LUCY OF 
 THE STARS 
 
 &<-&'&'&i>»-M;*£i-.i^ 
 
 OR PALMER 
 
bO 
 
LUCY OF THE STARS 
 
BOOKS BY FREDERICK PALMER 
 PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 WITH KUROKI IN MANCHURIA. With 24 Full- 
 page Illustrations, iamo . . . Net, $1.50 
 
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• • • 
 
 Now she brought the horn handle of the crop down upon the vase 
 with all the strength of her arm 
 
, i'/i ;? ' ] »-^— ; 
 
 LUCY OF THE 
 STARS 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK PALMER 
 
 Illustrated by Jlonzo Kimball 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 NEW YORK ::::::::: 1906 
 
• • • « 
 
 Copyright, 1906, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published, April, 1906 
 
 TROW DIRECTORY 
 
 PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
"Yes, you would bring something which kings 
 cannot confer or millionaires buy, that little some- 
 thing in the nature which is lovable, that little some- 
 thing in the mind — found only in a woman's mind 
 — which is the greatest charm of the universe. ' ' 
 
 483507 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. The Portrait of a Lady . . 
 II. When Arthur Came . . . 
 
 III. "What a Boy You Are!" . 
 
 IV. The Dowry She Brought 
 V. Amiable to the End . . . 
 
 VI. Craving the Hunter's Strength 
 VII. Dispensing with Plato . . . 
 
 VIII. Back to Earth 
 
 IX. Casting Out Fractions . . 
 
 X. No Circles for the Shore . 
 
 XI. On a New Footing .... 
 
 XII. It Becomes a Tale of Four . 
 
 XIII. If the Pearls Were Real 
 
 XIV. Fanny Belmore by Choice . 
 XV. A Moment Without the Ghosts 
 
 XVI. Back in America 
 
 vii 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 12 
 26 
 
 39 
 48 
 
 64 
 
 78 
 
 86 
 
 92 
 
 107 
 
 123 
 
 132 
 
 144 
 
 149 
 
 157 
 
 166 
 

 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The Love of the People . . . 
 
 ■ 174 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Two Strong Men Meet . . . 
 
 . 182 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A Dinner at Bender's 
 
 ' 193 
 
 XX. 
 
 Castles and a Gothic Girl . . 
 
 202 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A Soldier from the Field . . 
 
 2l6 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The Courage of Leadership 
 
 223 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Not a Matter of Impulse . . 
 
 234 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Through Another's Eyes . . . 
 
 245 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Breaking the Circuit .... 
 
 257 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 For Something Real .... 
 
 268 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A Free Day in the Country . 
 
 279 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 A GoVERNOR-ELECr 
 
 293 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 For a Single Day 
 
 310 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The Lady of the Portrait . . 
 
 3H 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The Cabin and the Girl . . 
 
 327 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Wormley Calls 
 
 339 
 
 Vlll 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Now she brought the horn handle of the crop 
 down upon the vase with all the strength 
 of her arm Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 "It is like a fairy tale," he said. "I am glad 
 to be so much a part of it as to be num- 
 ber three " 46 
 
 u I wanted you to ask that question," Frane re- 
 plied . 230 
 
 Lucy would have risen then even if Carniston 
 
 had not come to claim her for a waltz . 326 
 
 IX 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY 
 
 A WORD, a glance, the smallest thing may tell 
 half of the story. From the half to the 
 whole there is the difference between a wireless 
 which may still be ticking out its call when the ship 
 goes down and a wireless which is answered. The 
 shining moments of this work-a-day world come 
 when, in joyous interchange of signals, word is 
 met by word, or glance by glance, or thought by 
 thought. 
 
 Lucy's shining moment came with a telegram 
 from Arthur, although not with his first, in which, 
 from Christiania, he announced that he had left 
 Lord Mordaunt's yacht and was about to return 
 to London. As she slowly tore up the form she 
 wondered why this should concern her. Was she 
 his agent, to meet him at the train ? His butler, to 
 have his house open for him ? 
 
 Outrunning him on his journey came a letter: 
 I 
 
Iaicj of the Stars 
 
 "My hosts are very lovable," he wrote, in late 
 August, "and nothing is quite so clear as that they 
 are in nowise responsible for my being depressed 
 and bored. I consult my diary and find that to-day 
 is the twenty-eighth, and we left on the fourteenth. 
 Undeniably, then, I have been only two weeks 
 away. Possibly I am still in the coma of some 
 new midsummer disease that will not let me con- 
 centrate my mind long enough to read even a novel 
 through. I have tried three and finished none. 
 Two weeks! It seems two months!" 
 
 There followed a page and more about people 
 and places. This part Lucy skimmed, and, return- 
 ing to the study of the sentences quoted, she found 
 them one moment intelligible, the next confusing. 
 
 The second telegram, which came only a few 
 hours after the letter, dispelled previous doubts; 
 filled in previous lapses with sudden comprehension. 
 
 "I have found out the cause and the cure. I 
 have something to tell you. Will you see me this 
 afternoon, please?" 
 
 It was three already. He would come at four 
 for tea. She pressed her cheeks with her finger- 
 tips and felt them burning. Her breath came in 
 quick gasps as she thrilled with the significance of 
 a crisis — new, strange, delicious, terrible. 
 
 "I must think! I wouldn't know what to say 
 or do. I can't — I can't see him to-day !" 
 
 Z 
 
The Portrait of a Lady- 
 She sprang up, rang the bell, and told the maid 
 that she would be in to nobody for the rest of the 
 day. Then she dropped again into the big chair 
 before the glow of the low fire — which had been 
 laid to take the chill out of the room in early Sep- 
 tember — to ponder upon herself and her position. 
 There was too much fear for the future for her 
 to take time to bemoan what was lost. Nothing 
 now could alter the fact that when she and Arthur 
 met again it would be as two new beings. Their 
 old, simple, charming comradeship was dead. 
 What was to take its place ? 
 
 Who was to know better than she, with her ex- 
 perience of the social world, that the son of an 
 earl, story-books to the contrary notwithstanding, 
 does not seek the daughter of a poor foreign 
 scholar as his bride. No more does that world 
 generally seek acquaintances in the old, unfashion- 
 able part of London where she lived. When Dr. 
 von Kar came to England, eighteen years before, 
 he chose the house which he had since occupied for 
 a characteristic reason. It was even then a relic 
 of days of more air and less gregariousness — this 
 old mansion, which is still set in an oasis of green 
 occupying space enough for half a dozen villas. 
 
 "I am within hearing of the roar of London, 
 which I love," said the doctor, with that German 
 flattening of his r's and French lengthening of his i's 
 
 3 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 which made his tongue as cosmopolitan as his mind. 
 "That roar is the sound of the surf which is Eng- 
 land's border, and of her individual freedom and 
 strife. At the same time, I have an English lawn 
 between my gate and the porch and an English 
 lawn at the rear, where I may pace up and down 
 in the long twilight of June evenings." 
 
 Later, he had another reason, equally in keeping 
 with his humour. He made the location of his 
 house a test of friendship. "Those who really care 
 for me," he said, "will come here as readily as they 
 would go to the West End, and those who do 
 not care for me I do not want." The scholars came 
 primarily on account of his scientific achievements; 
 but they also came partly, and some friends came 
 solely, because he had that rare quality of being 
 likeable without any effort on his part. 
 
 Carriages began to arrive in numbers soon 
 after the daughter had reached womanhood. 
 "You know that old German doctor man," to use 
 the words of a certain lady who said that she was 
 the discoverer of Lucy, "the one with the grand 
 manner and that quaint accent which is so much 
 prettier than native English ? He is a great friend 
 of old Brent's. They write pamphlets about bugs 
 together — either bugs or beetles; I am not quite 
 sure whether they are the same, are you ? 
 
 "His little girl, at all events, is wonderful. She 
 4 
 
The Portrait of a Lady 
 
 even has his accent. She's hardly pretty, but chic 
 — oh, so chid A true sprite for week-ends. If 
 you have Lucy, you can invite poets and M. P.'s 
 and youth and crabbed old age, too. She is witty, 
 she is a mimic, she can write a song and play and 
 sing it while you wait. The witch must be in her 
 blood — which is all Continental, by the way. 
 There is some mystery about her. I have heard it 
 whispered that she comes of great stock, really, 
 and the tenth part that is interesting is not told. 
 But that doesn't matter in these days, unless it 
 comes to marrying into your family. Lucy is not 
 of that order at all. She would always rather walk 
 with two men than with one." 
 
 It would have been inconceivable to the world 
 of the country-houses, which was finding her less 
 and less inclined to accept their invitations, that the 
 Lucy of their acquaintance was the same person as 
 this relaxed heap of nerves and muscles gazing ab- 
 stractedly into the fire. After a time, she rose and 
 went into the book-walled study, which was empty, 
 her father being absent in the city. Resting her 
 hands on the arm of his chair, she leaned forward, 
 while her eyes searched with staring intensity a 
 small pencil drawing of a woman's face above his 
 desk. 
 
 The portrait had always hung in the same place 
 since the dawn of Lucy's memory, which was a 
 
 5 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 year or two after they came to London. Above 
 it had always hung a carbine and a battered 
 slouch hat. Strangers who recognised the asso- 
 ciation of these with the guerrillas who pestered 
 von Moltke's lines around Paris wanted to know 
 if the doctor had been a German soldier and had 
 captured the owner. Such a question seemed 
 always to breed in him the same distant and sunny 
 surprise as if he had been asked if he were at the 
 sacking of Troy. 
 
 "On the contrary, I was the franc-tireur myself," 
 he would say, without further explanation, chang- 
 ing the subject immediately in his easy way. 
 
 As a result, conclusions were drawn that he had 
 served against his own country. Had the doctor 
 heard that such an impression was abroad he would 
 have only smiled. 
 
 It was not the hat and the carbine which inter- 
 ested visitors most, however. Only the timid asked 
 about them. The bold expressed their admiration 
 of the portrait in such a way as to make the hint 
 of their curiosity as to the lady's identity a ques- 
 tion in sense if not in form. He always seemed 
 to rise to the bait most delectably, centering his 
 gaze for an instant on the lady as if he were about 
 to tell the whole story: 
 
 "It was drawn on the back of an envelope," he 
 would say, "and it shows deftness in the use of 
 
 6 
 
The Portrait of a Lady 
 
 simple lines, certainly. If you were to take off the 
 frame you would find the address still on the other 
 side ;" and with that, smilingly he passed to another 
 topic. 
 
 He never said more in connection with the sub- 
 ject of the portrait, although there were rare occa- 
 sions when, following the mention of the hat and 
 carbine, his eyes, always glowing with a fine and 
 knowing humour, would break into flame : 
 
 "I was born to a destiny of restlessness," he 
 would say then; "yes, a destiny of restlessness, and 
 here I have been in one house in London all these 
 years. When I was young I conceived myself to be 
 living in the age of knighthood. I set out to right 
 the wrongs of the world with the sword. Later, 
 I found that I was living in the age of steam and 
 practical politics, and to-day I am a working chem- 
 ist and something of an inventor." 
 
 He had told his own daughter no more than this. 
 Yet she was of his heart and of his life — if his old 
 life be excluded. The barrier was where the old 
 life ended; a barrier which he would have made 
 artificially as complete as nature makes that of our 
 pre-natal existence. That he was not an exile in 
 fact or in feeling she knew by their Continental 
 visits, where they had studied and played together 
 on many vacations without meeting any friends or 
 acquaintances who were not noticeably the out- 
 
 7 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 growth of his new life and his scientific achieve- 
 ments. When she had pleaded with him; when 
 she had coaxed; when she had demanded as a right 
 the story of herself, he smiled and stroked her head. 
 When she had wept, her tears had brought in re- 
 sponse only tears of gentle reproach to his eyes. 
 
 "Lucie, dear, am I such a bad old father? Am 
 I not content with you and with things as they are ? 
 Are you discontented with me?" 
 
 "But " 
 
 "When you say 'but' to things which are and 
 must be, you pluck the sweetness out of love," he 
 would say, drawing her steadily and irresistibly to 
 him in his arms. It was then that she felt small 
 and helpless and wrong. 
 
 To-day for the first time she was angry with 
 him. She knew that he had robbed her of some- 
 thing which could never be replaced. The time 
 had come when she must and would know the 
 truth; and had he been at home he would have 
 met a new Lucy — a Lucy in a storm of protest over 
 his injustice. 
 
 "If I were as beautiful as you it would help." 
 She scowled at the lady of the portrait, who looked 
 back at her bewitchingly and coldly. "All you 
 need is to have a fine gown and enter a drawing- 
 room and your victory is won. I — I'm French 
 enough to use my wits, so that the world won't see 
 
 8 
 
The Portrait of a Lady 
 
 that my eyes are too far apart, that my nose is — 
 what will you, messieurs? — a little retrousse, and 
 my chin — my chin, they say that talks, at any rate. 
 I did not care much before if — if I was Lucy of the 
 stars. My father was enough; his arm was 
 around me, and in the circle of his protection life 
 was full and deep and charming. I did not know 
 that I was ever coming out of the chrysalis like 
 this. I do care now. 
 
 "Do you know?" she asked. "Is it possible that 
 you are my mother, you who are so different from 
 me? If not, who are you — guarding my father's 
 study ever since I can remember — you and the old 
 hat and the carbine? If you are not my mother, 
 what can you mean? Oh, what, what!" 
 
 She dropped into her father's chair and buried 
 her face in her hands. Tears? Yes, from Lucy, 
 who was born for smiles. When she arose and 
 went back to the chair before the fire in the other 
 room, Boze, the family Great Dane, came from his 
 position before the grate and rested his head on 
 her knee. She ran her finger softly backwards be- 
 tween his eyes and smiled a little through her tears ; 
 for, be it said to her credit or discredit, Lucy could 
 never weep long ; which is not saying that she could 
 not suffer for long. 
 
 "Boze, there's a thing sprung into my heart to- 
 day — a big, glorious, terrible thing. It's odd that 
 
 9 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 it should have come to me. I'm an odd girl, and 
 this is an odd house, and everything about it is odd 
 except you, old dog. You are perfectly natural 
 and regular. I love you for that. 
 
 "It's something, Boze, that every girl expects 
 that she will find some day, though she does not 
 think of it in that way except in the very back of 
 her head — here where your bump is, the bump 
 which made you bury your first bone when you 
 were a puppy." 
 
 Lucy laughed a little, as she often did when 
 alone at her own quizzical imageries. 
 
 "To me this marvel is like finding a great dia- 
 mond in the street when you are poor and have no 
 right to anything better than turquoises. You are 
 nervous with the wonder and joy of it. You fear 
 that you will lose it; you fear that you ought to 
 give it up. You expect to hear people — to hear 
 those who have admired you when you wore tur- 
 quoises — calling out, 'What is she doing with that 
 great diamond, that little girl from nowhere ? She 
 was so nice in turquoises. Where is her title? 
 Where is her pedigree?' That is it, Boze. I do 
 not want to give up the diamond, yet I must, and 
 live on the thought that I had it and it was right- 
 fully, rightfully mine. I ought never to see him 
 again. I ought to close the chapter now, I ought, 
 
 I ought! Oh, I don't know— I— I " 
 
 10 
 
The Portrait of a Lady 
 
 Her voice died into a whisper. Through the 
 silence of the house came from without the clink- 
 ing of a cab-horse's feet on the pavement and the 
 cry of a tradesman. Then she heard the click of 
 the garden gate and a step on the flags which was 
 not her father's, and yet which she knew almost 
 as well as she knew her father's. 
 
 Suddenly all that she had thought and said 
 seemed ridiculous, silly, presumptuous. Why 
 should she think that he had come to — she avoided 
 the word even in her heart, now. Possibly his tele- 
 gram meant no more than some whim, some plan 
 of amusement in which he would enlist her services. 
 How did he look? What had he to say? 
 
 She outran the servant's instructions and opened 
 the door herself. 
 
 II 
 
II 
 
 WHEN ARTHUR CAME 
 
 HAVING at the age of twenty-nine mortgaged 
 all the property which his father had left 
 unattached, Henry Edward Steadley, sixth Earl of 
 Carniston, married the daughter of an American 
 plough manufacturer. "The amiable Carny has 
 turned under his wild oats and sowed a crop of 
 stocks and bonds," ran the saying of the time. 
 Lady Carniston had died at the birth of her only 
 child, Arthur, who had grown to manhood with 
 the distinction of the Steadley countenance softened 
 by her own dollish good looks. 
 
 "There are a good many mothers of marriage- 
 able daughters" — if we may quote the same lady 
 who has given us our information about Lucy — 
 "who would like to know how much of the plough 
 manufacturer's fortune is left. Arthur is very 
 nice, even if he is so shy and prefers to spend his 
 time with professors and dreaming by the sea. 
 The earl has leased his town-house for fifteen 
 years and lives modestly. Some think that this 
 dandy of a past generation has turned miser as 
 
 12 
 
When Arthur Came 
 
 well as hermit ; some say Monte Carlo. However, 
 he gives his son a good allowance — possibly be- 
 cause it keeps him away from home and he is 
 amazed that a Steadley should have done well at 
 Oxford instead of illy at the card-table." 
 
 After he left the university Arthur pursued his 
 bent for science, which brought him the acquaint- 
 ance of Lord Brent and, later, of Dr. von Kar 
 and Lucy. Upon his first appearance before a 
 learned society the members received him with 
 bland consideration owing to his station. They 
 wished, besides, to encourage the example which 
 he was setting to a class of society too much given 
 to yachts and horses and automobiling. When he 
 had finished his paper the earnestness of their praise 
 was undeniable. He acknowledged their tribute 
 with a blushing and girlish bashfulness which is 
 not unbecoming if the recipient be erect and ath- 
 letic. This characteristic, entirely contrary to all 
 the records of the Steadley nature, was doubtless in- 
 herited from his mother, who was remembered by 
 the few who knew her as a shy girl of twenty, a 
 little overcome by her position. 
 
 Never had Arthur regretted so much his diffi- 
 dence as on the afternoon when he stood on Dr. 
 von Kar's doorstep, having come straight from 
 Christiania. His plan of action had contemplated 
 that Lucy would receive him at the tea-table. Her 
 
 13 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 sudden appearance when she herself opened the 
 door stunned him a little and changed the lines of 
 the play without previous notice to one of the actors. 
 Lucy's eyes still glistened with the moisture of the 
 tears which she had wiped away; she had never 
 looked more lively or attractive. 
 
 "Back from Norway so soon?'' she exclaimed, 
 with a questioning pucker of her eyebrows. 
 
 "And in time for tea !" His answer sounded 
 flippant and hopelessly inadequate to his own ears. 
 
 Ten minutes later nothing but commonplaces 
 had passed between them, and tea had been brewed 
 while he chatted aimlessly of his past fortnight. 
 He realised that he was phonographic, and still 
 he talked on. If only she would give him an open- 
 ing, he kept thinking. But she had ceased to be 
 sympathetic. She sat at the table volunteering no 
 remarks, pretending to listen when she could not 
 have repeated the idea, let alone the detail, of what 
 he had been saying. As her cup in one hand came 
 in touch with the saucer in the other, she felt them 
 beating a little tattoo. Did he hear it? she asked 
 herself, as she suddenly returned both to the table. 
 Hardly. He had just caught his own cup and 
 saucer at the same trick. 
 
 Her dream of the way the thing should happen 
 had been as false as his. Her woman's subtlety 
 and intuition had given him an opportunity with 
 
 14 
 
When Arthur Came 
 
 the first words of her greeting. A man who went 
 away for six weeks did not return in two unless he 
 had some definite object. Hadn't she intimated as 
 much, with the result that he had said that he was 
 in time for tea ? Lucy was trying to keep herself 
 under control ; to bring herself back to earth from 
 the soarings which had followed her receipt of his 
 telegram. 
 
 "I am talking like a parrot!" he said abruptly. 
 "Does all this interest you?" 
 
 "Immensely!" she said, as nonchalantly as if 
 she were asking him whether he would have one 
 lump or two. Her manner made him fumble 
 again. 
 
 "It — it isn't interesting to me," he said plain- 
 tively. 
 
 "Really!" she rejoined loftily. "That makes it 
 all the more kind of you. A little sacrifice for the 
 entertainment of others is good for young men, 
 I've heard say." 
 
 He rolled up his gloves and thrust them ab- 
 sently in his cuff, where he usually carried his 
 handkerchief. 
 
 "Lucy !" He uttered her name as if it were the 
 call of a wounded officer for first aid on the battle- 
 field. 
 
 "You will have another cup?" she asked. 
 
 He shook his head vacantly. "Lucy!" he re- 
 
 15 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 peated, "nobody else is coming this afternoon, is 
 there ?" 
 
 u My teas are not R. S. V. P., as you know," she 
 rejoined. 
 
 "Oh !" was all he could say to that. He pulled 
 at his little moustache, he blushed; and he was very 
 handsome, as she had always thought. u Lucy — 
 if you would play for me it — it would help !" 
 
 She lifted her brows in perplexity. 
 
 "I mean, won't you please play for me?" he 
 went on. 
 
 "That is always a good plan when conversation 
 is running low," she said, rising. 
 
 Not that he really wanted her to play. He 
 wanted to break what seemed about to become an 
 endless chain of mental confusion. Once her fin- 
 gers were running over the keys he recovered him- 
 self. Suddenly, without warning — by prehistoric 
 male right, perhaps — he reached down and seized 
 her hands in his. Her hands were small and she 
 was small, and he was tall and masculine. 
 
 "The sum of it all is, Lucy, that I love you," 
 he said. "I have come back to you from Norway, 
 as I would have come back to you from Peru or 
 Thibet when the truth found me, to ask you to be 
 my wife." 
 
 Less than an hour before, in a transport of im- 
 agination, she had seen him in the same attitude 
 
 16 
 
When Arthur Came 
 
 as he stood now, and she had framed an answer. 
 But what did she actually say when the time came, 
 this Lucy? 
 
 "Arthur, it is not becoming to you to get so 
 red!" 
 
 Was that her triumph for his delay, or only the 
 inborn mischief of her? Of this we are at least 
 sure — it was like her. 
 
 He did not frown or protest at her flippancy. 
 He only went straight on in manly fashion. 
 
 "It's my heart trying to find its way to you," he 
 said, unconscious of any gallantry, of anything ex- 
 cept the truth. "I love you, Lucy. All I have I 
 give, and for all I lack I crave your forgiveness 
 and charity and help. I ask you to be my wife." 
 
 "You love me?" she said softly. 
 
 "Adorably!" he answered. 
 
 She bowed her head a little lower. "I love you, 
 too — adorably," she could not help saying. As he 
 released her hands they went upward to him and 
 his went downward to draw her into his arms. 
 
 She was the first to break the bonds of their 
 silence, and she broke them with a little sob as she 
 drew away and looked at him with the steady coun- 
 sel of a new familiarity, her hands still clasped in 
 his. 
 
 "I must tell you," she said, as if this were some 
 sin to confess in order to clear her conscience, "that 
 
 17 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 after your second telegram I thought that you were 
 coming to say this. I wanted to hear you say it — 
 oh, that has been very sweet, Arthur — and I was 
 afraid to have you say it, after all. I am only a 
 girl, not a goddess of wisdom. I am proud and 
 happy that you do love me and have told me so, 
 and, Arthur " 
 
 He could feel in her finger-tips the tremour that 
 ran through her as she bent closer to him. Then 
 she sprang away. 
 
 "You sit in that chair and I will sit in this I" she 
 cried imperatively. "Our hands must not even 
 touch. That fuses us and makes us forget that we 
 are responsible beings. We must come down from 
 the stars and be grave and brave and reasonable." 
 
 Such was her directness and the authority of her 
 charm that he obeyed instinctively. 
 
 "Our error, dear Arthur/' she said, slowly and 
 insistently, "is that we forget that we are not living 
 in a world composed solely of you and me. If 
 there weren't any other world — no world of an- 
 cestry, no living world around us — if I were cold 
 enough not to have any crotchets in my head, every- 
 thing would be so — so simple." 
 
 Her hand was stretched toward him in an appeal- 
 ing gesture. He went to her, seized it in his own, 
 and sank half kneeling beside her. 
 
 "I have learned in this month's absence from you 
 18 
 
When Arthur Came 
 
 that there is no world except that of you and me. 
 Do the ancestors concern us? They are dead. If 
 you need them, there are enough on my father's 
 side for two. If you are in awe of them, why, my 
 mother's father began life as a blacksmith. And 
 the living world? Let that smile or weep, as it 
 pleases. Even if I did not love you, I know of no 
 girl so fit to be a countess as you !" 
 
 "I would be your choice as a countess as well as 
 a wife?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You tempt me, great sir. Might I whisper in 
 your ear that I have seen a number of grand dames 
 who were not gifted with wit, wisdom, or the art 
 of dress. Sometimes I thought that if I had their 
 cards and their position I might — well, I might 
 play the game almost as well as they." 
 
 "You shall have both cards and position," he 
 added. 
 
 "You being the ace of trumps, with a long suit 
 and a double ruff!" She caught the fever of the 
 idea, and for the moment was veritably the Coun- 
 tess of Carniston. "I should always be busy. 
 There is nothing I hate so much as being still. I 
 feel like a plant, then. I need not always amuse 
 others; sometimes others would amuse me. You 
 could let yourself out and allow all your forces to 
 play. A place all secure — kind to our servants, 
 
 19 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 just to our tenants — not only playing, but making 
 the game together ! That is it, making the game !" 
 
 Thus she carried herself to a pitch of excite- 
 ment; and then, suddenly, the barrier which she 
 could build as rapidly as she could tear it down 
 rose between her and her vision of happiness. 
 With fresh intensity her fear of the unknowable 
 enveloped her. 
 
 u This comes of letting you hold my hand, wicked 
 one!" she said, drawing away from him. "You 
 forget that we are to be grave and brave and rea- 
 sonable. Now, listen — no, no holding of hands! 
 — to the story of this Lucy from nowhere." 
 
 She told him all that her father had told her, 
 and how her father's serenity, his strength, his art 
 of smiling and of tearful reproach, and her own 
 fears of spoiling the enchantment of their happy 
 existence, had kept the rest from her. 
 
 "My only memory is of this house, and always 
 that portrait has hung over his desk — that beau- 
 tiful woman, always young while my father grows 
 old ! To-day her features have burned themselves 
 into my brain. Come ! I want you to look at her 
 and help me lay my ghosts. It is not all this — 
 this thing itself so much as the way it has worked 
 on my imagination that hurts," she said, as they 
 went together into the study. 
 
 "Can she be my mother?" she asked, after Ar- 
 
 20 
 
When Arthur Came 
 
 thur had bent close to the portrait and studied it 
 sharply. 
 
 He told himself that by force of nature this 
 woman might have been the vessel which once held 
 Lucy, but in letting the child go her selfishness had 
 parted with none of her own flesh and blood. Be- 
 fore he spoke he smiled in the manner of one 
 who closes the incident of humouring another's 
 vagaries. 
 
 "I don't know, dear," he said. "Furthermore, 
 I don't care, and I am not going to think of it 
 again. I'm glad, if she is your mother, that you 
 don't look like her." 
 
 "Oh, Arthur, you do think that!" For, natu- 
 rally, Lucy's regret had been that she was not beau- 
 tiful, not realising that beauty and charm do not 
 always go together, and of the two charm is the 
 more enduring. "Arthur, it's nice of you to say so, 
 and still nicer of you to believe so. Believing! 
 That is everything, isn't it?" 
 
 As they returned to the other room he was lead- 
 ing, and for the time being the ghosts were laid. 
 
 "After I had wired you that I was coming I 
 received a telegram from my father saying that 
 he wished particularly to see me," he explained at 
 length. "He is at Burbridge. As soon as I have 
 seen him I shall return to town. Then for our 
 plans!" 
 
 21 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "We've been too full of our happiness for such 
 little details," she rejoined, laughing. 
 
 "And we will be married soon? Shall it be 
 soon?" 
 
 Could she, resting in his arms, say him no? 
 Lost in the joy of the present, the living moment, 
 which shut out all yesterdays and all to-morrows, 
 she answered : 
 
 "Soon — very soon." 
 
 Dr. von Kar had an engagement for the eve- 
 ning. When Lucy learned at dinner that it was 
 not important, she pressed him to remain with her 
 and send a note in excuse. 
 
 "It's such a chilly evening, father, that you can 
 imagine you have a cold," she urged. 
 
