her\nown enviable destiny as the wife of an American Congressman. She held in\none hand a flag which she waved from time to time at the conspicuous\nfeatures of the procession, and she stationed herself so that the Bengal\nlights and other fireworks set off by Mr. Parsons's hired man should\nthrow her figure into conspicuous relief. The culminating interest of\nthe, occasion for her was reached when the James O. Lyons Cadets, the\nspecial body of youthful torch-bearers devoted to advertising the merits\nof her lover, for whose uniforms and accoutrements he had paid, came in\nsight.\n\nThey proved to be the most flourishing looking organization in line.\nThey were preceded by a large, nattily attired drum corps; their ranks\nwere full, their torches lustrous, and they bore a number of\ntransparencies setting forth the predominant qualifications of the\ncandidate for Congress from the second district, the largest of which\npresented his portrait superscribed with the sentiment, \"A vote for\nJames O. Lyons is a vote in support of the liberties of the plain\npeople.\" On the opposite end of the canvas was the picture of the king\nof beasts, with open jaws and bristling mane, with the motto, \"Our\nLyons's might will keep our institutions sacred.\" In the midst of this\nglittering escort the candidate himself rode in an open barouche on his\nway to the hall where he was to deliver a final speech. He was bowing to\nright and left, and constant cheers marked his progress along the\navenue. Selma leaned forward from the balcony to obtain the earliest\nsight of her hero. The rolling applause was a new, intoxicating music in\nher ears, and filled her soul with transport. She clapped her hands\nvehemently; seized a roman-candle, and amid a blaze of fiery sparks\nexploded its colored stars in the direction of the approaching carriage.\nThen with the flag slanted across her bosom, she stood waiting for his\nrecognition. It was made solemnly, but with the unequivocal\ndemonstration of a cavalier or knight of old, for Lyons stood up, and\ndoffing his hat toward her, made a conspicuous salute. A salvo of\napplause suggested to Selma that the multitude had understood that he\nwas according to her the homage due a lady-love, and that their cheers\nwere partly meant for her. She put her hand to her bosom with the\ngesture of a queen of melodrama, and culling one from a bunch of roses\nLyons had sent her that afternoon threw it from the balcony at the\ncarriage. The flower fell almost into the lap of her lover, who clutched\nit, pressed it to his lips, and doffed his hat again. The episode had\nbeen visible to many, and a hoarse murmur of interested approval crowned\nthe performance. The glance of the crowds on the sidewalk was turned\nupward, and someone proposed three cheers for the lady in the balcony.\nThey were given. Selma bowed to either side in delighted acknowledgment,\nwhile the torches of the cadets waved tumultuously, and there was a\nfresh outburst of colored fires.\n\n\"I can't keep the secret any longer,\" she exclaimed, turning to her two\ncompanions. \"I'm engaged to be married to Mr. Lyons.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nLyons was chosen to Congress by a liberal margin. The Congressional\ndelegation from his State was almost evenly divided between the two\nparties as the result of the election, and the majorities in every case\nwere small. Consequently the more complete victory of Lyons was a\nfeather in his cap, and materially enhanced his political standing.\n\nThe sudden death of Mr. Parsons within a week of the election saved\nSelma's conscience from the strain of arranging a harmonious and\nequitable separation from him. She had felt that the enlargement of her\nsphere of life and the opportunity to serve her country which this\nmarriage offered were paramount to any other considerations, but she was\nduly conscious that Mr. Parsons would miss her sorely, and she was\nconsidering the feasibility of substituting Miss Bailey as his companion\nin her place, when fate supplied a different solution. Selma had pledged\nher friends to secrecy, so that Mr. Parsons need know nothing until the\nplans for his happiness had been perfected, and he died in ignorance of\nthe interesting matrimonial alliance which had been fostered under his\nroof. By the terms of his will Selma was bequeathed the twenty thousand\ndollars he had promised her. She and Mr. Lyons, with a third person, to\nbe selected by them, were appointed trustees of the Free Hospital with\nwhich he had endowed Benham, and Mr. Lyons was nominated as the sole\nexecutor under the will.\n\nSelma's conception that her third betrothal was coincident with\nspiritual development, and that she had fought her way through hampering\ncircumstances to a higher plane of experience, had taken firm hold of\nher imagination. She presently confessed to Lyons that she had not\nhitherto appreciated the full meaning of the dogma that marriage was a\nsacrament. She evinced a disposition to show herself with him at church\ngatherings, and to cultivate the acquaintance of his pastor. She felt\nthat she had finally secured the opportunity to live the sober, simple\nlife appropriate to those who believed in maintaining American\nprinciples, and in eschewing luxurious and effete foreign innovations;\nthe sort of life she had always meant to live, and from which she had\nbeen debarred. She had now not only opportunity, but a responsibility.\nAs the bride of a Congressman, it behooved her both to pursue virtue for\nits own sake and for the sake of example. It was incumbent on her to\npreserve and promote democratic conditions in signal opposition to\nso-called fashionable society, and at the same time to assert her own\nproper dignity and the dignity of her constituents by a suitable outward\nshow.\n\nThis last subtlety of reflection convinced Selma that they ought to\noccupy the house on the River Drive. Lyons himself expressed some doubts\nas to the advisability of this. He admitted that he could afford the\nexpense, and that it was just such a residence as he desired, but he\nsuggested that their motives might not be understood, and he questioned\nwhether it were wise, with the State so close, to give his political\nenemies the chance to make unjust accusations.\n\n\"Of course you ought to understand about this matter better than I,\" she\nsaid; \"but I have the feeling, James, that your constituents will be\ndisappointed if we don't show ourselves appreciative of the dignity of\nyour position. We both agree that we should make Benham our home, and\nthat it will be preferable if I visit Washington a month or two at a\ntime during the session rather than for us to set up housekeeping there,\nand I can't help believing that the people will be better pleased if\nyou, as their representative, make that home all which a beautiful home\nshould be. They will be proud of it, and if they are, you needn't mind\nwhat a few fault-finders say. I have been thinking it over, and it seems\nto me that we shall make a mistake to let this house go. It just suits\nus. I feel sure that in their hearts the American people like to have\ntheir public men live comfortably. This house is small compared to many\nin New York, and I flatter myself that we shall be able to satisfy\neveryone that we are rootedly opposed to unseemly extravagance of\nliving.\"\n\nLyons yielded readily to this argument. He had been accustomed to simple\nsurroundings, but travel and the growth of Benham itself had\ndemonstrated to him that the ways of the nation in respect to material\npossessions and comforts had undergone a marked change since his youth.\nHe had been brought in contact with this new development in his capacity\nof adviser to the magnates of Benham, and he had fallen under the spell\nof improved creature comforts. Still, though he cast sheep's eyes at\nthese flesh pots, he had felt chary, both as a worker for righteousness\nand an ardent champion of popular principles, of countenancing them\nopenly. Yet his original impulse toward marriage had been a desire to\nsecure an establishment, and now that this result was at hand he found\nhimself ambitious to put his household on a braver footing, provided\nthis would do injury neither to his moral scruples nor to his political\nsincerity. The problem was but another phase of that presented to him by\nhis evolution from a jury lawyer, whose hand and voice were against\ncorporations, to the status of a richly paid chamber adviser to\nrailroads and banking houses. He was exactly in the frame of mind to\ngrasp at the euphemism offered by Selma. He was not one to be convinced\nwithout a reason, but his mind eagerly welcomed a suggestion which\njustified on a moral ground the proceeding to which they were both\ninclined. The idea that the people would prefer to see him as their\nrepresentative living in a style consistent with the changes in manners\nand customs introduced by national prosperity, affording thereby an\nexample of correct and elevating stewardship of reasonable wealth, by\nway of contrast to vapid society doings, came to him as an illumination\nwhich dissipated his doubts.\n\nThe wedding took place about three months after the death of Mr.\nParsons. In her renovated outlook regarding matrimony, Selma included\nformal preparations for and some pomp of circumstances at the ceremony.\nIt suited her pious mood that she was not required again to be married\noff-hand, and that she could plight her troth in a decorous fashion,\nsuitably attired and amid conventional surroundings. Her dress was a\nsubject of considerable contemplation. She guided her lover's generosity\nuntil it centred on a diamond spray for her hair and two rings set with\nhandsome precious stones. She did not discourage Miss Luella Bailey from\nheralding the approaching nuptials in the press. She became Mrs. Lyons\nin a conspicuous and solemn fashion before the gaze of everybody in\nBenham whom there was any excuse for asking to the church. After a\ncollation at the Parsons house, the happy pair started on their\nhoneymoon in a special car put at their service by one of the railroads\nfor which the bridegroom was counsel. This feature delighted Selma.\nIndeed, everything, from the complimentary embrace of her husband's\npastor to the details of her dress and wedding presents, described with\nelaborate good will in the evening newspapers, appeared to her\ngratifying and appropriate.\n\nThey were absent six weeks, during which the Parsons house was to be\nredecorated and embellished within and without according to instructions\ngiven by Selma before her departure. Their trip extended to California\nby way of the Yosemite. Selma had never seen the wonders of the far\nwestern scenery, and this appropriate background for their sentiment\nalso afforded Lyons the opportunity to inspect certain railroad lines in\nwhich he was financially interested. The atmosphere of the gorgeous\nsnow-clad peaks and impressive chasms served to heighten still further\nthe intensity of Selma's frame of mind. She managed adroitly on several\noccasions to let people know who they were, and it pleased her to\nobserve the conductor indicating to passengers in the common cars that\nthey were Congressman Lyons and his wife on their honeymoon. She was\nlooking forward to Washington, and as she stood in the presence of the\ninspiring beauties of nature she was prone to draw herself up in\nrehearsal of the dignity which she expected to wear. What were these\nmountains and canyons but physical counterparts of the human soul? What\nbut correlative representatives of grand ideas, of noble lives devoted\nto the cause of human liberty? She felt that she was very happy, and she\nbore testimony to this by walking arm in arm with her husband, leaning\nagainst his firm, stalwart shoulder. It seemed to her desirable that the\npublic should know that they were a happy couple and defenders of the\npurity of the home. On their way back the train was delayed on\nWashington's birthday for several hours by a wash-out, and presently a\ndeputation made up of passengers and townspeople waited on Lyons and\ninvited him to deliver an open-air address. He and Selma, when the\ncommittee arrived, were just about to explore the neighborhood, and\nLyons, though ordinarily he would have been glad of such an opportunity,\nlooked at his wife with an expression which suggested that he would\nprefer a walk with her. The eyes of the committee followed his,\nappreciating that he had thrown the responsibility of a decision on his\nbride. Selma was equal to the occasion. \"Of course he will address you,\"\nshe exclaimed. \"What more suitable place could there be for offering\nhomage to the father of our country than this majestic prairie?\" She\nadded, proudly, \"And I am glad you should have the opportunity to hear\nmy husband speak.\"\n\nSome letters requiring attention were forwarded to Lyons at one of the\ncities where they stopped. As they lay on his dressing-table Selma\ncaught sight of the return address, Williams & Van Horne, printed on the\nuppermost envelope. The reminder aroused a host of associations. Flossy\nhad not been much in her thoughts lately, yet she had not failed to\nplume herself occasionally with the reflection that she could afford now\nto snap her fingers at her. She had wondered more than once what Flossy\nwould think when she heard that she was the wife of a Representative.\n\n\"Do you know these people personally?\" she inquired, holding up the\nenvelope.\n\n\"Yes. They are my--er--financial representatives in New York. I have\nconsiderable dealings with them.\"\n\nSelma had not up to this time concerned herself as to the details of her\nhusband's affairs. He had made clear to her that his income from his\nprofession was large, and she knew that he was interested in a variety\nof enterprises. That he should have connections with a firm of New York\nbrokers was one more proof to her of his common sense and capacity to\ntake advantage of opportunities.\n\n\"Mr. Littleton used to buy stocks through Williams and Van Horne--only a\nfew. He was not very clever at it, and failed to make the most of the\nchances given him to succeed in that way. We knew the Williamses at one\ntime very well. They lived in the same block with us for several years\nafter we were married.\"\n\n\"Williams is a capable, driving sort of fellow. Bold, but on the whole\nsagacious, I think,\" answered Lyons, with demure urbanity. It was rather\na shock to him that his wife should learn that he had dealings in the\nstock market. He feared lest it might seem to her inconsistent with his\nother propensities--his religious convictions and his abhorrence of\ncorporate rapacity. He preferred to keep such transactions private for\nfear they should be misunderstood. At heart he did not altogether\napprove of them himself. They were a part of his evolution, and had\ndeveloped by degrees until they had become now so interwoven with his\nwhole financial outlook that he could not escape from them at the moment\nif he would. Indeed some of them were giving him anxiety. He had\nsupposed that the letter in question contained a request for a\nremittance to cover depreciation in his account. Instead he had read\nwith some annoyance a confidential request from Williams that he would\nwork for a certain bill which, in his capacity as a foe of monopoly, he\nhad hoped to be able to oppose. It offended his conscience to think that\nhe might be obliged secretly to befriend a measure against which his\nvote must be cast. As has been intimated, he would have preferred that\nhis business affairs should remain concealed from his wife. Yet her\nremarks were unexpectedly and agreeably reassuring. They served to\nfurnish a fresh indication on her part of intelligent sympathy with the\nperplexities which beset the path of an ambitious public man. They\nsuggested a subtle appreciation of the reasonableness of his behavior,\nnotwithstanding its apparent failure to tally with his outward\nprofessions.\n\nSelma's reply interrupted this rhapsody.\n\n\"I ought to tell you, I suppose, that I quarrelled with Mrs. Williams\nbefore I left New York. Or, rather, she quarrelled with me. She insulted\nme in my own house, and I was obliged to order her to leave it.\"\n\n\"Quarrelled? That is a pity. An open break? Open breaks in friendship\nare always unfortunate.\" Lyons looked grieved, and fingered his beard\nmeditatively.\n\n\"I appreciate,\" said Selma, frankly, \"that our falling out will be an\ninconvenience in case we should meet in Washington or elsewhere, since\nyou and Mr. Williams have business interests in common. Of course,\nJames, I wish to help you in every way I can. I might as well tell you\nabout it. I think she was jealous of me and fancied I was trying to cut\nher out socially. At all events, she insinuated that I was not a lady,\nbecause I would not lower my standards to hers, and adopt the frivolous\nhabits of her little set. But I have not forgotten, James, your\nsuggestion that people in public life can accomplish more if they avoid\nshowing resentment and strive for harmony. I shall be ready to forget\nthe past if Mrs. Williams will, for my position as your wife puts me\nbeyond the reach of her criticism. She's a lively little thing in her\nway, and her husband seems to understand about investments and how to\nget ahead.\"\n\nThey went direct to Washington without stopping at Benham. It was\nunderstood that the new session of Congress was to be very short, and\nthey were glad of an opportunity to present themselves in an official\ncapacity at the capital as a conclusion to their honeymoon, before\nsettling down at home. Selma found a letter from Miss Bailey, containing\nthe news that Pauline Littleton had accepted the presidency of Wetmore\nCollege, the buildings of which were now practically completed. Selma\ngasped as she read this. She had long ago decided that her\nsister-in-law's studies were unpractical, and that Pauline was doomed to\nteach small classes all her days, a task for which she was doubtless\nwell fitted. She resented the selection, for, in her opinion, Pauline\nlacked the imaginative talent of Wilbur, and yet shared his subjective,\nunenthusiastic ways. More than once it had occurred to her that the\npresidency of Wetmore was the place of all others for which she herself\nwas fitted. Indeed, until Lyons had offered himself she had cherished in\nher inner consciousness the hope that the course of events might\ndemonstrate that she was the proper person to direct the energies of\nthis new medium for the higher education of women. It irritated her to\nthink that an institution founded by Benham philanthropy, and which\nwould be a vital influence in the development of Benham womanhood,\nshould be under the control of one who was hostile to American theories\nand methods. Selma felt so strongly on the subject that she thought of\nairing her objections in a letter to Mr. Flagg, the donor, but she\nconcluded to suspend her strictures until her return to Benham. She\nsent, however, to Miss Bailey, who was now regularly attached to one of\nthe Benham newspapers, notes for an article which should deplore the\nchoice by the trustees of one who was unfamiliar and presumably out of\nsympathy with Benham thought and impulse.\n\nSelma's emotions on her arrival in Washington were very different from\nthose which she had experienced in New York as the bride of Littleton.\nThen she had been unprepared for, dazed, and offended by what she saw.\nNow, though she mentally assumed that the capital was the parade ground\nof American ideas and principles, she felt not merely no surprise at the\naugust appearance of the wide avenues, but she was eagerly on the\nlookout, as they drove from the station to the hotel, for signs of\nsocial development. The aphorism which she had supplied to her husband,\nthat the American people prefer to have their representatives live\ncomfortably, dwelt in her thoughts and was a solace to her. Despite her\nNew York experience, she had the impression that the doors of every\nhouse in Washington would fly open at her approach as the wife of a\nCongressman. She did not formulate her anticipations as to her\nreception, but she entertained a general expectation that their presence\nwould be acknowledged as public officials in a notable way. She dressed\nherself on the morning after their arrival at the hotel with some\nshowiness, so as to be prepared for flattering emergencies. She had said\nlittle to her husband on the subject, for she had already discovered\nthat, though he was ambitious that they should appear well, he was\ndisposed to leave the management of social concerns to her. His\ninformation had been limited to bidding her come prepared for the\nreception to be given at the White House at the reassembling of\nCongress. Selma had brought her wedding-dress for this, and was looking\nforward to it as a gala occasion.\n\nThe hotel was very crowded, and Selma became aware that many of the\nguests were the wives and daughters of other Congressmen, who seemed to\nbe in the same predicament as herself--that is, without anyone to speak\nto and waiting in their best clothes for something to happen. Lyons knew\na few of them, and was making acquaintances in the corridors, with some\nof whom he exchanged an introduction of wives. As she successively met\nthese other women, Selma perceived that no one of them was better\ndressed than herself, and she reflected with pleasure that they would\ndoubtless be available allies in her crusade against frivolity and\nexclusiveness.\n\nPresently she set out with her husband to survey the sights of the city.\nNaturally their first visit was to the Capitol, in the presence of which\nSelma clutched his arm in the pride of her patriotism and of her\npleasure that he was to be one of the makers of history within its\nsplendid precincts. The sight of the stately houses of Congress,\nsuperbly dominated by their imposing dome, made them both walk proudly,\nlost, save for occasional vivid phrases of admiration, in the\ncontemplation of their own possible future. What greater earthly prize\nfor man than political distinction among a people capable of monuments\nlike this? What grander arena for a woman eager to demonstrate truth and\npromote righteousness? There was, of course, too much to see for any one\nvisit. They went up to the gallery of the House of Representatives and\nlooked down on the theatre of Lyons's impending activities. He was to\ntake his seat on the day after the morrow as one of the minority party,\nbut a strong, vigorous minority. Selma pictured him standing in the\naisle and uttering ringing words of denunciation against corporate\nmonopolies and the money power.