 "I would like to," he said. "I don't see much of 
 you, Lucie dear, since you know so many people. 
 I ought really to go, though." 
 
 "I want you to-night," she pleaded. "I'm in a 
 mood when I must talk. You will stay?" 
 
 He lifted his brows at her strange earnestness, 
 regarded her thoughtfully, and then consented. 
 
 She sparkled in thanking him, and quickly was 
 the Lucy who never seemed to have a thought that 
 was not merry. Through the meal she kept him 
 smiling, mostly by her accounts of the people she 
 met and her mimicry. After coffee, when he had 
 
 22 
 
When Arthur Came 
 
 seated himself for the evening, she dropped onto 
 the arm of his big chair. 
 
 "Father, I've been good and patient, haven't I? 
 When I have asked you to tell me who I am, you 
 have answered by bringing my love into question. 
 It did not occur to you that I might turn the 
 tables — I might bring your love into question if 
 you refused longer to tell me about my mother." 
 
 Her tone told him that this was a mood indeed, 
 and a new mood, which he had long feared might 
 come. He was quick to give her something, lest 
 she might demand all. 
 
 "I will tell you about our ancestry," he said eas- 
 ily. "It is like the registry of foreign legations, 
 my dear. My father was German and his mother 
 was Russian. My mother was a Frenchwoman — 
 bless her! — and her mother was English. My 
 father died when I was young. I love France, 
 where I spent my youth. When the Germans were 
 at our doors I fought for France with more than 
 the ardour of a Frenchman. There is Italian 
 blood, too. It is aristocratic, as is the Russian and 
 the French, while the German belongs to burghers 
 and plodding scholars. Do you wonder that I in- 
 herited a destiny of restlessness or you a talent for 
 languages and music? Do you wonder at your 
 cleverness, Lucie? Few have better blood," he 
 assured her. 
 
 23 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Talent for languages or for music, or mere clev- 
 erness, meant nothing to her at this juncture except 
 exasperations which had taken her into a world 
 where other things were needed. 
 
 "But that does not tell me." She was intense, 
 almost vehement. " Why have you kept that por- 
 trait over your desk for so many years ? Was she 
 my mother? Your wife? A time may come — oh, 
 I don't want it to, but it may ! — when my love will 
 not stand secrecy." 
 
 The doctor realised that a crisis was at hand. 
 His decision was quickly made. 
 
 "She was your mother in honourable marriage," 
 he said; which was true. 
 
 "And where is she now?" she demanded. 
 "Where?" 
 
 "She is dead." This was not true, as he knew. 
 Boldly he had told the falsehood, thinking to bring 
 himself peace and her happiness. 
 
 Lucy drew very close to her father. She had 
 no more questions to ask, as she told him. Only 
 a little of the mystery was solved, but enough for 
 her. The strong current of her love ran back to 
 him, bearing with it overflowing sympathy for that 
 misfortune, whatever it was, that had sealed his 
 past. 
 
 "This — this and something else makes me hap- 
 24 
 
When Arthur Came 
 
 pier to-night than I have ever been before," she 
 said. 
 
 The meaning of her words, which he dimly 
 heard, wholly escaped him. He was enjoying the 
 relief of a difficulty passed, and his recollection was 
 carrying him back to the lady of the portrait. 
 
 25 
 
Ill 
 
 "what a boy you are!" 
 
 WHEN there is no one in the big seats be- 
 hind," said Lucy, "I'm always fearful 
 that the rear of the car may fall off, and I'm 
 always looking back to see that it's still fast." 
 
 "Your luggage is in there," Arthur observed. 
 
 "Which is myself. If I should lose that I could 
 not appear for dinner. The older a woman grows 
 the more she depends on it, till by and by she is 
 only a skeleton and the luggage is the flesh. I once 
 met an American millionairess who had a hundred 
 and seventy-five boxes. My impression was that 
 she would have been glad to have kept some of 
 the flesh in the boxes and saved herself lacing. 
 One, I believe, was for carrying her keys and an- 
 other the card-index system by which the maids 
 located her different gowns. The maids served in 
 shifts." 
 
 This nervous chatter of Lucy's was only to carry 
 on. When a couple have a hundred-and-thirty- 
 mile ride before them, and they have a vital secret 
 
 26 
 
cc 
 
 What a Boy You Are! 
 
 to discuss, they wait till they are out of the crush 
 of the cabs, the omnibuses and the crowds. 
 
 "I like it," Lucy went on, "with this big car and 
 only ourselves. There's a splendid luxury about 
 it — especially this morning, Arthur." 
 
 Her eyes, her chin, her mouth smiled at him in 
 signal of their understanding — the understanding 
 of the two in a motor which was crossing Water- 
 loo Bridge. 
 
 u In a runabout you feel stuffy — as if you were 
 living in a tiny apartment," Lucy continued. 
 "When two are in a big car and going twenty miles 
 an hour, with the back seats empty, they own a 
 town and a country-house; at thirty miles an hour 
 they have added a shooting-box ; at forty, they have 
 added a villa on the Riviera ; at fifty, you feel like 
 a flying ghost who owns the world and wonders if 
 he will spin off into space at the next turning or 
 arrive at his ancestral home in time for dinner. 
 To my imagination it is all in those empty seats. 
 They make you mighty. How could anything stop 
 you when they still keep on coming behind." 
 
 He had a deal to tell her, once they were free of 
 the traffic. The previous night she had received 
 a telegram from the Earl of Carniston himself, ask- 
 ing her to spend a day and a night at Burbridge, his 
 country seat. Her amazement measurably tem- 
 pered her elation. As her father was at the house 
 
 27 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 when Arthur came for her, there had been no time 
 for explanation then. When they passed out of the 
 suburbs into the country, and he gave the machine 
 something under the lawful speed, she said : 
 
 "That's better than going so fast — better than 
 vain things like villas and mansions and shooting. 
 It's intimate and confidential. Come, it is time for 
 the chauffeur to talk." 
 
 "You were a little surprised at such quick results, 
 Lucy?" he asked, proudly. "There's even more 
 and better news than you could have imagined. 
 What will you say when I tell you that my father 
 knows that we are engaged?" 
 
 "And he sent for me after that ! Really !" She 
 would not allow herself fully to credit the state- 
 ment while it was still unqualified. 
 
 "Yes. I don't know what it was that my father 
 wanted to see me particularly about, I'm sure. 
 Three or four times in the last year he has sent 
 for me. I never knew him to do that before. On 
 each occasion he said that we must have a talk 
 after dinner or to-morrow morning, and somehow 
 he never came to the point. The most that he ever 
 said was that I was twenty-seven years old and 
 pretty soon I would have to settle down. On 
 Thursday we had some Americans at the house — a 
 Miss Hodges and a Mr. and Mrs. Belmore. Miss 
 Hodges is a stunning girl of a type. Immensely 
 
 28 
 
"What a Boy You Are!" 
 
 rich; a good catch for some poor chap, I should 
 say. I don't know just what to make of her. The 
 Belmores are delightful — the kind of Americans 
 who are certain of themselves, and seem to like 
 their own way and their own country too well to 
 think of changing, and yet not in the slightest de- 
 gree aggressive. An American politician by the 
 name of John Frane was along also. A decidedly 
 clever man, I should say — one of those electric 
 Americans — strong and outspoken. I liked him. 
 He worships Miss Hodges, and Miss Hodges is 
 learning to like castles. I'll be interested to know 
 what comes of " 
 
 "Arthur," she interrupted in vexation, "let us 
 pass over the discovery of America. What I am 
 dying to know is why your father invited me." 
 
 "Yes, the Belmores and Miss Hodges don't have 
 much to do with that." 
 
 "Not unless your father wants you to marry 
 Miss Hodges," she put in. "Most fathers want 
 their sons to marry rich girls." 
 
 "If he does, he's changed his mind. After they 
 had gone yesterday he did ask me how I liked her. 
 It was then that I found my tongue. I was full 
 of you after being with those people for two 
 days " 
 
 "You were, Arthur — you were, just the same?" 
 she asked intently. 
 
 29 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "The loneliest man in England! So I told him 
 that I loved you and was going to marry you, quite 
 as if the whole thing was arranged and nothing 
 could stop me." 
 
 "Bravo!" She liked his courage. "And what 
 did he say? I'll not break into song till I hear 
 that." 
 
 "My father does not talk much. You can never 
 tell his thoughts by his face. He is most imper- 
 sonal. As a father he is a mate for yours, in that 
 respect. Precisely what he did was to whistle. 
 Then he went over to the table and lighted a cigar- 
 ette and stood with his back to the grate, smiling 
 at me as if I were something new and rather 
 pleasing. 
 
 " 'I remember her,' he said. 'She plays bil- 
 liards well for a woman, and she mimicked old 
 Gracey perfectly. What a boy you are! How 
 long has this been going on?' 
 
 "Then I told him everything, and why I had 
 come back. He listened attentively, his features 
 working in a strange way. 
 
 " 'It's your affair, not mine, I see,' he said, still 
 smiling beatifically. 'I have never believed that 
 marriages made in heaven were exempt from catas- 
 trophes; nor has my scepticism on that point ever 
 affected my opinion of those which are strictly 
 earthy. She would make a very charming count- 
 
 30 
 
"What a Boy You Are!" 
 
 ess, I am sure. While we don't want to boil, of 
 course, still we need the effervescence of an occa- 
 sional clever woman among the peeresses. It's a 
 sacrifice one should make for the good of the caste, 
 I suppose. 
 
 " 'What a boy you are !" he said again, after a 
 pause. 'To think of you twenty-seven years old — 
 and a Steadley, too ! It's beautiful, I must say.' " 
 
 "Those were his exact words?" Lucy asked 
 keenly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You say he smiled when he said it?" 
 
 "All the while, after that first whistle." 
 
 Lucy made a grimace of perplexity. 
 
 "What is your father's method ? Is he cynical ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "No, I can't say that he is. To tell the truth, 
 now you've put it that way, it doesn't seem to me 
 as if I knew my father, except he's always amiable 
 — 'the amiable Carniston,' they call him." Arthur 
 hastened on with his story. "Then he suggested 
 that he ought to know you better, and himself 
 wrote the telegram which you received. That is 
 all. Hasn't it worked out wonderfully?" 
 
 "Yes," Lucy admitted. Where he saw clearly 
 she was in doubt. She was going to an uncertainty 
 which seemed worse to such a nature as hers than 
 the anticipation of downright opposition. 
 
 31 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "Lucy, you are sad and it's a triumph. I don't 
 understand." 
 
 "No, I'm trying to take it all in. It seems as if 
 we were in fairyland and I was waiting to wake 
 up," she said dubiously. 
 
 "I understand. It's because you don't ap- 
 preciate yourself. He has seen you once and 
 felt your charm. That has opened the door of 
 opportunity. All you have to do is to make him 
 captive as you have me, which you will do to-night. 
 You must be in your best form." 
 
 "Which means that I must be the play-actress." 
 
 "No, not at all." 
 
 "I myself being a play-actress — is that it?" she 
 said, with a moue. 
 
 He frowned slightly. "You don't mean," he 
 said, "that you don't want to appear at your best 
 — not for me — not for our cause?" 
 
 "I do ! I will ! I'm only awed at the prospect 
 of such a test. It's the test of my life, Arthur." 
 
 Though she smiled, it was as one who muses. 
 At the inn where they made a long hour for lunch- 
 eon, she asked him many questions about his 
 father's nature and habits. 
 
 "Studying my part!" she interjected. "It's 
 going to be an ordeal for me, Arthur, and you must 
 help. Let's arrive a little late, so I shall have no 
 time to talk to him before dinner." 
 
 32 
 
"What a Boy You Are!" 
 
 Accordingly, he regulated the speed of the ma- 
 chine to that end, and it was dusk when they 
 reached Burbridge, where she was met on the land- 
 ing by Mrs. Ormley, an elder sister of the earl, 
 who was visiting her brother. Mrs. Ormley was 
 a partial invalid, who made a good deal of the fact. 
 On the plea of indisposition she asked Lucy to ex- 
 cuse her from going to dinner. 
 
 When Lucy came downstairs half an hour later, 
 Arthur met her in the hall. 
 
 "If there are rocks ahead or the current is swift, 
 look across the table and encourage me," she 
 begged. "It's much more difficult than appearing 
 in a play, you know. There you have to feel your 
 part ; here I am the part. And, Arthur, how do I 
 look?" 
 
 "Divine!" 
 
 "You are staring straight into my eyes. I don't 
 mean my face; I mean my gown." 
 
 "Divine!" he repeated, with a sweeping glance 
 at the gown and a longer look into her eyes again. 
 "You'll carry it through. If you are on the wrong 
 tack I'll put some salt on my plate. You'll carry 
 it through, though; you won't have stage fright. 
 You're always splendid." He caught her hands 
 in his and the kiss was sweet to her; for she was 
 not certain that after the interview with his father 
 she might, with propriety, have another. 
 
 33 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "I haven't forgotten that game of billiards," 
 were the earl's first words, "or the way you imi- 
 tated old Gracey when he missed a shot. On my 
 word, he is the most stupendous bore I ever played 
 with." 
 
 "I'll try you another game after dinner," she 
 rejoined brightly, "if you will give me forty." 
 
 "As I remember your playing, that is rather big- 
 gish odds. However, I will take you on." 
 
 Carniston had not meant to be quite so affable. 
 Lucy's slightness, her grace, the memory of her 
 charm on another occasion, had inevitably made 
 her appearance pleasant to him. 
 
 "From my window upstairs I saw you arrive," 
 he said. "I didn't come to the door because I know 
 how stiff and sticky one feels when he gets out of 
 the motor-car. He does not want to parley at all, 
 but to go straight to the tub." 
 
 "That's why we were late. I mean, I thought 
 I would like to meet you first at dinner," Lucy said 
 impulsively; and then she looked at Arthur's salt, 
 but he was not taking any. 
 
 "Yes, in these days young women come to our 
 doors looking like Polar bears who have been hav- 
 ing a dust bath. They go upstairs, and when they 
 come down they are out of the chrysalis. It's quite 
 magical. We are going a new and fast pace, and 
 it's far from me to disapprove because I'm old. 
 
 34 
 
"What a Boy You Are!" 
 
 It's good that women don't faint any more, and 
 I don't mind their smoking cigarettes instead 
 of carrying smelling-salts, if they will. But I do 
 hope that we shall never come to dining in tennis 
 flannels. Women should combine to keep the din- 
 ner hour sacred to feminine charm." 
 
 "So say I !" said Lucy. She realised that she 
 was chattering. 
 
 "To tell a secret out of freemasonry, a woman 
 likes the contrast. If she has been admired by 
 day for the way that she has ridden or played 
 tennis, she never forgets that she has the evening 
 in which to show another side of her character. 
 I don't think that you need ever worry that the 
 dinner fetish will be disturbed. Sex requires that ; 
 and, after all, we are women, as every one of us 
 realises at the sight of either a Worth gown or 
 a mouse." 
 
 Arthur was going without salt for fear that he 
 might interfere with her famous progress. How- 
 ever, it seemed to her that it was now the earl's turn 
 to talk. She had been in many great houses, but 
 this was the first time that she had ever sat at the 
 head of the table as if she were the mistress of one; 
 and she suddenly felt the enormity of this fact. 
 In one of those glances when the mind sums up 
 the eye's message as quickly as the eye receives an 
 image, she took stock of the room with its high 
 
 35 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ceiling and heavy carvings. The effect was that 
 of the chase and of war. Originally, everything 
 in the room had conformed to the heads of the 
 wild animals which were mounted here. 
 
 In this flash of comprehension she had a better 
 glimpse of Carniston; such comprehension as one 
 often gets swiftly by the soft light of a dinner- 
 table. His gaunt, wrinkled features would have 
 expressed pure boredom if it had not been for 
 the way that he combed his moustache upward. 
 It was a face belonging to the city, although he 
 had lived so much in the country; of a man who 
 rides hard not for riding's sake, but in order that 
 he may have a better palate for his port. The chin 
 was noticeably weak; the eyes were the best feat- 
 ure. They were still young and bright and in- 
 finitely sweet-tempered. The ease with which they 
 would win forgiveness might well have destroyed 
 all sense of discipline in the character of their 
 owner. These eyes now looked up at Lucy, twink- 
 ling with amusement, as if they expected her to go 
 on speaking. 
 
 "I am little acquainted with Burbridge," she 
 said. "I've had a glance at all the tusks and fangs 
 which look down on us. Who killed them?" 
 
 "The fourth earl, my grandfather, was a great 
 hunter. He finally lost his life in a fight with a 
 lion. A Kocky Mountain sheep looks across to 
 
 36 
 
"What a Boy You Are!" 
 
 a snow leopard from the Himalayas, you see; an 
 American bison to a Cape buffalo. It was the third 
 earl who took the Indian trophies under Wellesley. 
 They hung in the hall upstairs for a long time until 
 we brought them here, so that we should have the 
 hunter's and the warrior's things together. Every 
 Steadley has had his bent. Your own room, you 
 noticed, was furnished entirely in Louis Quatorze. 
 The second earl was more of a Frenchman than an 
 Englishman. Arthur's bent, as you know, is sci- 
 ence. Eventually, if the house lasts long enough, 
 we shall have every department of human activity 
 represented." 
 
 "You will have to add wings to Burbridge to 
 make room for the relics." 
 
 "That I think we shall leave until another finan- 
 cier comes into the family," he rejoined. "The 
 hunter had the gift of making wise investments. 
 Burbridge is to-day much as he left it. In his 
 changes he pleased himself without too much re- 
 gard for what had gone before. The founder of 
 the family had not more distinctly the headstrong 
 qualities of the progenitor than he." 
 
 "And your own bent, my lord?" 
 
 If he had one she ought to have known it. She 
 had made a mistake, she realised, before she saw 
 Lord Carniston flush or Arthur half emptying his 
 salt-cellar onto his plate. 
 
 37 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "My friends in younger days," he answered, 
 "said that it was too much affability." There was 
 a catch in his voice. "I fear that age has made 
 my bent futility." 
 
 "One who has a bent may indulge himself with- 
 out being of service to others," she put in hastily. 
 "The life of no British peer who lives on his estate 
 and looks after his tenants is futile." 
 
 He laughed sceptically, almost harshly. 
 
 "That brings us to a new development in the his- 
 tory of the Steadleys," he said sternly, "for Arthur 
 has told me your secret. Presently " 
 
 "Now for the sting under his smile. I knew that 
 it was coming," Lucy thought. "We shall have it 
 as soon as the coffee is served and the servants are 
 out of the way." 
 
 38 
 
IV 
 
 THE DOWRY SHE BROUGHT 
 
 LIKE most men, the earl knew his own weak- 
 nesses well enough to imagine an allusion 
 to them when none was intended. No matter what 
 the distance he had to travel or the number of toll- 
 gates he had to pass, he would choose the sunniest 
 route around an obstacle rather than surmount it. 
 He had a purpose in bringing Lucy to Burbridge, 
 but the development of his hazy plan for accom- 
 plishing it was left to the inspiration of the 
 moment. 
 
 By asking what his bent was she had reminded 
 him of how gracefully she was making him the 
 victim of it. His "presently" was spoken with a 
 determination, not to impress his hearers, but to 
 reassure himself that he would no longer allow his 
 amiability to compromise his sense of duty once the 
 three were assured of seclusion from eavesdrop- 
 ping. To Lucy it was in the nature of a challenge. 
 Arthur saw that he had been too optimistic. He 
 scowled irritably. Lucy became unnaturally bril- 
 
 39 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 liant. She held the reins of conversation with a 
 merry whip-hand till coffee was brought. 
 
 Then the room became oppressively silent, while 
 she looked across to the earl, saying, with her eyes, 
 that now was his time to be severe if he would 
 break a girl's heart. His resolution was already 
 faltering; he was again looking for a way around 
 the obstacle, or, at least, a better path. 
 
 "I fancy that you two have no secrets apart," he 
 said vaguely. "So Arthur must have told you my 
 answer when he surprised me with the news of your 
 — your engagement." 
 
 "Precisely, our engagement," said Arthur 
 tartly. "I told her every word." 
 
 "And I studied every word," Lucy put in de- 
 voutly, "for I knew that our fate lay with your 
 wisdom and kindness. I tried to be wise and hon- 
 est myself. Has Arthur told you what I said when 
 he proposed?" 
 
 "No," Arthur intervened. "It seemed beside 
 the point. She was going to refuse. She asked 
 me to consider the difference between our posi- 
 tions." 
 
 "Which made her all the more charming," 
 added the earl. He did not see the flash of fire in 
 Lucy's eyes, because he was bending over to knock 
 the ashes off his cigar. 
 
 "I brushed aside her objections," Arthur went 
 40 
 
The Dowry She Brought 
 
 on. "They might have meant something to the 
 world, but they meant nothing to me. I bring her 
 this estate and a title, and she brings me something 
 greater than either." 
 
 The earl looked admiringly at Arthur, whose 
 earnestness made him the more handsome. 
 
 "Far greater!'' he said agreeably. "I can have 
 no doubt of that. The living proof is before me." 
 He smiled across to Lucy. She blushed and then 
 looked at him mischievously. 
 
 "By way of introduction — " she said, striking 
 home to the difficulty he was having to express 
 the thing he had started to say. 
 
 "When you first told me of your romance I 
 didn't act like the heavy father in the Drury Lane 
 melodramas, did I?" he asked, almost apologeti- 
 cally. 
 
 "Most fitly and respectably," Arthur said, laugh- 
 ingly. He was certain now that his father was 
 coming round. 
 
 "It has been a most happy evening for me," said 
 the earl. "I am looking forward to that game of 
 billiards — and I know of nothing, my dear girl, 
 that would please me more than to have you here 
 every night for dinner. Too often I sit alone. I 
 love light and cheer and wit. These you would 
 bring to Burbridge, and with them ten added years 
 to my life. Yes, you would bring something which 
 
 4i 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 kings cannot confer or millionaires buy, that little 
 something in the nature which is lovable, that little 
 something in the mind — found only in a woman's 
 mind — which is the greatest charm of the universe. 
 He who would take that out of your nature and 
 that out of your mind — and they are very fragile 
 things — would be a murderer. They come with 
 a free existence among charming friends. Arthur, 
 who is young and a bit socialistic — even he does not 
 realise yet what the position which he is coming 
 into means. Its limitations might stifle one of your 
 fine spirit, Lucy. Such ambitions may well be left 
 to stupid women." 
 
 "It is not that I want to be Countess of Carnis- 
 ton!" Lucy said, hotly. "It is that I want to be 
 Arthur's wife." She fairly hated the earl at that 
 moment. He had been playing with her as a cat 
 plays with a mouse, she thought; he had chosen 
 the crudest way of saying no to a girl of her spirit. 
 "I've only known him as Arthur. What is this 
 thing of being a countess beside being myself!" she 
 continued. 
 
 "True, true," the earl interjected. He was 
 already asking her pardon with those eyes which 
 had been the source of forgiveness from his nurse 
 as a child and from his friends and creditors as a 
 man. 
 
 Her anger ebbed away. She caught herself 
 42 
 
The Dowry She Brought 
 
 thinking how he had striven to be kind, according 
 to the lights of an old nobleman, when consider- 
 ing the daughter of a poor scholar as a possible 
 daughter-in-law. 
 
 "If he becomes earl, can I help that?" she asked. 
 "I must accept it in the same way that I do the fact 
 that my father is German and my mother was 
 French, or that I number French and Italian 
 nobility among my ancestry." Lucy could not 
 resist this allusion, although she realised that it 
 was priggish and sounded like Walter Scott. 
 
 "If it is a question of blood and breeding," said 
 Carniston, "you have the true flavour of both — 
 which is something else that kings cannot grant nor 
 millionaires buy. You do, indeed, bring us a dowry 
 there." 
 
 "If Arthur loses a leg or goes blind," she con- 
 tinued, in her fervour, "if he goes bad or becomes a 
 duke, he is still my Arthur. That is it. That is all. 
 I confess myself to you so that you shall understand 
 and Arthur shall not forget." 
 
 "And I am the crabbed father who spoils the 
 romance?" he said, regretfully. 
 
 "Not yet ! No. We hope to make you a part 
 of it. We hope to give you the added ten years of 
 life. If we cannot — if we cannot, why, then, fate 
 is fate." Lucy bowed her head. 
 
 The earl moved uneasily in his seat, while 
 
 43 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Arthur, suffering to see Lucy put on trial in this 
 way, burst out : 
 
 "And if we cannot, it takes only two, my lord, 
 to make our kind of a bargain." 
 
 Lucy now wished that her own salt-cellar had 
 not been removed from the table. She tried in 
 vain to reach Arthur with the toe of her boot. 
 Carniston drew back as if his son had struck him 
 a blow. 
 
 "Of course, Arthur, you can do that," he said 
 reproachfully. 
 
 "But it does take two," Lucy put in. "You are, 
 Arthur, still only one. Dear Lord Carniston, we 
 want your consent." 
 
 "My father speaks in riddles," said Arthur im- 
 patiently. "And you — what do you mean, Lucy?" 
 
 "That I love you." She reached across the table. 
 Arthur's hand went to hers slowly, but the clasp 
 was ardent enough. 
 
 "You wish-to say, my lord" — here Lucy in man- 
 ner and tone was at her best — "that although I am, 
 as you say, possessed of something in mind and 
 something in nature which are the glory of the uni- 
 verse, yet I — I will not quite do for a countess." 
 
 "I mean that you would make the most charm- 
 ing countess in England," he said hastily, in some 
 embarrassment. 
 
 "You, a peer of England, then, would rob Eng- 
 44 
 
The Dowry She Brought 
 
 land for — for my sake !" Her laugh called for the 
 laugh with which he answered her sally. 
 
 "Suppose you were a poor countess," he said 
 helplessly. "Suppose that all my lands were mort- 
 gaged to the last sovereign. Suppose that you had 
 to count pennies and you could not afford to enter- 
 tain or be entertained." 
 
 "Then we should clean house; we should econo- 
 mise; we should work; we should try to bring 
 back prosperity. I had not asked about that or 
 thought about it. I have thought only of Arthur. 
 He came into my life, and I have to go with him 
 and he with me." She bowed her head. Carnis- 
 ton rolled the ashes off his cigar on the edge of 
 his coffee-cup. She looked up again, half appeal- 
 ingly, half mischievously. "One likes a little risk. 
 It takes the perplexity out of life, as music does. 
 Sometimes I go to the piano and sing any verses 
 that come into my head, and I find they help. 
 Never-care songs I call them. There's one that 
 runs: 
 
 •« 'If you have a heart afraid to play the game, 
 
 Then that heart was meant for hanging in a frame; 
 
 Never care, never care! 
 Then, dear nurse, that kind provision is the best 
 Which will never put your darling to a test — 
 
 Never care, never care!' " 
 
 Her manner of speaking the lines softened their 
 45 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 quizzical audacity. The earl liked to hear such a 
 spirit expressed in that room under the heads which 
 the hunter earl had killed — a spirit that had been 
 missing in this family for two generations. 
 
 "Nor must we forget," Lucy continued, u the 
 added ten years. Arthur and I together want to 
 see you enjoy them." 
 
 The earl sought in vain for further argument. 
 He himself had granted the premises on which he 
 had been beaten. 
 
 "Is it yes, father?" Arthur asked. 
 
 "Is it yes?" Lucy asked softly, bending toward 
 him, her lips apart, her eyes calling. 
 
 Carniston arose smiling, and smiling he went 
 toward Lucy and kissed her on the forehead, and 
 she kissed him on the cheek, which seemed harsh 
 and lifeless to her — so unlike his eyes, which were 
 the kind that never grow old. 
 
 "It is like a fairy tale," he said. "I am glad 
 to be so much a part of it as to be number three." 
 
 Arthur telegraphed to Lucy his delight with her 
 triumph. Her smile in answer scarcely indicated 
 that her opinion was the same as his. She was 
 thinking of play-actresses. 
 
 "Now for the billiards!" said the earl. "Ar- 
 thur may be a spectator of this contest of giants." 
 
 He gave her the forty. It was a close game. 
 He won narrowly, and in such a way as to please 
 
 4 6 
 
" It is like a fairy tale," he said. "lam glad to be so much a 
 part of it as to be number three " 
 
The Dowry She Brought 
 
 his vanity. Then they bade her good-night at the 
 foot of the stairs, and when the last sound of the 
 rustle of her skirts had passed away, Arthur said: 
 
 "Father, you have been splendid! You can't 
 realise how I love her, and when a man does love 
 as I do I fear he seems impatient." 
 