\n\n\"I shall come up here and listen to you often. I shall be able to tell\nif you speak loud enough--so that the public can hear you,\" she said,\nglancing at the line of galleries which she saw in her mind's eye\ncrowded with spectators. \"You must make a long speech very soon.\"\n\n\"That is very unlikely indeed. They tell me a new member rarely gets a\nchance to be heard,\" answered Lyons.\n\n\"But they will hear you. You have something to say.\"\n\nLyons squeezed her hand. Her words nourished the same hope in his own\nbreast. \"I shall take advantage of every opportunity to obtain\nrecognition, and to give utterance to my opinions.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, I shall expect you to speak. I am counting on that.\"\n\nOn their way down they scanned with interest the statues and portraits\nof distinguished statesmen and heroes, and the representations of famous\nepisodes in American history with which the walls of the landings and\nthe rotunda are lined.\n\n\"Some day you will be here,\" said Selma. \"I wonder who will paint you or\nmake your bust. I have often thought,\" she added, wistfully, \"that, if I\nhad given my mind to it, I could have modelled well in clay. Some day\nI'll try. It would be interesting, wouldn't it, to have you here in\nmarble with the inscription underneath, 'Bust of the Honorable James O.\nLyons, sculptured by his wife?'\"\n\nLyons laughed, but he was pleased. \"You are making rapid strides, my\ndear. I am sure of one thing--if my bust or portrait ever is here, I\nshall owe my success largely to your devotion and good sense. I felt\ncertain of it before, but our honeymoon has proved to me that we were\nmeant for one another.\"\n\n\"Yes, I think we were. And I like to hear you say I have good sense.\nThat is what I pride myself on as a wife.\"\n\nOn their return to the hotel Selma was annoyed to find that no one but a\nmember of her husband's Congressional delegation had called. She had\nhoped to find that their presence in Washington was known and\nappreciated. It seemed to her, moreover, that they were not treated at\nthe hotel with the deference she had supposed would be accorded to them.\nTo be sure, equality was of the essence of American doctrine;\nnevertheless she had anticipated that the official representatives of\nthe people would be made much of, and distinguished from the rest of the\nworld, if not by direct attention, by being pointed out and looked at\nadmiringly. Still, as Lyons showed no signs of disappointment, she\nforbore to express her own perplexity, which was temporarily relieved by\nan invitation from him to drive. The atmosphere was mild enough for an\nopen carriage, and Selma's appetite for processional effect derived some\ncrumbs of comfort from the process of showing herself in a barouche by\nthe side of her husband. They proceeded in an opposite direction from\nthe Capitol, and after surveying the outside of the White House, drove\nalong the avenues and circles occupied by private residences. Selma\nnoticed that these houses, though attractive, were less magnificent and\nconspicuous than many of those in New York--more like her own in Benham;\nand she pictured as their occupants the families of the public men of\nthe country--a society of their wives and daughters living worthily,\nenergetically, and with becoming stateliness, yet at the same time\nrebuking by their example frivolity and rampant luxury. She observed\nwith satisfaction the passage of a number of private carriages, and that\ntheir occupants were stylishly clad. She reflected that, as, the wife of\na Congressman, her place was among them, and she was glad that they\nrecognized the claims of social development so far as to dress well and\nlive in comfort. Before starting she had herself fastened a bunch of red\nroses at her waist as a contribution to her picturesqueness as a public\nwoman.\n\nWhile she was thus absorbed in speculation, not altogether free from\nworrying suspicions, in spite of her mental vision as to the occupants\nof these private residences, she uttered an ejaculation of surprise as a\njaunty victoria passed by them, and she turned her head in an eager\nattempt to ascertain if her surprise and annoyance were well-founded.\nThe other vehicle was moving rapidly, but a similar curiosity impelled\none of its occupants to look hack also, and the eyes of the two women\nmet.\n\n\"It's she; I thought it was.\"\n\n\"Who, my dear?\" said Lyons.\n\n\"Flossy Williams--Mrs. Gregory Williams. I wonder,\" she added, in a\nsevere tone, \"what she is doing here, and how she happens to be\nassociating with these people. That was a private carriage.\"\n\n\"Williams has a number of friends in Washington, I imagine. I thought it\nlikely that he would be here. That was another proof of your good sense,\nSelma--deciding to let bygones be bygones and to ignore your\ndisagreement with his wife.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know. I shall treat her civilly. But my heart will be broken,\nJames, if I find that Washington is like New York.\"\n\n\"In what respect?\"\n\n\"If I find that the people in these houses lead exclusive, un-American,\ngodless lives. It would tempt me almost to despair of our country,\" she\nexclaimed, with tragic emphasis.\n\n\"I don't understand about social matters, Selma. I must leave those to\nyou. But,\" he added, showing that he shrewdly realized the cause of her\nanguish better than she did herself, \"as soon as we get better\nacquainted, I'm sure you will find that we shall get ahead, and that you\nwill be able to hold your own with anybody, however exclusive.\"\n\nSelma colored at the unflattering simplicity of his deduction. \"I don't\ndesire to hold my own with people of that sort. I despise them.\"\n\n\"I know. Hold your own, I mean, among people of the right sort by force\nof sound ideas and principles. The men and women of to-day,\" he\ncontinued, with melodious asseveration, \"are the grand-children of those\nwho built the splendid halls we visited this morning as a monument to\nour nation's love of truth and righteousness. A few frivolous, worldly\nminded spirits are not the people of the United States to whom we look\nfor our encouragement and support.\"\n\n\"Assuredly,\" answered Selma, with eagerness. \"It is difficult, though,\nnot to get discouraged at times by the behavior of those who ought to\naid instead of hinder our progress as a nation.\"\n\nFor a moment she was silent in wrapt meditation, then she asked:\n\n\"Didn't you expect that more notice would be taken of our arrival?\"\n\n\"In what way?\"\n\n\"In some way befitting a member of Congress.\"\n\nLyons laughed. \"My dear Selma, I am one new Congressman among several\nhundred. What did you expect? That the President and his wife would come\nand take us to drive?\"\n\n\"Of course not.\" She paused a moment, then she said: \"I suppose that, as\nyou are not on the side of the administration, we cannot expect much\nnotice to be taken of us until you speak in the House. I will try not to\nbe too ambitious for you, James; but it would be easier to be patient,\"\nshe concluded, with her far-away look, \"if I were not beginning to fear\nthat this city also may be contaminated just as New York is.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nThe incidents of the next two days previous to her attendance at the\nevening reception at the White House restored Selma's equanimity. She\nhad the satisfaction of being present at the opening ceremonies of the\nHouse of Representatives, and of beholding her husband take the oath of\noffice. She was proud of Lyons as she looked down on him from the\ngallery standing in the aisle by his allotted seat. He was holding an\nimprovised reception, for a number of his colleagues showed themselves\ndesirous to make his acquaintance. She noticed that he appeared already\non familiar terms with some of his fellow-members; that he drew men or\nwas drawn aside for whispered confidences; that he joked knowingly with\nothers; and that always as he chatted his large, round, smooth face,\nrelieved by its chin beard, wore an aspect of bland dignity and shrewd\nreserve wisdom. It pleased her to be assisting at the dedication of a\nfresh page of national history--a page yet unwritten, but on which she\nhoped that her own name would be inscribed sooner or later by those who\nshould seek to trace the complete causes of her husband's usefulness and\ngenius.\n\nAnother source of satisfaction was the visit paid them the day before at\nthe hotel by one of the United States Senators from their own State--Mr.\nCalkins. The two political parties in their own State were so evenly\ndivided that one of the Senators in office happened to be a Republican\nand his colleague a Democrat. Mr. Calkins belonged to her husband's\nparty, yet he suggested that they might enjoy a private audience with\nthe President, with whom, notwithstanding political differences of\nopinion, Mr. Calkins was on friendly terms. This was the sort of thing\nwhich Selma aspired to, and the experience did much to lighten her\nheart. She enjoyed the distinction of seeing guarded doors open at their\napproach, and of finding herself shaking hands with the chief magistrate\nof the nation at a special interview. The President was very affable,\nand was manifestly aware of Lyons's triumph at the expense of his own\nparty, and of his consequent political importance. He treated the matter\nbanteringly, and Selma was pleased at her ability to enter into the\nspirit of his persiflage and to reciprocate. In her opinion solemnity\nwould have been more consistent with his position as the official\nrepresentative of the people of the United States, and his jocose\nmanifestations at a time when serious conversation seemed to be in order\nwas a disappointment, and tended to confirm her previous distrust of him\nas the leader of the opposite party. She had hoped he would broach some\nvital topics of political interest, and that she would have the\nopportunity to give expression to her own views in regard to public\nquestions. Nevertheless, as the President saw fit to be humorous, she\nwas glad that she understood how to meet and answer his bantering\nsallies. She felt sure that Lyons, were he ever to occupy this dignified\noffice, would refrain from ill-timed levity, but she bore in mind also\nthe policy of conciliation which she had learned from her husband, and\nconcealed her true impressions. She noticed that both Lyons and Mr.\nCalkins forebore to show dissatisfaction, and she reflected that, though\nthe President's tone was light, there was nothing else in his appearance\nor bearing to convict him of sympathy with lack of enthusiasm and with\ncynicism. It would have destroyed all the enjoyment of her interview had\nshe been forced to conclude that a man who did not take himself and his\nduties seriously could be elected President of the United States. She\nwas not willing to believe this; but her suspicions were so far aroused\nthat she congratulated herself that her political opponents were\nresponsible for his election. Nevertheless she was delighted by the\ndistinction of the private audience, and by the episode at its close,\nwhich gave her opportunity to show her individuality. Said the President\ngallantly as she was taking leave:\n\n\"Will you permit me to congratulate Congressman Lyons on his good\nfortune in the affairs of the heart as well as in politics?\"\n\n\"If you say things like that, Mr. President,\" interjected Lyons, \"you\nwill turn her head; she will become a Republican, and then where should\nI be?\"\n\nWhile she perceived that the President was still inclined to levity, the\ncompliment pleased Selma. Yet, though she appreciated that her husband\nwas merely humoring him by his reply, she did not like the suggestion\nthat any flattery could affect her principles. She shook her head\ncoquettishly and said:\n\n\"James, I'm sure the President thinks too well of American women to\nbelieve that any admiration, however gratifying, would make me lukewarm\nin devotion to my party.\"\n\nThis speech appeared to her apposite and called for, and she departed in\nhigh spirits, which were illuminated by the thought that the\nadministration was not wholly to be trusted.\n\nOn the following evening Selma went to the reception at the White House.\nThe process of arrival was trying to her patience, for they were obliged\nto await their turn in the long file of carriages. She could not but\napprove of the democratic character of the entertainment, which anyone\nwho desired to behold and shake hands with the Chief Magistrate was free\nto attend. Still, it again crossed her mind that, as an official's wife,\nshe ought to have been given precedence. Their turn to alight came at\nlast, and they took their places in the procession of visitors on its\nway through the East room to the spot where the President and his wife,\nassisted by some of the ladies of the Cabinet, were submitting to the\nordeal of receiving the nation. There was a veritable crush, in which\nthere was every variety of evening toilette, a display essentially in\nkeeping with the doctrines which Selma felt that she stood for. She took\noccasion to rejoice in Lyons's ear at the realization of her\nanticipations in this respect. At the same time she was agreeably\nstimulated by the belief that her wedding dress was sumptuous and\nstylish, and her appearance striking. Her hair had been dressed as\nelaborately as possible; she wore all her jewelry; and she carried a\nbouquet of costly roses. Her wish was to regard the function as the\nheight of social demonstration, and she had spared no pains to make\nherself effective. She had esteemed it her duty to do so both as a\nCongressman's wife and as a champion of moral and democratic ideas.\n\nThe crowd was oppressive, and three times the train of her dress was\nstepped on to her discomfiture. Amid the sea of faces she recognized a\nfew of the people she had seen at the hotel. It struck her that no one\nof the women was dressed so elegantly as herself, an observation which\ncheered her and yet was not without its thorn. But the music, the\nlights, and the variegated movement of the scene kept her senses\nabsorbed and interfered with introspection, until at last they were\nclose to the receiving party. Selma fixed her eyes on the President,\nexpecting recognition. Like her husband, the President possessed a gift\nof faces and the faculty of rallying all his energies to the important\ntask of remembering who people were. An usher asked and announced the\nnames, but the Chief Magistrate's perceptions were kept hard at work.\nHis \"How do you do, Congressman Lyons? I am very glad to see you here,\nMrs. Lyons,\" were uttered with a smiling spontaneity, which to his own\nsoul meant a momentary agreeable relaxation of the nerves of memory,\nresembling the easy flourish with which a gymnast engaged in lifting\nheavy weights encounters a wooden dumb-bell. But though his eyes and\nvoice were flattering, Selma had barely completed the little bob of a\ncourtesy which accompanied her act of shaking hands when she discovered\nthat the machinery of the national custom was not to halt on their\naccount, and that she must proceed without being able to renew the half\nflirtatious interview of the previous day. She proceeded to courtesy to\nthe President's wife and to the row of wives of members of the Cabinet\nwho were assisting. Before she could adequately observe them, she found\nherself beyond and a part once more of a heterogeneous crush, the\ncurrent of which she aimlessly followed on her husband's arm. She was\nsuspicious of the device of courtesying. Why had not the President's\nwife and the Cabinet ladies shaken hands with her and given her an\nopportunity to make their acquaintance? Could it be that the\nadministration was aping foreign manners and adopting effete and\naristocratic usages?\n\n\"What do we do now?\" she asked of Lyons as they drifted along.\n\n\"I'd like to find Horace Elton and introduce him to you. I caught a\nglimpse of him further on just before we reached the President. Horace\nknows all the ropes and can tell us who everybody is.\"\n\nSelma had heard her husband refer to Horace Elton on several occasions\nin terms of respectful and somewhat mysterious consideration. She had\ngathered in a general way that he was a far reaching and formidable\npower in matters political and financial, besides being the president\nand active organizer of the energetic corporation known as the\nConsumers' Gas Light Company of their own state. As they proceeded she\nkept her eyes on the alert for a man described by Lyons as short,\nheavily built, and neat looking, with small side whiskers and a\nclose-mouthed expression. When they were not far from the door of exit\nfrom the East room, some one on the edge of the procession accosted her\nhusband, who drew her after him in that direction. Selma found herself\nin a sort of eddy occupied by half a dozen people engaged in observing\nthe passing show, and in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Gregory Williams.\nIt was Mr. Williams who had diverted them. He now renewed his\nacquaintance with her, exclaiming--\"My wife insisted that she had met\nyou driving with some one she believed to be your husband. I had heard\nthat Congressman Lyons was on his bridal tour, and now everything is\nclear. Flossy, you were right as usual, and it seems that our hearty\ncongratulations are in order to two old friends.\"\n\nWilliams spoke with his customary contagious confidence. Selma noted\nthat he was stouter and that his hair was becomingly streaked with gray.\nHad not her attention been on the lookout for his wife she might have\nnoticed that his eye wore a restless, strained expression despite his\naugust banker's manner and showy gallantry. She did observe that the\nmoment he had made way for Flossy he turned to Lyons and began to talk\nto him in a subdued tone under the guise of watching the procession.\n\nThe two women confronted each other with spontaneous forgetfulness of\nthe past. There was a shade of haughtiness in Selma's greeting. She was\nprepared to respect her husband's policy and to ignore the circumstances\nunder which they had parted, but she wished Flossy to understand that\nthis was an act of condescension on her part as a Congressman's wife,\nwhose important social status was beyond question. She was so thoroughly\nimbued with this sense of her indisputable superiority that she readily\nmistook Flossy's affability for fawning; whereas that young woman's\ningenuous friendliness was the result of a warning sentence from Gregory\nwhen Selma and her husband were seen approaching--\"Keep a check on your\ntongue, Floss. This statesman with a beard like a goat is likely to have\na political future.\"\n\n\"I felt sure it was you the other day,\" Flossy said with smiling\nsprightliness, \"but I had not heard of your marriage to Mr. Lyons.\"\n\n\"We were married at Benham six weeks ago. We are to live in Benham. We\nhave bought the house there which belonged to Mr. Parsons. We have just\nreturned from visiting the superb scenery of the Yosemite and the Rocky\nMountains, and it made me prouder than ever of my country. If\nCongressman Lyons had not been obliged to be present at the opening of\nCongress, we should have spent our honeymoon in Europe.\"\n\n\"Gregory and I passed last summer abroad yachting. We crossed on a\nsteamer and had our yacht meet us there. Isn't it a jam to-night?\"\n\n\"There seem to be a great many people. I suppose you came on from New\nYork on purpose for this reception?\"\n\n\"Mercy, no. We are staying with friends, and we hadn't intended to come\nto-night. But we had been dining out and were dressed, so we thought\nwe'd drop in and show our patriotism. It's destruction to clothes, and\nI'm glad I haven't worn my best.\"\n\nSelma perceived Flossy's eye making a note of her own elaborate costume,\nand the disagreeable suspicion that she was overdressed reasserted\nitself. She had already observed that Mrs. Williams's toilette, though\nstylish, was comparatively simple. How could one be overdressed on such\nan occasion? What more suitable time for an American woman to wear her\nchoicest apparel than when paying her respects to the President of the\nUnited States? She noticed that Flossy seemed unduly at her ease as\nthough the importance of the ceremony was lost on her, and that they\ngroup of people with whom Flossy had been talking and who stood a little\napart were obviously indulging in quiet mirth at the expense of some of\nthose in the procession.\n\n\"Are the friends with whom you are staying connected with the\nGovernment?\" Selma asked airily.\n\n\"Official people? Goodness, no. But I can point out to you who everybody\nis, for we have been in Washington frequently during the last three\nsessions. Gregory has to run over here on business every now and then,\nand I almost always come with him. To-night is the opportunity to see\nthe queer people in all their glory--the woolly curiosities, as Gregory\ncalls them. And a sprinkling of the real celebrities too,\" she added.\n\nSelma's inquiry had been put with a view to satisfy herself that\nFlossy's friends were mere civilians. But she was glad of an opportunity\nto be enlightened as to the names of her fellow-officials, though she\nresented Flossy's flippant tone regarding the character of the\nentertainment. While she listened to the breezy, running commentary by\nwhich Flossy proceeded to identify for her benefit the conspicuous\nfigures in the procession she nursed her offended sensibilities.\n\n\"I should suppose,\" she said, taking advantage of a pause, \"that on such\nan occasion as this everybody worth knowing would be present.\"\n\nFlossy gave Selma one of her quick glances. She had not forgotten the\npast, nor her discovery of the late Mrs. Littleton's real grievance\nagainst her and the world. Nor did she consider that her husband's\ncaveat debarred her from the amusement of worrying the wife of the Hon.