 "I am glad to see you so happy. Only a brute 
 would spoil such a pretty romance. Good-night," 
 was the response. 
 
 Arthur and Lucy met at the breakfast-table 
 early. He was all praise and congratulation, and 
 she, a little pale, was smiling. He had slept well ; 
 she scarcely at all. 
 
 "There will be time enough for a long stroll," 
 he remarked at length, "before my father is up. 
 His hour is usually ten." 
 
 "I beg pardon, sir," said Horton, "but his lord- 
 ship was up at six." 
 
 "Unprecedented! He must already be feeling 
 those added ten years," Arthur declared. 
 
 "It is ruinous to his 'ealth, and I made bold to 
 tell 'im so. But he said he had business with his 
 solicitor in town, and he caught the seven-ten train 
 for the first time in twenty years, I think, sir." 
 
 47 
 
AMIABLE TO THE END 
 
 ALTHOUGH neither said so, each tacitly rec- 
 ognised their common desire that the run 
 back to London should be rapid. His father's 
 departure before dawn had given Arthur an un- 
 comfortable feeling which remained with him. 
 The earl had seemed the last man in the world 
 to be the subject of an energetic impulse; his affairs 
 the last affairs in the world to be influenced by a 
 schedule of morning trains. It was Arthur, now, 
 who had become despondent. While he gave his 
 scepticism no word, his companion, nevertheless, 
 subtly knew of its existence. 
 
 Lucy, after a sleepless night and an experience 
 which had drawn heavily on her strength, wel- 
 comed the car's bursts of speed over the long 
 stretches of clear road between towns and villages, 
 when she leaned closer to Arthur and he leaned 
 closer to her, as if each was listening to the other, 
 although both were silent. She wanted to be home, 
 alone, where she could look herself in the face 
 
 4 8 
 
Amiable to the End 
 
 again and rest, and think over all that had passed 
 since yesterday. 
 
 The conditions of their outward journey were 
 reversed in that she was now — or she assumed to be 
 —the optimist of the pair. She spoke of the earl as 
 kind and delightful; of how much easier their 
 meeting had been than they anticipated. 
 
 "I'll try — I'll try ever so hard, Arthur, to be a 
 countess worthy of you and Burbridge. With you 
 to help me, and with me to help you, together we 
 shall be wise and" — her eyes were moist — "and 
 I'll always love you, Arthur." 
 
 Her old life was so completely gone, this great 
 thing of the new life had so completely entered 
 into possession of her, that she would not permit 
 herself to conceive of the battle ending otherwise 
 than in victory. 
 
 When he brought the machine to a standstill 
 before the von Kar gate, he said: 
 
 "You are so fine, Lucy, so much finer than even 
 I had supposed ! It will be my duty to live up to 
 you." 
 
 That moment with his new seriousness — later to 
 be recalled as a first signal — with his new look of 
 pride in her, was to remain with her as a mile- 
 stone on the highway at a point where it crosses 
 a frontier. 
 
 Her invitation to luncheon he refused on the 
 49 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ground that it was already two o'clock, and he 
 hoped to find his father and take him back in the 
 car. He stopped at the first tea-house and hastily 
 ate some bread and meat, and then passed down 
 Holborn into the City, where he had never gone 
 before except to draw on his banker. 
 
 "His lordship was here from ten till twelve. 
 We — er — had many details to go over," said 
 Wormley, solicitor and man of affairs. 
 
 "Did he mention whether he was going back to 
 Burbridge at once or not?" Arthur asked. 
 
 "I believe he did say that he would catch the 
 one o'clock train." Wormley went with him to the 
 door. "Ah, his lordship is very fond of you, sir — a 
 most amiable father." 
 
 He seemed to have something more on the end 
 of his tongue; but he had been a solicitor for 
 twenty years, and had learned not to give unasked- 
 for advice or information. 
 
 Arthur pondered on whether or not he should 
 go back to Lucy for tea and dine there, and — was 
 there any better time? — meet her father and tell 
 him of their love. Had he done so, this would 
 have been a different history. If one wished to 
 enlarge on how small things change the courses of 
 lives, one might say that he decided to the contrary 
 because he was stuffy with dust and had no evening 
 suit in town. But such was not the case. 
 
 50 
 
Amiable to the End 
 
 Since the previous night his father had appeared 
 to him in a new light. The old earl was no longer 
 an institution; he had become human and affec- 
 tionate in his son's eyes. He could not escape 
 the thought that his father was making some sacri- 
 fice on his account; the wounded look in the earl's 
 eyes at times while he had listened to Lucy, al- 
 though not impressing Arthur at the moment had 
 haunted him through the day as the something 
 concealed, something intimately connected with his 
 own existence, of which he had lived in ignorance. 
 
 He did not speed much on the journey home- 
 ward. One runs fast in order to escape preoccu- 
 pation, not when one is preoccupied. Conse- 
 quently, it was well past the dinner hour when he 
 reached Burbridge. After he had bathed and 
 dressed, he found the earl still at table over his 
 last glass of port. There was a warmth in his 
 father's welcome that disarmed some of Arthur's 
 doubts. 
 
 "You quite broke all the settled habits of Bur- 
 bridge this morning, sir," Arthur said, as he set 
 to ravenously. 
 
 "Yes. When you are as old as I am, Arthur, 
 you will now and then want to demonstrate to your- 
 self that you have not lost your capacity for being 
 active. I took a long nap yesterday afternoon. 
 So I awoke at five, and as I had to see Wormley 
 
 51 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 I took the early train, promising myself to be back 
 before dark. Besides, your Lucy is so electric that 
 she imparted some of her energy to me, I think." 
 
 "You did find her charming and a girl of qual- 
 ity?" There was much more that Arthur wanted 
 to ask, but his father put a stop to conversation by 
 rising. 
 
 "I have a letter to write, and I shall go to bed 
 early. I found your Lucy all, quite all that you 
 painted her. To you, happiness and good-night!" 
 With which he drained his glass and, smiling 
 fondly at Arthur, left the table. 
 
 "It's so hard to go straight to my father," Ar- 
 thur mused. "He smothers you in amiability, and 
 his eyes look at you in such a way that you feel that 
 it is a sin to be unpleasant." 
 
 Tired after his long ride, his thoughts carried 
 him little farther that night. He slept soundly. 
 When he awoke, fresh and glowing with the quickly 
 renewed strength of youth, he laughed at his 
 doubts. The earl, who was never demonstrative 
 over anything, had not been demonstrative in his 
 acquiescence. 
 
 "It shall be soon — very soon!" He found him- 
 self at breakfast repeating his words to Lucy. He 
 would go to London that afternoon and see the 
 doctor, he was concluding joyfully, when Horton 
 laid a letter on the table before him. 
 
 5* 
 
Amiable to the End 
 
 "His lordship said that I was to give it to you 
 this morning, sir. He was very pointed about it, 
 and that I should not disturb him till he called.' , 
 
 A glance told Arthur that the envelope in his 
 hand contained more than a note of something 
 which is a bedtime after-thought. It was sealed in 
 wax with his father's ring and bore the superscrip- 
 tion "Personal" in the upper right-hand corner, 
 while in the lower left-hand corner was the legend: 
 "After you have finished your breakfast and lighted 
 your cigarette, Arthur" — a final touch of that cour- 
 tesy which gave Lord Carniston his character 
 before the world. 
 
 "My Son: 
 
 "During the last forty-eight hours you have 
 given me the intensest pain and the intensest happi- 
 ness that I have ever known. By grace of the one 
 the other has been concealed. That was inevitable 
 — for so I was born — strive as I would to the 
 contrary. 
 
 "I was known in my younger years as the 'ami- 
 able Carniston.' To-day I am not known at all, 
 for such is the end of amiable people. I hear this 
 moment, as plainly as if they were uttered yester- 
 day, the words of a woman of the world some 
 thirty years ago, spoken when she did not know 
 that I was within hearing: 'Oh, Carny is too 
 amiable not to do anything you ask, and if he can- 
 not do it he will apologise and run away.' The 
 
 53 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 offence of her remark is not more clear than the 
 truth of it, even to the end of my career. I am 
 still amiable, which is a polite way of saying that I 
 am weak. 
 
 "When you first told me, with colour in your 
 cheeks and your eye flashing determination, of 
 your love for Lucy, I could not resist you. I am 
 proud of you, Arthur. At your age I was a scape- 
 grace, running through my father's fortune. You 
 are so simple, so single-minded, so clean, so manly, 
 such a fine type of a young English gentleman, and 
 you were so straightforward in your suit, that I 
 had the infection of your happiness, and I invited 
 the little girl to Burbridge, thinking that a way out 
 of my difficulty would show itself. She, in turn, 
 made herself mistress of my affections. I could not 
 in your presence and hers lay a destroying hand on 
 your dream. I should like to see it come true — 
 none more than I. 
 
 "Believe me, my son, I am writing only because 
 if I began telling you, especially with your charm- 
 ing Lucy at your elbow, I should compromise; I 
 should be amiable; I should yield; and this is the 
 time when I must not yield unless I wish to bring 
 you to disaster. 
 
 "You will be charitable enough, I know, to give 
 me credit for the one virtue of my amiability, which 
 is that you have had three thousand pounds a year 
 while I have rubbed along of late on a quarter of 
 the amount. At least, I was not weak when Worm- 
 ley demanded that I should cut your allowance. 
 
 54 
 
Amiable to the End 
 
 By my economy for your sake, by my effort to make 
 some reparation to you, I have gained a kingdom 
 of happiness new to me. 
 
 "For I have seen you living like a gentleman, 
 never having to think of money — no gentleman 
 should. You have never spent more than your 
 allowance — no gentleman should — although for- 
 merly I practised, if I did not hold, different con- 
 victions. You are handsome, the handsomest of 
 the Steadleys. I hope that you may be a strong 
 Steadley, as the first earl and the great hunter were. 
 You have the manner, the qualities, the gifts fitting 
 you for the place to which birth has called you. 
 
 "What have I, your father, your guardian, left 
 you with which to fill your position? Nothing, 
 and less than nothing; and out of it for the last 
 six years I have given you three thousand. My 
 amiability with creditors, Wormley says, amounts 
 to genius. 
 
 "Be thankful that your hobby is science. Mine 
 was gambling. Your mother's dowry I have 
 exhausted, as I exhausted such mortgageable re- 
 sources of the estate as remained after my father's 
 death. If I had another fortune, doubtless I 
 should let it slip through my fingers in the same 
 way. Penniless as I am by my own fault, I should 
 have no sense of humour if I did not apologise for 
 pointing a moral to my own son. It was ever 
 so; age cautioning youth. Thirsty youth is asked 
 to keep away from that fount of which age has 
 drunk its fill. 
 
 55 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "Yet there I think that I do myself a little 
 wrong. If the quarter of a million that we need 
 had fallen to me at any time in the last six years, 
 I believe I should have kept it, thanks to your in- 
 spiration, my son. Since you became twenty-one 
 I have been a different man. When I heard so 
 much praise of you from others I began asking 
 myself, What am I leaving him? Thereafter, my 
 amiability, I think, was something of a mask — an 
 easy mask, indeed, for one of my character to 
 assume. While I yearned for your affection and 
 your confidence, I kept you at a distance for fear 
 that you might learn the truth which, for the grati- 
 fication of seeing you free and happy, I concealed. 
 
 "Your love romance has taught me the wrong 
 I have done you in this respect. You thought that 
 you had three thousand a year forever. This in- 
 come was as much a part of your existence, thanks 
 to me, as the air you breathed. You had every 
 reason for thinking that the condition of our estate 
 was as sound as that of the British Treasury. 
 Then why should you not marry as you pleased? 
 I grant you, as your choice well attested, your qual- 
 ity of mind is such that you could not have chosen 
 one unfitted for the place to which you called her. 
 Too late I realise that I ought to have bred you 
 by degrees to the necessity which now suddenly 
 descends upon you to break her heart, your heart 
 and my heart. No kindness could have been more 
 unkind than mine. But you will admit that head- 
 strong marriage for love is not among the char- 
 
 56 
 
Amiable to the End 
 
 acteristics of our caste — which makes it all the 
 more charming in you. 
 
 "You will find all the papers with Wormley, 
 Arthur — all the ghosts of my father's misdeeds 
 and mine. In six months, at the latest, Burbridge 
 and all that we possess will go under the hammer. 
 We have to deal with facts, as Wormley said yes- 
 terday, 'and funds are the stubbornest of facts, my 
 lord. The world entertains respect for the posi- 
 tion which it grants you as a peer of England; but, 
 at the same time, it insists on collecting its debts 
 from peer as well as commoner. The patent of 
 receipted bills is mightier than any patent of 
 nobility.' 
 
 "Shall I say more? You have my confession, 
 and you have the truth at last. Either we must 
 have money, or alien footsteps will soon sound in 
 this hall, and aliens will sit under the heads of the 
 beasts which the great hunter killed. 
 
 "In facing the problem which my weakness has 
 left you, I would have you first realise that you 
 are something more than Arthur Steadley from 
 this day forth. Arthur Steadley or John Smith 
 may do as he pleases, but not so the seventh Earl 
 of Carniston. You become a link in the career of 
 a great house; you become an institution. You 
 have a duty to your family, to your caste. 
 
 "It is the noblesse oblige of our nobility that 
 preserves England. As a whole, our aristocracy 
 has always retained some sense of duty. Other 
 nations have risen and fallen, other nobilities have 
 
 57 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 gone to the guillotine, and still England has sur- 
 vived and will survive, and with her the peerage, 
 long after present-day rivals have run the swift 
 race instead of the sure race of our customs and 
 our climate. The people have demanded liberties 
 and we have yielded them liberties — but always 
 yielded as if we gave — while we had only to take 
 the Radical leaders into the peerage in order to 
 make them Tories. Down in the City, to the ends 
 of the empire, in every walk of life, men are striv- 
 ing for titles; striving toward the standard which 
 our caste sets. Their ambition is to have their 
 descendants like us. When their sons have at- 
 tained that end the family property is dissipated, 
 the family eventually becomes extinct, and thus 
 there is always room for the climbers who are com- 
 ing up the ladder. I think they are coming too 
 fast. Too many are entering on motors fresh 
 from the market, with money as their only pass- 
 port. 
 
 "The question you have to ask yourself, Arthur, 
 is whether the time has come when our family, too, 
 must pass away. Will you make another place for 
 the newcomers ? Will you give up your heritage ? 
 Observe how our portionless younger sons accept 
 their lot and carry our character abroad in the rule 
 of our colonies. Our whole social system is one of 
 playing the part that falls to you. Thus we keep 
 up our checks and balances. But you may say, with 
 your new ideas which are imbibed in laboratories, 
 that our time has come, and let us accept the in- 
 
 58 
 
Amiable to the End 
 
 evitable. Then let me say to you, my son, out of 
 the depth of my experience, that when you have 
 reached my age no love of woman will ever atone 
 for your loss of Burbridge. By marrying Lucy 
 you may yet bring yourself and her such unhap- 
 piness as neither would have known had you done 
 your duty to that fate which has made you seventh 
 in the line of a great house. 
 
 "No, you cannot have your Lucy and have Bur- 
 bridge, too. Again I hear you repeating bitterly 
 that question which has haunted me these last two 
 days, 'Why did you not tell me all this before?' 
 Because I did not do my duty; and, on awakening 
 to it, I am going to pay the penalty and make you 
 the only reparation in my power. To the last I 
 am the amiable and easy-going Carniston; so take 
 warning lest you be known as the romantic Carnis- 
 ton. If I seem to ramble, forgive me. I dare not 
 start to write the letter over again, lest I should 
 weaken and fail in my purpose. 
 
 "I have often thought of a rich marriage for 
 you. I would have planned to that end if I had not 
 been weak. You know how little I have kept in 
 touch with the world of late. When I brought 
 Miss Hodges to Burbridge it was with the idea of 
 a romance of wisdom, instead of a romance of folly 
 such as broke upon me within an hour after she 
 had left the house. She is attractive; she would do 
 credit to you as Countess of Carniston. I know 
 that she is not Lucy ; she is not an English girl ; but 
 in a year she would be English in speech and 
 
 59 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 thought, and she would spurn her own country as 
 the climber always spurns the ladder when the 
 ascent is made and footing on the crest is secure. 
 
 "I foresee for you such a journey as I once 
 made. It is one not without interest and amuse- 
 ment. In romantic days a nobleman rode out of 
 his castle with his followers and brought the lady 
 home on the back of his saddle. In this money 
 age he takes an Atlantic liner. You will find some 
 prejudice in America against what they call for- 
 tune-hunting lords. There the only standard of 
 position is money. To our cousins — many of whom 
 you will find speak a strange sort of English — the 
 man who has not money and cannot make it and 
 marries rich is much the same as a knight of 
 Round Table days who hired a man to fight in the 
 lists in his place. Instead of saying, 'I have con- 
 quered a province,' or 'I have defeated my enemy 
 in battle/ the American demands the love of his 
 lady on the score that he has made a million. 
 
 "To the rich American, as a rule, life means 
 greed of dividends and a kind of electric massage. 
 They know how to keep their money. It were 
 better if they knew how to lose it gracefully. 
 Thus they would make room for others. Instead, 
 they are perpetuating an aristocracy whose future 
 is a problem. When you come to know them you 
 will be thankful for our forms and our prejudices, 
 and thankful that the first earl served the State. 
 You cannot serve the State without some sense of 
 duty to the whole. A girl of the second generation 
 
 60 
 
Amiable to the End 
 
 from the West, although she is handicapped with 
 a common mother, comes frequently of yeoman 
 rather than trading stock and, having had the ad- 
 vantages of a foreign education, as Miss Hodges 
 has had, will the more readily conform to our life 
 and bear you better and healthier children. 
 
 "Money you need as the coal; the machine is 
 the earldom. In bringing your lady's fortune 
 home you are serving England as much as the 
 emigrant who brings his millions back to spend 
 in the mother country. We are making America 
 a country of absentees. We shall keep the para- 
 dise of our country-places, our stoicism, and self- 
 restraint, and renew our bank accounts and freshen 
 our blood from the workshops across the sea. The 
 other day when that extraordinary man Frane was 
 here, he used an expression, 'the love of the land,' 
 which has stuck in my mind. It expresses the spirit 
 that has made England, and it sounded strange 
 on the lips of an American. Some Americans boast 
 a great deal, but 'the love of the land' most of them 
 do not understand at all. It is a good phrase. 
 The land you should love, Arthur, is your acres 
 at Burbridge. You see, according to your position, 
 you must do your part for England. Only in 
 America does one do quite as he pleases. 
 
 "Your personal distinction is a valuable adjunct 
 in your quest. But you have something even more 
 valuable, according to the standard of calculating 
 American mothers. It is the delight of the Ameri- 
 can rich, who too often hold their own government 
 
 6l 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 in cynical contempt, to buy for their daughters the 
 rank which another government bestows. As I 
 enter you for the race, it is only right that I should 
 remove your handicap. Yesterday you were the 
 son of a bankrupt old nobleman, who might have 
 kept a faltering hold on life for twenty years. By 
 that time you would be so old that you would have 
 to marry the widow rather than the daughter of a 
 millionaire. To-day you are Carniston — Carnis- 
 ton at twenty-seven. 
 
 "Yesterday I haggled for the last time with 
 Wormley. I arranged a credit of two thousand 
 pounds for you, and a respite in our affairs for six 
 months. 
 
 "I rely on your discretion to burn this letter; 
 and, in respect to a more delicate matter, I rely 
 on that of Dr. Judson, who has continually warned 
 me that my heart was weak. Yes, you can depend 
 on Judson. 
 
 "I ask you lastly, Arthur, to bear this in mind: 
 For your sake I have absented myself from town ; 
 I have given up the Riviera and a summer water- 
 ing-place; and I have foregone many little pleas- 
 ures. If your romance has made that seem an 
 unkindness to you, why, it is a reflection only on 
 my wisdom and not on my love, which makes this 
 final act of reparation to you. 
 
 "Carniston. 
 
 "P. S. If you do decide to send Burbridge un- 
 der the hammer, then I beg of you to destroy all 
 
 62 
 
Amiable to the End 
 
 the heads, or arrange that they be given to a mu- 
 seum. Let no stranger have them. But keep one 
 — that of the lion over the mantel — and hang it in 
 the Bloomsbury lodgings where you and Lucy will 
 have the awakening from your dream. You know 
 that the hunter killed the lion that killed him. I 
 like him the best of all the Steadleys. How often 
 have I craved a little of his strength!" 
 
 The door of the earl's room was unlocked. He 
 was stretched on his couch in the attitude of over- 
 whelming slumber after exhaustion. An unopened 
 bottle filled with laudanum had fallen from his 
 hand to the floor. He who at last had the deter- 
 mination to carry a plan through, found in his pass- 
 ing that the world toward which he had been so 
 amiable was still amiable to him. The pressure 
 upon his heart of distress and excitement had 
 obviated the need of any discretion on the part of 
 the family doctor. 
 
 63 
 
VI 
 
 CRAVING THE HUNTER^ STRENGTH 
 
 LUCY first learned of the Earl of Carniston's 
 death in the newspapers, which recalled, as 
 if noting the salient point of his career, thaNthe 
 "amiable Carny" had been a famous beau in his 
 younger days. She sent one of the servants im- 
 mediately to Burbridge with a note which at 
 once expressed her feelings and her sense of the 
 situation. 
 
 "It seems so unnatural," she wrote, "for me not 
 to go to you, and yet I comprehend that to the 
 world it would be unnatural, not to say scandal- 
 ous, if I did. The secret that holds us together 
 keeps us apart. Please know, dear Arthur, that 
 I am thinking of you every moment in this your 
 terrible ordeal, and please feel that I am sending 
 you through space all the love and sympathy that 
 my heart can hold." 
 
 When Dr. Judson had pronounced life extinct 
 in Carniston's body he addressed Arthur as "your 
 lordship," remarking, in the comforting way of the 
 
 64 
 
Craving the Hunter's Strength 
 
 medical profession on such occasions, that the late 
 earl had blessedly passed away without pain. 
 
 "If one must go, as we all must," he said, "one 
 would certainly choose to go in this manner. He 
 felt a little tired ; he lay down on the couch, and he 
 went to sleep." 
 
 At that moment Arthur's fingers were in his coat 
 pocket beside his father's letter and clasping the 
 bottle of laudanum which he had taken from the 
 floor. In the hour that had elapsed before the 
 doctor's arrival he had not spoken a dozen words, 
 but aghast had stared alternately out of the win- 
 dow and at the still figure before him. 
 
 When the doctor led him from the death 
 chamber Horton brought "my lord" a glass of 
 brandy, which was refused. First the undertaker 
 and then the members of the family and the ten- 
 ants addressed him by his title as naturally as if 
 he and not his father had always borne it. 
 Whether the callers expressed their sympathy eas- 
 ily and superficially or awkwardly and sincerely, 
 they seemed in a conspiracy against the thing which 
 was master of his heart. They were showing him 
 that he was not a free agent, but a link in the chain. 
 
 In company of Mrs. Monckton, a friend of the 
 family, Lucy came to the funeral, returning to 
 town immediately after the obsequies. She did 
 not see Arthur to speak with him. Their eyes met 
 
 65 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 as the rest of the congregation were waiting for 
 the mourners to come out of the church. In his 
 was an appeal for sympathy which hers sent swim- 
 mingly in answer. 
 
 He wanted to go to her the next day, and he 
 dared not. He wanted to go to her in the same 
 frame of mind in which he had gone when he re- 
 turned from Norway ; but he knew that that was as 
 impossible as to bring his father to life. Instead, 
 he was pacing the floor of the library when he was 
 not at his desk writing to Lucy. The long letter 
 in which he told her all his thoughts and in which 
 he submitted to the inevitable he tore up at last 
 with a cry of "I cannot!" Then notes which he 
 called cowardly and notes which he called quixotic 
 or deceitful followed one the other into the waste- 
 basket. 
 
 "How you helped me," he wrote at last, fever- 
 ishly, in the exhaustion of his wits, "yesterday in 
 church ! You have the art of goodness as well as 
 goodness itself. It was like you to come, and, com- 
 ing at a time when words are hollow and thought 
 is full and supreme, to make your presence near me 
 felt. How our natures are attuned, sweetheart! 
 What a bulwark of strength your note was — and 
 the knowledge that you have been thinking of me 
 through it all ! You can realise how the shock has 
 overwhelmed me and left me numb. I feel that I 
 
 66 
 
Craving the Hunter's Strength 
 
 must go away for a few days, to rest, to think, 
 and to find myself. Then, when I am a little 
 recovered, I shall come to see you." 
 
 What right had he to call her sweetheart? he 
 asked himself. But who else ever had the right 
 or could have the right? "This, too, is deceitful 
 and cowardly and clumsy," he thought. "But if 
 I try again I shall do no better." 
 
 He knew of a quiet hotel by the sea where he 
 could be completely isolated. There, by himself, 
 he would decide whether it was to be Lucy with- 
 out Burbridge or Burbridge without Lucy. He 
 tramped over the cliffs till his legs ached from 
 fatigue, but not more than his brain ached from 
 the pain of battle. Free from the surroundings of 
 his position, his inclination was the weightier of 
 the two antagonists which were struggling in his 
 mind for victory. When his bag was packed for 
 his return he had come to a decision. He had 
 chosen Lucy without Burbridge. 
 
 Still his determination was not founded on the 
 rock. He felt that he needed the strengthening 
 advice of some older man, used to the world. 
 Lord Brent, with his liberal ideas and his con- 
 tempt for rank and anything but merit, must agree 
 with him. On the way home he stopped over for 
 a morning at the old scientist's country-place, ex- 
 pecting to be told that he had shown a fine self- 
 
 67. 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 reliance and independence of tradition in making 
 battle with the world for a livelihood in the name 
 of the girl of his heart. 
 
 Of all men Lord Brent, gentle, venerable sa- 
 vant, was the last to consult on an affair of love, 
 which is not a thing for chemical analysis. Arthur 
 did not show the old scientist his father's letter, 
 but he told him candidly and confidentially of the 
 situation and of his engagement to Lucy. Brent 
 was as abstract as usual. It seemed that he who 
 had been called the socialist peer was not so much 
 of a radical after all when you scratched him. 
 
 "Lucy is a practical girl," he said. "She will 
 not want to marry a penniless earl any more than 
 you will want to marry her. The revelations of 
 your father's insolvency dissolve any contract 
 which was made on the understanding of his sol- 
 vency. Of course, when one is young he has fan- 
 cies. I believe I had one that I should marry a 
 tall, dark girl because of my theory of opposites. 
 However, I married a blonde girl, who has made 
 me an excellent wife and borne me five fine chil- 
 dren. One grows out of these things ; or he gives 
 them up in the face of events, if he is at all a man 
 of reason. As for you, my dear Carniston" — pre- 
 viously Lord Brent had called him Arthur — "I 
 should say" — and he looked him over — "that with 
 your title and your appearance you will have no 
 
 68 
 
Craving the Hunter's Strength 
 
 trouble in contracting a marriage which will set 
 your affairs right. An income, indeed, is the first 
 premise for one who pursues science for its own 
 sake." 
 
 u My father's idea — the world's idea ! I am to 
 be put up at auction," Arthur thought bitterly. 
 
 "So far from having any scruples on this score," 
 Lord Brent continued, "you must realise that you 
 are giving the lady a quid pro quo in the position 
 which she attains. She will be preoccupied with 
 that, and you will have the leisure for your re- 
 searches, which, as you grow older, will become 
 more absorbing. Indeed, when we graybeards are 
 gone I expect you to become one of the leaders." 
 
 "Suppose I do not see it that way. I myself 
 — I count a little — the personal equation," said 
 Arthur, amazed at this soft-spoken materialism 
 from such a source, and trying to make his point 
 clear to the scientific mind. 
 
 It was Lord Brent's turn to be astounded. 
 
 "You can scarcely choose," he said. "Noblesse 
 oblige, my dear fellow." 
 