\nJames O. Lyons, provided it could be done by means of the truth\ningenuously uttered. She said with a confidential smile--\n\n\"The important and the interesting political people have other\nopportunities to meet one another--at dinner parties and less\npromiscuous entertainments than this, and the Washington people have\nother opportunities to meet them. Of course the President is a dear, and\neveryone makes a point of attending a public reception once in a while,\nbut this sort of thing isn't exactly an edifying society event. For\ninstance, notice the woman in the pomegranate velvet with two diamond\nsprays in her hair. That's the wife of Senator Colman--his child wife,\nso they call her. She came to Washington six years ago as the wife of a\nmember of the House from one of the wild and woolly States, and was\nnotorious then in the hotel corridors on account of her ringletty raven\nhair and the profusion of rings she wore. She used to make eyes at the\nhotel guests and romp with her husband's friends in the hotel parlors,\nwhich was the theatre of her social activities. Her husband died, and a\nyear ago she married old Senator Colman, old enough to be her\ngrandfather, and one of the very rich and influential men in the Senate.\nNow she has developed social ambition and is anxious to entertain. They\nhave hired a large house for the winter and are building a larger one.\nAs Mrs. Polsen--that was her first husband's name--she was invited\nnowhere except to wholesale official functions like this. The wife of a\nUnited States Senator with plenty of money can generally attract a\nfollowing; she is somebody. And it happens that people are amused by\nMrs. Cohnan's eccentricities. She still overdresses, and makes eyes, and\nshe nudges those who sit next her at table, but she is good-natured,\nsays whatever comes into her head, and has a strong sense of humor. So\nshe is getting on.\"\n\n\"Getting on among society people?\" said Selma drily.\n\nFlossy's eyes twinkled. \"Society people is the generic name used for\nthem in the newspapers. I mean that she is making friends among the\nwomen who live in the quarter where I passed you the other day.\"\n\nSelma frowned. \"It is not necessary, I imagine, to make friends of that\nclass in order to have influence in Washington,--the best kind of\ninfluence. I can readily believe that people of that sort would interest\nmost of our public women very little.\"\n\n\"Very likely. I don't think you quite understand me, Mrs. Lyons, or we\nare talking at cross purposes. What I was trying to make clear is that\npolitical and social prominence in Washington are by no means\nsynonimous. Of course everyone connected with the government who\ndesires to frequent Washington society and is socially available is\nreceived with open arms; but, if people are not socially available, it\nby no means follows that they are able to command social recognition\nmerely because they hold political office,--except perhaps in the case\nof wives of the Cabinet, of the Justices of the Supreme Court, or of\nrich and influential Senators, where a woman is absolutely bent on\nsuccess and takes pains. I refer particularly to the wives, because a\nsingle man, if he is reasonably presentable and ambitious, can go about\nmore or less, even if he is a little rough, for men are apt to be\nscarce. But the line is drawn on the women unless they are--er--really\nimportant and have to be tolerated for official reasons. Now every woman\nwho is not _persona grata_, as the diplomats say, anywhere else, is apt\nto attend the President's reception in all her finery, and that's why I\nsuggested that this sort of thing isn't exactly an edifying social\nevent. It's amusing to come here now and then, just as it's amusing to\ngo to a menagerie. You see what I mean, don't you?\" Flossy asked, plying\nher feathery fan with blithe nonchalance and looking into her\ncompanion's face with an innocent air.\n\n\"I understand perfectly. And who are these people who draw the line?\"\n\n\"It sometimes happens,\" continued Flossy abstractedly, without appearing\nto hear this inquiry, \"that they improve after they've been in\nWashington a few years. Take Mrs. Baker, the Secretary of the Interior's\nwife, receiving to-night. When her husband came to Washington three\nyears ago she had the social adaptability of a solemn horse. But she\npersevered and learned, and now as a Cabinet lady she unbends, and is no\nlonger afraid of compromising her dignity by wearing becoming clothes\nand smiling occasionally. But you were asking who the people are who\ndraw the line. The nice people here just as everywhere else; the people\nwho have been well educated and have fine sensibilities, and who believe\nin modesty, and unselfishness and thorough ways of doing things. You\nmust know the sort of people I mean. Some of them make too much of mere\nmanners, but as a class they are able to draw the line because they draw\nit in favor of distinction of character as opposed to--what shall I call\nit?--haphazard custom-made ethics and social deportment.\"\n\nFlossy spoke with the artless prattle of one seeking to make herself\nagreeable to a new-comer by explaining the existing order of things, but\nshe had chosen her words as she proceeded with special reference to her\nlistener's case. There was nothing in her manner to suggest that she was\ntrifling with the feelings of the wife of Hon. James O. Lyons, but to\nSelma's sensitive ear there was no doubt that the impertinent and\nunpatriotic tirade had been deliberately aimed at her. The closing words\nhad a disagreeably familiar sound. Save that they fell from seemingly\nfriendly lips they recalled the ban which Flossy had hurled at her at\nthe close of their last meeting--the ban which had decided her to\ndeclare unwavering hostility against social exclusiveness. Its veiled\nreiteration now made her nerves tingle, but the personal affront stirred\nher less than the conclusion, which the whole of Flossy's commentary\nsuggested, that Washington--Washington the hearth-stone of American\nideals, was contaminated also. Flossy had given her to understand that\nthe houses which she had assumed to be occupied by members of the\nGovernment were chiefly the residences of people resembling in character\nthose whom she had disapproved of in New York. Flossy had intimated that\nunless a woman were hand in glove with these people and ready to lower\nherself to their standards, she must be the wife of a rich Senator to be\ntolerated. Flossy had virtually told her that a Congressman's wife was\nnobody. Could this be true? The bitterest part of all was that it was\nevident Flossy spoke with the assurance of one uttering familiar truths.\nSelma felt affronted and bitterly disappointed, but she chose to meet\nMrs. Williams's innocent affability with composure; to let her see that\nshe disagreed with her, but not to reveal her personal irritation. She\nmust consider Lyons, whose swift political promotion was necessary for\nher plans. It was important that he should become rich, and if his\nrelations with the firm of Williams & Van Horne tended to that end, no\npersonal grievance of her own should disturb them. Even Flossy had\nconceded that the wives of the highest officials could not be ignored.\n\n\"I fear that we look at these matters from too different a standpoint to\ndiscuss them further,\" she responded, with an effort at smiling ease.\n\"Evidently you do not appreciate that to the majority of the strong\nwomen of the country whose husbands have been sent to Washington as\nmembers of the Government social interests seem trivial compared with\nthe great public questions they are required to consider. These women\ndoubtless feel little inclination for fashionable and--or--frivolous\nfestivities, and find an occasion like this better suited to their\nconception of social dignity.\"\n\nA reply by Flossy to this speech was prevented by the interruption of\nLyons, who brought up Mr. Horace Elton for introduction to his wife.\nSelma knew him at once from his likeness to the description which her\nhusband had given. He was portly and thick-set, with a large neck, a\nstrong, unemotional, high-colored face, and closely-shaven, small side\nwhiskers. He made her a low bow and, after a few moments of\nconversation, in the course of which he let fall a complimentary\nallusion to her husband's oratorical abilities and gave her to\nunderstand that he considered Lyons's marriage as a wise and enviable\nproceeding, he invited her to promenade the room on his arm. Mr. Elton\nhad a low but clear and dispassionate voice, and a concise utterance.\nHis remarks gave the impression that he could impart more on any subject\nif he chose, and that what he said proceeded from a reserve fund of\nspecial, secret knowledge, a little of which he was willing to confide\nto his listener. He enlightened Selma in a few words as to a variety of\nthe people present, accompanying his identification with a phrase or two\nof comprehensive personal detail, which had the savor of being unknown\nto the world at large.\n\n\"The lady we just passed, Mrs. Lyons, is the wife of the junior Senator\nfrom Nevada. Her husband fell in love with her on the stage of a mining\ntown theatrical troupe. That tall man, with the profuse wavy hair and\nprominent nose, is Congressman Ross of Colorado, the owner of one of the\nlargest cattle ranches in the Far West. It is said that he has never\nsmoked, never tasted a glass of liquor, and never gambled in his life.\"\n\nIn the course of these remarks Mr. Elton simply stated his interesting\nfacts without comment. He avoided censorious or satirical allusions to\nthe people to whom he called Selma's attention. On the contrary, his\nobservations suggested sympathetically that he desired to point out to\nher the interesting personalities of the capital, and that he regarded\nthe entertainment as an occasion to behold the strong men and women of\nthe country in their lustre and dignity. As they passed the lady in\npomegranate velvet, Selma said, in her turn, \"That is Mrs. Colman, I\nbelieve. Senator Colman's child wife.\" She added what was in her\nthoughts, \"I understand that the society people here have taken her up.\"\n\n\"Yes. She has become a conspicuous figure in Washington. I remember her,\nMrs. Lyons, when she was Addie Farr--before she married Congressman\nPolsen of Kentucky. She was a dashing looking girl in those days, with\nher black eyes and black ringlets. I remember she had a coltish way of\ntossing her head. The story is that when she accepted Polsen another\nKentuckian--a young planter--who was in love with her, drank laudanum.\nNow, as you say, she is being taken up socially, and her husband, the\nSenator, is very proud of her success. After all, if a woman is\nambitious and has tact, what can she ask better than to be the wife of a\nUnited States Senator?\" He paused a moment, then, with a gallant\nsidelong glance at his companion, resumed in a concise whisper, which\nhad the effect of a disclosure, \"Prophecies, especially political\nprophecies, are dangerous affairs, but it seems to me not improbable\nthat before many years have passed the wife of Senator Lyons will be\nequally prominent--be as conspicuous socially as the wife of Senator\nColman.\"\n\nSelma blushed, but not wholly with pleasure. Socially conspicuous before\nmany years? The splendid prophecy, which went beyond the limit of Horace\nElton's usual caution--for he combined the faculty of habitual\ndiscretion with his chatty proclivities--was dimmed for Selma by the\nrasping intimation that she was not conspicuous yet. Worse still, his\nstatement shattered the hope, which Flossy's fluent assertions had\nalready disturbed, that she was to find in Washington a company of\ncongenial spirits who would appreciate her at her full value forthwith,\nand would join with her and under her leadership in resisting the\nencroachments of women of the stamp of Mrs. Williams.\n\n\"I am very ambitious for my husband, Mr. Elton, and of course I have\nhoped--do hope that some day he will be a Senator. What you said just\nnow as to the power of his voice to arouse the moral enthusiasm of the\npeople seemed to be impressively true. I should be glad to be a\nSenator's wife, for--for I wish to help him. I wish to demonstrate the\ntruth of the principles to which both our lives are dedicated. But I\nhoped that I might help him now--that my mission might be clear at once.\nIt seems according to you that a Congressman's wife is not of much\nimportance; that her hands are tied.\"\n\n\"Practically so, unless--unless she has unusual social facility, and the\nright sort of acquaintances. Beauty, wealth and ambition are valuable\naids, but I always am sorry for women who come here without friends,\nand--er--the right sort of introduction. At any rate, to answer your\nquestion frankly, a Congressman's wife has her spurs to win just as he\nhas. If you were to set up house-keeping, here, Mrs. Lyons, I've no\ndoubt that a woman of your attractions and capabilities would soon make\na niche for herself. You have had social experience, which Addie Farr,\nfor instance, was without.\"\n\n\"I lived in New York for some years with my husband, Mr. Littleton, so I\nhave a number of Eastern acquaintances.\"\n\n\"I remember you were talking with Mrs. Gregory Williams when I was\nintroduced to you. The people with whom she is staying are among the\nmost fashionable in Washington. What I said had reference to the wife of\nthe every-day Congressman who comes to Washington expecting recognition.\nNot to Mrs. James O. Lyons.\"\n\nSelma bit her lip. She recognized the death-knell of her cherished\nexpectations. She was not prepared to acknowledge formally her\ndiscomfiture and her disappointment. But she believed that Mr. Elton,\nthough a plain man, had comprehensive experience and that he spoke with\nshrewd knowledge of the situation. She felt sure that he was not trying\nto deceive or humiliate her. It was clear that Washington was\ncontaminated also.\n\n\"I dare say I should get on here well enough after a time, though I\nshould find difficulty in considering that it was right to give so much\ntime to merely social matters. But Mr. Lyons and I have already decided\nthat I can be more use to him at present in Benham. There I feel at\nhome. I am known, and have my friends, and there I have important\nwork--literary lectures and the establishment of a large public hospital\nunder way. If the time comes, as you kindly predict, that my husband is\nchosen a United States Senator, I shall be glad to return here and\naccept the responsibilities of our position. But I warn you, Mr.\nElton,--I warn the people of Washington,\" she added with a wave of her\nfan, while her eyes sparkled with a stern light \"that when I am one of\ntheir leaders, I shall do away with some of the--er--false customs of\nthe present administration. I shall insist on preserving our American\nsocial traditions inviolate.\"\n\nHere was the grain of consolation in the case, which she clutched at and\nheld up before her mind's eye as a new stimulus to her patriotism and\nher conscience. Both Mr. Elton and Flossy had indicated that there was a\npoint at which exclusiveness was compelled to stop in its haughty\ndisregard of democratic ideals. There were certain women whom the people\nwho worshipped lack of enthusiasm and made an idol of cynicism were\nobliged to heed and recognize. They might be able to ignore the\nintelligence and social originality of a Congressman's wife, but they\ndared not turn a cold shoulder on the wife of a United States Senator.\nAnd if a woman--if she were to occupy this proud position, what a\nsatisfaction it would be to assert the power which belonged to it;\nassert it in behalf of the cause for which she had suffered so much! Her\ndisappointment tasted bitterly in her mouth, and she was conscious of\nstern revolt; but the new hope had already taken possession of her\nfancy, and she hastened to prove it by the ethical standard without\nwhich all hopes were valueless to her. Even now had anyone told her that\nthe ruling passion of her life was to be wooed and made much of by the\nvery people she professed to despise, she would have spurned the accuser\nas a malicious slanderer. Nor indeed would it have been wholly true.\nMrs. Williams had practically told her this at their last meeting in New\nYork, and its utterance had convinced her on the contrary of repugnance\nto them, and of her desire to be the leader of a social protest against\nthem. Now here, in Washington of all places, she was confronted by the\nbitter suggestion that she was without allies, and that her enemies were\nthe keepers of the door which led to leadership and power. Despondency\nstared her in the face, but a splendid possibility--aye probability was\nleft. She would not forsake her principles. She would not lower her\nflag. She would return to Benham. Washington refused her homage now, but\nit should listen to her and bow before her some day as the wife of one\nof the real leaders of the State, whom Society did not dare to ignore.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nAt the close of the fortnight of her stay in Washington subsequent to\nthe reception at the White House, Selma found herself in the same frame\nof mind as when she parted from Mr. Elton. During this fortnight her\ntime was spent either in sight seeing or at the hotel. The exercises at\nthe Capitol were purely formal, preliminary to a speedy adjournment of\nCongress. Consequently her husband had no opportunity to distinguish\nhimself by addressing the house. Of Flossy she saw nothing, though the\ntwo men had several meetings. Apparently both Lyons and Williams were\ncontent with a surface reconciliation between their wives which did not\nbar family intercourse. At least her husband made no suggestion that she\nshould call on Mrs. Williams, and Flossy's cards did not appear. Beyond\nmaking the acquaintance of a few more wives and daughters in the hotel,\nwho seemed as solitary as herself, Selma received no overtures from her\nown sex. She knew no one, and no one sought her out or paid her\nattention. She still saw fit to believe that if she were to establish\nherself in Washington and devote her energies to rallying these wives\nand daughters about her, she might be able to prove that Flossy and Mr.\nElton were mistaken. But she realized that the task would be less simple\nthan she had anticipated. Besides she yearned to return to Benham, and\ntake up again the thread of active life there. Benham would vindicate\nher, and some day Benham would send her back to Washington to claim\nrecognition and her rightful place.\n\nLyons himself was in a cheerful mood and found congenial occupation in\nvisiting with his wife the many historical objects of interest, and in\nchatting in various hotel corridors with the public men of the country,\nhis associates in Congress. His solicitude in regard to the account\nwhich Williams was carrying for him had been relieved temporarily by an\nupward turn in the stock market, and the impending prompt adjournment of\nCongress had saved him from the necessity of taking action in regard to\nthe railroad bill which Williams had solicited him to support. Moreover\nSelma had repeated to him Horace Elton's prophecy that it was not\nunlikely that some day he would become Senator. To be sure he recognized\nthat a remark like this uttered to a pretty woman by an astute man of\naffairs such as Elton was not to be taken too seriously. There was no\nvacancy in the office of Senator from his state, and none was likely to\noccur. At the present time, if one should occur, his party in the state\nlegislature was in a minority. Hence prophecy was obviously a random\nproceeding. Nevertheless he was greatly pleased, for, after all, Elton\nwould scarcely have made the speech had he not been genuinely well\ndisposed. A senatorship was one of the great prizes of political life,\nand one of the noblest positions in the world. It would afford him a\ngolden opportunity to leave the impress of his convictions on national\nlegislation, and defend the liberties of the people by force of the\noratorical gifts which he possessed. Elton had referred to these gifts\nin complimentary terms. Was it not reasonable to infer that Elton would\nbe inclined to promote his political fortunes? Such an ally would be\ninvaluable, for Elton was a growing power in the industrial development\nof the section of the country where they both lived. He had continued to\nfind him friendly in spite of his own antagonism on the public platform\nto corporate power. A favorite and conscientious hope in his political\noutlook was that he might be able to make capital as well as labor\nbelieve him to be a friend without alienating either; that he might\nobtain support at the polls from both factions, and thus be left free\nafter election to work out for their mutual advantage appropriate\nlegislation. He had avowed himself unmistakably the champion of popular\nprinciples in order to win the confidence of the common people, but his\npolicy of reasonable conciliation led him to cast sheep's eyes at vested\ninterests when he could do so without exposing himself to the charge of\ninconsistency. Many of his friends were wealthy men, and his private\nambition was to amass a handsome fortune. That had been the cause of his\nspeculative ventures in local enterprises which promised large returns,\nand in the stock market. Horace Elton was a friend of but three years'\nstanding; one of the men who had consulted him occasionally in regard to\nlegal matters since he had become a corporation attorney. He admired\nElton's strong, far-reaching grasp of business affairs, his capacity to\nformulate and incubate on plans of magnitude without betraying a sign of\nhis intentions, and his power to act with lightning despatch and\noverwhelming vigor when the moment for the consummation of his purposes\narrived. He also found agreeable Elton's genial, easy-going ways outside\nof business hours, which frequently took the form of social\nentertainment at which expense seemed to be no consideration and\ngastronomic novelties were apt to be presented. Lyons attended one of\nthese private banquets while in Washington--a dinner party served to a\ncarefully chosen company of public men, to which newspaper scribes were\nunable to penetrate. This same genial, easy-going tendency of Elton's to\nmake himself acceptable to those with whom he came in contact took the\nform of a gift to Mrs. Lyons of a handsome cameo pin which he presented\nto her a day or two after their dialogue at the President's reception,\nand for which, as he confidentially informed Selma, he had been seeking\na suitable wearer ever since he had picked it up in an out-of-the-way\nstore in Brussels the previous summer.\n\nOn the day of their departure Selma, as she took a last look from the\ncar window at the Capitol and the Washington Monument, said to her\nhusband: \"This is a beautiful city--worthy in many respects of the\ngenius of the American people--but I never wish to return to Washington\nuntil you are United States Senator.\"\n\n\"Would you not be satisfied with Justice of the Supreme Court?\" asked\nLyons, gayly.\n\n\"I should prefer Senator. If you were Senator, you could probably be\nappointed to the Supreme Court in case you preferred that place. I am\nrelying on you, James, to bring me back here some day.\"\n\nShe whispered this in his ear, as they sat with heads close together\nlooking back at the swiftly receding city. Selma's hands were clasped in\nher lap, and she seemed to her lover to have a dreamy air--an air\nsuggesting poetry and high ethical resolve such as he liked to associate\nwith her and their scheme of wedded life. It pleased him that his wife\nshould feel so confident that the future had in store for him this great\nprize, and he allowed himself to yield to the pathos of the moment and\nwhisper in reply:\n\n\"I will say this, Selma. My business affairs look more favorable, and,\nif nothing unforeseen happens, I do not see why we shouldn't get on\nreasonably fast. Nowadays, in order to be a United States Senator\ncomfortably, it is desirable in the first place to have abundant means.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"We must be patient and God-fearing, and with your help, dear, and your\nsympathy, we may live to see what you desire come to pass. Of course, my\nambition is to be Senator, and--and to take you back to Washington as a\nSenator's wife.\"\n\nSelma had not chosen to confide to Lyons in set terms her social\ngrievance against the capital of her country. But she was glad to\nperceive from his last words that he understood she was not satisfied\nwith the treatment accorded her, and that he also was looking forward to\ngiving her a position which would enable her to rebuke the ungodly and\npresumptuous.\n\n\"Thank you, James,\" she answered. \"When that time comes we shall be able\nto teach them a number of things. For the present though, I feel that I\ncan be of best service to you and to the truths which we are living for\nby interesting myself in whatever concerns Benham. We believe in Benham,\nand Benham seems inclined to believe in us and our ideas.\"\n\nThe ensuing year passed uneventfully. Lyons was able to be at home from\nthe first of April to the reassembling of Congress in the following\nDecember. He was glad to give himself up to the enjoyment of his\nhandsome establishment. He resumed the tenor of his professional\npractice, feeling that as a sober-minded, married citizen he had become\nof more importance to the community, and he was eager to bear witness to\nhis sense of responsibility. He took a more active part in soliciting\ncontributions for evangelizing benighted countries, and he consented on\nseveral occasions to deliver an address on \"Success in Life\" to\nstruggling young men of Benham and the surrounding towns. His easy flow\nof words, his dignity and his sober but friendly mien made him a\nfavorite with audiences, and constantly broadened his circle of\nacquaintance.\n\nSelma, on her side, took up the organization of the Free Hospital\nprovided by Mr. Parsons. Her husband left the decision of all but legal\nand financial questions to her and Miss Luella Bailey, who, at Selma's\nrequest, was made the third member of the board of trustees. She decided\nto call in a committee of prominent physicians to formulate a programme\nof procedure in matters purely medical; but she reserved a right of\nrejection of their conclusions, and she insisted on the recognition of\ncertain cardinal principles, as she called them. She specified that no\none school of medicine should dictate the policy of the hospital as\nregards the treatment of patients. To the young physician whom she\nselected to assist her in forming this administrative board she stated,\nwith stern emotion: \"I do not intend that it shall be possible in this\nhospital for men and women to be sacrificed simply because doctors are\nunwilling to avail themselves of the latest resources of brilliant\nindividual discernment. I know what it means to see a beloved one die,\nwho might have been saved had the physician in charge been willing to\ntry new expedients. The doors of this hospital must be ever open to\nrising unconventional talent. There shall be no creeds nor caste of\nmedicine here.\"\n\nShe also specified that the matron in charge of the hospital should be\nMrs. Earle, whose lack of trained experience was more than\ncounterbalanced by her maternal, humanitarian spirit, as Selma expressed\nit. She felt confident that Mrs. Earle would choose as her assistants\ncompetent and skilful persons, and at the same time that her broad point\nof view and sympathetic instincts would not allow her to turn a deaf ear\nto aspiring but technically ignorant ability. This selection of Mrs.\nEarle was a keen pleasure to Selma. It seemed to her an ideal selection.\nMrs. Earle was no longer young, and was beginning to find the constant\nlabor of lecture and newspaper work exhausting. This dignified and\nimportant post would provide her with a permanent income, and would\nafford her an attractive field for her progressive capabilities.\n\nSelma's choice of young Dr. Ashmun as the head of the medical board was\ndue to a statement which came to her ears, that he was reviled by some\nof the physicians of Benham because he had patented certain discoveries\nof his own instead of giving his fellow-practitioners the benefit of his\nknowledge. Selma was prompt to detect in this hostility an envious\ndisposition on the part of the regular physicians to appropriate the\nfruits of individual cleverness and to repress youthful revolt against\nconventional methods. Dr. Ashmun regarded his selection as the\nprofessional chief of this new institution as a most auspicious\noccurrence from the standpoint of his personal fortunes. He was\nambitious, ardent, and keen to attract attention, with an abundant fund\nof energy and a nervous, driving manner. He was, besides, good looking\nand fluent, and he quickly perceived the drift of Selma's intentions in\nregard to the hospital, and accommodated himself to them with\nenthusiasm. They afforded him the very opportunity which he most\ndesired--the chance to assert himself against his critics, and to obtain\npublic notice. The watchword of liberty and distrust of professional\ncanons suited his purposes and his mood, and he threw himself eagerly\ninto the work of carrying out Selma's projects.\n\nAs a result of the selection of Dr. Ashmun and of the other members of\nthe administrative board, who were chosen with a view to their\navailability as sympathetic colleagues, letters of protest from several\nphysicians appeared in the newspapers complaining that the new hospital\nwas being conducted on unscientific and shallow principles, disapproved\nof by the leading men of the profession. Selma was indignant yet\nthrilled. She promptly took steps to refute the charge, and explained\nthat the hostility of these correspondents proceeded from envy and\nhide-bound reluctance to adopt new and revolutionizing expedients.\nThrough the aid of Mrs. Earle and Miss Luella Bailey a double-leaded\ncolumn in the Benham _Sentinel_ set forth the merits of the new\ndeparture in medicine, which was cleverly described as the revolt of the\ntalented young men of the profession from the tyranny of their\nconservative elders. Benham became divided in opinion as to the merits\nof this controversy, and Selma received a number of anonymous letters\nthrough the post approving her stand in behalf of advanced, independent\nthought. Among the physicians who were opposed to her administration of\nthe hospital she recognized with satisfaction the name of a Dr. Paget,\nwho, as she happened to know, was Mrs. Hallett Taylor's medical adviser.\n\nAnother matter in which Selma became interested was the case of Mrs.\nHamilton. She was a woman who had been born in the neighborhood of\nBenham, but had lived for twenty years in England, and had been tried in\nEngland by due process of law for the murder of her husband and\nsentenced to imprisonment for life. Some of the people of the state who\nhad followed the testimony as reported in the American newspapers had\ndecided that she ought not to have been convicted. Accordingly a\npetition setting forth the opinion of her former neighbors that she was\ninnocent of the charge, and should as an American citizen be released\nfrom custody, was circulated for signature. A public meeting was held\nand largely attended, at which it was resolved to send a monster\npetition to the British authorities with a request for Mrs. Hamilton's\npardon, and also to ask the government at Washington to intercede on\nbehalf of the unfortunate sufferer. The statement of the case appealed\nvividly to Selma, and at the public meeting, which was attended chiefly\nby women, she spoke, and offered the services of her husband to lay the\nmatter before the President. It was further resolved to obtain the names\nof influential persons all over the country in order that the petition\nmight show that the sentiment that injustice had been done was national\nas well as local.\n\nSelma espoused the case with ardor, and busied herself in obtaining\nsignatures. She called on Miss Flagg and induced her to sign by the\nassurance that the verdict was entirely contrary to the evidence. She\nthen had recourse to her former sister-in-law, conceiving that the\nsignature of the President of Wetmore College would impress the English.\nShe and Pauline had already exchanged visits, and Pauline had shown no\numbrage at her marriage. The possibility of being rebuffed on this\noccasion did not occur to Selma. She took for granted that Pauline would\nbe only too glad to give her support to so deserving a petition, and she\nconsidered that she was paying her a compliment in soliciting her name\nfor insertion among the prominent signers. Pauline listened to her\nattentively, then replied:\n\n\"I am sorry for the woman, if she is innocent: and if she has been\nfalsely accused, of course she ought to be released. But what makes you\nthink she is innocent, Selma?\"\n\n\"The testimony did not justify her conviction. Every one is of that\nopinion.\"\n\n\"Have you read the testimony yourself, Selma?\"\n\n\"No, Pauline.\"\n\n\"Or your husband?\"\n\n\"My husband is satisfied from what others have told him, just as I am,\nthat this poor American woman is languishing in prison as the result of\na cruel miscarriage of justice, and that she never committed the crime\nof which she has been found guilty. My husband has had considerable\nlegal experience.\"\n\nPauline's questions were nettling, and Selma intended by her response to\nsuggest the presumptuousness of her sister-in-law's doubts in the face\nof competent authority.\n\n\"I realize that your husband ought to understand about such matters, but\nmay one suppose that the English authorities would deliberately allow an\ninnocent woman to remain in prison? They must know that the friends of\nMrs. Hamilton believe her innocent. Why should we on this side of the\nwater meddle simply because she was born an American?\"\n\n\"Why?\" Selma drew herself up proudly. \"In the first place I believe--we\nbelieve--that the English are capable of keeping her in prison on a\ntechnicality merely because she is there already. They are worshippers\nof legal form and red tape, my husband says. And as to meddling, why is\nit not our duty as an earnest and Christian people to remonstrate\nagainst the continued incarceration of a woman born under our flag and\naccustomed to American ideas of justice? Meddling? In my opinion, we\nshould be cowards and derelict in our duty if we did not protest.\"\n\nPauline shook her head. \"I cannot see it so. It seems to me an\ninterference which may make us seem ridiculous in the eyes of the\nEnglish, as well as offensive to them. I am sorry, Selma, not to be able\nto do as you wish.\"\n\nSelma rose with burning cheeks, but a stately air. \"If that is your\ndecision, I must do without your name. Already we have many signatures,\nand shall obtain hundreds more without difficulty. We look at things\ndifferently, Pauline. Our point of view has never been the same.\nRidiculous? I should be proud of the ridicule of people too selfish or\ntoo unenlightened to heed the outcry of aspiring humanity. If we had to\ndepend on your little set to strike the note of progress, I fear we\nshould sit with folded hands most of the time.\"\n\n\"I do not know what you mean by my little set,\" said Pauline with a\nsmile. \"I am too busy with my college duties to belong to any set. I see\nmy friends occasionally just as you see yours; and as to progress--well,\nI fear that you are right in your statement that we shall never look at\nthings alike. To me progress presupposes in the individual or the\ncommunity attaining it a prelude of slow struggle, disheartening doubts,\nand modest reverence for previous results--for the accumulated wisdom of\nthe past.\"\n\n\"I mean by your set the people who think as you do. I understand your\npoint of view. I should have liked,\" she added, \"to ask you to share\nwith me the responsibility of directing the policy of the Benham Free\nHospital, had I not known that you would listen to the voice of\nconservative authority in preference to that of fearless innovation.\"\n\n\"I certainly should have hesitated long before I overruled the\nexperience of those who have devoted their lives to conscientious effort\nto discover truth.\"\n\n\"That illustrates admirably the difference between us, Pauline. No one\nis more eager to aid the discovery of truth than I, but I believe that\ntruth often is concealed from those who go on, day after day, following\nhum-drum routine, however conscientious. I recognized that Dr. Ashmun\nwas a live man and had fresh ideas, so I chose him as our chief of\nstaff, notwithstanding the doctors were unfriendly to him. As a result,\nmy hospital has individuality, and is already a success. That's the sort\nof thing I mean. Good-by,\" she said, putting out her hand. \"I don't\nexpect to convert you, Pauline, to look at things my way, but you must\nrealize by this time that it is the Benham way.\"\n\n\"Yet the leading physicians of Benham disapprove of your plans for the\nmanagement of the hospital,\" said Pauline firmly.\n\n\"But the people of Benham approve of them. I prefer their sanction to\nthat of a coterie of cautious, unenthusiastic autocrats.\"\n\nSelma, true to her intentions, did not return to Washington with her\nhusband when Congress reassembled in December. While she was absorbed\nwith her philanthropic plans in Benham, Lyons was performing his public\nduties; seeking to do the country good service, and at the right moment\nto attract attention to himself. The opportunity to make a speech along\nthe line of his public professions in behalf of labor against corporate\nmonopoly did not offer itself until late in the session. He improved the\nfew minutes allowed him to such advantage that he was listened to with\nclose attention, and was at once recognized as one of the persuasive and\neloquent speakers of the minority. Before Congress adjourned he obtained\nanother chance to take part in debate, by which he produced an equally\nfavorable impression. The newspapers of the country referred approvingly\nto his cogent gift of statement and dignified style of delivery. Both\nthe bills against which he spoke were passed by the Republican majority,\nbut echoes of his words came back from some of their constituents, and\nLyons was referred to as certain to be one of the strong men of the\nHouse if he returned to Congress. He went home at the close of the\nsession in a contented frame of mind so far as his political prospects\nwere concerned, but he was not free to enjoy the congratulations\naccorded him for the reason that his business ventures were beginning to\ngive him serious solicitude. The trend of the stock market was again\ndownward. In expectation of a rise from the previous depression, he had\nadded to the line of shares which Williams & Van Horne were carrying for\nhim. A slight rise had come, sufficient to afford him a chance to escape\nfrom the toils of Wall street without loss. But he needed a profit to\nrehabilitate his ventures in other directions--his investments in the\nenterprises of his own state, which had now for some months appeared\nquiescent, if not languishing, from a speculative point of view.\nEverything pointed, it was said, to a further advance as soon as\nCongress adjourned. So he had waited, and now, although the session was\nover, the stock market and financial undertakings of every sort appeared\nsuddenly to be tottering. He had not been at home a month before prices\nof all securities began to shrink inordinately and the business horizon\nto grow murky with the clouds of impending disaster. To add to his\nworry, Lyons was conscious that he had pursued a fast and loose mental\ncoarse in regard to the railroad bill in which his broker, Williams, was\ninterested. He had given Williams to understand that he would try to see\nhis way to support it; yet in view of his late prominence in Washington,\nas a foe of legislation in behalf of moneyed interests, he was more than\never averse to casting a vote in its favor. The bill had not been\nreached before adjournment, a result to which he had secretly\ncontributed, but it was certain to be called up shortly after Congress\nreassembled. It disturbed him to feel that his affairs in New York were\nin such shape that Williams could embarrass him financially if he chose.\nIt disturbed him still more that he appeared to himself to be guilty of\nbad faith. His conscience was troubled, and his favorite palliative of\nconciliation did not seem applicable to the case.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nUntil this time the course of financial events in Benham since its\nevolution from a sleepy country town began had been steadily prosperous.\nThere had been temporary recessions in prices, transient haltings in the\ntendency of new local undertakings to double and quadruple in value. A\nfew rash individuals, indeed, had been forced to suspend payments and\ncompound with their creditors. But there had been no real set back to\ncommercial enthusiasm and speculative gusto. Those who desired to borrow\nmoney for progressive enterprises had found the banks accommodating and\nunsuspicious, and to Benham initiative it yet appeared that the\ndevelopment of the resources of the neighborhood by the unwearying,\nmasterful energy of the citizens was still in its infancy.\n\nBut now, after a few months of inactivity, which holders of speculative\nsecurities had spoken of as another healthy breathing spell, the\ntendency of prices had changed. Had not merely halted, but showed a\nradical tendency to shrink; even to tumble feverishly. Buyers were\nscarce, and the once accommodating banks displayed a heartless\ndisposition to scrutinize collateral and to ask embarrassing questions\nin regard to commercial paper. Rates of interest on loans were\nruthlessly advanced, and additional security demanded. A pall of\ndejection hung over Benham. Evil days had come; days the fruit of a long\nperiod of inflation. A dozen leading firms failed and carried down with\nthem diverse small people. Amid the general distrust and anxiety all\neyes were fixed on Wall street, the so-called money centre of the\ncountry, the Gehenna where this cyclone had first manifested itself. The\nnewspapers, voicing Benham public opinion, cast vituperation at the\nbankers and brokers of Wall street, whose unholy jugglings with fortune\nhad brought this commercial blight on the community. Wall street had\nlocked up money; consequently funds were tight in Benham, and the plans\nof its honest burghers to promote enterprise and develop the lawful\nindustries of the country were interrupted. So spoke public opinion,\nand, at the same time, hundreds of private letters were being despatched\nthrough the Benham Post Office in response to requests for more margins\non stocks held for the honest burghers by the fraternity of Wall street\ngamblers. There was private wailing and gnashing of teeth also, for in\nthe panic a few of these bankers and brokers had been submerged, and the\ncollateral of Benham's leading citizens had been swept away.\n\nThe panic itself was brief as panics always are, but it left behind it\neverywhere a paralyzed community. So far as Benham was concerned, only a\nfew actually failed, but, in a host of instances, possessors of property\nwho had thought themselves wealthy a year before found that they were\nface to face with the knotty problem of nursing their dwarfed resources\nso as to avoid eventual insolvency. Everything had shrunk fifty--often\none hundred--per cent., for the basis of Benham's semi-fabulous\ndevelopment had been borrowed money. Many of Benham's leading citizens\nwere down to hard pan, so to speak. Their inchoate enterprises were\nbeing carried by the banks on the smallest margins consistent with the\nsolvency of those institutions, and clear-headed men knew that months of\nrecuperation must elapse before speculative properties would show life\nagain. Benham was consequently gloomy for once in despite of its native\nbuoyancy. It would have arisen from the ashes of a fire as strenuous as\na young lion. But, with everybody's stocks and merchandise pledged to\nthe money lenders, enterprise was gripped by the throat. In the pride of\nits prosperity Benham had dreamed that it was a law unto itself, and\nthat even Wall street could not affect its rosy commercial destinies. It\nappeared to pious owners of securities almost as though God had deserted\nhis chosen city of a chosen country.