 "I may if I will. Why should not Burbridge 
 go under the hammer? Let those who have money 
 to maintain it fall heir to that which my ancestors 
 have lost by their failure to play the game, as I 
 heard Frane, an American, say the other day. You 
 yourself have often spoken of the democracy of 
 
 6 9 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 our aristocracy and of its continual renewal from 
 the commons as a most beneficent feature of our 
 
 "Ah, yes, I did make that point only last year 
 in the Lords, and rather got the better of Mox- 
 bridge on the argument. Er — you did not quite 
 follow my reasoning to its logical end. How- 
 ever, that is beside the point. My dear Carniston, 
 you are not one that needs renewing." Lord Brent 
 laughed a little over his mild humour. 
 
 "Suppose I do take Lucy. Isn't it possible that 
 I could earn my own living? Dr. von Kar does 
 as a working chemist," cried the enthusiast. "At 
 least, I could try." 
 
 Lord Brent was not a self-made peer. This 
 subject of earning a living was entirely out of his 
 orbit. 
 
 "Ah, yes, von Kar is a remarkable man. He 
 seems to have many compartments to his brain, 
 each sealed to the people who deal with the others. 
 The compartment that I know is that of the ex- 
 perimenter. No, no, you must put away such 
 vagaries. You must fulfil the destiny for which 
 you were born. You must accept the part which 
 the world has assigned to you. By the way, I have 
 just received a most interesting pamphlet from 
 Professor Werner of Vienna, in which he gives 
 the results of his investigation of how a bird is 
 
 70 
 
Craving the Hunter's Strength 
 
 enabled to keep his perch or a bat his hold on a 
 rafter despite the relaxation of the tendons and 
 muscles in sleep. I trust that you will enlarge the 
 laboratory at Burbridge when you have brought 
 your rich bride from America — which is the place 
 where the rich brides come from these days, I be- 
 lieve — and that we may have many pleasant meet- 
 ings of fellow-spirits there. This Carniston, I am 
 sure, will be known as Carniston the scientist." 
 
 On the train journey homeward Arthur thought 
 again of all that his father had told him, and of the 
 earl's love and sacrifice. At Burbridge the letters 
 which awaited him were further testimony of how 
 conventionality makes puppets of those born to 
 position. The first, to his father from an old 
 friend visiting in America, began "Dear Carny." 
 The second was also addressed to the Earl of Car- 
 niston. It was a note of sympathy from one of 
 his own friends, then in Switzerland, who had 
 always called him Arthur. It also began "Dear 
 Carny." Thus the nickname which his father and 
 grandfather had borne was bestowed on him as a 
 matter of course. He was Carny and he was Car- 
 niston, with all the responsibility which the title 
 entailed. There was no way of escape. 
 
 Two tenants came to him that morning, think- 
 ing that they would be beforehand in noting their 
 wants directly to the new lord. The rector called. 
 
 71 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 A member of the council of the nearest town waited 
 on him to ask if he would take the place on certain 
 boards which had been made vacant by the lament- 
 able death of the late earl. When he took a ride 
 for exercise down the lanes which were his and 
 his ancestors' he felt for the first time the pride of 
 primogeniture, which will never permit a man to 
 give up that which he complains is irksome to him. 
 The man of title envies the freedom of the com- 
 moner and clings closer to his title. The rich man 
 envies the happiness of the poor man and clings 
 closer to his millions. Every one's true rivals who 
 make the race for him are on the track where he 
 runs. 
 
 If he had money he could meet the tenants' 
 desires; he could make the repairs for which the 
 rector pleaded; he could provide the hospital in 
 town with the funds it needed. He cursed the 
 grandfather who had begun the extravagance; he 
 could not forego a feeling of resentment toward 
 his own father. The hunter earl, who had always 
 seemed a savage, suddenly became noble and 
 praiseworthy, as the lion who brings home the 
 prey is noble and praiseworthy to his young. On 
 his travels the hunter had seen opportunities and 
 made investments which the fifth earl could not 
 altogether expend, and which had been the sixth 
 earl's best security. 
 
 72 
 
Craving the Hunter's Strength 
 
 The next morning, as he turned out of the gate 
 on his way to London to his solicitor and to Lucy, 
 he wondered how it would seem never to re-enter 
 that gate again except as a visitor; to have the 
 village people looking up to one who was not a 
 Carniston; to have the hunter's heads in a museum. 
 He put the car at full speed to escape his thoughts, 
 and drove so fast that he was at Wormley's office 
 by eleven. 
 
 The solicitor expressed his profound grief over 
 u the sudden and terrible" news, and gradually 
 approached the point where form ends and business 
 begins. 
 
 "Lord Carniston," he said, "was a man of 
 extraordinary discretion; and although he ex- 
 pressed to me his intention of taking you into his 
 confidence at once about your affairs, I can scarcely 
 conceive that he had the time to carry out his de- 
 sign — which was, in fact, a part of our agreement 
 by which I gave him a further credit on your be- 
 half. If I could be sure of your own knowledge 
 of the state of his affairs, my lord, I should know 
 where to begin in my accounting to you." 
 
 "I think that my father told me all," said 
 Arthur, flinching a little, "including the security 
 for the new credit." 
 
 "Er — quite right," said Wormley, taken by 
 surprise. The new earl was apparently a different 
 
 73 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 type from the old, who would have reached the 
 same point by many coughs and much leading. 
 "It means a saving of time," thought the practical 
 man. 
 
 "My father also said that you had all the papers 
 in order so that I might go over them and inform 
 myself of my responsibility." 
 
 The mass of them amazed Carniston — as we 
 must call him now — who as he examined document 
 after document of the record of his family's wis- 
 dom and folly felt them clutching his own exis- 
 tence as a part of theirs. Wisdom lay in the will 
 of the first earl, and more than wisdom — foresight 
 and cunning and plunder — in the contracts and the 
 letters of the hunter. 
 
 "A wonderful man, the fourth earl," Wormley 
 ventured. "If we had that real estate he bought 
 in Chicago, which I am told is to-day worth five 
 million pounds on a basis of five per cent, net! 
 See what he says here : 
 
 " 'The thing is to travel for yourself and see. 
 Never trust one man's report till you check it off 
 with another's. Do not allow insular prejudices 
 or the reigning political passion to divert you from 
 the basic idea that investments in a growing land 
 mean increasing income and increasing capital as 
 well. Railroads will plant cities throughout the 
 West. Immigration will pour in from Europe. 
 
 74 
 
Craving the Hunter's Strength 
 
 There need be no fears of the stability of the 
 government, however vulgar and stupid and pro- 
 vincial it is. In a country where so many own 
 property the government is a government of 
 property. Hold these barren lands; they will be 
 a part of the city one of these days.' " 
 
 "And we sold them thirty years ago because 
 their loss affected us sentimentally less than that of 
 any other asset," observed Arthur. " To-day the 
 wolves are snapping their jaws at the very horses' 
 heads and — thank you, Mr. Wormley." 
 
 Arthur assisted the solicitor in tying up the 
 bundles. When they had finished and he rose, the 
 freshness of his complexion and his height show- 
 ing to advantage in the dingy city office, Wormley 
 observed, with a touch of admiration and loyalty : 
 
 "I must say, your lordship, I don't think that 
 you will have any difficulty in making your mission 
 to America a success." 
 
 "I seem to have been bred and fashioned by my 
 Maker for the purpose of contracting a wealthy 
 marriage," Carniston thought angrily. 
 
 "And if it should happen," Wormley continued, 
 "that you did not wish to hurry matters, and your 
 engagement was announced, there would be no 
 trouble in securing another thousand or so from 
 the creditors." 
 
 This brutalising touch put Arthur on edge. 
 75 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "When I have sold myself do you want a bill 
 of sale?" he demanded in a temper. 
 
 Wormley, too, had his dignity. It was he who 
 had secured the two thousand pounds by leading 
 the creditors to put in a little more to save what 
 had gone before. 
 
 u You will pardon me, Lord Carniston," he said, 
 "but you deal with me as a business agent; and as 
 a business agent, when your father's wishes were 
 expressed, I dealt with him as I deal with you." 
 
 Arthur appreciated the logic of the answer. He 
 found himself liking Wormley better than he had 
 at first. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said. "Please accept 
 my extremity as an excuse. If your own son — if 
 you have one — had to go across the sea to marry 
 a woman for her money — I am not putting it with 
 polite indirection — do you think that he would 
 like it?" 
 
 "Our situations are different," said Wormley, 
 in astonishment. "The funds are ready for you 
 whenever you decide to start." He laid stress on 
 the qualifying clause, which indicated that the 
 money was not to be spent in England. 
 
 "Yes, thank you," said Arthur absently. 
 
 As he swung his car out of the alley where 
 Wormley had his offices into the stream of traffic, 
 and looked at the striving crowds in the new light 
 
 7 6 
 
Craving the Hunter's Strength 
 
 of the training of each unit for the battle of indi- 
 vidualism he was waging, and thought of himself 
 at twenty-seven without a single lesson in the busi- 
 ness of earning a living, he realised his helpless- 
 ness. He had been fitted for a destiny; they had 
 been trained for tasks in which success was the 
 reward of effort. 
 
 "The hunter was a beast," he told himself, "but, 
 oh, he was a beast who could fight beasts. He 
 was a lion. I, too, wish with my father that I had 
 his strength. He would have had Lucy, and he 
 would have kept Burbridge, too. How, I do not 
 know; but he would." 
 
 This was still the circle of his whirling thoughts 
 when he stopped before the von Kar gate. 
 
 77 
 
VII 
 
 DISPENSING WITH PLATO 
 
 HIS delay in coming to her had cut Lucy deep. 
 She tried to read his letter as written and 
 to avoid the fear thrusting its head out between 
 the lines to say that fate was working against their 
 love. Since the earl himself had smiled on their 
 betrothal, since they themselves had made solemn 
 faith, she had unfurled the flag of confidence and 
 shut her ears to scepticism. 
 
 Had Carniston gone to her with a clear outline 
 of obstacles, however threatening, to be overcome 
 in a union of counsel and effort, he might have 
 found in her some of the fearlessness and creative 
 qualities for which he liked the hunter, and with 
 them the womanly sympathy which hardens reso- 
 lution. As he approached the door he became 
 conscious that although he had something which 
 he must say he was going inside without any idea 
 of how he was to say it. 
 
 "If I began telling you, especially with your 
 charming Lucy at your elbow" — this section of his 
 father's letter ran through his mind — "I should 
 
 78 
 
Dispensing with Plato 
 
 compromise, I should yield; and this is the time 
 when I must not yield unless I wish to bring you 
 disaster." 
 
 Fearing the descent of his father's weakness 
 upon him when he needed the hunter's strength, 
 Carniston had a rush of firmness and resolution — 
 so he flattered himself. Under this false spell he 
 became unkind to himself and to her. 
 
 She was going to give him a sweetheart's em- 
 brace, but something in his face forbade. Theirs 
 was the compromise of clasped hands which may 
 indicate either rapture or separation. Although 
 his expression was one of constraint, her eyes were 
 brimming with sympathy as she spoke. 
 
 "You must feel as if you had lived a hundred 
 years in a week," she said. "You are pale and 
 worn, as I knew you would be. I could imagine 
 you and see you going through it all, while I sat 
 here with my hands folded." 
 
 He did not respond this time by saying how she 
 had helped him. Our romanticist was priding him- 
 self upon being a man of decision who accepted the 
 inevitable; an automaton who, having recognised 
 the mistake of having a heart in his caste, intended 
 to go through the part which society had set for 
 him. He was afraid of his own will; so afraid 
 that he could not be himself, which was the self 
 that she knew and loved. 
 
 79 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "Once you asked me to sit in that chair while you 
 sat in this," he said, "in order that we might be 
 brave and grave and reasonable." 
 
 "Yes," she returned, with a gasp; and then, re- 
 covering herself, she added: "That was yours and 
 this was mine, as I remember. Pray, be seated." 
 
 "When I came to you from Norway " — it 
 seemed to him that he was saying this out of a book 
 — "I did not know life. Then I thought of myself 
 as a man with no cares and three thousand a year, 
 who was one day coming into an estate which en- 
 joyed an income sufficient for all rational needs. 
 Intentionally, I practised no deceit. I was only a 
 youthful abstraction who had never used my eyes 
 at Burbridge. I did not know that I was not en- 
 titled to sixpence a year, that the estate was bank- 
 rupt. Such is the truth." 
 
 Will men never learn that while they are making 
 false starts woman's prescience has already run the 
 course of their intentions and found their goal? 
 Lucy understood before he had finished speaking 
 that he was making an excuse rather than a plea. 
 She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she 
 opened them again their gaze and her nerves 
 were steady. 
 
 "Was it three thousand?" she remarked. "I 
 did not ask. Inventories were not in my mind. I 
 was in another gallery." 
 
 80 
 
Dispensing with Plato 
 
 Her nettling pride brought the sentences out 
 with an aloofness whose softness and absence of 
 affectation made it none the less clear. He had 
 scarcely heard her, let alone observed the inflec- 
 tions and glances by which a woman more than a 
 man forms judgments. Even if he had then put 
 on the brakes, he would have speeded on from the 
 momentum of his false determination. He drew 
 from his pocket his father's letter and gave it to 
 her. 
 
 "If it is confidential to me, it is also confidential 
 to you," he said. No act of his that afternoon 
 meant so much to her in proof of his manliness as 
 this. "I beg of you to read it through," he con- 
 tinued, "and to read it in the light of unselfishness, 
 as I have tried to read it." 
 
 She turned her head so that the manuscript 
 would not be in shadow. Her only movement was 
 the quivering of her nostrils. The profile realised 
 no artist's ideal; but the artist who could have 
 transferred the life of her features to canvas would 
 have made a marvellous picture. The intensity of 
 concentration which she showed could never ap- 
 pear upon a face of classic outline. He looked on 
 her only to feel his love surging back with desire 
 for possession. To him, striving as he was to 
 restrain ancestral weakness, she seemed to read 
 with a deadly slowness, as if digesting each sen- 
 
 81 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 tence before she went on to the next. She offered 
 no comment; there was no change of expression 
 till she came to the part where the late earl wrote 
 of the idea of "a rich marriage for you . . . 
 when I brought Miss Hodges to Burbridge." 
 
 u Cad!" she cried, under her breath. 
 
 He was dumfounded. She, the woman of his 
 heart, was saying that about his own father ! Yet 
 — yet — cad! That expressed his own feeling 
 about parts of the letter; only he could not give 
 the thing that name. 
 
 When she came to the earl's reflections on 
 Americans — the Americans from whom he was to 
 draw the wealth to repair the fortunes of the 
 Steadleys by a marriage — she spoke above her 
 breath, heedless of Carniston's presence, of any- 
 thing but her own thoughts. 
 
 "Cad I" she cried again. "What a man's in- 
 most thoughts are, where his personal interests are 
 concerned, that he is. The Americans may love 
 money. It means power and promotion to them — 
 it meant fear to him." 
 
 "Cad!" she repeated, for the third time. "This 
 man had not right feelings. They are the greatest 
 thing in the world. Thank God if you are born 
 with them. If not, try to transplant them. Inborn 
 or grafted, be true to them. Then you may close 
 your eyes and they will lead you straight." 
 
 82 
 
Dispensing with Plato 
 
 "He was my father!" Carniston said slowly. 
 
 "Yes." She looked up as she spoke the word, 
 and then went on reading. He knew the letter by 
 heart, and could follow her in every line and keep 
 the pulse of her feeling. 
 
 "Coward — coward!" she exclaimed, when she 
 laid the sheets down. "It is not brave simply to 
 die. It is brave to live and fight." Hers was not 
 a soul to be in sympathy with that Eastern phil- 
 osophy which teaches death when by dying you 
 can best serve your honour and your family. "He 
 shifted responsibility. He ran away from the bat- 
 tle. He would not remain to face the disaster 
 which his folly had sown." 
 
 "Oh, Lucy — you — " Carniston cried. "I " 
 
 "Wait!" she said coolly. "I have yet to read 
 the postscript." This she perused with the same 
 tantalising deliberation. 
 
 When she looked up her face was like ashes, but 
 her voice was the same as if she were asking 
 whether he would have one lump or two. 
 
 "When do you sail, Arthur?" she inquired. 
 
 Think now, Carniston, if you would fight with 
 her at your side to keep Burbridge, what an asset 
 you would have in the power of self-control in that 
 small frame! 
 
 "I — I don't know," he said chokingly. 
 
 She rose with the dignity of a hostess when a 
 
 83 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 distinguished guest has signified his intention of 
 going. 
 
 "Of course there are steamers almost every day 
 now, and you have six months for the affair," 
 she said lightly. "That is ample, according to 
 what little Lord Dingwall said. He married the 
 daughter of a Western miner and was back in 
 England in half the time that you have. Your 
 friends do not expect you to break records, per- 
 haps, but certainly they do not expect you to be a 
 laggard." 
 
 Suddenly the rush of manhood — which is the 
 one powerful argument man has where the affec- 
 tions of a true woman are concerned — took a 
 direction beyond his control. He went tow- 
 ard her imploringly; indeed, he seemed about to 
 kneel. 
 
 "Lucy— I " 
 
 She smiled at him with the mischief of old — the 
 mischief of week-end parties, not of intimacy. 
 
 "Arthur, if you do that" — and she did manage 
 to keep her poise and not to say that he would open 
 the heart which she had sealed and bring her mis- 
 ery which only her pillow should know — "Miss 
 Hodges will not approve, on the ground of your 
 title, of noblesse oblige and form." 
 
 He still had presence of mind enough to see 
 that she had moved toward the door. As she 
 
 84 
 
Dispensing with Plato 
 
 opened it he started to proclaim the old formula 
 of friendship in place of that which had passed. 
 
 "No, Arthur," she remonstrated. "We will 
 dispense with Plato as superfluous in these days of 
 high finance. Good-bye. You see that I still call 
 you Arthur." 
 
 He passed out in a daze and saw before him 
 at the gate a creation of metal with leather seats; 
 and, his mind growing clearer, he realised that he 
 knew the levers to shift in order to take him back 
 to Burb ridge and his new life. 
 
 Lucy was a heap on one of the drawing-room 
 chairs. 
 
 85 
 
VIII 
 
 BACK TO EARTH 
 
 OH," she thought, "if he had only come to me 
 with his face flushed and his eyes shining 
 and said, 'Lucy, it is too late, now that you have 
 entered into my heart, to talk to me of duties which 
 were my father's and my grandfather's, not mine. 
 I have chosen you. You are greater to me than 
 Burbridge or peerdoms or the heads of beasts shot 
 by a savage ancestor. I want you. We will go to 
 the colonies together; we will make the fight.' 
 
 "The worship of that! The joy of it!" She 
 lifted her head from her pillow, fairly smiling 
 through her tears. "Then it would have been my 
 place to have told him that we must be brave and 
 grave and reasonable. He should have left that to 
 me, at least," she quavered. "I would have bidden 
 him to forget me and face his responsibilities and 
 the destiny for which he was born. I would have 
 told him that I loved him too well to stand in 
 his way. 
 
 "And then — ah, then, if he had suddenly turned 
 despondent and reproached me, and said that now 
 
 86 
 
Back to Earth 
 
 that he had no fortune and his title was a barren 
 one I no longer cared for him — then, if in answer 
 to the indignation of my denial he had come to me 
 like the wind and thrown his arms around me — 
 why, I" — her breath came in long gasps — "I would 
 have given him up smiling, and I should have 
 known that he was mine; and I should have had 
 something to remember always. 
 
 "But no! Why, when he was so business-like, 
 did he not save himself time by sending his solic- 
 itor? He tried to be kind to this Lucy from no- 
 where and to soften the blow with an introduction 
 of whereas and resolved. And the letter of his 
 cowardly old father who was afraid to live and 
 face bankruptcy himself and so left his son, with 
 his blessing, to face it ! Yet, I suppose that the old 
 earl was wise. It is only I that am unwise. He 
 meant to be kind. He — he, too, liked to see me 
 act. Arthur was kind. There is nothing quite so 
 cruel as kindness. 
 
 "Did Arthur think that I was going to prolong 
 that interview forever? Did he think that I could 
 go on keeping cool the whole afternoon when I 
 was on fire inside? Before he spoke his intention 
 was all clear to me. And after that, when he knew 
 that I knew — when I had read the letter which he 
 left to explain for him, I thought that he was 
 going to try to put his arms around me and kiss 
 
 87 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 me. For a moment he lapsed from his resolution; 
 for a moment he wanted me again. I could not let 
 him come near — I could not ! It was wise that I 
 did not. When a man only wants you for mo- 
 ments, what chasms of terror the between-times 
 must be — the times when you drop from the stars 
 to the earth ! He will learn to want the American 
 for moments — when she is ready for the opera, 
 when she comes down to dinner, yes. But he must 
 want me for all time and forever, or there could be 
 no bargain — and it's vulgar to have sentiments 
 and emotions in these mechanical days, anyway." 
 
 She saw how he looked when they parted. Her 
 thoughts followed him through the streets in his 
 car. By this time she estimated he must be out 
 of London. Of what was he thinking? Prob- 
 ably that he was well clear of a dilemma. Then 
 why should she be thinking of him? She was a 
 fool to do so, she told herself abruptly and impe- 
 riously. 
 
 Thereupon she began talking nonsense to Boze, 
 who had sat through the gusts of human passion 
 with the nonchalance of a bronze dog on a lawn 
 in a hailstorm. The words of a little never-care 
 French song began to run "by request" through 
 her head. She went to the piano and played the 
 air, which she lightly sang, still "by request" — her 
 own. When she whirled around on the stool after- 
 
Back to Earth 
 
 wards she was reminded that she ought to go 
 upstairs and answer a couple of notes that had 
 come that morning. As she rose she saw a glove 
 — Carniston's glove, which he had dropped. 
 
 "I will send it by parcels-post to my lord, the 
 Earl of Carniston," she said laughingly. But she 
 did not. She pressed it out carefully, and laid it 
 at the bottom of the drawer of her dressing-table 
 under some dinner and dance souvenirs. 
 
 In rising from her writing-desk she turned so 
 that she caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror, 
 and she bent closer instinctively as if she would 
 learn whether or not the change wrought that day 
 in her was visible to the world. 
 
 "My father must not know that I have been 
 crying," she thought; "he must not suspect or ask 
 questions or ever surmise what has happened 
 between Arthur and me. I've never had much 
 experience, but I have heard that cold bandages 
 are good" — she laughed over her illusion — "when 
 you have been having a flirtation with a member of 
 the House of Peers." 
 
 She folded a towel and soaked it in the basin. 
 Lying very still, holding the compress fast to her 
 eyes, she started to sing the never-care song again, 
 but it died on her lips and her thoughts soon 
 gained such headway that she was repeating them 
 half aloud. 
 
 8 9 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "My heart is all my father's again," she said, 
 "and it is his in a way that it never was before. 
 I am back to earth. I wonder if the lady of the 
 portrait found that he had no fortune or if she 
 met a man with a title before she died. I am glad 
 that I don't know. I am glad that he never told 
 me. After my own lesson I see how it is that there 
 may be some secrets which you want to share with 
 nobody. It was my place to trust father, not to 
 doubt, not to ask. He is right and good, and if 
 he has a secret it is right and good that he should 
 keep it. 
 
 "Can I, who have sounded that thing — that 
 thing which he has sounded — remain as sweet- 
 tempered as he is? I will work with him in his 
 laboratory. I am Lucy from nowhere, and I am 
 glad of the nowhere because my father came from 
 there. I was Lucy from somewhere long enough 
 to know that somewhere is a place of landslides, 
 earthquakes, volcanoes and lies; and they shan't 
 call me out of nowhere to amuse them. 
 
 "Still, not to dance or play or go to week-ends 
 — that keeps the ghosts out; it makes turnings in 
 the road ; it makes you forget. No, I'll not go any 
 more. Why am I afraid? Am I such a fool that 
 I cannot forget that a young man proposed to me 
 and I accepted him all on an early autumn after- 
 noon just at dusk, when romance was in the air, 
 
 90 
 
Back to Earth 
 
 and by the light of day in banking hours we broke 
 off the engagement? Why, that is happening all 
 over England every day without materially affect- 
 ing the death statistics from syncope. I don't see 
 how father keeps that photograph if my mother 
 broke his heart, as I believe she did. I want noth- 
 ing to make me think of Arthur." 
 But the glove, Lucy! 
 
 9i 
 
IX 
 
 CASTING OUT FRACTIONS 
 
 THE room where the hat and the carbine and 
 the portrait of the lady hung, properly 
 speaking, was more of a library and lounging- 
 room than a study. On the shelves which ran 
 from a row of drawers on the floor to the ceiling 
 were books in the five languages which Dr. von 
 Kar read. Many were old, bound in morocco and 
 stamped with coats of arms. 
 
 The doctor seated himself here regularly before 
 retiring, to write in his diary, one of the old cus- 
 toms to which he adhered sacredly, and to write 
 such letters as were not of a professional or a busi- 
 ness nature ; and here, on the evenings when he was 
 in the mood for reading for pleasure's sake, he 
 turned the pages of his favourite authors, the 
 prime favourite being Cervantes, and in order 
 after the Spaniard, Dante, Horace, Heine, the 
 Iliad, and La Fontaine. Any one who sought to 
 draw a line on his mind or his character from this 
 list was sadly mixed. 
 
 92 
 
Casting Out Fractions 
 
 "I could not help learning French and German 
 when I was a child," he said in answer to any 
 compliments on his acquirements. "English I 
 could not speak fluently at all when I came to Eng- 
 land. Italian and Spanish I speak illy, although 
 I read them well enough. Languages are a power 
 in yourself for yourself which have the fault of 
 dimming the creative faculty and making you rely 
 on others' brains instead of your own. To me they 
 serve the mind as moving-picture machines serve 
 the eye. I can come in here in the evening and for 
 an hour be a Greek, a German, or a Frenchman of 
 the last century or the century before, and travel 
 the orbit of his thought and experience, and then 
 go to bed in London as usual." 
 
 The farther door, itself a part of the book-lined 
 wall, opened out of the library into what the doc- 
 tor was pleased to call the "home shop," in con- 
 tradistinction to the "city shop." This consisted 
 of one vast room which had been built onto the 
 old mansion as an ell. It was fitted with all the 
 apparatus of a modern laboratory. By both the 
 east window, to catch the morning light, and the 
 west window, to catch the afternoon sun, was a 
 high desk such as bookkeepers use. When he was 
 writing reports or making calculations he alter- 
 nated between the two, according to the time of 
 day. 
 
 93 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 A total absence of chairs was discouraging to 
 the type of caller who announces his intention of 
 staying forever by saying that he really must be 
 going. The doctor was a prodigious worker, who 
 valued the disposition of his time according to his 
 own programme. If he wished you to remain for 
 a chat he conducted you to the door in the book- 
 wall. When one of his friends told another that 
 he had been calling on the doctor, the inevitable 
 query was, "Library or shop?" Young scientists, 
 when they had anything which they thought would 
 interest him, went in the hope of "library," and 
 the rarity of this condescension had to them the 
 value of a royal decoration. 
 
 On the afternoon of Carniston's visit to Lucy the 
 doctor had returned early from the City, with an 
 unusual light in his calm face and an unusual 
 springiness in his step. 
 
 "Young Steadley's motor, I think," he observed, 
 as he entered the gate. "He seems to be coming 
 here pretty often, and to see Lucie and not me. 
 Hm-m-m — I wonder " 
 
 However, he did not wonder long. He was 
 too much engrossed in other things to be drawn 
 off at any tangent of passing speculation. This 
 had been a famous day in the career of a certain 
 "working chemist and something of an inventor." 
 After a business consultation at luncheon he had 
 
 94 
 
Casting Out Fractions 
 
 signed a contract with an American capitalist, 
 Lindley Belmore, for the erection at Kearn's 
 Ford of an extensive works for the manufac- 
 ture of his new roofing material; and on this 
 account he was about to go to America for the 
 first time. 
 
 It is on an occasion like this, when one has 
 brought some plan to a happy conclusion, that, in 
 the extending glow of his satisfaction, he looks 
 back on the sum of his victories or of his good 
 deeds, or counts his fortune. The doctor could 
 the better enjoy the review of his successes be- 
 cause their nature and extent were known only to 
 himself. 
 
 His friends had so far taken everything with 
 the doctor for granted, as he wished they should, 
 that they had never considered that his manner of 
 living in an unfashionable part of London, the ex- 
 cellence of his cookery, and the delicacy of his 
 wines represented an expense which would have 
 maintained a first-class house in the West End well 
 within the accepted standards of living there. 
 Never, indeed, had it occurred to Lucy, such was 
 the art with which her father managed her on this 
 score, that the bills for her gowns could scarcely 
 be included in the income of the average "working 
 chemist and something of an inventor." "Possibly 
 you would like a new frock, ma cherie" he would 
 
 95 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 say. "Well, I think we can afford it" — after some 
 thought. It would scarcely be fair to say that he 
 was as proud of his success in business as he was 
 of his researches and his taste in imaginative litera- 
 ture. Cervantes was the greatest prose writer who 
 ever lived, of course. 
 
 Now he bent over the high desk at the west with 
 the evening sun on his gray head, his pencil set- 
 ting down the values of the different properties 
 which he had accumulated since he had concluded 
 that he was living in "the age of steam and prac- 
 tical politics." When he had made a total of low 
 estimates he cast out the fractions, and there re- 
 mained a fortune of three hundred thousand 
 pounds, with an annual income, including royalties, 
 of thirty thousand. 
 
 "For a man who was a romanticist until he was 
 forty, I haven't done so badly," he mused. 
 
 He would have been the last man in the world 
 to think of himself as a miser. Least of all would 
 he have thought of himself as playing a part 
 suited to a melodrama. Consciousness of a schol- 
 arly breadth of view had made his drift the easier. 
 As he tore the memorandum into extremely small 
 bits and let it fall into the basket he was back 
 again with the lady of the portrait. There had 
 been a time when the only three things in the 
 world to him were books and love and fighting. 
 
 9 6 
 
Casting Out Fractions 
 
 As for money, put your hand in your pocket and 
 if there was none — what would you? 
 
 Then came a day when the need of money 
 awakened him, and he found himself left alone in 
 the world with Lucy and poverty and a resolution. 
 He would never be caught penniless again, he 
 determined. This was for her sake, but she was 
 not to know it. The ingenuity that this brilliant 
 man had shown as a soldier was turned to the con- 
 servation of energy as a scientist and an inventor. 
 No one except himself knew or even suspected the 
 amount of his wealth. So vast is London, so many 
 are the fortunes centered there to-day, that it is the 
 easiest of financial wildernesses in which to con- 
 ceal one. Belmore knew of the roofing material; 
 others knew of the gaslight mantle, the smoke 
 consumer, and other inventions which, by his 
 choice, did not bear his name. 
 
 He had been amazed himself of late by the 
 rapidity of the accumulation, which had made him 
 a little more contemptuous of that thing which had 
 destroyed his happiness in youth. Meanwhile, he 
 had taken care that Lucy should never think of 
 money. The side of him which she saw was that 
 of the library where he communed with his friend 
 Don Quixote. More than once he had told her 
 that, according to his romantic, old-world notions, 
 an only daughter ought not to know how to add 
 
 97 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 and subtract. A fortune should be to her as a 
 blessing, and not as an object for living. His joy- 
 in its possession was that it made her safe. Such 
 was the rule of life he had fastened on himself for 
 want of the check of intimate criticism. 
 
 He was thinking how he could spend a liberal 
 sum on his holiday without Lucy suspecting that 
 he had more than a modest income, when, happen- 
 ing to look out of the window, he saw that the 
 automobile was gone. This brought to mind again 
 the frequency of the earl's visits; and following 
 that train of thought arose all the dangers that 
 lay in Lucy's position, without any mother to 
 advise her when she was at a marriageable age. 
 
 "It must come some day," he told himself. 
 "Young Steadley — and he has come into his title 
 now, of course — I like. He is straightforward, 
 and will mature into solidity. Lucie does not need 
 a mercurial husband. If his estate should be crip- 
 pled, as most great estates are in these days, why, 
 I have ample to put it into shape. But — no ! My 
 fortune is not to be thought of in that way. He 
 must come to her for herself, and she must come 
 to me with him. Afterwards, my all is theirs ; but 
 not before — no, not before ! I know by expe- 
 rience — and that thing shall not happen to her." 
 
 Here his face took on an almost savage expres- 
 sion, and under his contracted eyebrows the keen 
 
 9 8 
 
Casting Out Fractions 
 
 gray eyes could see the hat and the carbine and 
 the portrait of the lady as plainly as if he were 
 at the desk in the library. 
 
 "What folly!" he said, rallying himself. "She 
 is only twenty-one. How she would laugh at me 
 for my thoughts! She is transparent as crystal. 
 I shall know soon enough when her affection is 
 placed." 
 
 It occurred to him then that he had not yet told 
 Lucy the news. He had come home early partly 
 on that account, and he was going to her when he 
 saw Lord Brent's carriage. 
 
 "The old dilettante has some pamphlet which 
 I have already seen," the doctor muttered. "In 
 coaching days, before the telegraph, he would have 
 been more useful." 
 
 Lord Brent mingled science and gossip affably. 
 Scientists took his science for gossip, and gossips 
 his gossip for science. After a weighty considera- 
 tion of the affair he had decided, such was his trust 
 in the doctor's good sense, to approach him on the 
 subject of the information which he had received 
 from Carniston. 
 
 "Ah, von Kar," he said as he entered, "having 
 a moment to spare — and only a moment I find on 
 looking at my watch — I drove over to pass the 
 time of day and to show you a pamphlet by Dr. 
 Werner of Vienna, involving the results of his in- 
 
 99 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 vestigation of the phenomenon of a bird keeping 
 its grasp on its perch or a bat on a rafter when 
 asleep." 
 
 "Yes, I have wanted to see it," said the doctor, 
 who had had it on file for a week. 
 
 "There is another subject I purpose calling to 
 your attention," Lord Brent continued. "I think 
 that you know my views on marriage, which, I 
 have always held, should be a matter of scientific 
 adjustment rather than mere temporary emotional 
 attachment. Therefore, I am led to " 
 
 The doctor foresaw a disquisition. 
 
 "Yes, I remember," he said. "You had a letter 
 in The Times. Er — I was about to tell you some 
 news of myself." 
 
 Brent pricked his ears at once. If he had been 
 born the son of a clergyman instead of a peer he 
 would probably have been a journalist. 
 
 "I am going for a little tour to America," the 
 doctor added; and Brent began a homily on 
 America. 
 
 "You will have to put up with some discomforts, 
 so my friends who have been there tell me. It will 
 be a change and enjoyable, no doubt. America has 
 done some good work, especially in palaeontology. 
 However, the Americans come to us ; we never go 
 to them. This will be true, even after the Yankees 
 and the Russians have swallowed us, as surely as 
 
 ioo 
 
Casting Out Fractions 
 
 the Romans of the Empire sent their sons to school 
 in Athens. Ours is the intellect and the settled 
 standard of culture. But when do you sail, my 
 dear von Kar?" 
 
 "On the Oceanic, Wednesday week." 
 
 "Ah, we must have ten or a dozen choice spirits 
 for luncheon at the Mowbray — ah — Tuesday 
 week — at one o'clock, shall we say?" 
 
 Lord Brent was a born host at his own table, 
 where and where alone he personally forewent 
 generalities while he so directed those of his guests 
 that each of them thought his theories proved. 
 When he went to other people's dinners he had 
 an unfortunate habit, after refusing coffee on the 
 ground that it kept him awake, of falling sound 
 asleep, evidently on the hypothesis that he was off 
 duty that night. 
 
 "That is settled, then," he concluded. "I will 
 have some letters for you, too." 
 
 If a friend were only crossing the Channel, 
 Brent presented him with a sheaf of introductions; 
 for he knew almost all the important scientific men 
 in the world without their knowing exactly what 
 important scientific work he himself had done. 
 With the menu for his luncheon to arrange — a 
 thing that he always did in person on scientific 
 principles which were certainly agreeable to the 
 digestion — he quite overlooked speaking to the 
 
 IOI 
 

 Lucy of the Stars 
 
 doctor upon what was, at the best, a delicate 
 matter. If he had not, again the novelist might 
 have been without a plot. 
 
 The doctor saw his guest to the door, and then 
 sought Lucy, who, with the bandage off her eyes 
 and full of courage, was coming to him. 
 
 "Was it Carniston's car that I saw at the gate 
 when I came in?" he began. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she answered easily. But his ques- 
 tion had set all the little devils of self-conscious- 
 ness dancing in her brain. Had he overheard 
 anything? Had he surmised anything? Fresh 
 from that scene which had seemed so mighty as 
 to embrace the universe, her suspicions were quick; 
 and the one thing she had determined was that her 
 father's happiness should suffer no shock from the 
 knowledge of that incident, which was closed 
 beyond his or any worldly assistance. 
 
 "Yes," she ran on rapidly, "he had been two or 
 three hours with his solicitor, and stopped over on 
 the way home for tea. He says that one gets no 
 such tea anywhere in London as ours — a compli- 
 ment we owe to that friend of yours, the China 
 merchant. The young earl is very amiable and 
 much impressed with his responsibilities. He is 
 going to travel for a time in order to rest. His 
 father's death was a great shock. He came to say 
 good-bye to us both, and we had no idea that you 
 
 102 
 
Casting Out Fractions 
 
 were home so early. I think I know the girl he is 
 going to marry, and I expect that the engagement 
 will be announced when he returns." 
 
 Lucy felt that if she was not speaking a lie 
 direct, she was acting one. Are such lies wrong? 
 Are they wrong if they bring the result you desire? 
 The doctor smiled happily, all thought of anything 
 more than simple acquaintanceship between her and 
 Carniston having passed. 
 
 "Lucie, I have had quite a piece of luck — for a 
 poor working chemist." 
 
 "And something of an inventor," she put in 
 laughingly. 
 
 "Ah, you know all your father's pet phrases, 
 and now that his hair is white he repeats his old 
 ones instead of coining new ones. I wonder if I 
 am such a bore that you will not go with me to 
 America, where I have to supervise the building 
 of a manufactory?" 
 
 "Do you mean it?" she cried, putting her hands 
 on his shoulders. 
 
 "Yes, on Wednesday week, on the Oceanic." 
 
 She threw her arms around his neck and hugged 
 him and called him all the dear names in her rich 
 vocabulary. 
 
 "Do you know, daddy," she said, as they drank 
 their tea together and made their plans, "this helps 
 me to escape from a lot of stupid engagements. 
 
 103 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 I think that I have pretty well analysed society, and 
 I am about ready to set down my observations and 
 conclusions, as you would say. I have been tread- 
 ing in a circle, and have felt as if I were on a mov- 
 ing train and could not step off even if I wanted to. 
 You have given me the opportunity. When I 
 come back I want to settle down to work with you, 
 and I am going to ask you to give up your scientific 
 dinners and dine at home with me and Don 
 Quixote and the noble Boze." 
 
 The doctor beamed. It was, indeed, a day of 
 beams for him. The sharp little fear of increas- 
 ing estrangement which had been growing in his 
 heart passed away. 
 
 "Possibly my Lucie is not a marrying girl, after 
 all," he thought. "I am glad for my own selfish 
 sake, and I am glad, too, for hers, although it is 
 against nature; for I know her blood, and know 
 that if she did love, it would be intensely." 
 
 "We are going to America, you and I, father!" 
 From the piano she looked over her shoulder at 
 him and mischievously said, "Comrades!" before 
 she sang: 
 
 " 'You and I, dear, buckling on our swords before the light, 
 With the songs we sing to aid the merry sunbeams' flight, 
 
 Never care, never care! 
 Panoplied in armour of the rosy, breaking day, 
 See us start to slash a path across the Milky Way, 
 Never care, never care!' " 
 IO4 
 
Casting Out Fractions 
 
 Who was this joining in the refrain of the new- 
 song whose words had flashed into her mind as 
 some expression of the release from bondage which 
 travel in a strange land meant to her at that mo- 
 ment? None other than the venerable "working 
 chemist and something of an inventor," who made 
 occasional journeys not only into the realms of ab- 
 stract science and practical finance, but into those 
 of Don Quixote. They caught themselves hum- 
 ming these never-care songs, some of them Lucy's 
 own, more of them chansons of France, between 
 the courses at dinner; and they sat up till late in 
 the free comradeship of old days. 
 
 The supremely happy father, when he went up- 
 stairs, was congratulating himself on his finesse in 
 telling Lucy that he had had a little piece of luck 
 which enabled him to spend money on her without 
 the risk that she would suspect his wealth. 
 
 When Lucy found herself in the stillness of her 
 room the ghosts which she had banished came 
 back. Were they always to be with her when she 
 was alone ? Her glance fell on the two notes on her 
 writing-table. One of the invitations which she had 
 declined was from Mrs. Bainbridge, in Kent. She 
 could go down on a late Saturday train and return 
 on an early Monday train. Over Sunday she could 
 do nothing in the way of preparation. She tore 
 up the refusal and sent an acceptance. 
 
 105 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 If you had only known, Lucy, that in your 
 father's safe-deposit vault at your call were enough 
 credits to balance all the Carniston debits and 
 more ! Be it a good or a bad lie which you told 
 him, your last thought, as you passed into fitful 
 slumber, was to your honour: 
 
 "I've made father very happy. I — I don't 
 count. I've played and lost." 
 
 106 
 
X 
 
 NO CIRCLES FOR THE SHORE 
 
 WHEN a girl is going on such a long journey 
 as you are, I fancy she would like some 
 frocks," said the doctor to Lucy at the breakfast- 
 table. 
 
 He had awakened even happier than when he 
 had fallen asleep, and he had grown happier as he 
 dressed and with the passage of each minute, as 
 his imagination ranged over the widening prospect 
 of his coming holiday. The harness was off and 
 there came over him a boyish desire to begin play- 
 ing in the new fields at once. If we digress here 
 a little, it is the doctor's fault primarily, Madame 
 Celestin's secondarily; and, moreover, the gowns 
 were to play their part in America, too. 
 
 "If my memory and sense of association serve 
 me right, the place for frocks is Paris. Then, 
 when one has had a little piece of luck, why not 
 spend some of it on frocks? The truth is, in view 
 of the expected arrangement with Belmore, I have 
 been quietly making my own preparations for a 
 
 107 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 week or more. Besides, my affairs are very sim- 
 ple. Really, I could be ready to go aboard to- 
 morrow. Now that I have made up my mind to 
 travel" — a deal of circumlocution is necessary, it 
 seems, doctor, in order to remain consistent when 
 one has had a little piece of luck! — "I find myself 
 restless to begin. We have ten days yet. We can 
 run over to Paris before we sail." 
 
 Was there ever any girl who could resist buying 
 frocks ? After all, is any sober matron sorry in her 
 heart that Eve took to the fig-leaf, that basis for 
 elaboration which, more than the apple these days, 
 is responsible for the downfall of man? You, 
 madam, who bear the stamp of sex-emancipation 
 on your forehead where your hair is brushed 
 straight back, have you never looked into a win- 
 dow where the draped models call and not wanted 
 to hear the rustle of the silk of this or that train 
 behind you? 
 
 With Lucy there was no hesitation. Still an- 
 other note was written to Mrs. Bainbridge, in 
 Kent, whose modest early autumn party meant 
 nothing in keeping ghosts out of one's mind be- 
 side the privilege of spending two thousand francs 
 — for that was the amount the doctor had allowed 
 — at Madame Celestin's. 
 
 There was also a Monsieur Celestin. You saw 
 him in the Bois in the afternoon in Madame's car- 
 
 108 
 
No Circles for the Shore 
 
 riage. Some rumours said that at other times he 
 was wrapped in cotton, with one hand free in order 
 that he might indulge his passion for chocolate 
 caramels, while other rumours said that he was 
 occupied in the basement curling his moustache. 
 
 Lucy went to Madame Celestin's, not command- 
 ingly, but with an open heart. Candidly in French 
 — and what a language French is ! — she told Ma- 
 dame of a little piece of luck which had befallen 
 her father, who was a poor scholar, and how she 
 was going on a journey where she might have to 
 wear nice gowns, and how she wanted Madame's 
 kind assistance. Nor was it so much what she said 
 as the way she said it that gained her object. 
 
 "You see," she explained, with a moue, " I am 
 not as tall as the Venus de Milo, who was dressed 
 only with the shadow of her hands — and now she 
 has lost the hands, poor thing! No, no! I am 
 not like the Venus at all." How quick Madame's 
 overhearing girls were to understand that! They 
 had seen the Venus in the Louvre. Theirs was 
 an experience which taught them that many women 
 thought they were Venuses, when the very fact 
 that they were not explained the existence of dress- 
 makers. 
 
 "I mustn't have a gown to make me look big," 
 Lucy continued, u for then I would look smaller 
 than ever. I want a gown for me, you see, and I 
 
 109 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 am bold enough to come to the foremost artiste 
 and ask her to make a gown for me." 
 
 The French are supposed to have no real heart 
 sympathy; to have only politeness. But a neigh- 
 bour who has no knowledge of a neighbour's lan- 
 guage is always misunderstanding that neighbour. 
 Say, if you will, that the French become en rapport 
 when they show unselfish enthusiasm. That, of 
 course, is not sympathy — not even when it is called 
 la sympathie. 
 
 The girls of Celestin's, then, were en rapport 
 with Lucy, and likewise Madame herself, with 
 reservations which were trained rather than in- 
 herent. Her little moustache of black and her air 
 of being a diplomatist before and a martinet behind 
 the scenes had come with age and with success 
 which she valued more and more. It was a short 
 time to fill an order, but they would undertake 
 it especially on Lucy's account. This from Ma- 
 dame Celestin and not the girls, who knew that 
 she would have said the same to anybody. Their 
 sympathies were all with Monsieur. 
 
 "Then behold what you have to build on," said 
 Lucy, with a downward sweep of her hands, u and 
 the sum is two thousand francs and the frocks a 
 simple morning and an afternoon and one evening 
 gown." 
 
 There was a movement of the big screen which 
 no 
 
No Circles for the Shore 
 
 hid the stairway into the basement, and from be- 
 hind it sprang none other than Monsieur Celestin 
 himself with the energy of a cavalry leader in 
 action, only instead of a sabre he had a pad and 
 a pencil; for both groups of gossip-mongers were 
 wrong, and we should say that the creative talent 
 of the house of Celestin was masculine if we were 
 sure that Monsieur would consider that a compli- 
 ment, and judging by the way he swore on occasion 
 he might. 
 
 Not knowing what else to do, Lucy made the 
 family apparition a bow, which he returned with 
 one as profound as if the President of the Republic 
 were making him a Chevalier of the Legion. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, you have a soul!" he cried, as 
 he moved about her, rapturously observing the fine 
 proportions of her slight figure. "You are a wom- 
 an — a woman, Mademoiselle" — this Monsieur 
 shouted as if in face of vigorous denials — "a 
 woman and not a model like those in the windows. 
 You cannot imagine, Mademoiselle, what a pleas- 
 ure it is to me to meet a woman ! When I do meet 
 one I come out from behind the screen. No more 
 than an artist would decorate a room till he has 
 seen it, no more should an artist create a gown till 
 he has seen the woman who is to wear it. The 
 more the woman appreciates this, the greater the 
 artist's inspiration, the greater the gown. The 
 
 m 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 wearer is the theme. This little girl knows this 
 herself," he observed with pedagogic insistence to 
 all present. "She knew out of her nature without 
 being told. Wonderful! I see — I see," he cried, 
 rising on tiptoe and tapping his head with a finger, 
 "I see three gowns for five thousand francs!" 
 
 "Two!" put in Lucy quickly. She was fright- 
 ened at the price, as it was ; and yet she could not 
 resist the temptation her father offered. 
 
 Monsieur did not know that Dr. von Kar 
 had taken Madame to one side and whispered 
 that other three — "entre nous" — into Madame's 
 ear. 
 
 "Two !" he said. What did it matter if he lost 
 a little! At all events, he would carry out his 
 artistic conceptions. If Monsieur had been in 
 charge of the management of the shop he would 
 have ruined it financially in six months. "When 
 the world sees that evening gown, Mademoiselle," 
 he proceeded, "they will not say, What lace! what 
 diamonds!' No, they will say, 'What a woman!' 
 They will say, 'What a gown!' afterwards. It is 
 because they say it afterwards — that is the compli- 
 ment to the gown. Thank you, Mademoiselle, for 
 honouring me. Madame's seamstresses shall ac- 
 complish the task and have all ready by Thursday 
 if they have to work their fingers off. Lace? I 
 will cut it and play with it as if it were tissue paper. 
 
 112 
 
No Circles for the Shore 
 
 Good morning, Mademoiselle. Thank you for 
 this honour." 
 
 One complaint of their customers was the 
 amount of trying on which Celestin's required, but 
 the results made them overlook this. In the large 
 fitting-room reserved for the highly favored Ma- 
 dame always presided with the eye of artistic 
 finality. The real eye, however, looked through 
 a hole in the wall behind the palm which stood 
 in the corner, and when the subject was asked to 
 turn around it was for Monsieur's not Madame's 
 benefit. The girls were amazed at the extraor- 
 dinary manifestation of Monsieur on Lucy's be- 
 half. They gasped and looked at Madame, the 
 martinet. What would she say to this exposure 
 of the shop secret? Madame was triumphant, 
 resplendent. 
 
 "Isn't he a king? Isn't he an artist? " she cried. 
 "MyArmand!" 
 
 Armand refused to drive in the park on ensuing 
 days. He swore with astonishingly vivid and 
 descriptive oaths at the mention of one Madame 
 Sheecawgo, from whom they had large orders. 
 His whole existence was centered in an artistic 
 enthusiasm because a little girl with a retrousse 
 nose and eyes too far apart — but what eyes! — 
 had confessed her faults and asked his help. 
 
 Voila! Thursday had come and Lucy had tried 
 
 113 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 on the gowns for the last time. Monsieur himself 
 had been present on each occasion. When the final 
 touch of change had been incorporated by the 
 needles, he made her walk up and down while he 
 gazed on his creation raptly. There was no break 
 in her enjoyment of the play — you see, not being 
 beautiful she had no affectation — until Monsieur 
 remarked that when her knight came and saw her 
 thus he would be won at a glance. Then the walls 
 of the shop seemed so close that the girls were 
 within a foot of her face and whirled about her. 
 
 "For my dowry," she said, recovering, "I will 
 refer him to Monsieur Celestin." 
 
 "If you had been in the time of the Revolution, 
 Mademoiselle," he said, "you would have needed 
 no dowry. You would have been a duchess, and 
 I, Mademoiselle, may it please you, would have 
 designed the Empress' coronation robes. Ma- 
 dame Beauharnais, of Martinique! Zut-t-t! 
 Why did all the world wear the hideous creation 
 of the Empire? Because it became Josephine, 
 who set the fashion!" 
 
 Lucy promised to write to him how her evening 
 gown was received at its "first night" in America. 
 She was pleased to make him happy; she was 
 pleased that she had won the friendship of the 
 girls in Celestin's. It is good to do that when you 
 have ghosts. True, simpering casuist, you may 
 
 114 
 
No Circles for the Shore 
 
 say that she had a selfish interest; but those who 
 are bad in heart do not, as a rule, choose such a 
 method of keeping ghosts away. 
 
 It was after one, now, and since eleven the girls 
 had been wondering, with sighs of dread of a thing 
 which grows worse the longer it is delayed, why 
 Madame Sheecawgo — for so they pronounced the 
 name — had not come at the hour set. There were 
 her gowns hung on the holders awaiting her; and 
 when she did come, they knew that in the name of 
 the god Mammon they must be polite and hold 
 their tongues. 
 
 "It is all in the way of custom," said the smart- 
 est of the girls, Marianne. "If the hippopotamus 
 came with a pocketful of money we would clothe 
 her. Heinf the hippopotamus is bigger than even 
 Madame Sheecawgo and could carry more lace, 
 not to mention the breadth of satin skirt required I" 
 
 Not that the girls altogether disliked Americans. 
 Mrs. Belmore, for example, was most charming 
 and considerate — so considerate, Marianne said, 
 that you had to keep reminding yourself of her 
 beauty — and Miss Hodges. Ah, Miss Hodges! 
 To think that she was truly the daughter of Ma- 
 dame Sheecawgo ! Miss Hodges, so beautiful and 
 quiet, was like the Venus in the Louvre, oh, quite. 
 Mrs. Hodges really was from Kearn's Ford and 
 Washington. The girls had heard that all for- 
 
 115 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 tunes in Chicago were made out of lard. As they 
 were sure that Mrs. Hodges' was made in that way 
 they had named her Madame Sheecawgo. 
 
 "Madame Sheecawgo lives in a continual Mardi 
 Gras. She throws dollars instead of confetti. But 
 dollars will not buy her a figure. You could make 
 that only with a carving-knife. In her heart she 
 hates that Madame Belmore.' , Thus Marianne's 
 intuition had discovered a thing which Mrs. Bel- 
 more herself had never suspected. 
 
 The luncheon hour was long past and still Ma- 
 dame Sheecawgo had not come. The girls were 
 ravenously hungry. Madame was upstairs at 
 luncheon with Monsieur. 
 
 "Probably she rose late," Lucy observed, "and 
 is at luncheon herself. I would go, too, if I were 
 you." So they hurried out, leaving only Cecile, 
 a new girl, on watch. 
 
 Lucy herself was waiting for her father, who, 
 at eleven, had promised to be back in half an hour. 
 But the doctor had become more oblivious to the 
 passage of time than if he were working out a 
 problem. One usually is when buying a birthday 
 present. His puzzle was not how much he could 
 afford to spend, but how much he dared to spend. 
 That pearl necklace which he had seen in the first 
 shop kept calling him as he went from shop to 
 shop. To spend the great sum it would cost for 
 
 1*6 
 
No Circles for the Shore 
 
 his Lucy; to see the gleaming string about her 
 white neck when she never imagined its value ! 
 
 "Only an expert can tell the imitations from the 
 real?" he asked again and again. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur; try for yourself." 
 
 He tried and he could not. Yet his eyes were 
 old and Lucy's young and sharp. Thus it was 
 temptation battling with fear that kept him loiter- 
 ing on the Rue de la Paix in a state of nervous 
 indecision. 
 
 Two o'clock came and still he had not returned. 
 It was then that a coupe drew up before Madame 
 Celestin's, and sidling out of it was the embonpoint 
 of a lady who was unmistakably Madame Shee- 
 cawgo. She came into the modiste's with the air of 
 one who expected her gentility to be disputed on 
 the threshold and stood ready to defend it at any 
 cost. 
 
 "Everything has gone wrong this morning. My 
 maid did not wake me. When I did get up I drank 
 too much coffee. I suppose these gowns will make 
 me look a fright. Where is Madame?" 
 
 "Upstairs," stammered the newest and youngest 
 girl. "I will call her." 
 
 "No. I like that Marianne better. She is 
 smart. Where is she?" 
 
 "At lunch." 
 
 "All at lunch ! The shop deserted ! Didn't you 
 117 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 know that I was coming? Didn't I have an ap- 
 pointment?" (At home Mrs. Hodges explained 
 her liking for Europe on the ground that one's 
 inferiors treated one with much more respect 
 there.) 
 
 "I am very sorry. I — " was the stammering 
 response. 
 
 Lucy pitied the newest and youngest girl. She 
 saw an opportunity for play which she could not 
 resist. Besides, she wanted relief from the ghosts 
 which were already making harvest of her father's 
 dilatoriness. 
 
 "Excellence, pardon me," said she, rising. 
 Mrs. Hodges' face softened at the title, just as 
 it always did when she received a bill in the Ger- 
 man countries beginning "High-well-born lady." 
 a May it please you, Excellence, I belong in the 
 back shop. Usually I do not assist at trying on. 
 Allow me to help you till Madame herself comes." 
 
 Now she began playing her part — how beauti- 
 fully it kept the ghosts away! — with the same 
 eagerness and acuteness of execution and shrewd- 
 ness of observation which she had shown in her 
 interview with the old earl. Were she ever re- 
 duced to poverty she had always said that she 
 would turn modiste or milliner rather than give 
 lessons in music. 
 
 Madame came in and Lucy winked at her. 
 Mrs. Hodges added a compliment, for she was 
 
 118 
 
No Circles for the Shore 
 
 delighted with Lucy, who had praised her com- 
 plexion and hair. Madame never interfered with 
 the happiness or the self-deceit of a customer. 
 The girls came in and Lucy also winked to them. 
 You may be sure that they were not going to spoil 
 the fun. Monsieur Celestin at his peep-hole was 
 seeing Mrs. Hodges, but not enough of Lucy. 
 When in a whisper Lucy sent for him he came. 
 As he bent to arrange the train Monsieur looked 
 up at the breadth and thickness with the same sigh 
 which painters had drawn when Mrs. Hodges 
 posed for them. 
 