\n\nLyons was among those upon whom the harrow of this fall in prices and\nsubsequent hand-to-mouth struggle with the banks pressed with unpleasant\nrigor. In business phraseology he was too much extended. Consequently,\nas the margins of value of the securities on which he had borrowed\ndropped away, he was kept on tenter-hooks as to the future. In case the\nprocess of shrinkage went much further, he would be required to supply\nmore collateral; and, if the rate of money did not fall, the banks would\nrefuse to renew his notes as they became due, unless he could furnish\nclear evidence of his solvency. He was owing over one hundred and fifty\nthousand dollars on paper secured only by the stock and bonds of\nbrand-new enterprises, which had no market negotiability. From the money\nwhich he had borrowed he had sent, from time to time, to Williams and\nVan Horne an aggregate of forty thousand dollars to protect some two\nthousand shares of railroad stocks. Williams had especially commended\nthe shares of the coal-carrying roads to his attention, and the drop in\nprices had been uniformly severe in these properties. Instead of being\nthe possessor of a stable quarter of a million, which he considered to\nbe the value of his property at the time of his election to Congress,\nLyons suddenly realized that he was on the brink of a serious financial\ncollapse through which he might lose everything before he could\ndischarge his liabilities. It seemed cruel to him, for he believed that\nall his ventures were sound, and that if he were not forced to sacrifice\nhis possessions, their future value would attest his sagacity. But at\npresent the securities of speculative enterprises were practically\nworthless as procurers of ready money. The extreme circumstances had\ncome upon him with startling rapidity, so that he found himself in the\nunpleasant predicament of having used for temporary relief some of the\nbonds belonging to the Parsons estate which he held as executor. He had\nforwarded these to Williams merely as a matter of convenience before he\nhad become anxious, expecting to be able to replace them with funds\ncoming to him within thirty days from a piece of real estate for which\nhe had received an offer. He had held off in the hope of obtaining a\nhigher price. The following week, when signs of danger were multiplying,\nhe had found the would-be purchaser unwilling to buy at any price.\nRealizing the compromising position in which he had placed himself by\nhis action, he had cast about feverishly for the means to redeem the\nhypothecated securities, but all his resources were taxed of a sudden by\nthe advent of the panic. It occurred to him to ask Selma to allow\nsubstitution of the twenty thousand dollars, which had been apportioned,\nto her as her legacy, for the bonds, but at first he had shrunk from the\nmortification of disclosing his condition to her, and now that the\nsituation had developed, he feared that he might be obliged to borrow\nthis money from her for the protection of his other interests. It gave\nhim sore concern that he, a champion of moral ideas, a leading church\nmember, and a Representative of the Federal Government should be put in\nsuch an equivocal position. Here again there was no opportunity for\nconciliation, and dignified urbanity was of no avail. If the condition\nof drooping prices and general distrust, a sort of commercial dry-rot,\nwhich had succeeded the panic, continued much longer he would be driven\nto the wall unless relief were forthcoming. Nor was it much consolation\nthat many others were on the verge of failure. Financial insolvency for\nhim would mean the probable loss of his seat in Congress, and the\nserious interruption of his political career. From what source could he\nhope for relief? The preparations for the autumn campaign were already\nbeing considered, and there was likelihood of another close contest\nbetween the two political parties. But for the worry occasioned by his\nplight, he would have resumed the contest with hopeful ardor,\nappreciating that the pecuniary distress of the community would be\nlikely to work to his advantage. His own nomination was assured; his\nre-election appeared probable. But after it what could he expect but the\ndeluge?\n\nOne source of the effectiveness of Horace Elton was that he was wont to\nexercise foresight, and make his plans in advance while other men were\nslumbering. He had been prepared for the panic because he had been\nexpecting it for more than a year, and the ship of his financial\nfortunes was close reefed to meet the fury of the overdue gale. Also he\nwas quick to recognize that the wide-spread depreciation of values would\ninevitably be followed by a period of business inactivity which would\nthrow out of employment a large number of wage earners whose ballots as\na consequence would be cast against the political party in power. As far\nback as the time when he made the acquaintance of Selma at Washington\nand selected her as the wearer of his cameo pin, he had been incubating\non a scheme for the consolidation of the gas companies in the cities and\ntowns of the state into one large corporation. For this corporation he\nrequired a liberal charter, which the next legislature would be invited\nto grant. He expected to be able to procure this franchise from the\nlegislature, but he judged that the majority in favor of the bill would\nnot be large enough to pass it over the Governor's veto. Accordingly it\nwas of the first importance that the Governor should be friendly to the\nmeasure.\n\nThis was the year of the Presidential election. Both political parties\nwere seeking to nominate their strongest candidates for the various\nfederal and state offices. A promoter of large business schemes was at a\ndisadvantage in a campaign where party feelings ran high and national\nissues were involved, and Elton knew it. He commonly chose an off year\nin politics for the consummation of his business deals. But he had\nchosen to push his bill this year for the reason that he wished to be in\na position to buy out the sub-companies cheaply. The community was\npressed for ready money, and many men who would be slow in prosperous\ntimes to extract gas shares from their tin boxes and stockings would be\nglad to avail themselves of a reasonable cash offer. Elton was a\nRepublican on national issues. His experience had been that the\nRepublican Party was fundamentally friendly to corporations, in spite of\noccasional pious ejaculations in party platforms to the contrary. He had\na Republican candidate for Governor in mind who would be faithful to his\ninterests; but this candidate was put aside in the convention in\ndeference to the sentiment that only a man of first-rate mental and\nmoral calibre could command the allegiance of independent voters, whose\nco-operation seemed essential to party success. The Republican state\nconvention was held three weeks prior to the date fixed for that of\ntheir opponents. Within twenty-four hours subsequent to the nomination\nof Hon. John Patterson as the Republican candidate for Governor, while\nthe party organs were congratulating the public on his selection, and\nthe leaders of the party were endeavoring to suppress the murmurs of the\ndisappointed lower order of politicians who, in metaphorical phrase,\nfelt that they were sewed up in a sack for another two years by the\nchoice of this strong citizen, one of the most widely circulated\ndemocratic newspapers announced in large type on its front page that\nHon. James O. Lyons was the only Democrat who could defeat him in the\ngubernatorial contest. Behind the ledger sheet of this newspaper--which\nwas no other than the Benham _Sentinel_--lurked the keen intelligence of\nHorace Elton. He knew that the candidate of his own party would never\nconsent to indicate in advance what his action on the gas bill would be,\nand that he would only prejudice his chances of obtaining favorable\naction when the time arrived by any attempt to forestall a decision.\nThis did not suit Horace Elton. He was accustomed to be able to obtain\nan inkling before election that legislation in which he was interested\nwould not encounter a veto. His measures were never dishonest. That is,\nhe never sought to foist bogus or fraudulent undertakings upon the\ncommunity. He was seeking, to be sure, eventual emolument for himself,\nbut he believed that the franchise which he was anxious to obtain would\nresult in more progressive and more effectual public service. He had\nnever before felt obliged to refrain from asking direct or indirect\nassurance that his plans would be respected by the Governor. Yet he had\nforeseen the possibility of just such an occurrence. The one chance in a\nhundred had happened and he was ready for it. He intended to contribute\nto the Republican national campaign fund, but he did not feel that the\ninterests of his State would suffer if he used all the influences at his\ncommand to secure a Governor who would be friendly to his scheme, and\nCongressman Lyons appeared to him the most available man for his\npurpose.\n\nIt had already occurred to Lyons that his nomination as Governor was a\npossibility, for the leaders of the party were ostensibly looking about\nfor a desirable Democrat with whom to confront Patterson, and had shown\nan intention to turn a cold shoulder on the ambition of several\naspirants for this honor who might have been encouraged in an ordinary\nyear as probable victors. He knew that his name was under consideration,\nand he had made up his mind that he would accept the nomination if it\nwere offered to him. He would regret the interruption of his\nCongressional career, but he felt that his election as Governor in a\npresidential year after a close contest would make him the leader of the\nparty in the State, and, in case the candidate of his party were chosen\nPresident, would entitle him to important recognition from the new\nadministration. Moreover, if he became Governor, his financial status\nwould be strengthened. The banks would be more likely to accommodate one\nin such a powerful position, and he might be able to keep his head above\nwater until better times brought about a return of public confidence and\na recovery in prices. Yet he felt by no means sure that even as Governor\nhe could escape betraying his financial embarrassment, and his mind was\nso oppressed by the predicament in which he found himself that he made\nno effort on his own part to cause the party leaders to fix their choice\non him. Nor did he mention the possibility of his selection to Selma.\nMortification and self-reproach had made him for the moment inert as to\nhis political future, and reluctant to confide his troubles to her.\n\nThe clarion declaration of the Benham _Sentinel_ in favor of Lyons\nevoked sympathetic echoes over the State, which promptly convinced the\npolitical chieftains that he was the strongest candidate to pit against\nPatterson. The enthusiasm caused by the suggestion of his name spread\nrapidly, and at the end of a week his nomination at the convention was\nregarded as certain.\n\nThe championship of the _Sentinel_ was a complete surprise to Selma. She\nhad assumed that her husband would return to Washington, and that\npolitical promotion for the present was out of the question. When she\nsaw her husband's features looking out at her from a large cut on the\nfront page of the morning newspaper, and read the conspicuous heading\nwhich accompanied it--\"The _Sentinel_ nominates as Governor the Hon.\nJames O. Lyons of Benham, the most eloquent orator and most\npublic-spirited citizen of the State\"--her heart gave a bound, and she\neagerly asked herself, \"Why not?\" That was just what they needed, what\nshe needed to secure her hold on the social evolution of Benham. As the\nwife of the Governor of the State she would be able to ignore the people\nwho held aloof from her, and introduce the reforms in social behavior on\nwhich her heart was set.\n\n\"James, have you seen this?\" she asked, eagerly.\n\nLyons was watching her from across the breakfast table. He had seen it,\nand had laid the newspaper within her reach.\n\n\"Yes, dear. It is very complimentary, isn't it?\"\n\n\"But what does it mean? Are you to be Governor? Did you know of it,\nJames?\"\n\n\"I knew that my name, with others, had been mentioned by those who were\nlooking for a candidate whom we can elect. But this nomination of the\n_Sentinel_ comes from a clear sky. Would you like to have me Governor,\nSelma?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed. If the chance is offered you, James, you will surely\naccept it. It would please me immensely to see you Governor. We should\nnot be separated then part of the year, and--and I should be able here\nin Benham to help you as your wife ought to help you. I know,\" she\nadded, \"that you have been looking forward to the next session of\nCongress, in the hope of distinguishing yourself, but isn't this a finer\nopportunity? Doesn't it open the door to splendid possibilities?\"\n\nLyons nodded. His wife's eager presentation of the case confirmed his\nown conclusions. \"It is an important decision to make,\" he said, with\ngravity. \"If I am not elected, I shall have lost my place in the\nCongressional line, and may find difficulty in recovering it later. But\nif the party needs me, if the State needs me, I must not think of that.\nI cannot help being gratified, encouraged by the suggestion that my\nfellow-citizens of my political faith are turning to me as their\nstandard-bearer at this time when great public issues are involved. If I\ncan serve God and my country in this way, and at the same time please\nyou, my wife, what can I ask better?\"\n\nHe spoke with genuine feeling and reverence, for it was in keeping with\nhis religious tendencies to recognize in advance the solemn\nresponsibilities of high office, and to picture himself as the agent of\nthe heavenly powers. This attitude of mind always found Selma\nsympathetic and harmonious. Her eyes kindled with enthusiasm, and she\nreplied:\n\n\"You view the matter as I would have you view it, James. If this trust\nis committed to us by Providence, it is our duty to accept it as lovers\nof our country and promoters of true progress.\"\n\n\"It would seem so. And in some ways,\" he said, as though he felt the\nimpulse to be reasonably frank toward Providence in his acceptance of\nthe trust, \"my election as Governor would be advantageous to my\npolitical and business interests. I have not sought the office,\" he\nadded with dignified unction, \"but my knowledge of local conditions\nleads me to believe that this action of the _Sentinel_ signifies that\ncertain powerful influences are working in my favor. I shall be able to\ntell you more accurately in regard to this before long.\"\n\nLyons happened to know that the Benham _Sentinel_ had enlarged its plant\ntwo years previous, and that Horace Elton was still the holder of its\nnotes for borrowed money. The transaction had passed through his bank,\nand in the course of his mental search for reasons to account for the\nsudden flat-footed stand of the newspaper, the thought came into his\nmind and dwelt there that Elton was at the bottom of it. If so, what was\nElton's reason? Why should Elton, a Republican, desire his nomination?\nSurely not to compass his defeat.\n\nIn this connection Elton's friendship and the prophecy made to Selma as\nto his political future occurred to him and forbade an invidious\nsupposition. \"Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and thou shalt be what thou\nart promised!\" Lyons left Selma with the conviction that he would find\nElton to be mainly responsible for what had taken place. Shortly after\nreaching his office he received a note from him asking for an\nappointment. Punctually at twelve o'clock Elton arrived and was shown\ninto Lyons's private room. Lyons gave orders that he was not to be\ndisturbed, for he believed that the results of the interview were likely\nto have a serious bearing on his career as a statesman.\n\nBoth men were of heavy physique, but as they sat facing each other an\nobserver would have remarked that Elton's visage possessed a clean-cut\ncompactness of expression despite its rotund contour. His closely\ntrimmed whiskers, his small, clear, penetrating eyes, and the effect of\nneatness conveyed by his personal appearance were so many external\nindications of his mental lucidity and precision.\n\nIn contrast Lyons's moon-shaped face, emphasized by its smooth-shaven\nmobile mouth, below which his almost white chin beard hung pendent,\nexpressed a curious interplay of emotional sanctity, urbane shrewdness,\nand solemn self-importance.\n\n\"Governor Lyons, at your service,\" said Elton, regarding him steadily.\n\n\"Do you think so?\"\n\n\"I know so, if you desire it.\"\n\n\"The nomination, you mean?\"\n\n\"The election by a comfortable majority.\"\n\nLyons breathed hard with satisfaction. \"If the people of the State\nchoose to confide their interests to my custody, I shall not refuse to\nserve them.\"\n\n\"So I supposed. You may be wondering, Lyons, why I, a Republican, should\nbe talking like this. I will tell you. Observation has led me to believe\nthat the people of this State will elect a Democratic Governor this\nyear. The hard times will hurt the administration. Consequently, as your\nfriend and my own friend, I have taken the liberty to indicate to the\nmanagers of your party their strongest man. I am responsible for what\nyou saw on the front page of the _Sentinel_ this morning. There need not\nbe much difficulty,\" he added, significantly, \"in securing emphatic\nendorsement throughout the State of the _Sentinel's_ preference.\"\n\nLyons looked grave. \"You must be aware that our views on public\nquestions--especially those which concern the relations of capital and\nlabor--are not the same.\"\n\n\"Certainly. I tell you frankly that while, from a humanitarian point of\nview, I respect your desire to relieve the inequalities of modern\ncivilization, as a business man and a man of some property I do not\nregard the remedies presented by your party platform as just or\nadequate. I recognize that your opinions are hostile to corporate\ninterests, but I have gathered also that you are disposed to be\nreasonable and conciliatory; that you are not inclined to regard all men\nand all measures as dangerous, merely because they have means or are\nintroduced in the name of capital.\"\n\n\"It has always seemed to me that a conciliatory spirit secures the most\ndefinite results for the public,\" assented Lyons.\n\n\"Precisely. See here, Lyons,\" Elton said, leaning forward across the\ntable at which they were sitting, \"I wish to be entirely frank with you.\nYou know me well enough to understand that I have not offered you my\nsupport in any philanthropic spirit. I could not have deceived you as to\nthis had I tried. I am a practical man, and have an axe to grind. I am\nurging your election as Governor because I believe you to possess\nintelligent capacity to discriminate between what is harmful to the\ncommunity and what is due to healthy, individual enterprise--the energy\nwhich is the sap of American citizenship. We capitalists have no fear of\nan honest man, provided he has the desire and the ability to protect\nlegitimate business acumen against the slander of mere demagogues. I\nhave a bill here,\" he added, drawing a printed document from his pocket,\n\"which I am desirous to see passed by the next legislature. It embodies\na charter authorizing the acquisition and merger in one corporation of\nall the gas companies of this State, and an extension of corporate\npowers so as to cover all forms of municipal lighting. Were your hands\nnot tied by your prospective election, I should be glad to offer you an\nopportunity to become one of the incorporators, for I believe that the\nundertaking will be lucrative. That, of course, is out of the question.\nNow then, this is a perfectly honest bill. On its face, to be sure, it\nsecures a valuable franchise for the petitioners, and consequently may\nencounter some opposition. But, on the other hand, no one who considers\nthe matter candidly and closely can fail to recognize that the great\npublic will secure cheaper gas and more efficient service as the result\nof the consolidation. And there is where I felt that I could count on\nyour intelligence. You would not allow the plea that capitalists were\ninterested in obtaining a profitable franchise to obscure the more vital\nconsideration that the community will be the true gainers.\"\n\nLyons bowed graciously, and stroked his beard. \"What is it you wish me\nto do?\" he asked.\n\n\"To read the bill in the first place; to convince yourself that what I\nhave told you is true; to satisfy yourself that the measure is\nessentially harmless. The bill is not long. Read it now and let me hear\nyour objections. I have some papers here to look over which will occupy\nme a quarter of an hour, if you can spare me the time.\"\n\nLyons acquiesced, and proceeded to peruse slowly the document. When he\nhad finished it he folded it solemnly and returned it to Elton. \"It is a\nbill framed in the interest of capital, but I cannot say that the public\nwill be prejudiced by it. On the contrary, I should judge that the price\nof gas in our cities and towns would be lowered as a consequence of the\nreduction in running expenses caused by the projected consolidation.\nWhat is it that you wish me to do?\"\n\n\"Agree to sign the bill as it now stands if it passes the legislature.\"\n\nLyons rested his head on his hand and his mouth moved tremulously. \"If I\nam elected governor,\" he said, \"I wish to serve the people honestly and\nfearlessly.\"\n\n\"I am sure of it. I ask you to point out to me in what manner this bill\ntrenches upon the rights of the people. You yourself have noted the\ncrucial consequence: It will lower the price of gas. If at the same time\nI am benefited financially, why should I not reap the reasonable reward\nof my foresight?\"\n\n\"I will sign the bill, Elton, if it comes to me for signature. I may be\ncriticised at first, but the improved public service and reduction of\nthe gas bills will be my justification, and show that I have not been\nunmindful of the interests of the great public whose burdens my party is\nseeking to lighten.\"\n\n\"I shall count on you, then,\" said Elton, after a pause. \"The failure of\nthe bill at the last stage when I was expecting its passage might affect\nmy affairs seriously.\"\n\n\"If the legislature does its part, I will do mine,\" responded Lyons,\naugustly. \"I will sign the bill if it comes to me in the present form.\"\n\n\"I thank you, Governor.\"\n\nLyons looked confused but happy at the appellation.\n\n\"By the way,\" said Elton, after he had returned the papers to his\npocket, \"these are trying times for men with financial obligations. It\nis my custom to be frank and not to mince matters where important\ninterests are concerned. A candidate for office in this campaign will\nneed the use of all his faculties if he is to be successful. I should be\nvery sorry for the sake of my bill to allow your mind to be distracted\nby solicitude in regard to your private affairs. Some of the best and\nmost prudent of our business men are pressed to-day for ready money. I\nam in a position to give you temporary assistance if you require it. In\njustice to my interests you must not let delicacy stand in the way of\nyour accepting my offer.