 "Excellence," Lucy translated for Monsieur, 
 "Monsieur Celestin suggests that it is quite im- 
 possible to make artistic use of such a large piece 
 of lace on this gown without cutting it." 
 
 "But I must have it so. Why, I have never 
 worn it — once! I paid ten thousand francs for 
 it. It must not be cut. I got it for one of Geral- 
 dine's heirlooms." With a financier's impatience 
 of deficits, Mrs. Hodges had determined that 
 her daughter should lack nothing which a family 
 requires. 
 
 Monsieur excused himself and went downstairs, 
 where he swore villainously for five minutes. 
 Later he came up to watch Lucy. The last gown 
 was being tried on when Mr. and Mrs. Belmore 
 and Miss Hodges and John Frane appeared. 
 Mrs. Hodges walked out into the reception-room 
 
 119 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 to show them the creation with which she was 
 going to "flabbergast" Washington that winter. 
 Lucy, half kneeling, glanced up to see a tall and 
 distinguished-looking girl who called Madame 
 Sheecawgo "mother," a couple in the middle thir- 
 ties whom she liked at once, and behind them a 
 face much too lined for its years, but lighted up 
 with fighting, boyish blue eyes. 
 
 "It makes you look grand, Excellence" said 
 Lucy, finally. 
 
 That wicked Marianne started the smile which 
 ran around among the girls, who instantly saw the 
 French application of the word. Madame would 
 have discharged Marianne long ago if Monsieur 
 would have permitted it. 
 
 "Grand as the hippopotamus," said Marianne 
 in an aside. 
 
 But the newcomers understood French, if Mrs. 
 Hodges did not. Miss Hodges was crimson. 
 This time the girls sniggered aloud. Mrs. Hodges 
 herself began to comprehend that she was an ob- 
 ject of ridicule. Madame Celestin's scowl of rage 
 toward Marianne, if nothing else, would have told 
 her so. Lucy realised the situation ; her quick con- 
 science told her that she was partly responsible for 
 wounding another's feelings. She held up a finger 
 with a drop of blood on the end. 
 
 "Marianne asks me if I am trying to sew my 
 120 
 
No Circles for the Shore 
 
 finger onto the gown," she said to Mrs. Hodges. 
 "It does not take much to make a joke in France," 
 she continued in English, and that was meant as a 
 cut for Marianne's impertinence. "You see, it is 
 not like America." 
 
 Mrs. Hodges burst out laughing and Miss 
 Hodges bit her lip. Only John Frane had ob- 
 served that Lucy's prick was self-inflicted. 
 
 "Do you know," said Mrs. Hodges to Lucy, 
 "I'm very much taken with you, little one. You 
 speak English so prettily. It's wonderful how 
 few French people do. How would you like to 
 come and live with me in America as a sort of — 
 of superior maid?" 
 
 "Excellence, you are too kind," said Lucy. "I 
 — I would have to ask my father." 
 
 The girls scattered with their handkerchiefs to 
 their mouths and the awkward pause was broken 
 by the entry of Dr. von Kar, who was carrying a 
 jeweller's box, which he thrust into his pocket at 
 sight of Belmore. 
 
 "My daughter," said the doctor, presenting 
 Lucy. 
 
 "Good Lord!" said Mrs. Hodges, who had oc- 
 casional lapses back to her normal, her good self 
 when taken by surprise. It was a round, flat 
 "Good Lord." "Ain't that a strange thing for a 
 lady to do!" 
 
 121 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "Maude Adams or Ethel Barrymore could not 
 have done it better," said John Frane, all aglow 
 with admiration. 
 
 u Oh!" said Lucy; and she thought, "of course 
 — actresses." Then she asked Mrs. Hodges' 
 pardon for the trick she had played. But Mrs. 
 Hodges was never to forget Excellence. She saw 
 in that a satire which its author never intended. 
 As Lucy and her father excused themselves she 
 overheard Mrs. Belmore — who thought that the 
 information would delight Mrs. Hodges — say to 
 that lady before she returned to the dressing-room : 
 
 "Lin has just had a note from the young Earl 
 of Carniston saying that he is taking a trip after 
 the shock of his father's death and he is going to 
 New York on the Oceanic with us" — and Mrs. 
 Hodges began at once to think of herself as the 
 mother of a countess. 
 
 Lucy wondered if she revealed her emotion to 
 her father on hearing this news. She thought of 
 finding an excuse for transferring their passage to 
 another steamer. But if she was so afraid of being 
 near Carniston, what hope had she of ever killing 
 those ghosts altogether? She was weak, but not 
 quite so weak as that. If you are on thin ice, some- 
 times it is better to skate swiftly and straight 
 ahead, and sometimes it is not. Lucy had declared 
 against any circles for the shore. 
 
 122 
 
XI 
 
 ON A NEW FOOTING 
 
 WITH nothing to do before the departure 
 of the train to Calais, with the whole 
 afternoon of a fine day before them, the doctor, 
 his face like the September sunlight itself, waited 
 on a propitious moment at the luncheon-table for 
 the disclosure of his purchase to Lucy. 
 
 "They're imitation, dear, I confess," he said, 
 u but it pleased me to buy them for you as a birth- 
 day gift in that very Rue de la Paix where I once 
 fought behind barricades and in this very Paris 
 where you were born ; and it will complete my hap- 
 piness if when you wear your wonderful gown you 
 will wear these also." 
 
 Lucy blushed with pleasure, and she blushed, 
 too, because his suggestion went against her nature. 
 
 "I almost fear they will burn little holes in my 
 neck," she said at length. "They wouldn't if I 
 had their duplicates in a safe-deposit box. A real 
 duchess, I believe, need never take the originals 
 out, but a countess must occasionally if she would 
 
 123 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 keep the faith. What a remarkable thing the hu- 
 man conscience is." 
 
 "No one but ourselves will know that they are 
 not real, and your charm, dear, will make them 
 real to me/' he persisted; "and my pleasure at see- 
 ing you wear them, I hope, will make them real to 
 you. Please — you see this is my Paris; I have 
 a touch of my old Parisian madness as I call it — 
 please humour me I" 
 
 "What a courtier you must have been in your 
 time!" she exclaimed, and knew instantly she had 
 spoken that she had struck a false note by that 
 contraction of the muscles of his face which was 
 the signal of a tide of recollection of the days when 
 he had been a gallant indeed, and a devil as well, in 
 this same Paris. ' 
 
 She smiled brightly to dissipate his cloud and, 
 surrendering herself to the deception, clasped the 
 pearls around her neck that he might see the effect. 
 
 We have already said that the doctor was happy 
 and that he beamed; and in lieu of other adjec- 
 tives as fitting we will only add that he beamed 
 more than ever and was happier than ever, while 
 he digressed from his rule of silence into reminis- 
 cences of the days when he dined on a crust and 
 was heroic. Not that he told anything of his life- 
 story where it concerned Lucy, for his narrative 
 was impersonal. 
 
 124 
 
On a New Footing 
 
 "There is no like an old !" No, we 
 
 will hardly say that of the doctor yet, when he has 
 been out of school such a short time in the delight- 
 ful havoc of having Lucy and her talents all to 
 himself. He had his bad moments, but I fear we 
 may not credit them to conscience, for they were 
 entirely concerned with the business of making a 
 falsehood of a size and nature which would be 
 credible. 
 
 When he and Lucy went aboard the Oceanic at 
 Liverpool and the steward, with that due appre- 
 ciation of the power of wealth never wanting on 
 Atlantic liners, showed them to what the company's 
 folders called a "palatial suite," Lucy's surprise 
 was so manifest that the doctor felt he must tell 
 the biggest one yet. 
 
 "You see, my dear," he explained, "it is quite 
 surprising the number of friends one makes; and 
 when one announces that he is going on a vacation 
 they come forward in their real, thoroughbred 
 English way, which never mistakes politeness for 
 favours, and do something tangible for him, as 
 the manager of this line has done. Sir Henry 
 Eversham insisted that I should accept these 
 rooms. Could I do otherwise?" 
 
 "I certainly shouldn't want you to be rude to 
 your friends," said Lucy, who was not altogether 
 indifferent to personal comfort. As her glance 
 
 125 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 swept her own room, with its luxurious appoint- 
 ments, she added, "I'll write a letter to Sir Henry 
 myself telling him how lovely it all is." 
 
 That franc-tireur — who had saved his life by 
 the promptness and ease of his German in express- 
 ing his delight at escaping in disguise from the 
 French — was too old a hand ever to lose counte- 
 nance. He foresaw that he should have to take 
 charge of posting Lucy's letters when they 
 landed. 
 
 "That will be very charming of you," he said. 
 "Now let us go on deck to see the late ones come 
 aboard." 
 
 Among the last was Carniston, who was with 
 the Belmores. Travelling direct from Burbridge 
 and not by the regular train, he had met them on 
 the pier among the litter of baggage only five min- 
 utes before, and he had heard nothing of Lucy's 
 crossing by the same steamer. 
 
 Whenever his passion had come surging back 
 he had sternly told himself that this chapter of his 
 life was finished. It would be as unwise to wish 
 ever to see her again as to wish a wound reopened. 
 Her cold attitude at their parting, though at the 
 time seeming cruel, had latterly been a source of 
 gratification to him. If he had killed her love, 
 as he thought, he was relieved of remorse, and his 
 alone was the pain. It was burning the bridges, 
 
 126 
 
On a New Footing 
 
 too, between him and his duty. He felt that he 
 could not go back to her now, for she would not 
 have him. From that of a light-hearted youth his 
 mind had been transformed into that of a middle- 
 aged man who was subjecting his personality to 
 the one idea of the rescue of his estate. 
 
 Yet, outwardly, as he walked to the gangway 
 behind the others chatting to Geraldine Hodges, 
 he was the same Carniston that his friends had 
 always known, if you except the subdued manner 
 and somewhat drawn face which were inevitable 
 considering the ordeal of bereavement through 
 which he had just passed. John Frane's quick eye 
 ranging the deck saw Lucy, and he called Mrs. Bel- 
 more's attention to her as he lifted his hat. Mrs. 
 Hodges was altogether engrossed in her footing 
 on the gangway cleats, and her arduous progress 
 delayed the advance of the others. When Carnis- 
 ton looked up and saw pressed against one of the 
 uprights, smiling in the flesh, that face which 
 had haunted him for weeks, he was wholly dum- 
 founded. 
 
 Her greeting was that of the good fellowship of 
 man and girl who have been chums. She waved 
 her muff and called out a vibrant "How do you 
 do!" while he saw her pointing him out to her 
 father. He thought that she was poking fun at 
 him for being with Miss Hodges; he could hear 
 
 127 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 and see her as she would mock his suit for Geral- 
 dine's wealth. 
 
 It was plainly his duty to go to the upper deck 
 at once and greet Dr. von Kar, whom he was con- 
 scious of having neglected even before his father's 
 death. But he went to his cabin, where he tried to 
 adjust his mind to this new situation of being on the 
 sea for seven days with Lucy. Why had she chosen 
 the Oceanic when she might as well have gone by 
 some other steamer? But questions were futile. 
 She was aboard! He must put his resolutions to 
 the test of temptation. He could not hide in his 
 cabin throughout the voyage. 
 
 In the meantime, Lucy had left .her father's side 
 in the hope of speaking to Carniston before the 
 doctor should see him. The two met on deck with 
 no one they knew in sight. While he was undecided 
 and embarrassed as to what to say or do, she held 
 out her hand blithely and he took it solemnly and 
 awkwardly. 
 
 "Of course," she said, with a smile that tem- 
 pered the impulse of her remark, "there was no 
 reason why I shouldn't go to America after a rich 
 husband at the same time that you went after a 
 rich wife. Shall we promenade for a moment?" 
 
 The very quality of the unexpected in her char- 
 acter renewed in that instant all its attraction for 
 him. He who had sworn a score of times that he 
 
 128 
 
On a New Footing 
 
 never wanted to see her again, experienced his old 
 pleasure in being near her, in hearing her voice, in 
 watching the vivacity of her expression. He short- 
 ened his step and she lengthened hers, as they 
 had so often done in intimate strolls. 
 
 "Arthur — I am never going to call you Carnis- 
 ton," she began. Arthur — that name which he had 
 not heard since she used it last. It marked the 
 point where joy ended and misery began. 
 
 "Yes, do call me Arthur, Lucy," he could not 
 help saying. "I — I like to hear a little music 
 occasionally." 
 
 "Then, later on I will sing you a never-care song 
 to pay for the favour I am about to ask. You 
 know that father knows nothing of our — of what 
 has passed between us. I want him never to know. 
 You have a duty to Burbridge; I have a duty to 
 him. He had observed that of late you had been 
 coming to the house often and that you were always 
 seeing me instead of him, as in the old days. I 
 told him that you saw me because you happened 
 to call when he was not at home and because 
 you said that we had the best tea in London. 
 Now, won't you make a point for me, please, of 
 being just the same to him, one of his proteges in 
 science, as you have always been, and not let — and 
 not let our little flirtation, Arthur " 
 
 "Don't say flirtation!" he exclaimed, almost 
 129 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 angrily. "It wasn't that. It's shameful to call 
 it that!" 
 
 "Our romantic betrothal, then, which was forced 
 into liquidation for want of capital to float the 
 undertaking." 
 
 "Yes, yes. I'll not interrupt again," he remon- 
 strated. "You have too many arrows in your 
 quiver." 
 
 "Please not let that in any way change your rela- 
 tions with him. Please tell him that I was sure he 
 was not at home the other day when you called to 
 say good-bye. Your neglect hurt him a little. He 
 is very fond of you. And ask him if he has any 
 more of that special brand of tea aboard. He has, 
 but ask him just the same. It will please him. If 
 you will be nice about this, Arthur, I'll do any- 
 thing I can to help you with Miss Hodges. It is 
 to be Miss Hodges, isn't it? I hear she is im- 
 mensely rich." 
 
 "Lucy, you are — you aren't kind," he com- 
 plained. 
 
 "Kind? Why not? You have an ambition and 
 I want to help you. Isn't that kind? We will 
 have tea every afternoon in our cabin, and you 
 must bring Miss Hodges when it is not rough." 
 
 "I — I think I would better not," he said, in the 
 sternness of self-command. 
 
 "But she doesn't know. I am just an acquaint- 
 130 
 
On a New Footing 
 
 ance — an acquaintance who serves good tea. Of 
 course if you wish to refuse, Arthur, I beg your 
 pardon. I — " She spoke as if he had injured 
 her feelings. 
 
 "I shan't miss a day," he said, "and I'll bring 
 Miss Hodges by order. Now I'll find your father, 
 and try to say exactly what you have told me to 
 say." ' 
 
 Why did she come on the Oceanic when she 
 knew that it was my steamer? he asked himself 
 again. Why did I talk to him in that way and 
 not confine myself to what I had started to say? 
 she asked herself. It was a relief to him to leave 
 her, to be away from the glance of her eyes and 
 from the rhythm of her step with his. 
 
 I3i 
 
XII 
 
 IT BECOMES A TALE OF FOUR 
 
 SNUG in her rugs in mid-Atlantic Lucy von 
 Kar laid down the book which she had been 
 reading and let her fancy play with the shots of 
 spray and the swirls of foam when the waves broke. 
 The Oceanic, stretching her bulk the breadth of its 
 trough, little minded the heavy sea that was run- 
 ning. A floating hotel she was, doing her eight- 
 een knots steadily, laying her own track as she 
 went, following it as straight as a limited train 
 the rails, and equally sure of arriving at her des- 
 tination on time with the pilgrims who had been to 
 the old land and were returning to the new land. 
 As she looked down the long line of chairs at 
 the varying faces she felt that she was already in 
 America. College students who had had a taste 
 of Europe before settling down to work, sight-seers 
 who had at last enjoyed the tour of their fireside 
 imaginings, transatlantic drummers, country school 
 teachers whose savings for years had bought a 
 membership in a Cook party, the millionaire and 
 his clerk — all had the manner, the countenance, 
 
 132 
 
It Becomes a Tale of Four 
 
 the speech which the world calls American. Even 
 the man with an income, living partly abroad and 
 partly at home, hybridised and uncertain of him- 
 self, still bore the marks which the conditions and 
 the climate of a new land set upon the immigrant's 
 children. 
 
 None of the passengers to Lucy's mind was 
 more distinctly un-European than John Frane, who 
 was at that moment pacing the deck with the vig- 
 our of one in a race for time. She was always 
 expecting that the next time he approached her he 
 might address her by her first name, and was won- 
 dering if she should resent it or if she could, con- 
 sidering his manner. 
 
 "Splendid, isn't it!" he cried, stopping before 
 her with a nod of his head out to sea, which made 
 the lady next to Lucy close her eyes in a sensation 
 of disgust deeper than the region of her heart. 
 
 "Yes, I like the feel of it in my nostrils, don't 
 you ?" she said. "I am always thinking that no one 
 ever breathed that breathful before." 
 
 "There you have the English of it ! You always 
 want to be in your own hansom on your own 
 island, or on your own steamer in your own sea." 
 
 "Isn't that better than being in somebody's else? 
 In America, I believe, your hansoms are provided 
 with travelling companions. I was surprised to find 
 first and second class on this steamer." 
 
 133 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ''Because some people have money to afford 
 better passages than others," John remarked. 
 
 "That destroys any idea of caste, of course/' 
 she said. 
 
 "At all events" — and this was like the man — 
 "I wish all the tired people in America could 
 have a taste of this salt air; and you'll get more 
 of it yourself if you feel like walking." 
 
 He unwound the mummy of her rugs, as she put 
 it, and as soon as she was galvanised into life again 
 she tried to keep step with his strides as they 
 ranged the deck. 
 
 "This is America already; what do you think 
 of it?" he asked, as he nodded toward the people 
 on the deck. 
 
 "They seem dry and sharp-looking," she said, 
 "very different from the ruddy Germans and Eng- 
 lish from whom they are descended. They are 
 like pen-and-ink sketches. The women seem superb 
 and leisurely. The men are over-earnest drudges 
 who, panther-like, concentrate all of their facul- 
 ties on their work. I like their candour. Five or 
 six have already told me how they made their 
 fortunes." 
 
 "Yes, when they have made their money they put 
 in their vacations telling how they made it. One 
 listens to another's story in the smoking-room in 
 order that he may have somebody to listen to his. 
 
 134 
 
It Becomes a Tale of Four 
 
 Each dresses up his women and worships them. It 
 is this type which has made our country what it 
 is, in one sense, and in another sense has squeezed 
 it as if it were a lemon. Every one has been so 
 preoccupied with his own fortune that he hasn't 
 had time to see what was going on around him or 
 to take an interest in the affairs of the whole coun- 
 try. But they are mine — my people — and I love 
 them because I know them." 
 
 "I only hope that all Americans are as nice as 
 the Belmores," said Lucy softly. 
 
 u Lin is my best and oldest friend," said John. 
 "As for Fanny, you seem to find her what we at 
 home all find her." 
 
 "Simple, unaffected and genuine," Lucy re- 
 sponded. 
 
 "To be genuine — that is the cardinal point," 
 Frane plunged on, in the superabundance of his 
 energy, which found insufficient outlets aboard ship. 
 "Is that fitting genuine brass? Is the man genuine, 
 be he stoker or captain ? Is the pearl necklace on 
 my lady's neck genuine?" 
 
 "It would be pardonable," said Lucy, "don't 
 you think, if she had a real string in the safe-de- 
 posit vault ? I do think we are sailing on a genuine 
 sea, judging from yesterday's storm, and I am sure 
 that most of the sea-sickness I have seen is genuine." 
 
 "You are certainly excellent company," said 
 135 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Frane. "You can take the opposite side for the 
 sake of argument, and that is the life of talk. 
 People may say that you are inconsistent. They 
 say that I am because I agree with both the Metho- 
 dist presiding elder and the Catholic priest that are 
 aboard, but I am not. I agree with them only so 
 far and get a grip of them with that little. They 
 are both doing good work and they are both gen- 
 uine. I go mining for the good that is in them. 
 If you don't do that sort of thing you are a pes- 
 simist who sits twiddling his thumbs and intoning 
 calamity. The whole art is in keeping the good 
 that is in men busy and the bad idle." 
 
 Frane and Belmore had been at school and col- 
 lege together. In manhood, as in boyhood, they 
 had taken each other for granted. At football 
 Lindley played steadily and evenly and John 
 played brilliantly. If Lindley made a fumble it 
 was never forgotten; if John made a fumble 
 everybody forgave and sympathised with him. 
 When Belmore made a star play people said, 
 "Good for Belmore!" in a matter-of-fact way. 
 When Frane made a star play it was the wonder 
 of the world because it was Frane's. 
 
 It was in the fifth year, while they were in the 
 law school, that a combat of famous memory oc- 
 curred between these friends. Although not yet a 
 
 136 
 
It Becomes a Tale of Four 
 
 custom in their club, Lindley, as a rule, dressed for 
 dinner, not from affectation, but because he was 
 Lindley and that was his way. One night when 
 he had been meeting a tirade from his friend 
 with cool and characteristic satire, John said, 
 explosively : 
 
 "Lin, that shirt front of yours is too immacu- 
 late. It is a whited sepulchre of respectability. 
 I have about come to the conclusion that a man 
 who dresses for dinner every night among a lot 
 of students is a snob, and I am going to throw 
 this bowl of salad at you. ,, 
 
 The tomatoes landed on the shirt front with 
 unerring impact. 
 
 "And by way of refutation, John, I am going to 
 thrash you," said Lindley, rising as coolly as if to a 
 point of order. 
 
 "You'll have to catch me first — you're covered 
 with tomatoes, untidy thing," said John, bolting. 
 
 But he waited for Lindley outside in the yard 
 and they set to, while the others who had left the 
 table gave them room. Frane was as brilliant and 
 ferocious in his attacks, Belmore as steady, as usual. 
 Although his tactics were against him in a long 
 struggle, every spectator thought that John would 
 win because they believed in him. For the same 
 human reason the people had learned later to be- 
 lieve in him and vote for him and forgive his faults. 
 
 137 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 The bout was stopped by the passing of a pro- 
 fessor, who remarked that an exhibition of such 
 bad blood between young men of their years was 
 most immoral, and such a scrimmage — here he was 
 very emphatic — in plain view of the village people 
 was most unbecoming. 
 
 "Oh, we adore each other," said John, laughing, 
 as he rose. 
 
 "Yes, I assure you, sir, it is only a difference 
 between friends," added Belmore, whose torn 
 clothes were slippery with oil, tomatoes and 
 vinegar. 
 
 "I mean I adore him," John corrected. "Plato 
 is never quite that vulgar. At all events, Lin, I 
 don't think you are really a snob, though it was a 
 little mean of you to pig all the salad just because 
 I offered it to you. Besides, to finish your dinner 
 in negligee will be a lesson to you." 
 
 When John returned from his studies in Europe, 
 Lindley, despite all the pressure of responsibility 
 which had fallen to him with his father's death, 
 travelled five hundred miles in order to meet his 
 friend at the pier. John, when he took up his 
 life-work, had known precisely what he wanted 
 to do, and Lindley had known precisely what 
 he must do. The energy of the one was to be 
 devoted to his country and that of the other to 
 the conservation of one of those great fortunes 
 
 138 
 
It Becomes a Tale of Four 
 
 which, according to John's dogma, represented 
 one of the foremost national dangers. Each was 
 submerging self in an idea, and possibly this was 
 the basis of sympathy that kept their friendship 
 warm. 
 
 John had set up a law office in Kearn's Ford, 
 where he began practising politics at once with 
 the same intensity of effort as a young Irish 
 boy in New York. He was now in his third 
 term as a member of the House of Representa- 
 tives. 
 
 To Lucy, with her European ideas, he was a 
 puzzle. She had met workers in the slums, leaders 
 of all kinds of movements for uplifting the body 
 politic, and that young English public man who 
 figures in English novels as a hero and whose ad- 
 miring friends point him out as a future prime 
 minister, but whose career is ruined by an inciden- 
 tal love story and too much ennui. He was cer- 
 tainly not of any of these types. She found his 
 talk on every conceivable subject — and he seemed 
 to have ideas on all — of service in keeping the 
 ghosts away. His activity was so incessant that 
 it seemed almost as if he must have ghosts of his 
 own. 
 
 In the few turns on deck which they had had 
 together Carniston had listened intently to Frane ; 
 but, generally speaking, he had avoided Frane and 
 
 139 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Frane had found him unproductive. It was mar- 
 vellous and disconcerting to Carniston, this exam- 
 ple of a young man engaged heart and soul in a 
 fight that he loved without the call of the dead to 
 hold him down to a sense of duty which society 
 had established for him. The truth was, he en- 
 vied the American that freedom which had the 
 smart and the joy of salt spray. 
 
 "You knew the earl man" — this was Frane's 
 title for Carniston — "before he came aboard ?" he 
 asked Lucy. 
 
 Lucy nodded. 
 
 "He said that he was not coming to America 
 to shoot," Frane continued, "so I suppose that he 
 has come hunting — it is always one or the other 
 when they travel in America — hunting a rich wife, 
 I mean. If you go to Washington you will meet 
 the wife-hunters 1 brigade in action. It is really a 
 kind of trade union, I believe, with unwritten rules 
 about poaching on one another's preserves. They 
 will not welcome such a handsome young English 
 lord. He will rob some Continental count of the 
 big game he has carefully stalked." 
 
 "Miss Hodges is very rich, isn't she?" Lucy 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes. She and her mother have about five 
 millions, I think. It is bound up with the Belmore 
 
 140 
 
It Becomes a Tale of Four 
 
 fortune." Frane did not miss the lack of connec- 
 tion between Lucy's query and the preceding 
 remark. 
 
 "Possibly," Lucy proceeded, "the earl will go 
 outside the market you mention. He is quite atten- 
 tive to Miss Hodges." 
 
 "What! Geraldine? Nonsense. Geraldine is 
 only twenty-two. Why," and he looked back 
 over his shoulder to where the earl was stand- 
 ing by Geraldine's chair — for the day was so fair 
 that even Mrs. Hodges had made such progress 
 that she was saying yes she would and no she 
 wouldn't get up, to the distraction of her maid, 
 who was kept going up and down stairs to report 
 on the state of the weather — "why, I have watched 
 Geraldine grow to womanhood. She and I have 
 been pals since she was about -three. We call each 
 other chums. I remember when I made a run 
 around the ends and got right across the line with 
 the ball — the last time I ever played — how I 
 lifted her up on my shoulder after the game and 
 everybody cheered like mad. She is just develop- 
 ing arid looking out on the world and enjoying her 
 privileges as a grown-up girl. She won't think of 
 marrying for three or four years yet." 
 
 But the idea that Lucy had put into his mind 
 seemed to dry up Frane's well of conversation, and 
 directly he excused himself. When Carniston left 
 
 141 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Geraldine's side it was John who sat down beside 
 her. 
 
 "Have you been delivering many speeches to the 
 little German girl, chums?" she asked lightly. 
 
 "You think I'm a sort of gramophone, don't 
 you, Geraldine? Honestly, I'm not always speech- 
 making." It was unusual for him to speak to her 
 in this way, half petulantly, half pleadingly. 
 
 "I think you are good old John Frane and the 
 best fellow in the world," she said. 
 
 It was not quite the answer he expected or 
 wanted. Good old John Frane! He had heard 
 college friends shout that as they rushed across the 
 street to grasp his hand. Good old John Frane! 
 Something put the stress on the second adjective 
 for the first time. He knew that his hair was al- 
 ready streaked with gray. When he went to his 
 cabin he looked at his face in the mirror, and, yes, 
 he had to admit that he was getting — old. 
 
 "I believe you are gloomy," Geraldine went on. 
 "I believe you haven't found anybody to disagree 
 with you to-day." 
 
 But this was rallying him in a way that he did 
 not like from her at that moment, while she told 
 herself again how fond she was of him. 
 
 Ever clear in her mind were the events of that 
 day when, a girl of ten, she had rowed out alone 
 on one of the northern lakes and her boat had been 
 
 142 
 
It Becomes a Tale of Four 
 
 capsized in a blow. Coolly she had trod water 
 while John swam to her. Infected by his assur- 
 ance that it was "all right," she had held fast 
 to the oar on which she rested her chin, while he 
 towed her to the shore. He had forgotten his part 
 in the rescue. He remembered only how she had 
 said when he reached her, "Please don't scold, 
 chums !" 
 
 143 
 
XIII 
 
 IF THE PEARLS WERE REAL 
 
 OH, those never-care songs! So little in the 
 words and music and so much in the way- 
 Lucy sang them — her voice a mezzo whose limita- 
 tions she understood well enough never to give 
 offence to the trained ear — did their charm lie that 
 it defeats an author's object to reduce them to ink 
 and paper. Some had the joyousness of sunlight 
 finding its way through the clouds and others the 
 sadness of the drum of rain on a roof, and all tem- 
 pered with the philosophy of that refrain which 
 she shaded with a hundred meanings. 
 
 On the afternoon of the fourth day out the 
 group whose fortunes concern us as far as they 
 concern Lucy and John Frane and, yes, Geraldine 
 and the earl, too, had tea with the von Kars. A 
 piano had been placed in the suite through the 
 kindness of the ever-useful Sir Henry Eversham, 
 and when John asked if it was real or for orna- 
 ment the answer was a never-care refrain. With 
 each song Frane grew more enthusiastic till, his 
 mood changing with hers, she turned from the 
 
 144 
 
If the Pearls Were Real 
 
 merry to the quizzical and, finally, to the melan- 
 choly, all unconscious, seemingly, of her audience. 
 
 "Those little rhymes touch life at many points," 
 he said. 
 
 "Do you think so? The French ones do. My 
 own? They're for myself, mostly. The words 
 come to me suddenly and I never change them. 
 Oh, Arthur," she turned to Carniston, "I've a new 
 one which I don't think you have heard." Arthur ! 
 Carniston started and visibly reddened. She had 
 never addressed him as Arthur before the Bel- 
 mores and their friends. "In fact, I know you've 
 never heard it, for it only flashed through my mind 
 this afternoon." She sang: 
 
 "For the love which kings in courting lost, 
 For the treasure rich which paid the cost, 
 
 Never care, never care. 
 She who weeps and weeping shows her tears, 
 Better laugh and call the stars her dears — 
 
 Never care, never care!" 
 
 Such was the nature of the songs that had pre- 
 ceded it that to none of the others did the allusion 
 appear. To Carniston, who suffered through her 
 charm, which he had found specially manifest that 
 afternoon, its symbolism was clear. She turned to 
 him as if seeking his particular opinion. He bit 
 his lip and said : 
 
 145 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "Very clever." 
 
 "Why the pensive never-cares, Lucie ?" the 
 doctor asked. "I can see you are making Carnis- 
 ton a little glum, and the rest of us, too, I think." 
 
 Lucy realised how dangerously near disclosure 
 of her secret the temptation of watching Arthur's 
 expression had carried her. Fearful lest her 
 father suspected the truth, she now sang the mer- 
 riest chansons in her repertoire. 
 
 The doctor first and then the others began sing- 
 ing the refrains with her, while Belmore, smiling, 
 leaned forward, with occasional glances toward 
 Fanny which seemed to be saying that they had 
 made a discovery. It was he who thanked her 
 most heartily when the guests rose to go at the 
 sound of the dinner-bugle. 
 
 After dinner Lucy went absently to the piano, 
 and again she sang something pensive. The 
 doctor put his hands over hers to stop their playing. 
 
 "You take me back to days in Paris that were 
 sad. Merry songs become you best; merry songs 
 are best." 
 
 She broke into a rollicking peasants' chorus. 
 His eyes grew brighter and he settled back into a 
 chair, softly humming the music, happy and con- 
 templative. 
 
 "Lucie, you were not meant for unhappiness," 
 he said when she stopped. "When you were a little 
 
 146 
 
If the Pearls Were Real 
 
 girl I used to say, 'She shall always be light of 
 heart.' This, indeed, has been my real ambition 
 in life. It was reparation for — well, never mind." 
 
 Then it occurred to him, in his restored mood of 
 playfulness, that he wanted to see where she kept 
 the necklace. She took him into her room and 
 showed him the jeweller's box in her trunk, which 
 was unlocked. He lifted out the pearl strands and 
 held them gleaming against his fingers. 
 
 "I'd turn the key when I was out of the room," 
 he admonished her. "They might be stolen." 
 
 "But they are only imitation," she said. "You 
 carry the deception farther than I can. I only be- 
 lieve that they are real when I wear them — al- 
 though I was looking at them again yesterday, and 
 I must say I am sure no one could tell them from 
 a genuine string." 
 
 He had then almost irresistibly the call to tell 
 her that the deceit was with him and not with the 
 necklace. He wanted to see her eyes sparkle when 
 she heard of the wealth he had garnered for her, 
 and that the cost of the necklace and the gowns 
 and the trip abroad represented only the odd 
 figures which he had cast out in his calculation of 
 totals. 
 
 But this would be self-gratification, pure and 
 simple. He had an individual precedent which, 
 in your life and mine and every one's, outweighs 
 
 147 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 general impressions. He was old, and so he had 
 travelled far on this tangent. Some man might 
 seek her for her fortune, and money had cost him 
 his happiness in youth. It was to him the curse 
 of the modern world. He had won it, as most of 
 us do, as a protection from the curse, and in the 
 winning the thought of what he had once paid for 
 the want of it had made him greedy. 
 
 "I shall tell her one of these times, however, 
 when we are in a transport of happiness," he 
 thought before he went to sleep, "if only to see 
 what my Lucie of infinite variety says and does 
 when she hears the news." 
 
 148 
 
XIV 
 
 FANNY BELMORE BY CHOICE 
 
 B ELMORE knocked at his wife's door. 
 "Is it proper? May I come in?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "In the dressing-gown you picked out your- 
 self," she called back. 
 
 It had been a great lark when they had set 
 forth in a hansom to buy in Regent Street and 
 Bond Street certain things for her which were to 
 his fancy. 
 
 The heavy silk folds were thrown back from 
 her neck, revealing the charm of lines still fresh 
 from girlhood and grown softer in the first flush 
 of matronhood. Fanny Belmore was beautiful; 
 her worst enemy could not deny her this dis- 
 tinction. Lindley felt the pride and the joy and 
 the glory of her. 
 
 In the privacy of their apartment they fell to 
 talking of the trip which was now drawing to a 
 close. It was worth while going abroad once in 
 four or five years, not oftener, they agreed. On 
 
 149 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 the whole, for the two steaming summer months 
 the camp in the Adirondacks, with its utter seclu- 
 sion and abandon, and the children — always the 
 children — was best. She thought that the trip had 
 done him good, and her attitude toward him was 
 that of the gentle guardian of some god. 
 
 "You were happiest, it seemed to me, when we 
 were at Burbridge," she said. "I wondered if you 
 did not envy the leisurely life of an English country- 
 place." 
 
 "Fanny ! You thought that of me !" 
 
 "Perhaps." She had sat down beside him and 
 was leaning her head on his shoulder. 
 
 "I was brighter because I was seeing that it is 
 better to be in the fight than to be an automaton. 
 At least, I am not so circumscribed that my son 
 must be trained how to lose a fortune rather than 
 how to preserve one. It is not that we cannot get 
 out of the fight, Fanny, but that we love it. The 
 fight is America. Some way, on my return this 
 time, I feel more than ever glad that we do not 
 accept the man of leisure as the prop of State and 
 society." 
 
 "Bravo! Thank heaven, I'm not a countess!" 
 And she could have been one had she chosen. "It's 
 much nicer to be Fanny Belmore, of Kearn's Ford. 
 The foliage will be red and gold when we reach 
 there, and the air will be wine. The home town is 
 
 150 
 
Fanny Belmore by Choice 
 
 ours and America is ours, though John Frane will 
 not own us as Americans because we are rich." 
 
 "John seems to like the newest Americans best 
 — if they are poor — but we like the old best ; and 
 if all mothers are like you" — Fanny blushed — 
 "they will not perish from the earth for some time 
 to come." 
 
 She made her bow to the compliment and 
 directly turned to a purely woman's topic. Car- 
 niston, she was convinced, had come to America 
 fortune-hunting, and already she thought he was 
 making love to Geraldine in his cold, British way. 
 
 "Geraldine marry a title! Impossible!" he ex- 
 claimed. "Why, she was meant for John. That 
 is clear as daylight." He spoke as if this were a 
 part of his plans. 
 
 "John loves Geraldine, I'm sure, in his way. 
 He's been waiting for her, I think. But does she 
 love him?" Fanny asked. 
 
 "She would if she found herself," said Lindley. 
 
 "Query!" interjected Fanny. "Will she ever 
 find herself with her mother about?" 
 
 She set out to impress her husband with the idea 
 that there was no telling what might happen if the 
 earl was persistent in his attentions and Mrs. 
 Hodges became petulant and active. Lindley 
 protested that he could not go to John and say, 
 "Propose or you lose her," or to Geraldine, as a 
 
 151 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 guardian, and say, "Find yourself or you are 
 lost." 
 
 "Besides, there's no immediate danger," he 
 added. "Geraldine and her mother are going to 
 Kearn's Ford for a month before they go to 
 Washington. If the earl is bent on courting he 
 must come where we will be on watch." 
 
 "I shall be, not you," she rejoined. "There's 
 something else, too, that I've found out. There 
 are two other people on this steamer who are in 
 love more unrestrainedly, more preoccupiedly, if 
 not more deeply than we are, Lin — you see we have 
 so much to distract us ; but it is quite imaginable to 
 you and me how love might be the only thing to 
 a person, and then it's pretty hard to hide it from 
 a woman's eye." 
 
 "And now?" He was all interest, as he ever 
 was when she gave the results of her feminine ob- 
 servation, which was discriminating without being 
 malicious, as he put it. 
 
 "The earl is not such an automaton as you 
 think," she declared. "There is fire in him." 
 
 "Fuel, you mean, perhaps; and if he gets proper 
 combustion, which I should say was unlikely, he 
 may not die of dry rot." 
 
 "Sceptic! Old business-at-the-office-every-morn- 
 ing-at-nine, I tell you he loves Lucy von Kar and 
 Lucy von Kar loves him." 
 
 152 
 
Fanny Belmore by Choice 
 
 "She is too clever," said Belmore. 
 
 "She is so clever that if she did love she would 
 become the very slave of love. That little girl is 
 all feeling, and it is her feeling and her art which 
 make a thing said by her or done by her fetching, 
 when said or done by another it would be common- 
 place." 
 
 "With what facts do you justify your conclu- 
 sions?" he asked. 
 
 "Booh! With something better than facts — a 
 woman's intuition, item one, which comprehended 
 another woman's glance, item two, and a man's 
 glance, item three. I saw the look in her eyes yes- 
 terday afternoon when she called him Arthur and 
 she sang that new never-care song, and I saw the 
 look in his eyes, too. That was the whole story. 
 The mischief and the daring and the art of her — 
 that thing which meant nothing to us and all to 
 him!" 
 
 "Yes, the art of it. I almost believe you are 
 right for the sake of the story. Possibly he has 
 proposed and made a fool of himself, and she takes 
 this way of laughing at him. Anyway, Fanny, she 
 is ripping company." 
 
 The man, who was used to listening coldly to 
 reports and propositions from others and making 
 decisions all day long, liked movement and vivac- 
 ity. The finger-pricking incident he intended to 
 
 153 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 repeat to his children as an example of consideration 
 for the feelings of others, Mrs. Hodges, of course, 
 appearing in the disguise of "a certain lady." 
 From the moment that John had related it to him 
 Lucy had a place in Lindley's affections which, if 
 rarely given, were unchanging in their loyalty. 
 
 In the rehearsal of their plans, which included 
 two months at home, possibly two weeks' hunting 
 in Virginia, before they went to their New York 
 house, and his promise to be absent as little as pos- 
 sible, Lindley mentioned the fact that Dr. von Kar 
 would have to come to Kearn's Ford, and whether 
 Lucy was to come with him or not was a thing for 
 Fanny to settle. 
 
 "Of course, both of them; and they are to stay 
 as long as they please," she said. 
 
 This was precisely what he wanted, and he told 
 her once more that she was the most delightful 
 of wives. 
 
 "With Geraldine, it will make a fine little party, 
 and John, too — if it weren't for this State cam- 
 paign coming on. I don't suppose we shall see 
 much of him." 
 
 As they were to learn later, however, Mrs. 
 Hodges, thanks to the infection of nobility, had 
 changed her mind about going to Kearn's Ford for 
 the autumn. She had been flattered by receiving 
 morning and afternoon an inquiry from Carniston 
 
 154 
 
Fanny Belmore by Choice 
 
 about her health. Her social secretary, with a de- 
 sire to please, had informed her that his lordship 
 had not only shown great interest in her, but was 
 devoting himself conspicuously to Miss Hodges. 
 The ambitious mother lay in bed and thought 
 boldly and scolded her maid. Mrs. Hodges won- 
 dered why she could never keep her maids, al- 
 though she paid them two prices and had such an 
 elegant set of trunks and such elegant quarters for 
 them. Geraldine had kept her maid for six years, 
 and the only time that Marie had ever given notice 
 was when she had been transferred to Mrs. 
 Hodges for a month. 
 
 On this last day the maid had groomed and har- 
 nessed her and assisted her on deck. Now she sat 
 beside Carniston in an attitude which, while com- 
 fortable for her avoirdupois, was scarcely graceful. 
 When she took this attitude she always reminded 
 Frane of a roast goose stuffed and served on a gold 
 platter, with cloth-of-gold table-spread and nap- 
 kins, and a band of cash registers playing in the 
 conservatory. She had been talking to Carniston 
 about Geraldine as if Geraldine were a beautiful 
 gown in a shop window. 
 
 "We should like to open our house in Washing- 
 ton at once, your lordship," she told him. "If you 
 will be our guest, we can arrange to lunch at the 
 Waldorf to-morrow, and then we can go right 
 
 155 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 along to the capital in a private car in the after- 
 noon. You will find that our trains lack privacy 
 and are a little noisy. You see, we have no leisure 
 class. We are all for rush and business in Amer- 
 ica. And I must say, though I am an American 
 myself, that we are a little loud in our ways." She 
 thought that she was saying something to please 
 him. 
 
 The earl listened to her, smiling politely. One 
 of her words kept running through his head — 
 "elegant," in description of a dinner, a house, a 
 horse, an automobile, or of anything "real swell." 
 
 "Thank you," he said; "you are very gracious 
 to a stranger. I shall be glad to come on the train 
 with you, but really I have promised to stop with 
 the Ambassador, who is an old friend of Lord 
 Brent's." 
 
 156 
 
XV 
 
 A MOMENT WITHOUT THE GHOSTS 
 
 THE night was chill. After the concert one 
 turn around the deck or even three or four 
 deep inhalations from the saloon doorway was 
 sufficient for the average passenger who sought a 
 breath of fresh air. Many of the men, their hands 
 deep in their pockets, steered their courses for the 
 harbour lights of the smoking-room. 
 
 John Frane, his shoulders swinging with the 
 energy of his stride, paced up and down, sniffing 
 the battle of the morrow. For weeks he had been 
 a spectator in other countries; in twelve hours he 
 was to be an actor again in his own. 
 
 "I smell Long Island already!" he cried in his 
 enthusiasm, as he overtook Carniston, who had 
 started from the opposite end of the deck. "You 
 see, I feel to-night as if the starter were telling me 
 to get ready. Have you gone in for politics at 
 all?" 
 
 "I thought of it once, but took up with science." 
 The Englishman's indifference was not as deep as 
 it seemed to the American. 
 
 157 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "In your country," said Frane, "I believe that 
 you can be in politics on odd Wednesday and Sat- 
 urday matinees, if you like. It's not that way with 
 us. You must give yourself up to it, as you do to 
 the love of a woman. And you can do things over 
 there which are all according to precedent, while 
 if one did them in America the public would shout 
 graft and nepotism." 
 
 "Americans seem to love their women thor- 
 oughly, at all events. I hear that when an Ameri- 
 can leaves school and is without fortune, position, 
 or anything, he will become engaged to a girl and 
 she will wait for him until he has made a place 
 for her," Carniston pursued, changing the subject. 
 
 "Yes, that is an English middle-class character- 
 istic which we preserve. Our pioneers used to go 
 into the wilderness and make a clearing and build a 
 cabin and grow a crop, and then return for the 
 girl." 
 
 Lucy, in furs which were most becoming, ap- 
 peared in the doorway just as they were passing. 
 When she fell in with them John repeated to her 
 his remark about the pioneer. 
 
 "We have several examples on board," he con- 
 tinued. "One is pronounced. You notice the lady 
 with three huge gold nuggets arranged for a 
 breast-pin, and her husband with a big nugget in 
 his scarf and another for a watch-charm. To the 
 
 158 
 
A Moment Without the Ghosts 
 
 second and third generations, who show the van- 
 ity of possession in other ways, these are a little 
 vulgar, of course." 
 
 "Yes, they seemed what you call the limit, Mr. 
 Frane," said Lucy, "till I saw how devoted he was 
 to her and how she worshipped him, and then I 
 made her acquaintance and she introduced him 
 to me." 
 
 "And you found out how she cooked his grub 
 for him in camp and how at last he won out," said 
 Frane. 
 
 "Made his pile, you mean," said Lucy. "That 
 is another new one — new one on me, I mean to say 
 — that I have learned to-day. I think I know the 
 story of every nugget. He is not half so bad as 
 some of our mediaeval ancestors who boasted and 
 swore and hired scriveners to lie about their 
 deeds. The idea that this couple express is as 
 beautiful and heroic as any of knighthood days. 
 With the knights, only the stories, not their man- 
 ners, survive." 
 
 "Do you realise that — you who fairly exhale 
 Europe?" said Frane. "There is hope for you to 
 become an American yet." 
 
 "Oh, I think many Europeans could see the 
 point," said Carniston, quietly and incisively. 
 
 "But I foresee," John resumed, "that Mr. and 
 Mrs. Nuggets will soon be unhappy. They have 
 
 159 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 left their daughter abroad. She is their only child, 
 and they are making a great sacrifice in being sep- 
 arated from her. But she must have a French edu- 
 cation so that she will have nothing in common 
 with them. Soon the mother will be correcting 
 her husband's grammar and manners. Then she 
 will want a taste of what is called society, and their 
 unhappiness will be complete. You see, Carniston, 
 we make in one generation what with you requires 
 three or four generations. It is ambition, it is 
 progress, and sometimes it's pretty hard on both 
 the first and the second generations." 
 
 All three were thinking of Mrs. Hodges and 
 Geraldine, but each was careful not to mention 
 either. 
 
 "However, the Belmores accomplished it beau- 
 tifully," John continued. "There, the father was 
 a joy to the son and the son a joy to the father. 
 Lindley is the refined salt of our American earth." 
 
 "It seems to me," observed Lucy, "that the want 
 of money on the part of gentle people, so called, 
 produces quite as much misery as the possession of 
 it on the part of the vulgar people, so called. Mrs. 
 Nuggets said that Mr. Nuggets' motto had always 
 been, 'Give me the root.' When I asked her what 
 she meant by that, she laughed at my ignorance. 
 'Of all evil, of course,' she said; which I took to 
 be another way of saying that you want to make 
 
 1 60 
 
A Moment Without the Ghosts 
 
 your pile, and it strikes me as a very good motto, 
 indeed. What do you think, Arthur?" 
 
 "Decidedly, yes," he said shakily, and imme- 
 diately invented an excuse for going below. 
 
 "I like him after all," the irrepressible Frane 
 continued. "You can't help liking Englishmen of 
 his sort, if for no other reason than that, although 
 they are so starched, they always look so clean. I 
 like them, too, for their courage in laughing a min- 
 ute after everybody else has seen the joke." 
 
 "Oh, that American delusion is explained by the 
 Englishman's inborn politeness. It isn't that he 
 doesn't see the joke at once; it is that he rarely 
 does more than smile over the best of stories. 
 He can't, as you say, on account of the starch. 
 When he is with Americans and sees that they are 
 laughing, why, out of duty to the custom of the 
 country, he joins in the guffaw — but a little tardily, 
 of course." 
 
 "How does it happen, then, that his face is per- 
 fectly blank till he laughs?" John asked. 
 
 "Oh, you mean American jokes!" said Lucy. 
 "He has finished his smile and looked away from 
 the story-teller before you begin laughing. I must 
 be going in now. Good-night." 
 
 "I surrender!" he called after her. Then he 
 went into the smoking-room, where he managed to 
 be pleasant to all the different groups without tak- 
 
 161 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ing more than one drink. When he fell asleep he 
 was in a happier frame of mind than he had known 
 for weeks; which was true of nearly every other 
 American passenger. To-morrow they would hear 
 what had happened at their offices, and they would 
 poultice the places lame from idleness with the 
 harness of duty. Not every American passenger, 
 to be exact ; particularly, not Lindley Belmore. He 
 would have liked another quiet week in which to 
 adore Fanny. 
 
 Having laid aside her cloak and sent her maid 
 to bed, Lucy tried to read a novel. But the ghosts 
 came and put films over her eyes so that she could 
 not see the lines. With the morrow throwing her 
 and Arthur apart and Geraldine and him together, 
 her love touched depths that were bitter. She was 
 angry ; she was crying out against fate. 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Nuggets have so much more 
 money than they need," she thought. "If it is 
 going to make them unhappy, why shouldn't I 
 have half of it? Then they would be happy and 
 I should be happy, too. Instead of being the re- 
 ward of the gift of acquisitiveness, money should 
 go by dispensation to those who know how to use 
 it. Arthur and I do. 
 
 "And if I had money — money, money, money!" 
 she cried, beating the arm-chairs with her fists, 
 "then I could tell Arthur that I had it — no, not 
 
 162 
 
A Moment Without the Ghosts 
 
 until I had won him back ! And what joy it would 
 be to win him back, to make him for love of me 
 give up everything else before I gave him all the 
 money — all, all — and myself. And this Mr. Bel- 
 more, this great lord of the American aristoc- 
 racy, I can see that he has so much money that 
 it keeps him away from the shrine of his lovely 
 wife. It's all unfair and wicked! I feel like an 
 anarchist." 
 
 She put on her coat and went on deck again. 
 Was she glad or was she sorry when she found 
 that Carniston also had returned? Was he glad 
 or was he sorry when he saw her coming toward 
 him on the long promenade which was wholly de- 
 serted, with the darkness tempered by an occasional 
 deck light? 
 
 "It is the excitement of the anticipation of the 
 new land to-morrow, I suppose," she said, as she 
 joined him. 
 
 "Yes; I also, after I went below, felt that even 
 if I did go to bed I should only lie awake, and 
 concluded to keep on pacing till I was really sleepy. 
 The Americans have finished taking their exercise 
 in the smoking-room," he added, a little contemp- 
 tuously. "I suppose they are thinking of the money 
 they are going to make next year. It seems so 
 easy for them to make it." He also felt like an 
 anarchist. 
 
 163 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "But think of the heroism of Mr. Nuggets," she 
 said thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes," he answered bitterly. "Mr. Nuggets 
 had a great advantage in not being born in the 
 peerage." 
 
 They walked in silence for several turns, her 
 buoyant step giving life to his own. Was it only 
 the pleasure of hearing her voice or was it the mar- 
 vel of a fortune which a self-made man had won 
 that excited his imagination and led him to ask her 
 to tell the story as Mrs. Nuggets had told it? 
 
 Before she began she took his arm in a way that 
 was unconstrained and natural. Literally but 
 kindly she reproduced Mrs. Nuggets, for her mim- 
 icry had that rare quality which amuses without 
 wounding. When she reached the heroic part she 
 dropped the dialect and proceeded in her soft 
 English, with the slightest of German r's and the 
 slightest of French Vs. It was she who was living 
 in the cabin through the long winter, and it seemed 
 to him as if it were he who was with her. 
 
 "Wasn't it beautiful?" she asked finally, when 
 the fortune had been found. 
 
 "Beautiful! Like a story-book — beautiful! 
 You make anything beautiful, Lucy," he answered. 
 "If it weren't that I have only six months," he 
 thought, "if there weren't this estate, if the money 
 on which I am living were only not borrowed on 
 
 164 
 
A Moment Without the Ghosts 
 
 the strength of this thing which I am expected to 
 do !" Then he looked down upon her in the stern- 
 ness of self-denial, while there were such lights in 
 his eyes as sometimes make havoc of resolutions. 
 
 "Are we to be thrown together constantly over 
 here?" he asked suddenly, almost as much of him- 
 self as of her. 
 
 "I don't know, Arthur. How can I tell? I am 
 with father," she responded. 
 
 "And if you do see me, are you going to call me 
 Arthur always?" he asked. 
 
 "Probably I shall. I told myself that I 
 wouldn't, but I find it natural." 
 
 She drew herself closer to him. His hand 
 slipped back till it grasped hers. She did not re- 
 sist. Under the illusion of the moment his ghosts 
 and hers had been carried away to the Pole. The 
 Oceanic was their yacht. The ocean was theirs 
 and the land was theirs — a land without stock 
 exchanges, banks, or remittances, a land dedicated 
 to the joy of living, where you dug a spadeful of 
 money whenever the tree of love needed fresh 
 earth. They did not speak again. On and on 
 they walked, till from sheer fatigue she stopped 
 at the door. At the passageway to her cabin he 
 bent quickly and kissed her on the cheek. He saw 
 her smiling as she struck him with her muff and 
 was gone. 
 
 i6 5 
 
XVI 
 
 BACK IN AMERICA 
 
 FOR the first time in six days the engines had 
 ceased throbbing; the chains roaringly let 
 the anchor down in the mud off quarantine; and 
 the leviathan which had laid her path straight 
 across the waves swung aimlessly on the harbour 
 tide. 
 
 Frane nodded toward the city which lay hidden 
 in the morning haze, and promised Lucy revela- 
 tions in an hour; he nodded toward the vista of 
 wooden cottages on Staten Island as a scene dis- 
 tinctly American. 
 
 "There is also something distinctly American," 
 said Lindley — "those men coming up the gang- 
 way. Thanks to them, we shall know in the after- 
 noon papers the names of the notabilities among 
 our thousand passengers, not to mention what axes 
 some of them have to grind on the back of the 
 public." 
 
 "He means the reporters," John put in. "Lin 
 does not know how to talk to them. There ought 
 to be a course in that in our colleges. Some of 
 
 1 66 
 
Back in America 
 
 our greatest statesmen and financiers have no other 
 stock in trade. Lin always stands guard in such a 
 way that people are taking the good deed he has 
 in his closet for a skeleton." 
 
 The newspaper men made straight for the 
 group composed of the Belmores, the von Kars, 
 Frane and Carniston. As if by some prearranged 
 plan they separated into two firing squads, which 
 advanced on the millionaire and the politician. 
 Lucy noted curiously the contrast in the manner 
 of the two men whom they assailed. Belmore fell 
 back awkwardly on his defence. He spoke in 
 monosyllables; he was trying to be courteous and 
 he had nothing to say. Frane shook hands warmly 
 with two of his squad, whom he called by their 
 first names. The rest he immediately took into 
 camp. He did not have to ask them the news. 
 They knew that he must know the situation of the 
 hour before they could put their own questions. 
 In short, electric sentences which were more like 
 a series of signals than an exposition, they told 
 him the inside story — such as they would tell their 
 friends but never print — of all that had transpired 
 in the past week. 
 
 So far as Lucy could make out, there had been 
 a sudden set of sentiment in the State toward John 
 as the one candidate for governor whom his party 
 could elect. The newspaper men believed that old 
 
 167 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Boss Kennan would support him rather than let the 
 party be defeated. What did John think? How 
 did he stand on all these late developments which 
 had angered the people? Would he accept? 
 
 "Of course I would like to be a candidate for 
 governor," he said. "I will accept if the people 
 want me and if there is no string to the nomina- 
 tion. So Boss Kennan favours me? I am de- 
 lighted to hear it. I want the support of every 
 man I can get — but no strings.' ' 
 
 But no strings ! The newspaper men noted the 
 phrase. They were the vehicle that carried his 
 thought to the public whose servant he was; and 
 the energy and earnestness of his words were such 
 as to indicate that the millions who were to read 
 his interview were actually within sound of his 
 voice. 
 