\"\n\nLyons's bosom swelled with the tide of returning happiness. He had\nscarcely been able to believe his ears. Yet here was a definite,\nspontaneous proposition to remove the incubus which weighed upon his\nsoul. Here was an opportunity to redeem the bonds of the Parsons estate\nand to repair his damaged self-respect. It seemed to him as though the\nclouds of adversity which had encompassed him had suddenly been swept\naway, and that Providence was smiling down at him as her approved and\nfavorite son. His emotion choked his speech. His lip trembled and his\neyes looked as though they would fill with tears. After a brief pause he\narticulated that he was somewhat pressed for ready money. Some\nexplanation of his affairs followed, the upshot of which was that Elton\nagreed to indorse Lyons's promissory notes held by the banks to the\namount of $60,000, and to accept as collateral for a personal loan of\n$40,000 certain securities of new local enterprises which had no present\nmarketable value. By this arrangement his property was amply protected\nfrom sacrifice; he would be able to adjust his speculative account in\nNew York; and he could await with a tranquil soul the return of\ncommercial confidence. Lyons's heart was overflowing with satisfaction.\nHe pressed Elton's hand and endeavored to express his gratitude with\nappropriate grandiloquence. But Elton disclaimed the obligation,\nasserting that he had acted merely from self-interest to make the\nelection of his candidate more certain.\n\nThe loan of $40,000 was completed within forty-eight hours, and before\nthe end of another week Lyons had rescued the bonds of the Parsons\nestate from pawn, and disposed of his line of stocks carried by Williams\n& Van Horne. They were sold at a considerable loss, but he made up his\nmind to free his soul for the time being from the toils and torment of\nspeculation and to nurse his dwarfed resources behind the bulwark of\nElton's relief fund until the financial situation cleared. He felt as\nthough he had grown ten years younger, and without confiding to Selma\nthe details of these transactions he informed her ecstatically that,\nowing to certain important developments, due partly to the friendliness\nof Horace Elton, the outlook for their future advancement had never been\nso bright. When a month later he was nominated as Governor he threw\nhimself into the contest with the convincing ardor of sincere,\nuntrammelled faith in the reforms he was advocating. His speeches\nreflected complete concentration of his powers on the issues of the\ncampaign and evoked enthusiasm throughout the State by their eloquent\narraignment of corporate rapacity at the expense of the sovereign\npeople. In several of his most telling addresses he accused the national\nadministration of pandering to the un-American gamblers who bought and\nsold stocks in Wall street.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nLyons was chosen Governor by a large majority, as Elton had predicted.\nThe Republican Party was worsted at the polls and driven out of power\nboth at Washington and in the State. Lyons ran ahead of his ticket,\nreceiving more votes than the presidential electors. The campaign was\nfull of incidents grateful to Selma's self esteem. Chief among these was\nthe conspicuous allusions accorded her by the newspapers. The campaign\nitself was a fervid repetition of the stirring scenes of two years\nprevious. Once more torch-light processions in vociferous serried\ncolumns attested the intensity of party spirit. Selma felt herself an\nadept through her former experience, and she lost no opportunity to show\nherself in public and bear witness to her devotion to her husband's\ncause. It pleased her to think that the people recognized her when she\nappeared on the balcony or reviewing stand, and that her presence evoked\nan increase of enthusiasm.\n\nBut the newspaper publicity was even more satisfying, for it centred\nattention unequivocally on her. Columns of descriptive matter relative\nto her husband's personality began to appear as soon as it became\nobvious that he was to be Governor. These articles aimed to be\nexhaustive in their character, covering the entire scope of his past\nlife, disclosing pitiless details in regard to his habits, tastes, and\nprivate concerns. Nothing which could be discovered or ferreted out was\nomitted; and most of these biographies were illuminated by a variety of\nmore or less hideous cuts showing, for example, his excellency as he\nlooked as a school boy, his excellency as a fledgling attorney, the\nhumble home where his excellency was born, and his excellency's present\nstately but hospitable residence on Benham's River Drive. Almost every\nnewspaper in the State took its turn at contributing something which it\nconceived to be edifying to this reportorial budget. And after the\nGovernor, came the turn of the Governor's lady, as she was called.\n\nSelma liked best the articles devoted exclusively to herself; where she\nappeared as the special feature of the newspaper issue, not merely as an\nadjunct to her husband. But she liked them all, and she was most\nbenignant in her reception of the several newspaper scribes, principally\nof her own sex, who sought an interview for the sake of copy. She\nwithheld nothing in regard to her person, talents, household, or tastes\nwhich would in her opinion be effective in print. She had a photograph\nof herself taken in simple, domestic matronly garb to supplement those\nwhich she already possessed, one of which revealed the magnificence of\nthe attire she wore at the President's Reception; another portrayed\nLittleton's earnest bride, and still a fourth disclosed her as the\nwistful, aspiring school-mistress on the threshold of womanhood. These,\nand the facts appropriate to them, she meted out to her biographers from\ntime to time, lubricating her amiable confidences with the assertion\nthat both she and her husband felt that the people were entitled to be\nmade familiar with the lives of their public representatives. As the\nresult of her gracious behavior, her willingness to supply interesting\ndetails concerning herself, and her flattering tendency to become\nintimate on the spot with the reporters who visited her, the newspaper\narticles in most cases were in keeping with Selma's prepossessions.\nThose which pleased her most emphasized in the first place her\nintellectual gifts and literary talents, intimating delicately that she\nhad refused brilliant offers for usefulness with her pen and on the\nlecture platform in order to become the wife of Congressman Lyons, to\nwhom her counsel and high ideals of public service were a constant\nstimulus. Emphasized in the second place her husband's and her own pious\ntastes, and strong religious convictions, to which their constant church\nattendance and the simple sanctity of their American home bore\ntestimony. Emphasized in the third place--reproducing ordinarily a\nsketch and cut of her drawing-room--her great social gifts and graces,\nwhich had made her a leader of society in the best sense of the word\nboth in Benham and in New York. A few of the articles stated in\njudicious terms that she had been twice a widow. Only one of them set\nthis forth in conspicuous and opprobrious terms: \"Her Third Husband! Our\nChief Magistrate's Wife's Many Marriages!\" Such was the unsympathetic,\nalliterative heading of the malicious statement which appeared in an\nopposition organ. It did no more than recall the fact that she had\nobtained a divorce from her first husband, who had in his despair taken\nto drink, and intimate that her second husband had not been altogether\nhappy. Selma wept when she read the article. She felt that it was cruel\nand uncalled for; that it told only half the truth and traduced her\nbefore the American people. She chose to conceive that it had been\ninspired by Pauline and Mrs. Hallett Taylor, neither of whom had sent\nher a word of congratulation on her promotion to be the Governor's wife.\nWho but Pauline knew that her marriage with Littleton had not been\ncompletely harmonious? Who but Mrs. Taylor or one of her set would have\nthe malice to insinuate that she had been merciless to Babcock? This was\none libel in a long series of complimentary productions. The\nrepresentation of the family group was made complete by occasional\nreferences to the Governor elect's mother--\"Mother Lyons, the venerable\nparent of our chief magistrate.\" Altogether Selma felt that the picture\npresented to the public was a truthful and inspiring record of pious and\nenterprising American life, which showed to the community that its\nchoice of a Governor had been wise and was merited.\n\nClose upon the election and these eulogistic biographies came the\ninauguration, with Lyons's eloquent address. Selma, of course, had\nspecial privileges--a reserved gallery in the State House, to which she\nissued cards of admission to friends of her own selection. Occupying in\nfestal attire the centre of this conspicuous group, she felt that she\nwas the cynosure of every eye. She perceived that she was constantly\npointed out as the second personage of the occasion. To the few\nlegislators on the floor whom she already knew she took pains to bow\nfrom her seat with gracious cordiality, intending from the outset to aid\nher husband by captivating his friends and conciliating the leaders of\nthe opposition party. On her way to and from the gallery she was joined\nby several members, to each of whom she tried to convey subtly the\nimpression that she purposed to take an earnest interest in legislative\naffairs, and that her husband would be apt to consult her in regard to\nclose questions. On the morning after the inauguration she had the\nsatisfaction of seeing her own portrait side by side with that of her\nhusband on the front page of two newspapers, a flattering indication, as\nshe believed, that the press already recognized her value both as a\nhelpmate to him and an ornament to the State. She took up her life as\nthe Governor's lady feeling that her talents and eagerness to do good\nhad finally prevailed and that true happiness at last was in store for\nher. She was satisfied with her husband and recognized his righteous\npurpose and capacity as a statesman, but she believed secretly that his\nrapid success was due in a large measure to her genius. Her prompting\nhad inspired him to make a notable speech in his first Congress. Her\ncharms and clever conversation had magnetized Mr. Elton so that he had\nseen fit to nominate him for Governor. A fresh impulse to her\nself-congratulation that virtue and ability were reaping their reward\nwas given a few weeks later by the announcement which Lyons read from\nthe morning newspaper that the firm of Williams & Van Horne had failed\ndisastrously. The circumstances attending their down-fall were\nsensational. It appeared that Van Horne, the office partner, who managed\nthe finances, had shot himself as the culmination of a series of\nfraudulent hypothecations of securities and misrepresentations to which\nit was claimed that Williams was not a party. The firm had been\nhopelessly insolvent for months, and had been forced to the wall at last\nby a futile effort on the part of Van Horne to redeem the situation by a\nfinal speculation on a large scale. It had failed owing to the\ncontinuation of the state of dry rot in the stock market, and utter ruin\nfollowed.\n\nThe regret which Lyons entertained as he read aloud the tragic story was\novershadowed in his mind by his own thankfulness that he had redeemed\nthe bonds and settled his account with them before the crash came. He\nwas so absorbed by his own emotions that he failed to note the\ntriumphant tone of his wife's ejaculation of amazement. \"Failed!\nWilliams & Van Horne failed! Oh, how did it happen? I always felt sure\nthat they would fail sooner or later.\"\n\nSelma sat with tightly folded hands listening to the exciting narrative,\nwhich Lyons read for her edification with the urbanely mournful emphasis\nof one who has had a narrow escape. He stopped in the course of it to\nrelieve any solicitude which she might be feeling in regard to his\ndealings with the firm, by the assertion that he had only two months\nprevious closed out his account owing to the conviction that prudent\ninvestors were getting under cover. This assurance gave the episode a\nstill more providential aspect in Selma's eyes. In the first flush of\nher gratitude that Flossy had been superbly rebuked for her frivolous\nexistence, she had forgotten that they were her husband's brokers.\nMoreover the lack of perturbation in his manner was not calculated to\ninspire alarm. But the news that Lyons had been shrewd enough to escape\nat the twelfth hour without a dollar's loss heightened the justice of\nthe situation. She listened with throbbing pulses to the particulars.\nShe could scarcely credit her senses that her irrepressible and\nlight-hearted enemy had been confounded at last--confronted with\nbankruptcy and probable disgrace. She interrupted the reading to express\nher scepticism regarding the claim that Williams had no knowledge of the\nfrauds.\n\n\"How could he be ignorant? He must have known. He must have bribed the\nreporters to put that in so as to arouse the sympathy of some of their\nfashionable friends. Van Horne is dead, and the lips of the dead are\nsealed.\"\n\nSelma spoke with the confidence born of bitterness. She was pleased with\nher acumen in discerning the true inwardness of the case. Her husband\nnodded with mournful acquiescence. \"It would seem,\" he said, \"as if he\nmust have had an inkling, at least, of what was going on.\"\n\n\"Of course he had. Gregory Williams, with all his faults, was a\nwide-awake man. I always said that.\"\n\nLyons completed the reading and murmured with a sigh, which was half\npity, half grateful acknowledgment of his own good fortune--\"It's a bad\npiece of business. I'm glad I had the sense to act promptly.\"\n\nSelma was ruminating. Her steel bright eyes shone with exultation. Her\nsense of righteousness was gratified and temporarily appeased. \"They'll\nhave to sell their house, of course, and give up their horses and\nsteam-yacht? I don't see why it doesn't mean that Flossy and her husband\nmust come down off their pedestal and begin over again? It follows,\ndoesn't it, that the heartless set into which they have wormed their way\nwill drop them like hot coals?\"\n\nAll these remarks were put by Selma in the slightly interrogative form,\nas though she were courting any argument to the contrary which could be\nadduced in order to knock it in the head. But Lyons saw no reason to\ndiffer from her verdict. \"It means necessarily great mortification for\nthem and a curtailment of their present mode of life,\" he said. \"I am\nsorry for them.\"\n\n\"Sorry? Of course, James, it is distressing to hear that misfortune has\nbefallen any person of one's acquaintance, and so far as Gregory\nWilliams himself is concerned I have no wish to see him punished simply\nbecause he has been worldly and vainglorious. You thought him able in a\nbusiness way, and liked to meet him. But as for her, Flossy, his wife,\"\nSelma continued, with a gasp, \"it would be sheer hypocrisy for me to\nassert that I am sorry for her. I should deem myself unworthy of being\nconsidered an earnest-minded American woman if I did not maintain that\nthis disgrace which has befallen them is the logical and legitimate\nconsequence of their godless lives--especially of her frivolity and\npresumptuous indifference to spiritual influences. That woman, James, is\nutterly hostile to the things of the spirit. You have no conception--I\nhave never told you, because he was your friend, and I was willing to\nlet bygones be bygones on the surface on your account--you have no\nconception of the cross her behavior became to me in New York. From\nalmost the first moment we met I saw that we were far apart as the poles\nin our views of the responsibilities of life. She sneered at everything\nwhich you and I reverence, and she set her face against true progress\nand the spread of American principles. She claimed to be my friend, and\nto sympathize with my zeal for social truth, yet all the time she was\ntoadying secretly the people whose luxurious exclusiveness made me\ntremble sometimes for the future of our country. She and her husband\nwere prosperous, and everything he touched seemed to turn to gold. It\nmay sound irreverent, James, but there was a time during my life in New\nYork when I was discouraged; when it seemed as though heaven were\nmocking me and my husband in our homely struggle against the forces of\nevil, and bestowing all its favors on a woman whose example was a menace\nto American womanhood! Sorry? Why should I be sorry to see justice\ntriumph and shallow iniquity rebuked? I would give Florence Williams\nmoney if she is in want, but I am thankful, very thankful, that her\nheartless vanity has found its proper reward.\"\n\nLyons fingered his beard. \"I didn't know she was as bad as that, Selma.\nNow that they have come to grief, we are not likely to be brought in\ncontact with them, and in all probability they will pass out of our\nlives. Williams was smart and entertaining, but I never liked his taking\nadvantage of the circumstances of my having an account in his office to\nurge me to support a measure at variance with my political convictions.\"\n\n\"Precisely. The trouble with them both, James, is that they have no\nconscience; and it is eminently just they should be made to realize that\npeople who lack conscience cannot prosper in this country in the long\nrun. 'They have loosed the awful lightnings of his terrible swift\nsword.'\"\n\n\"I say 'amen' to that assuredly, Selma,\" Lyons answered. His\npredilection to palliate equivocal circumstances was never proof against\nclear, evidence of moral delinquency. When his religious scruples were\nfinally offended, he was grave and unrelenting.\n\nThe downfall of the Williamses continued to be a sweet solace and source\nof encouragement to Selma. It made her, when taken in conjunction with\nher own recent progress, feel that the whirligig of time was working in\nher behalf after all; and that if she persevered, not merely Flossy, but\nall those who worshipped mammon, and consequently failed to recognize\nher talents, would be made to bite the dust. At the moment these enemies\nseemed to have infested Benham. Numerically speaking, they were\nunimportant, but they had established an irritating, irregular skirmish\nline, one end of which occupied Wetmore College, another held secret\nmidnight meetings at Mrs. Hallett Taylor's. Rumors of various\nundertakings, educational, semi-political, artistic, or philanthropic,\nagitated or directed by this fringe of society, came to her ears from\ntime to time, but she heard them as an outsider. When she became the\nGovernor's wife she had said to herself that now these aristocrats would\nbe compelled to admit her to their counsels. But she found, to her\nannoyance, that the election made no difference. Neither Pauline nor\nMrs. Taylor nor any of the coterie had asked her to join them, and she\nwas unpleasantly conscious that there were people on the River Drive who\nshowed no more desire to make her acquaintance than when she had been\nMrs. Lewis Babcock. What did this mean? It meant simply--she began to\nargue--that she must hold fast to her faith and bide her time. That if\nshe and her friends kept a bold front and resisted the encroachments of\nthis pernicious spirit, Providence would interfere presently and\nconfound these enemies of social truth no less obviously than it had\nalready overwhelmed Mrs. Gregory Williams. As the wife of the Governor,\nshe was clearly in a position to maintain this bold front effectively.\nEvery mail brought to her requests for her support, and the sanction of\nher signature to social or charitable enterprises. Her hospital was\nflourishing along the lines of the policy which she had indicated, and\nwas feeling the advantage of her political prosperity. She was able to\ngive the petition in behalf of Mrs. Hamilton, which contained now\ntwenty-five thousand signatures, fresh value and solemnity by means of\nan autograph letter from the Governor's wife, countersigned by the\nGovernor. This, with the bulky list of petitioners, she addressed and\ndespatched directly to Queen Victoria. Her presence was in constant\ndemand at all sorts of functions, at many of which she had the\nopportunity to make a few remarks; to express the welcome of the State,\nor to utter words of sympathy and encouragement to those assembled. In\nthe second month of her husband's administration, she had the\nsatisfaction of greeting, in her double capacity as newly-elected\nPresident of the Benham Institute and wife of the Governor, the\nFederation of Women's Clubs of the United States, on the occasion of its\nannual meeting at Benham. This federation was the incorporated fruit of\nthe Congress of Women's Clubs, which Selma had attended as a delegate\njust previous to her divorce from Babcock, and she could not refrain\nfrom some exultation at the progress she had made since then as she sat\nwielding the gavel over the body of women delegates from every State in\nthe Union. The meeting lasted three days. Literary exercises alternated\nwith excursions to points of interest in the neighborhood, at all of\nwhich she was in authority, and the celebration was brought to a\nbrilliant close by a banquet, to which men were invited. At this Selma\nacted as toastmaster, introducing the speakers of the occasion, which\nincluded her own husband. Lyons made a graceful allusion to her\nstimulating influence as a helpmate and her executive capacity, which\nelicited loud applause. Succeeding this meeting of the Federation of\nWomen's Clubs came a series of semi-public festivities under the\npatronage of women--philanthropic, literary or social in character--for\nthe fever to perpetuate in club form every congregation, of free-born\ncitizens, except on election day, had seized Benham in common with the\nother cities of the country in its grasp, to each of which the\nGovernor's wife was invited as the principal guest of honor. Selma thus\nfound a dozen opportunities to exhibit herself to a large audience and\ntestify to her faith in democratic institutions.\n\nOn the 22d of February, Washington's birthday, she held a reception at\ntheir house on River Drive, for which cards had been issued a fortnight\nprevious. She pathetically explained to the reporters that, had the\ndimensions and resources of her establishment permitted, she and the\nGovernor would simply have announced themselves at home to the community\nat large; that they would have preferred this, but of course it would\nnever do. The people would not be pleased to see a rabble confound the\nhospitality of the chief magistrate and his wife. The people demanded\nproper dignity from their representatives in office. The list of\ninvitations which Selma sent out was, however, comprehensive. She aimed\nto invite everyone of social, public, commercial or political\nimportance. A full band was in attendance, and a liberal collation was\nserved. Selma confided to some of her guests, who, she thought, might\ncriticise the absence of wine, that she had felt obliged, out of\nconsideration for her husband's political prospects, to avoid wounding\nthe feelings of total abstainers. The entertainment lasted from four to\nseven, and the three hours of hand-shaking provided a delicious\nexperience to the hostess. She gloried in the consciousness that this\ncrush of citizens, representing the leaders of the community in the\nwidest sense, had been assembled by her social gift, and that they had\ncome to offer their admiring homage to the clever wife of their\nGovernor. It gratified her to think that Pauline and Mrs. Taylor and the\npeople of that class, to all of whom she had sent cards, should behold\nher as the first lady of the State, and mistress of a beautiful home,\ndispensing hospitality on broad, democratic lines to an admiring\nconstituency. When Mr. Horace Elton approached, Selma perpetrated a\nlittle device which she had planned. As they were in the act of shaking\nhands a very handsome rose fell--seemingly by chance--from the bouquet\nwhich she carried. He picked it up and tendered it to her, but Selma\nmade him keep it, adding in a lower tone, \"It is your due for the\ngallant friendship you have shown me and my husband.\" She felt as though\nshe were a queen bestowing a guerdon on a favorite minister, and yet a\nwoman rewarding in a woman's way an admirer's devotion. She meant Elton\nto appreciate that she understood that his interest in Lyons was largely\ndue to his partiality for her. It seemed to her that she could recognize\nto this extent his chivalrous conduct without smirching her blameless\nrecord as an American housewife.\n\nMeantime the Governor was performing his public duties with becoming\ndignity and without much mental friction. The legislature was engaged in\ndigesting the batch of miscellaneous business presented for its\nconsideration, among which was Elton's gas consolidation bill. Already\nthe measure had encountered some opposition in committee, but Lyons was\nled to believe that the bill would be passed by a large majority, and\nthat its opponents would be conciliated before his signature was\nrequired. Lyons's reputation as an orator had been extended by his term\nin the House of Representatives and his recent active campaign, and he\nwas in receipt of a number of invitations from various parts of the\ncountry to address august bodies in other States. All of these were\ndeclined, but when, in the month of April, opportunity was afforded him\nto deliver a speech on patriotic issues on the anniversary of the battle\nof Lexington, he decided, with Selma's approval, to accept the\ninvitation. He reasoned that a short respite from the cares of office\nwould be agreeable; she was attracted by the glamour of revisiting New\nYork as a woman of note. New York had refused to recognize her\nsuperiority and to do her homage, and New York should realize her\npresent status, and what a mistake had been made. The speech was a\nsuccess, and the programme provided for the entertainment of the orator\nand his wife included the hospitality of several private houses. Selma\nfelt that she could afford to hold her head high and not to thaw too\nreadily for the benefit of a society which had failed to appreciate her\nworth when it had the chance. She was the wife now of one of the leading\npublic men of the nation, and in a position to set fashions, not to ask\nfavors. Nevertheless she chose on the evening before their return to\nBenham to show herself at dinner at Delmonico's, just to let the world\nof so-called fashion perceive her and ask who she was. There would\ndoubtless be people there who knew her by sight, and who, when they were\ntold that she was now the wife of Governor Lyons, would regret if not be\nashamed of their short-sightedness and snobbery. She wore a striking\ndress; she encouraged her husband's willingness to order an elaborate\ndinner, including champagne (for they were in a champagne country), and\nshe exhibited a sprightly mood, looking about her with a knowing air in\nobservation of the other occupants of the dining-room.\n\nWhile she was thus engaged the entrance of a party of six, whom the head\nwaiter conducted with a show of attention to a table which had evidently\nbeen reserved for them, fettered Selma's attention. She stared unable to\nbelieve her eyes, then flushed and looked indignant. Her attention\nremained rivetted on this party while they laid aside their wraps and\nseated themselves. Struck by the annoyed intensity of his wife's\nexpression, Lyons turned to follow the direction of her gaze.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" he said.\n\nFor a few moments Selma sat silent with compressed lips, intent on her\nscrutiny.\n\n\"It's an outrage on decency,\" she murmured, at last. \"How dare she show\nherself here and entertain those people?\"\n\n\"Of whom are you talking, Selma?\"\n\n\"The Williamses. Flossy Williams and her husband. The two couples with\nthem live on Fifth Avenue, and used to be among her exclusive friends.\nHer husband has just ordered the dinner. I saw him give the directions\nto the waiter. It is monstrous that they, who only a few months ago\nfailed disgracefully and were supposed to have lost everything, should\nbe going on exactly as if nothing had happened.\"\n\n\"People in New York have the faculty of getting on their feet again\nquickly after financial reverses,\" said Lyons, mildly. \"Like as not some\nof Williams's friends have enabled him to make a fresh start.\"\n\n\"So it seems,\" Selma answered, sternly. She sat back in her chair with a\ndiscouraged air and neglected her truffled chicken. \"It isn't right; it\nisn't decent.\"\n\nLyons was puzzled by her demeanor. \"Why should you care what they do?\"\nhe asked. \"We can easily avoid them for the future.\"\n\n\"Because--because, James Lyons, I can't bear to see godless people\ntriumph. Because it offends me to see a man and woman, who are\npractically penniless through their own evil courses, and should be\ndiscredited everywhere, able to resume their life of vanity and\nextravagance without protest.\"\n\nWhile she was speaking Selma suddenly became aware that her eyes had met\nthose of Dr. George Page, who was passing their table on his way out.\nRecognition on both sides came at the same moment, and Selma turned in\nher chair to greet him, cutting off any hope which he may have had of\npassing unobserved. She was glad of the opportunity to show the company\nthat she was on familiar terms with a man so well known, and she had on\nher tongue what she regarded as a piece of banter quite in keeping with\nhis usual vein.\n\n\"How d'y do, Dr. Page? We haven't met for a long time. You do not know\nmy husband, Governor Lyons, I think. Dr. Page used to be our family\nphysician when I lived in New York, James. Everyone here knows that he\nhas a very large practice.\"\n\nSelma was disposed to be gracious and sprightly, for she felt that Dr.\nPage must surely be impressed by her appearance of prosperity.\n\n\"I had heard of your marriage, and of your husband's election. I\ncongratulate you. You are living in Benham, I believe, far from this\nhurly-burly?\"\n\n\"Yes, a little bird told me the other day that a no less distinguished\nperson than Dr. Page had been seen in Benham twice during the last three\nmonths. Of course a Governor's wife is supposed to know everything which\ngoes on, and for certain reasons I was very much interested to hear this\nbit of news. I am a very discreet woman, doctor. It shall go no\nfurther.\"\n\nThe physician's broad brow contracted slightly, but his habitual\nself-control concealed completely the inclination to strangle his\nbright-eyed, over-dressed inquisitor. He was the last man to shirk the\nvicissitudes of playful speech, and he preferred this mood of Selma's to\nher solemn style, although his privacy was invaded.\n\n\"I should have remembered,\" he said, \"that there is nothing in the world\nwhich Mrs. Lyons does not know by intuition.\"\n\n\"Including the management of a hospital, Dr. Page. Perhaps you don't\nknow that I am the managing trustee of a large hospital?\"\n\n\"Yes, I was informed of that in Benham. I should scarcely venture to\ntell you what my little bird said. It was an old fogy of a bird, with a\npartiality for thorough investigation and scientific methods, and a\nthorough distrust of the results of off-hand inspiration in the\ntreatment of disease.\"\n\n\"I dare say. But we are succeeding splendidly. The next time you come to\nBenham you must come to see me, and I will take you over our hospital. I\ndon't despair yet of converting you to our side, just as you evidently\ndon't despair of inducing a certain lady some day to change her mind. I,\nfor one, think that she is more fitted by nature to be a wife than a\ncollege president, so I shall await with interest more news from my\nlittle bird.\" Selma felt that she was talking to greater advantage than\nalmost ever before. Her last remark banished every trace of a smile from\nher adversary's face, and he stood regarding her with a preternatural\ngravity, which should have been appalling, but which she welcomed as a\nsign of serious feeling on his part. She felt, too, that at last she had\ngot the better of the ironical doctor in repartee, and that he was\ntaking his leave tongue-tied. In truth, he was so angry that he did not\ntrust himself to speak. He simply glared and departed.\n\n\"Poor fellow,\" she said, by way of explanation to Lyons, \"I suppose his\nemotion got the better of him, because he has loved her so long. That\nwas the Dr. Page who has been crazy for years to marry Pauline\nLittleton. When he was young he married a woman of doubtful character,\nwho ran away from him. I used to think that Pauline was right in\nrefusing to sacrifice her life for his sake. But he has been very\nconstant, and I doubt if she has originality enough to keep her position\nas president of Wetmore long. He belongs to the old school of medicine.\nIt was he who took care of Wilbur when he died. I fancy that case may\nhave taught him not to mistrust truth merely because it isn't labelled.\nBut I bear him no malice, because I know he meant to do his best. They\nare just suited for each other, and I shall be on his side after this.\"\n\nThe interest of this episode served to restore somewhat Selma's\nserenity, but she kept her attention fixed on the table where the\nWilliamses were sitting, observing with a sense of injury their gay\nbehavior. To all appearances, Flossy was as light-hearted and volatile\nas ever. Her attire was in the height of fashion. Had adversity taught\nher nothing? Had the buffet of Providence failed utterly to sober her\nfrivolous spirit? It seemed to Selma that there could be no other\nconclusion, and though she and Lyons had finished dinner, she was unable\nto take her eyes off the culprits, or to cease to wonder how it was\npossible for people with nothing to continue to live as though they had\neverything. Her moral nature was stirred to resentment, and she sat\nspell-bound, seeking in vain for a point of consolation.\n\nMeantime Lyons, like a good American, had sent for an evening paper, and\nwas deep in its perusal. A startled ejaculation from him aroused Selma\nfrom her nightmare. Her husband was saying to her across the table:\n\n\"My dear, Senator Calkins is dead.\" He spoke in a solemn, excited\nwhisper.\n\n\"Our Senator Calkins?\"\n\n\"Yes. This is the despatch from Washington: 'United States Senator\nCalkins dropped dead suddenly in the lobby of the Senate chamber, at ten\no'clock this morning, while talking with friends. His age was 52. The\ncause of his death was heart-failure. His decease has cast a gloom over\nthe Capital, and the Senate adjourned promptly out of respect to the\nmemory of the departed statesman.'\"\n\n\"What a dreadful thing!\" Selma murmured.\n\n\"The ways of Providence are inscrutable,\" said Lyons. \"No one could have\nforeseen this public calamity.\" He poured out a glass of ice-water and\ndrank it feverishly.\n\n\"It's fortunate we have everything arranged to return to-morrow, for of\ncourse you will be needed at home.\"\n\n\"Yes. Waiter, bring me a telegram.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do?\"\n\n\"Communicate to Mrs. Calkins our sympathy on account of the death of her\ndistinguished husband.\"\n\n\"That will be nice,\" said Selma. She sat for some moments in silence\nobserving her husband, and spell-bound by the splendid possibility which\npresented itself. She knew that Lyons's gravity and agitation were not\nwholly due to the shock of the catastrophe. He, like herself, must be\nconscious that he might become the dead Senator's successor. He poured\nout and drained another goblet of ice-water. Twice he drew himself up\nslightly and looked around the room, with the expression habitual to him\nwhen about to deliver a public address. Selma's veins were tingling with\nexcitement. Providence had interfered in her behalf again. As the wife\nof a United States Senator, everything would be within her grasp.\n\n\"James,\" she said, \"we are the last persons in the world to fail in\nrespect to the illustrious dead, but--of course you ought to have\nSenator Calkins's place.\"\n\nLyons looked at his wife, and his large lips trembled. \"If the people of\nmy State, Selma, feel that I am the most suitable man for the vacant\nsenatorship, I shall be proud to serve them.\"\n\nSelma nodded appreciatively. She was glad that her husband should\napproach the situation with a solemn sense of responsibility.\n\n\"They are sure to feel that,\" she said. \"It seems to me that you are\npractically certain of the party nomination, and your party has a clear\nmajority of both branches of the Legislature.\"\n\nLyons glanced furtively about him before he spoke. \"I don't see at the\nmoment, Selma, how they can defeat me.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nThe body of Senator Calkins was laid to rest with appropriate ceremonies\nin the soil of his native State, and his virtues as a statesman and\ncitizen were celebrated in the pulpit and in the public prints. On the\nday following the funeral the contest for his place began in dead\nearnest. There had been some quiet canvassing by the several candidates\nwhile the remains were being transported from Washington, but public\nutterance was stayed until the last rites were over. Then it transpired\nthat there were four candidates in the field; a Congressman, an\nex-Governor, a silver-tongued orator named Stringer, who was a member of\nthe upper branch of the State Legislature and who claimed to be a true\ndefender of popular rights, and Hon. James O. Lyons. Newspaper comment\nconcerning the candidacy of these aspirants early promulgated the\ndoctrine that Governor Lyons was entitled to the place if he desired it.\nMore than one party organ claimed that his brilliant services had given\nhim a reputation beyond the limit of mere political prestige, and that\nhe had become a veritable favorite son of the State. By the end of a\nfortnight the ex-Governor had withdrawn in favor of Lyons; while the\nfollowing of the Congressman was recognized to be inconsiderable, and\nthat he was holding out in order to obtain terms. Only the\nsilver-tongued orator, Stringer, remained. On him the opposition within\nthe party had decided to unite their forces. To all appearances they\nwere in a decided minority. There was no hope that the Republican\nmembers of the Legislature would join them, for it seemed scarcely good\npolitics to rally to the support of a citizen whose statesmanship had\nnot been tested in preference to the Governor of the State. It was\nconceded by all but the immediate followers of Stringer that Lyons would\nreceive the majority vote of either house, and be triumphantly elected\non the first joint ballot.\n\nAnd yet the opposition to the Governor, though numerically small, was\ngenuine. Stringer was, as he described himself, a man of the plain\npeople. That is he was a lawyer with a denunciating voice, a keen mind,\nand a comprehensive grasp on language, who was still an attorney for\nplaintiffs, and whose ability had not yet been recognized by\ncorporations or conservative souls. He was where Lyons had been ten\nyears before, but he had neither the urbanity, conciliatory tendencies,\nnor dignified, solid physical properties of the Governor. He was pleased\nto refer to himself as a tribune of the people, and his thin, nervous\nfigure, clad in a long frock-coat, with a yawning collar and black whisp\ntie, his fiery utterance and relentless zeal, bore out the character. He\nlooked hungry, and his words suggested that he was in earnest, carrying\nconviction to some of his colleagues in the Legislature. The election at\nwhich Lyons had been chosen chief magistrate had brought into this State\ngovernment a sprinkling of socialistic spirits, as they were called, who\napplauded vigorously the thinly veiled allusions which Stringer made in\ndebate to the lukewarm democracy of some of the party leaders. When he\nspoke with stern contempt of those who played fast and loose with sacred\nprinciples--who were staunch friends of the humblest citizens on the\npublic platform, and behind their backs grew slyly rich on the revenues\nof wealthy corporations, everyone knew that he was baiting the Governor.\nThese diatribes were stigmatized as in wretched taste, but the\npoliticians of both parties could not help being amused. They admitted\nbehind their hands that the taunt was not altogether groundless, and\nthat Lyons certainly was on extremely pleasant terms with prosperity for\nan out and out champion of popular rights. Nevertheless the leading\nparty newspapers termed Stringer a demagogue, and accused him of\nendeavoring to foment discord in the ranks of the Democracy by\nquestioning the loyalty of a man who had led them to notable victory\ntwice in the last three years. He was invited to step down, and to\nseason his aspirations until he could present a more significant public\nrecord. What had he done that entitled him to the senatorship? He had\ngifts undeniably, but he was young and could wait. This was a taking\nargument with the legislators, many of whom had grown gray in the party\nservice, and Lyons's managers felt confident that the support accorded\nto this tribune of the people would dwindle to very small proportions\nwhen the time came to count noses.\n\nSuddenly there loomed into sight on the political horizon, and came\nbearing down on Lyons under full sail, Elton's bill for the\nconsolidation of the gas companies. The Benham _Sentinel_ had not been\none of the promoters of Lyons's senatorial canvass, but it had not\nespoused the cause of any of his competitors, and latterly had referred\nin acquiescent terms to his election as a foregone conclusion. He had\nnot happened to run across Elton during these intervening weeks, and\npreferred not to encounter him. He cherished an ostrich-like hope that\nElton was in no haste regarding the bill, and that consequently it might\nnot pass the legislature until after his election as Senator. If he were\nto come in contact with Elton, the meeting might jog the busy magnate's\nmemory. It was a barren hope. Immediately after the _Sentinel_ announced\nthat Governor Lyons was practically sure to be the next United States\nSenator, the gas bill was reported favorably by the committee which had\nit in charge, and was advanced rapidly in the House. Debate on its\nprovisions developed that it was not to have entirely plain sailing,\nthough the majority recorded in its favor on the first and second\nreadings was large. It was not at first regarded as a party measure. Its\nsupporters included most of the Republicans and more than half of the\nDemocrats. Yet the opposition to it proceeded from the wing of the\nDemocracy with which Stringer was affiliated. Elton's interest in the\nbill was well understood, and the work of pledging members in advance,\nirrespective of party, had been so thoroughly done, that but for the\nexigencies of the senatorial contest it would probably have slipped\nthrough without notice as a harmless measure. As it was, the opposition\nto it in the lower branch was brief and seemed unimportant. The bill\npassed the House of Representatives by a nearly two-thirds vote and went\npromptly to the Senate calendar. Then suddenly it became obvious to\nLyons not merely that Elton was bent on securing its passage while the\npresent Governor was in office, but that his rival, Stringer, had\nconceived the cruel scheme of putting him in the position, by a hue and\ncry against monopoly and corporate interests, where his election to the\nsenatorship would be imperilled if he did not veto the measure. By a\ncaustic speech in the Senate Stringer drew public attention to the\nskilfully concealed iniquities of the proposed franchise, and public\nattention thus aroused began to bristle. Newspapers here and there\nthroughout the state put forth edicts that this Legislature had been\nchosen to protect popular principles, and that here was an opportunity\nfor the Democratic party to fulfil its pledges and serve the people.\nStringer and his associates were uttering in the Senate burning words\nagainst the audacious menace of what they termed the franchise octopus.\nDid the people realize that this bill to combine gas companies, which\nlooked so innocent on its face, was a gigantic scheme to wheedle them\nout of a valuable franchise for nothing? Did they understand that they\nwere deliberately putting their necks in the grip of a monster whose\ntentacles would squeeze and suck their life-blood for its own\nenrichment? Stringer hammered away with fierce and reiterated invective.\nHe had no hope of defeating the bill, but he confidently believed that\nhe was putting his adversary, the Governor, in a hole. It had been\nnoised about the lobbies by the friends of the measure earlier in the\nsession that the Governor was all right and could be counted on.\nStringer reasoned that Lyons was committed to the bill; that, if he\nsigned it, his opponents might prevent his election as Senator on the\nplea that he had catered to corporate interests; that if he vetoed it,\nhe would lose the support of powerful friends who might seek to revenge\nthemselves by uniting on his opponent. Stringer recognized that he was\nplaying a desperate game, but it was his only chance. One thing was\nevident already: As a result of the exposure in the Senate, considerable\npublic hostility to the bill was manifesting itself. Petitions for its\ndefeat were in circulation, and several Senators who had been supposed\nto be friendly to its passage veered round in deference to the views of\ntheir constituents. Its defeat had almost become a party measure. A\nmajority of the Democrats in the Senate were claimed to be against it.\nNevertheless there was no delay on the part of those in charge in\npushing it to final action. They had counted noses, and their margin of\nsupport had been so liberal they could afford to lose a few deserters.\nAfter a fierce debate the bill was passed to be engrossed by a majority\nof eleven. The Democrats in the Senate were just evenly divided on the\nballot.\n\nWhat would the Governor do? This was the question on everyone's lips.\nWould he sign or veto the bill? Public opinion as represented by the\nnewspapers was prompt to point out his duty. The verdict of a leading\nparty organ was that, in view of all the circumstances, Governor Lyons\ncould scarcely do otherwise than refuse to give his official sanction to\na measure which threatened to increase the burdens of the plain people.\nThe words \"in view of all the circumstances\" appeared to be an euphemism\nfor \"in view of his ambition to become United States Senator.\" Several\njournals declared unequivocally that it would become the duty of the\nparty to withdraw its support from Governor Lyons in case he allowed\nthis undemocratic measure to become law. On the other hand, certain\nparty organs questioned the justice of the outcry against the bill,\narguing that the merits of the case had been carefully examined in the\nLegislature and that there was no occasion for the Governor to disturb\nthe result of its action. On the day after the bill was sent to the\nchief magistrate, an editorial appeared in the Benham _Sentinel_\npresenting an exhaustive analysis of its provisions, and pointing out\nthat, though the petitioners might under certain contingencies reap a\nreasonable profit, the public could not fail in that event to secure a\nlower price for gas and more effective service. This article was quoted\nextensively throughout the State, and was ridiculed or extolled\naccording to the sympathies of the critics. Lyons received a marked copy\nof the _Sentinel_ on the morning when it appeared. He recognized the\nargument as that which he had accepted at the time he promised to sign\nthe bill if he were elected Governor. In the course of the same day a\nletter sent by messenger was handed to him in the executive chamber. It\ncontained simply two lines in pencil in Elton's handwriting--\"It\ncontinues to be of vital importance to my affairs that the pending bill\nshould receive your signature.\" That was obviously a polite reminder of\ntheir agreement; an intimation that the circumstances had not altered,\nand that it was incumbent on him to perform his part of their compact.\nObviously, too, Horace Elton took for granted that a reminder was\nenough, and that he would keep his word. He had promised to sign the\nbill. He had given his word of honor to do so, and Elton was relying on\nhis good faith.\n\nThe situation had become suddenly oppressive and disheartening. Just\nwhen his prospects seemed assured this unfortunate obstacle had appeared\nin his path, and threatened to confound his political career. He must\nsign the bill. And if he signed it, in all probability he would lose the\nsenatorship. His enemies would claim that the party could not afford to\nstultify itself by the choice of a candidate who favored monopolies. He\nhad given his promise, the word of a man of honor, and a business man.\nWhat escape was there from the predicament? If he vetoed the bill, would\nhe not be a liar and a poltroon? If he signed it, the senatorship would\nslip through his fingers. The thought occurred to him to send for Elton\nand throw himself on his mercy, but he shrank from such an interview.\nElton was a business man, and a promise was a promise. He had enjoyed\nthe consideration for his promise; his notes were secure and the\nhypothecated bonds had been redeemed. He was on his feet and Governor,\nthanks to Elton's interposition, and now he was called on to do his\npart--to pay the fiddler. He must sign the bill.\n\nLyons had five days in which to consider the matter. At the end of that\ntime if he neither signed nor vetoed the bill, it would become law\nwithout his signature. He was at bay, and the time for deliberation was\nshort. An incubus of disappointment weighed upon his soul and clouded\nhis brow. His round, smooth face looked grieved. It seemed cruel to him\nthat such an untoward piece of fortune should confront him just at the\nmoment when this great reward for his political services was within his\ngrasp and his opportunities for eminent public usefulness assured. He\nbrooded over his quandary in silence for twenty-four hours. On the\nsecond day he concluded to speak of the matter to Selma. He knew that\nshe kept a general run of public affairs. Not infrequently she had asked\nhim questions concerning measures before the Legislature, and he was\npleasantly aware that she was ambitious to be regarded as a politician.\nBut up to this time there had been no room for question as to what his\naction as Governor should be in respect to any measure. It had happened,\ndespite his attitude of mental comradeship with his wife, that he had\nhitherto concealed from her his most secret transactions. He had left\nher in the dark in regard to his true dealings with Williams & Van\nHorne; he had told her nothing as to his straitened circumstances, the\ncompact by which he had been made Governor, and his relief at the hands\nof Elton from threatened financial ruin. Reluctance, born of the theory\nin his soul that these were accidents in his life, not typical\nhappenings, had sealed his lips. He was going to confide in her now not\nbecause he expected that Selma's view of this emergency would differ\nfrom his own, but in order that she might learn before he acted that he\nwas under an imperative obligation to sign the bill. While he was\nsitting at home in the evening with the topic trembling on his tongue,\nSelma made his confession easy by saying, \"I have taken for granted that\nyou will veto the gas bill.\"\n\nSelma had indeed so assumed. In the early stages of the bill she had\nbeen ignorant of its existence. During the last fortnight, since the\ncontroversy had reached an acute phase and public sentiment had been\naroused against its passage, she had been hoping that it would pass so\nthat Lyons might have the glory of returning it to the Legislature\nwithout his signature. She had reasoned that he would be certain to veto\nthe measure, for the bill was clearly in the interest of monopoly, and\nthough her nerves were all on edge with excitement over the impending\nelection of a Senator, she had not interfered because she took for\ngranted that it was unnecessary. Even when Lyons, after reading the\narticle in the _Sentinel_, had dropped the remark that the measure was\nreally harmless and the outcry against it unwarranted, she had supposed\nthat he was merely seeking to be magnanimous. She had forgotten this\nspeech until it was recalled by Lyons's obvious state of worry during\nthe last few days. She had noticed this at first without special\nconcern, believing it due to the malicious insinuations of Stringer. Now\nthat the bill was before him for signature there could be no question as\nto his action. Nevertheless her heart had suddenly been assailed by a\nhorrible doubt, and straightway her sense of duty as a wife and of duty\nto herself had sought assurance in a crucial inquiry.\n\n\"I was going to speak to you about that this evening. I wish to tell you\nthe reasons which oblige me to sign the bill,\" he answered. Lyons's\nmanner was subdued and limp. Even his phraseology had been stripped of\nits stateliness.\n\n\"Sign the bill?\" gasped Selma. \"If you sign it, you will lose the\nsenatorship.\" She spoke like a prophetess, and her steely eyes snapped.\n\n\"That is liable to be the consequence I know. I will explain to you,\nSelma. You will see that I am bound in honor and cannot help myself.\"\n\n\"In honor? You are bound in honor to your party--bound in honor to me to\nveto it.\"\n\n\"Wait a minute, Selma. You must hear my reasons. Before I was nominated\nfor Governor I gave Horace Elton my word, man to man, that I would sign\nthis gas bill. It is his bill. I promised, if I were elected Governor,\nnot to veto it. At the time, I--I was financially embarrassed. I did not\ntell you because I was unwilling to distress you, but--er--my affairs in\nNew York were in disorder, and I had notes here coming due. Nothing was\nsaid about money matters between Elton and me until he had agreed to\nsupport me as Governor. Then he offered to help me, and I accepted his\naid. Don't you see that I cannot help myself? That I must sign the\nbill?\"\n\nSelma had listened in amazement. \"It's a trap,\" she murmured. \"Horace\nElton has led you into a trap.\" The thought that Elton's politeness to\nher was a blind, and that she had been made sport of, took precedence in\nher resentment even of the annoyance caused her by her husband's deceit.\n\n\"Why did you conceal all this from me?\" she asked, tragically.\n\n\"I should not have done so, perhaps.\"\n\n\"If you had told me, this difficulty never would have arisen. Pshaw! It\nis not a real difficulty. Surely you must throw Elton over. Surely you\nmust veto the bill.\"\n\n\"Throw him over,\" stammered Lyons. \"You don't understand, Selma. I gave\nmy word as a business man. I am under great obligations to him.\" He told\nbriefly the details of the transaction; even the hypothecation of the\nParsons bonds. For once in his life he made a clean breast of his\nbosom's perilous stuff. He was ready to bear the consequences of his\nplight rather than be false to his man's standard of honor, and yet his\nwife's opposition had fascinated as well as startled him. He set forth\nhis case--the case which meant his political checkmate, then waited.\nSelma had risen and stood with folded arms gazing into distance with the\nfar away look by which she was wont to subdue mountains.\n\n\"Have you finished?\" she asked. \"What you are proposing to do is to\nsacrifice your life--and my life, James Lyons, for the sake of\na--er--fetish. Horace Elton, under the pretence of friendship for us,\nhas taken advantage of your necessities to extract from you a promise to\nsupport an evil scheme--a bill to defraud the plain American people of\ntheir rights--the people whose interests you swore to protect when you\ntook the oath as Governor. Is a promise between man and man, as you call\nit, more sacred than everlasting truth itself? More binding than the tie\nof principle and political good faith? Will you refuse to veto a bill\nwhich you know is a blow at liberty in order to keep a technical\nbusiness compact with an over-reaching capitalist, who has no sympathy\nwith our ideas? I am disappointed in you, James. I thought you could see\nclearer than that.\"\n\nLyons sighed. \"I examined the bill at the time with some care, and did\nnot think it inimical to the best public interest; but had I foreseen\nthe objections which would be raised against it, I admit that I never\nwould have agreed to sign it.\"\n\n\"Precisely. You were taken in.\" She meant in her heart that they had\nboth been taken in. \"This is not a case of commercial give and take--of\npurchase and sale of stocks or merchandise. The eternal verities are\nconcerned. You owe it to your country to break your word. The triumph of\nAmerican principles is paramount to your obligation to Elton. Whom will\nthis gas bill benefit but the promoters? Your view, James, is the\nold-fashioned view. Just as I said to you the other day that Dr. Page is\nold-fashioned in his views of medicine, so it seems to me, if you will\nforgive my saying so, you are, in this instance, behind the times. And\nyou are not usually behind the times. It has been one of the joyous\nfeatures of my marriage with you that you have not lacked American\ninitiative and independence of conventions. I wish you had confided in\nme. You were forced to give that promise by your financial distress.\nWill you let an old-fashioned theory of private honor make you a traitor\nto our party cause and to the sovereign people of our country?\"\n\nLyons bowed his head between his hands. \"You make me see that there are\ntwo sides to the question, Selma. It is true that I was not myself when\nElton got my promise to sign the bill. My mind had been on the rack for\nweeks, and I was unfit to form a correct estimate of a complicated\npublic measure. But a promise is a promise.\"\n\n\"What can he do if you break it? He will not kill you.\"\n\n\"He will not kill me, no; but he will despise me.\" Lyons reflected, as\nhe spoke, that Elton would be unable to injure him financially. He\nwould, be able to pay his notes when they became due, thanks to the\nimprovement in business affairs which had set in since the beginning of\nthe year.\n\n\"And your party--the American people will despise you if you sign the\nbill. Whose contempt do you fear the most?\"\n\n\"I see--I see,\" he murmured. \"I cannot deny there is much force in your\nargument, dear. I fear there can be no doubt that if I let the bill\nbecome law, public clamor will oblige the party to throw me over and\ntake up Stringer or some dark horse. That means a serious setback to my\npolitical progress; means perhaps my political ruin.\"\n\n\"Your political suicide, James. And there is another side to it,\"\ncontinued Selma, pathetically. \"My side. I wish you to think of that. I\nwish you to realize that, if you yield to this false notion of honor,\nyou will interfere with the development of my life no less than your\nown. As you know, I think, I became your wife because I felt that as a\npublic woman working, at your side in behalf of the high purposes in\nwhich we had a common sympathy, I should be a greater power for good\nthan if I pursued alone my career as a writer and on the lecture\nplatform. Until to-day I have felt sure that I had made no mistake--that\nwe had made no mistake. Without disrespect to the dead, I may say that\nfor the first time in my life marriage has meant to me what it should\nmean, and has tended to bring out the best which is in me. I have grown;\nI have developed; I have been recognized. We have both made progress.\nOnly a few days ago I was rejoicing to think that when you became a\nUnited States Senator, there would be a noble field for my abilities as\nwell as yours. We are called to high office, called to battle for great\nprinciples and to lead the nation to worthy things. And now, in a moment\nof mental blindness, you are threatening to spoil all. For my sake, if\nnot for your own, James, be convinced that you do not see clearly. Do\nnot snatch the cup of happiness from my lips just as at last it is full.\nGive me the chance to live my own life as I wish to live it.\"\n\nThere was a brief silence. Lyons rose and let fall his hand on the table\nwith impressive emphasis. His mobile face was working with emotion; his\neyes were filled with tears. \"I will veto the bill,\" he said,\ngrandiloquently. \"The claims of private honor must give way to the\ngeneral welfare, and the demands of civilization. You have convinced me,\nSelma--my wife. My point of view was old-fashioned. Superior ethics\npermit no other solution of the problem. Superior ethics,\" he repeated,\nas though the phrase gave him comfort, \"would not justify a statesman in\nsacrificing his party and his own powers--aye, and his political\nconscience--in order to keep a private compact. I shall veto the bill.\"\n\n\"Thank God for that,\" she murmured.\n\nLyons stepped forward and put his arm around her. \"You shall live your\nown life as you desire, Selma. No act of mine shall spoil it.\"\n\n\"Superior ethics taught you by your wife! Your poor, wise wife in whom\nyou would not confide!\" She tapped him playfully on his fat cheek.\n\"Naughty boy!\"\n\n\"There are moments when a man sees through a glass, darkly,\" he\nanswered, kissing her again. \"This is a solemn decision for us, Selma.\nHeaven has willed that you should save me from my own errors, and my own\nblindness.\"\n\n\"We shall be very happy, James. You will be chosen Senator, and all will\nbe as it should be. The clouds on my horizon are one by one passing\naway, and justice is prevailing at last. What do you suppose I heard\nto-day? Pauline Littleton is to marry Dr. Page. Mrs. Earle told me so.\nPauline has written to the trustees that after the first of next January\nshe will cease to serve as president of Wetmore; that by that time the\ncollege will be running smoothly, so that a successor can take up the\nwork. There is a chance now that the trustees will choose a genuine\neducator for the place--some woman of spontaneous impulses and a large\noutlook on life. Pauline's place is by the domestic hearth. She could\nnever have much influence on progress.\"\n\n\"I do not know her very well,\" said Lyons. \"But I know this, Selma, you\nwould be just the woman for the place if you were not my wife. You would\nmake an ideal president of a college for progressive women.\"\n\n\"I am suited for the work, and I think I am progressive,\" she admitted.\n\"But that, of course, is out of the question for me as a married woman\nand the wife of a United States Senator. But I am glad, James, to have\nyou appreciate my strong points.\"\n\nOn the following day Lyons vetoed the gas bill. His message to the\nLegislature described it as a measure which disposed of a valuable\nfranchise for nothing, and which would create a monopoly detrimental to\nthe rights of the public. This action met with much public approval. One\nnewspaper expressed well the feeling of the community by declaring that\nthe Governor had faced the issue squarely and shown the courage of his\nwell-known convictions. The Benham _Sentinel_ was practically mute. It\nstated merely in a short editorial that it was disappointed in Governor\nLyons, and that he had played into the hands of the demagogues and the\nsentimentalists. It suggested to the Legislature to show commendable\nindependence by passing the bill over his veto. But this was obviously a\nvain hope.\n\nThe vote in the House against the veto not merely fell short of the\nrequisite two-thirds, but was less than a plurality, showing that the\naction of the chief magistrate had reversed the sentiment of the\nLegislature. The force of Stringer's opposition was practically killed\nby the Governor's course. He had staked everything on the chance that\nLyons would see fit to sign the bill. When the party caucus for the\nchoice of a candidate for Senator was held a few days later, his\nfollowers recognized the hopelessness of his ambition and prevailed on\nhim to withdraw his name from consideration. Lyons was elected Senator\nof the United States by a party vote by the two branches of the\nLegislature assembled in solemn conclave. Apparently Elton had realized\nthat opposition was useless, and that he must bide his time for revenge.\nBooming cannon celebrated the result of the proceedings, and Selma,\nwaiting at home on the River Drive, received a telegram from the capital\nannouncing the glad news. Her husband was United States Senator, and the\nfuture stretched before her big with promise. She had battled with life,\nshe had suffered, she had held fast to her principles, and at last she\nwas rewarded.\n\nLyons returned to Benham by the afternoon train, and a salute of one\nhundred guns greeted him on his arrival. He walked from the station like\nany private citizen. Frequent cheers attended his progress to his house.\nIn the evening the shops and public buildings were illuminated, and the\nJames O. Lyons Cadets, who considered themselves partly responsible for\nhis rapid promotion, led a congratulatory crowd to the River Drive. The\nSenator-elect, in response to the music of a serenade, stepped out on\nthe balcony. Selma waited behind the window curtain until the enthusiasm\nhad subsided; then she glided forth and showed herself at his elbow. A\nfresh round of cheers for the Senator's wife followed. It was a glorious\nnight. The moon shone brightly. The street was thronged by the populace,\nand glittered with the torches of the cadets. Lyons stood bareheaded.\nHis large, round, smooth face glistened, and the moonbeams, bathing his\nchin beard, gave him the effect of a patriarch, or of one inspired. He\nraised his hand to induce silence, then stood for a moment, as was his\nhabit before speaking, with an expression as though he were struggling\nwith emotion or busy in silent prayer.\n\n\"Fellow citizens of Benham,\" he began, slowly, \"compatriots of the\nsovereign State which has done me to-day so great an honor, I thank you\nfor this precious greeting. You are my constituents and my brothers. I\naccept from your hands this great trust of office, knowing that I am but\nyour representative, knowing that my mission is to bear constant witness\nto the love of liberty, the love of progress, the love of truth which\nare enshrined in the hearts of the great American people. Your past has\nbeen ever glorious; your future looms big with destiny. Still leaning on\nthe God of our fathers, to whom our patriot sires have ever turned, and\nwhose favors to our beloved country are seen in your broad prairies tall\nwith fruitful grain, and your mighty engines of commerce, I take up the\nwork which you have given me to do, pledged to remain a democrat of the\ndemocrats, an American of the Americans.\"\n\nSelma heard the words of this peroration with a sense of ecstasy. She\nfelt that he was speaking for them both, and that he was expressing the\nyearning intention of her soul to attempt and perform great things. She\nstood gazing straight before her with her far away, seraph look, as\nthough she were penetrating the future even into Paradise."