 The squad which had been with Belmore had 
 found no copy, and they had left him for the earl, 
 who expected, from the anecdotes he had heard 
 of American reporters, that they would ask him 
 before he landed how he liked Chicago; but they 
 only wanted to know his destination, and when he 
 told them they left, with the exception of one man 
 who was doing a "feature" for a "yellow." He 
 asked Carniston if he knew Lord Dingwall, and 
 Carniston responded drily that he did, slightly. 
 Did Carniston think that Anglo-American mar- 
 
 168 
 
Back in America 
 
 riages were happy, as a rule? Carniston re- 
 sponded still more drily that he knew of a number 
 of very happy ones. Then the reporter came to 
 the point. His paper had been tipped from Lon- 
 don that Lady Dingwall was going to apply for a 
 divorce. Was this true? Who was the co- 
 respondent? After these questions, the "feature 
 man" for the "yellow" realised that the British 
 stare was no invention of actors or story-writers. 
 
 "Do you go about in this way all your life," 
 Carniston asked, half humourously, half eagerly, 
 "asking questions about people's private affairs 
 and jotting down what you hear on a piece of 
 paper?" 
 
 In his own words to the editor afterwards, this 
 retort made the inquisitor "hot." 
 
 "I don't need a valet to tell rroe when to come 
 in out of the rain," he shot back, and then went 
 promptly. 
 
 Catching Miss Hodges' eye at this moment, 
 Lucy for the first time thought it possible that the 
 statuesque Geraldine had a sense of humour. As 
 for Mrs. Hodges, she was in one of her states of 
 outraged feeling, which was signalised by the ele- 
 vated expression of her rather short nose. She ex- 
 pressed her regret that in America there was no 
 privacy. Carniston laughed good-naturedly and 
 said that this specimen had really puzzled him 
 
 169 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 very much, and he asked Frane how to avoid such 
 questions. 
 
 "You must know," he added, "for I noticed 
 they did not ask you about your own or your 
 friends' private affairs." 
 
 "Oh, I was talking with the regular men," he 
 said. "They are trustworthy, efficient, and self- 
 respecting. I am a public man and they expected 
 me to talk about public affairs. You see, this other 
 man took you, from your title, to belong to what 
 we call Society in America, and he expected you 
 to talk on society. Society largely makes its private 
 affairs public. That is its occupation" — and your 
 personal view, John, as Lindley would say. 
 
 "I noticed that the reporters were quizzing Mr. 
 Belmore too. Financial affairs are also more or 
 less public, it seems," said the doctor. 
 
 "However, publicity is scarcely the occupation 
 of financiers," John responded. "You will soon 
 have a glimpse of the beehive where they work; 
 you will see what a people who send reporters out 
 to quarantine to get our views have produced in 
 the way of a great city." 
 
 By the time the Oceanic was under way the 
 flight of the ferry-boats with the workers was at 
 its height. The haze had lifted. Like so many 
 forts of industry, their windows loopholes, the sky- 
 scrapers lay clear in the morning light. 
 
 170 
 
Back in America 
 
 "I didn't know before that America was such a 
 crowded country that you had to build into the 
 air," said Lucy. 
 
 "A passion of a people in the heyday of their 
 energy," said Dr. von Kar. "The Egyptians, who 
 lived on sandy levels, defied nature with the pyra- 
 mids. Unable to compete with the Persians in 
 luxury, the Greeks turned the marble of their 
 sterile land into sculpture. The Roman emperors 
 built aqueducts which they named after themselves. 
 Here, we have the monuments which individualism 
 conquering the resources of a new country raises to 
 its pride." 
 
 "What with father's lectures and Mr. Frane's 
 speeches we shall surely be well informed," said 
 Lucy, twinkling. 
 
 "I've trained Lucy to stop me when I have made 
 a certain number of revolutions," returned the doc- 
 tor, laughing. 
 
 "We are all pleased at being reminded of our 
 youth," John observed. "It is far better to be on 
 the rise, boastful of your to-morrows, than on the 
 decline, passing from action to well-mannered re- 
 flection on mighty yesterdays." 
 
 Lucy said it must be the to-morrows which in- 
 spired the fellow and the girl who waited while 
 he built the cabin and made the clearing. Her 
 eyes lighted with the allusion. 
 
 171 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "There you have the idea still in its working," 
 said Frane, nodding toward the notched skyline 
 as if he loved it and it stood for America — his 
 America. "If you should make a cross-section of 
 one of those sky-scrapers you would have the scenes 
 of a hundred little plays," he continued, "the story 
 of a thousand enterprises which concern some one's 
 ambition and happiness. As you cross the traffic- 
 gorged and traffic-roaring river on a winter's after- 
 noon at dusk, every window sets a light in the wall 
 of darkness and it is more splendid than the stars, 
 for even our imagination cannot tell us what is 
 behind them. Each light here is some watch-fire 
 for some hearth-fire." 
 
 "And when the man has the money to get the 
 girl of his choice, what then?" Lucy asked. 
 
 "He keeps on working to buy her a better house 
 and more diamonds. Maybe he wants to stop, but 
 he can't; it is the game. In America the game is 
 irresistible." 
 
 "And they play to the score?" she asked. 
 
 "Always." 
 
 The Oceanic, now opposite her pier, had become 
 the helpless sailor in the landsman's hands. When 
 those hard-bred gamins, the river-tugs, had nosed 
 her into her slip, her guests left her empty and, 
 her contract filled, she sent their baggage crashing 
 after them. From the bridge the officers looked 
 
 172 
 
Back in America 
 
 down not upon one but a thousand tempests ; upon 
 the secrets of a thousand wardrobes laid bare. 
 
 How many friendships formed aboard ship 
 have ended by fate's decree rather than by human 
 wish in that dark pier shed which brings one's 
 thoughts from the freedom of the sea to the limi- 
 tations of daily routine! Lucy's glance and Car- 
 niston's met as he was going away with the Hodges. 
 She waved her hand to him almost but not quite 
 as if she were waving him a farewell kiss, and he 
 sent her a signal in kind in response. He was too 
 far away to see that there were tears in her eyes 
 at this definite parting of their ways. 
 
 173 
 
XVII 
 
 THE LOVE OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 AN emissary of the boss whom Frane had 
 fought in many conventions and caucuses 
 met him at the pier. The two walked away to- 
 gether, the one affable and impressive, the other 
 singularly disinterested. Lucy did not see John 
 again until two minutes before train time, when he 
 came aboard Belmore's car at Jersey City with all 
 the evening papers and half a dozen magazines 
 under his arm. 
 
 "You aren't a spectator now," she observed. 
 "You're in the battle." 
 
 "Yes, quite, and for every minute of the weeks 
 to come. I was thirsty for it, I can tell you, after 
 six weeks of rising every morning with nothing to 
 do and going to bed every night with nothing 
 done." 
 
 Separated from Carniston forever — so she told 
 herself then — seeking, in a strange land, the pass- 
 ing excitement which should divert her from those 
 ghosts which ought not to come and had no business 
 to come and yet would come, she found her interest 
 
 174 
 
The Love of the People 
 
 centered in the game that John was playing. There 
 was something in his energy, his magnetism, his 
 rapidity of thought, his many-sidedness which 
 caught her humour at a time when her one aim 
 was to be objective. 
 
 With Madame de Stael she might have said 
 that she would travel far to meet a clever human 
 being when she could not look out of the window 
 at the Bay of Naples. Crossing on the ferry she 
 had been reading what the reporters said about 
 John, while she scarcely heard her father's ques- 
 tions to Belmore asking explanation of the new 
 things they were seeing. Already her quick per- 
 ception understood John's programme and his 
 situation. He was truly, if war for your fellow- 
 man and for happy and clean living instead of grim 
 selfishness be right, making a good fight. She 
 wanted him to win. She would like to shout and 
 to work for him. 
 
 "There you are!" he cried. " * No strings' in 
 every headline! It shows what the people want, 
 doesn't it? I wonder how the boss will receive the 
 news when his minister plenipotentiary tells him 
 that he can find me at Kearn's Ford if he wishes to 
 see me." Then he dropped the subject of himself 
 and held out a copy of one of the sheaf of evening 
 editions mischievously to the doctor. "That's our 
 very yellowest, the original colour fount from which 
 
 J 75 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 all the yellows of the world have been drawn. We 
 lead in everything, you see. It has its merits. It 
 stands for more schools and more parks, as well as 
 a headless public hurrah ; but, esoterically, it is for 
 more circulation and the substitution of feudalism 
 for democracy and pulp-made, machine-printed 
 thought for individual thinking. By debauching 
 and weakening the public mind it is making the 
 public more easily controllable by wealth. Yet Lin 
 won't look at it. I hope that you have not the 
 same feeling on the subject, doctor." 
 
 "I have never read the yellows in England," 
 said the doctor, laughing. "As a student of a for- 
 eign land which is new to me, I suppose I ought 
 to neglect nothing." 
 
 "Precisely. We have found that it is a custom 
 of foreign commentators to see the good in their 
 country and the bad in ours. However, I find my- 
 self doing the same. I have no use for a man who 
 does not think his own country the best. I think 
 that mine is." 
 
 The doctor ran his eye over the pages with some- 
 thing of the curiosity of a scholar deciphering the 
 bad Latin of street gamins on the walls of Pompeii. 
 
 "Apparently, the idea is that he who runs must 
 read," he said as he returned the specimen, with 
 the huge black letters of "Divorce" turned toward 
 Frane. 
 
 176 
 
The Love of the People 
 
 "It's the one paper where I didn't get the spread 
 to-day. Carniston's interview beat mine," John 
 said, as he did the revolutionary thing of reading 
 the matter under the headline. "It says that, of 
 course, Lord Carniston would not talk about 
 the impending divorce suit of his friend Lord 
 Dingwall." 
 
 "But Lord Dingwall is not his friend," said 
 Lucy, in a sudden burst of loyalty to Carniston. 
 "They are of wholly different types. They 
 scarcely know each other." 
 
 "Oh, I am reading what the paper says," said 
 Frane; " 'but Lady Dingwall's feelings are well 
 known,' the story continues, 'and it is hinted that 
 Lord Carniston comes as an emissary to her par- 
 ents to persuade them to bring their influence to 
 bear on their daughter.' 
 
 "Now let us see how Lin came out with his in- 
 terview. He does not get so much space as the 
 earl and myself, because he is as powerful as fifty 
 of us. There you have it. The reporter says that 
 the magnate condescended to say that, although 
 there was a strike, the people would receive their 
 winter's supply of coal at the usual rates. But I 
 know that before he made this statement he had to 
 consider the powers of his own world, which he 
 would have to oppose in order to gain his end. If 
 he had had my collegiate course in the art of talking 
 
 177 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 to reporters he would have said the same thing in 
 a way to have won the applause of the land, and 
 then possibly he wouldn't have needed to give the 
 coal, judging from the methods of some million- 
 aires. Lin, you are no politician," he called. 
 
 "I know it," said Belmore, smiling. He had not 
 yet glanced at the evening papers. 
 
 Fanny then reminded all that luncheon was 
 ready. When they rose from the table they were 
 just being drawn out of the Philadelphia station. 
 Lindley did not return to his work with his secre- 
 tary. He kept glancing at his watch and mention- 
 ing the time yet to elapse before their arrival, and 
 both he and his wife were palpably so preoccupied 
 that finally Fanny explained that they were count- 
 ing the minutes till they should see the children. 
 As the train came to a standstill in the station, 
 John and Edward and Margaret bolted from their 
 nurses and stormed the steps of the car. 
 
 Parents and offspring were in a flurry of em- 
 braces and kisses, while the attention of the doctor 
 and Lucy was attracted to a crowd fairly filling 
 the station enclosure. Three banners, one in- 
 scribed "With Frane We Win Again," another 
 with "Welcome Home, John," and still another 
 with "Our Next Governor," were shaken over the 
 heads of Frane's fellow-townspeople, who broke 
 into a hurrah as he appeared on the platform, 
 
 i 7 8 
 
The Love of the People 
 
 while the local band played "See the Conquering 
 Hero Comes," and a committee of citizens stepped 
 forward to receive the hero himself. 
 
 "It's something to be loved like that right in 
 your own town where you are known," John whis- 
 pered to Lucy, who saw that his eyes were moist. 
 
 On the edge of the perfervid demonstration the 
 Belmore family formed a quiet scene apart. Dr. 
 von Kar remarked philosophically that this con- 
 trast was something worthy of comment in his 
 diary. The brake carrying the adults and the 
 automobile with the children had to take a by- 
 street to avoid the procession of John's admirers, 
 who were leading him to the Ford House, where 
 he was to make a speech from the balcony. Facing 
 their parents, the children were standing on the 
 seats of the car under the restraining hands of the 
 nurse, while they shouted alternate questions and 
 bits of information about the health of the family 
 horses and dogs. 
 
 "It's something to be loved like that," said Bel- 
 more to Lucy, who saw that the children meant to 
 him all that the love of the people did to Frane. 
 
 When they passed through a gate with a lodge 
 beside it and went up the winding drive, it seemed 
 to the visitors that they were on an English estate. 
 At the steps the children did not wait for the door 
 of the car to be opened. They began to climb over 
 
 179 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 the back, with the result that Margaret, the young- 
 est, was caught by the skirt in time to be saved 
 from landing face downward in the gravel of the 
 drive. They formed around their father and in- 
 sisted that he should carry each in turn on his shoul- 
 ders into the house. This he did with the meek- 
 ness of a millionaire when he finds himself, as he 
 explained, in the face of a "hold-up" by a "com- 
 bination." 
 
 Until their supper-time Oakwood was a chil- 
 dren's empire. To-morrow they knew that the 
 regimen of the nursery and of tutorship would be- 
 gin again. They made the most of the occasion, 
 introducing the guests to their pets, while Belmore 
 with perfect boyishness lent himself to their 
 frolics. 
 
 "As a guest of a millionaire," the doctor wrote 
 in his diary that night, "I have enjoyed an ex- 
 hibition of ease of travel and of one-man power 
 which would lead one to think that America was 
 an oligarchy, pure and simple. However, on our 
 arrival at the station of the town where Mr. Bel- 
 more is literally overlord, only his children and his 
 servants were there to receive him, and a vast 
 crowd of the townspeople had gathered for adu- 
 lation of our demagogue. 
 
 "Yet by the demagogue's own confession, the 
 millionaire of the manor, instead of devoting him- 
 
 180 
 
The Love of the People 
 
 self to a life of pleasure, works hard and gives 
 bountifully. The library, the hospital, and the 
 park we passed are all given and maintained by 
 him. Possibly the millionaires of other manors 
 do as much, and these benefits are taken for 
 granted and the very possession of the power of 
 giving is resented. Possibly the millionaires of 
 other manors give nothing at all and our host is 
 an exception. As I have often told you, little 
 book, the world is peopled by individuals and ac- 
 tors understand the claque best. Far be it from 
 me to form any conclusions from the impressions 
 of this wonderful day, which Lucie says is like a 
 journey on a comet in a new universe. Sufficient 
 it is for to-night to be in this charming home where 
 taste, composure and self-restraint reign." 
 
 181 
 
XVIII 
 
 TWO STRONG MEN MEET 
 
 THE politician had not renewed the gilt letters 
 which the rains of ten years had washed off 
 the swinging sign of attorney-at-law in front of his 
 office. His rooms were the same that he had taken 
 when, his education finished, he sought primaries 
 instead of clients. One of the three he called his 
 shop ; the other two were living-rooms, plainly fur- 
 nished and walled with books. Jim, the negro 
 man-servant who looked after them, cooked his 
 breakfast, while he ate his dinner and supper at 
 the hotel across the street. 
 
 Men who hated Kennan because they had served 
 him without reward, men who despised him on 
 principle, young politicians who had not won his 
 favour, old politicians who were the relics of the 
 regime of the boss whom Kennan had supplanted, 
 were either awaiting Frane's arrival at Kearn's 
 Ford or appeared in a day or two. Some of these 
 wanted solely to fight in the name of the good 
 cause; others wanted to enlist under any party 
 leader who would break a lance with Kennan, or 
 
 182 
 
Two Strong Men Meet 
 
 fancied themselves prophets who had chosen the 
 coming man. 
 
 John knew these gentlemen clearly, sympathet- 
 ically and practically. He believed in them far 
 more than many who scoffed at them. When he 
 gripped their hands in earnest gratitude for their 
 support he carried them to high ground, where it 
 was out of the question to ask him to make 
 promises. 
 
 "No strings!" he said. 
 
 His phrase had taken popular fancy. Already 
 he was known as the No-Strings candidate. Mine 
 host Binns, who had said in the address of wel- 
 come from the hotel veranda, "It's no strings, 
 John, and I've lived across the street from you for 
 ten years, and we know you aren't stringin' us 
 when you say it," was surprised to find himself 
 famous. "I'm no orator. I didn't try to make 
 a speech," he explained. "I just said what I 
 felt." 
 
 "Which is the best kind of speech and the only 
 true oratory," John told him. 
 
 From the newspapers and from those wireless 
 messages which pass over the current of common 
 thought as well, John heard the call of the people. 
 But he must be nominated before they could vote 
 for him, and Frank Kennan would control the 
 convention. 
 
 183 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 On the third day another emissary came from 
 the Boss, a man of different type from the one 
 who had been sent to the pier. The first had been 
 oily, well dressed, and a polished talker according to 
 his own conception. As one of the tools used as a 
 go-between with the "vested interests," Kennan had 
 thought that he was fitted to approach a man of 
 Frane's type. Plainly, Kennan had recognised his 
 mistake, for the second, Bill Dunham, in a derby 
 hat, sack coat, and chewing a half-smoked cigar, 
 was known for his bluntness. 
 
 "The old man thinks a good deal of you," he 
 said. "That's the straight goods. He wants to 
 run you all right, and he don't want to tie you up 
 with promises, either. He knows a machine can- 
 didate can't win this year. But it's kind of habit 
 with the old man to have the people come to him, 
 and habits is hard to break. Well, he wants to 
 see you, all right, and be on the square with you, 
 and why can't you and him go down to the capital 
 and meet there by accident day after to-morrow?" 
 
 "But we would not be meeting by accident," 
 said John, quietly. 
 
 "Well, I'm ! Of all the !" Dunham 
 
 rose and brought his fist down on the table. "I'll 
 tell you right here that's a hell of a sight more'n 
 he ever did for the present governor. The old 
 man don't often get soft, and he's been a little soft 
 
 184 
 
Two Strong Men Meet 
 
 about you; but I guess if you meet him now 
 it'll be by accident, all right. Good morning to 
 you." 
 
 Frane, instead of striking the attitude of the 
 good young man, gripped Dunham's hand vigor- 
 ously, and vigorous were his words and as honest 
 as his blue eyes. 
 
 "You tell the boss for me," he said, "that I'm 
 glad he sent you this time. I like to deal with a 
 man that has a square jaw and talks and looks 
 straight at you. We can understand each other, 
 you and I, and I am glad to have met you. You 
 tell the boss for me that I am going right on fight- 
 ing — in the open — fighting to make the party 
 better." 
 
 As Dunham went he said to himself: 
 
 "He's on the level, all right, if he is a little 
 buggy. I like the kid." 
 
 Many visitors had gone down those creaking 
 stairs past the letterless sign with the same thought 
 in mind. Instead of saying "buggy" some had 
 said eccentric, some blunt, some extraordinary. 
 
 Frane thrust his hands deep in his pockets and 
 took a turn about the room with ambition mock- 
 ing his decision. For saying the word to Dunham 
 he might be governor, and have the power to carry 
 out some of those policies which were the outcome 
 in mature experience of his youthful dreams. 
 
 185 ' 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "No," he thought, "I will be square with the 
 boss and the party, as I have been with the people. 
 He must know that I am not his man. And — 
 and, maybe, he will come around, after all." At 
 which the politician whistled delightedly. 
 
 Repeating his conversation with Frane word for 
 word to his master, Dunham added no comment 
 of his own, except that if the "old man" and "the 
 kid" ever did meet it would be worth a year of his 
 own life to hear the "spiel between them." Ken- 
 nan thought for a while, and then announced that 
 he was going to Kearn's Ford. When the phe- 
 nomenal event of the great boss's entrance into 
 the law office of the No-Strings candidate occurred 
 next morning, Bill Dunham, elate over the coming 
 entertainment, was with him. Kennan gave his 
 hand to the young man offishly. John gripped it 
 warmly. 
 
 "You're the man I've wanted to know better for 
 years, Mr. Kennan," John said. "Dunham and 
 I have already hit it off, and I wonder if you and 
 I can." 
 
 Kennan was fifty-five, with a close-cropped 
 beard, heavy eyebrows, a fighting nose, and a 
 clear, gray eye. For ten years he had been boss 
 of the city, and for the last five boss of the State. 
 A lock of white hair which hung over the centre 
 of his forehead had become the famous horn of 
 
 186 
 
Two Strong Men Meet 
 
 the cartoonists. In public prints he was a mon- 
 ster; in actual appearance he was quiet and 
 well-groomed. Although he had risen from the 
 streets, he had a self-restraint which would have 
 carried him anywhere among men. He was shy 
 only of women, as he himself said. 
 
 "I came because I liked your nerve," he stated, 
 as he sat down. "Understand, I am asking for 
 no promises. You have always fought me. You 
 can have a man of your own here or Bill can go 
 out, as you please. , ' 
 
 "I want Bill to stay and I don't want anybody 
 else," John replied promptly. "I know you are a 
 man of your word, Mr. Kennan." 
 
 The boss narrowed his eyebrows in surprise. 
 
 "I thought that you thought I was a liar and 
 a thief," he half growled. 
 
 "I think you keep your word, and that's why 
 you have succeeded in holding men to you. But 
 I also think that you have made the party serve 
 you in making a fortune." 
 
 "I haven't been in politics altogether for pleas- 
 ure and I'm not a liar," he said. "To come to 
 cases, what are you going to do for the party if 
 you are nominated and elected?" 
 
 "I'm going to be loyal to the party as I see its 
 interests, as I have always been. I am going to 
 consult you. You know public life, and public 
 
 187 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 life is a service by itself. You know, as an expert 
 judge of men, who can give the cleanest and most 
 efficient service in any office. Will you agree in 
 your recommendations to follow this principle, 
 regardless of profit to yourself or to personal 
 affiliations? If you deceive me I shall use the 
 power of my office to overthrow you." 
 
 A new proposition this to the boss, to whom 
 every appointment had been a part of the political 
 game. It was no surprise to Dunham, who was 
 used to these heavy silences which decided the fate 
 of men and measures, that his master waited a 
 minute before making his answer. 
 
 "I agree," said Kennan finally. For he knew 
 he could win only with Frane as a candidate. 
 "Now, what about money?" he said, rising. "Will 
 that friend of yours up on the hill, Belmore, put 
 up anything?" 
 
 "I wouldn't ask him. We are friends but not 
 associates." 
 
 "And I won't ask him myself," said the boss. 
 "Bill here says that if Belmore ever gave anybody 
 a bouquet it was in a block of ice. When I told 
 him last campaign that if he didn't put up some- 
 thing we would block the new East End tunnel, 
 he said that I'd have to promise him that I wouldn't 
 block it or he and his crowd would put up five hun- 
 dred thousand to beat me ; and I had to side-step. 
 
 188 
 
Two Strong Men Meet 
 
 I guess we won't need much money. It's not a 
 money campaign. The hurrah will carry us 
 through, all right." 
 
 "Yes, that's it; that is better than money. I 
 have never used much money, Mr. Kennan. I 
 have told the people what I wanted to do, and 
 I've tried to keep my promises." 
 
 "Oh, I've watched you," said the boss, sharply. 
 "You got among the people young, like I did, and 
 worked with them. You're a good deal like my 
 brother, the priest. You're workin' up politics the 
 way he does religion, on a no-profit basis." 
 
 "The priesthood of public service I sometimes 
 call it," said John, smiling. "We hope to enlist 
 you, Mr. Kennan. We'll rush you right up to the 
 thirty-third degree, if you'll join." 
 
 The boss laughed for the first time during the 
 interview. 
 
 "I've made some money, I admit," he said, "and 
 I guess I'm as much entitled to it as some of the 
 millionaires and the coal gang with their holier 
 than thou. I have made them give up, and a good 
 deal that they've given up has gone back to the 
 folks in the tenements. That's how I keep my 
 power. You'll find you can't run anything with- 
 out leadership and organisation. Nine out of ten 
 men are looking for some one to follow. I found 
 that out at the start down in the ward. I under- 
 
 189 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 stand why you like to work for the people. My 
 brother's happier'n I am. I never was so happy 
 as when I began my politics in the ward and got 
 the votes direct, before I got high enough to have 
 other people get them for me." 
 
 "The point is where you lead the people," said 
 John. "The thing is to be true to them. When 
 you create a political machine to be sold to mil- 
 lionaires you're going the wrong way about it. 
 But I'll not preach now. You've given me the 
 agreement I wanted." 
 
 "Yes, and I keep my word and you spiel," said 
 the boss. "You can't talk to 'em too much. They 
 like to hear you and they believe all you say. The 
 place to hold your ratification meetin' is right here 
 in this town, where every man, woman, and child 
 seems to be for you. They were that way for me 
 once in my ward. Have a big delegation at the 
 convention and let 'em yell so the whole State'll 
 hear 'em." 
 
 There was yet one thing to be settled, they re- 
 called, when the boss's hand was on the door-knob. 
 At the hotel across the street the newspaper men 
 were waiting to convey the result of this confer- 
 ence to the six million readers of the State. 
 
 "I'll give 'em the hint that the party's for you, 
 I'm on the band-waggon, and you're not bound," 
 said Kennan. 
 
 190 
 
Two Strong Men Meet 
 
 "No, tell them we have made a deal and just 
 what it is," said John. 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Kennan. "A deal !" 
 
 "Yes. Take the people quite into our con- 
 fidence. I am willing that the public should know 
 every word that has passed between us." 
 
 The boss smiled and patted John almost affec- 
 tionately on the shoulder. John was satisfied for 
 the present to let him have his way. 
 
 "Leave it to me, Governor," he said. "I'm the 
 one that's made the kowtow." 
 
 "Good day, Governor," Dunham added. 
 
 Governor ! The directing head of a great com- 
 monwealth, with no strings! With this elation 
 came the thought which always comes at such 
 times, the thought of the one to whom he wanted 
 first to tell the news. He had barely finished a 
 telegram to Geraldine when further consideration 
 chilled his enthusiasm. This was an act, he told 
 himself, which was only carrying him further in 
 an illusion which might cause her pain and grief 
 as well as himself. The luxury in which she had 
 been reared had become a necessity to her. Al- 
 ready he had eaten into the principal of his own 
 little fortune, and he foresaw the day when it would 
 be finished and he must give up politics or else sac- 
 rifice that independence which made his political 
 work valuable. Her mother, he knew, would 
 
 191 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 never consent to their marriage. The world would 
 say that money was his object. Geraldine's con- 
 straint of late had prepared him for her vexation 
 and surprise should he ever suggest himself as 
 other than a chum. If he would keep her friend- 
 ship he must keep his secret. 
 
 "Besides," he thought, "this news would mean 
 no more in Geraldine's world than the announce- 
 ment of fresh discoveries in the excavation of 
 ancient Babylon." 
 
 As the bits of the message fell into the waste- 
 basket it seemed that all the personal happiness 
 which the nomination meant to him fluttered away 
 with them. Then he dropped a line to Belmore. 
 
 "The boss is for me without my having to forfeit 
 my independence. So I'll be nominated. Tell 
 Fanny and the little German girl, too, for this 
 Alice has been most interested in the wonderland 
 of our politics." 
 
 192 
 
XIX 
 
 A DINNER AT BENDER'S 
 
 ONE may boast neither in love nor in diplo- 
 macy, and when the two are mixed one 
 must keep even his smiles to himself. The ser- 
 vices to his country of His Britannic Majesty's 
 Ambassador to the United States were not limited 
 to official routine. Lord Bromley's manner was 
 so grave that only those who knew him intimately 
 appreciated the versatility of his mind and his 
 quiet sense of humour. On the score that you 
 may judge performance only by the difficulty of the 
 task performed, he would have been the last to 
 assume any credit as a commercial agent for his 
 country. 
 
 "In England," he once said, in a burst of con- 
 fidence, "we have thousands of fine young fellows 
 who are attractive companions in every way, and 
 many of whom might be of service to the State, 
 only they have the misfortune to have no money. 
 American men are too busy to entertain their 
 women, or even to be entertained; but, rather, 
 they worship their women by a kind of absent 
 
 193 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 treatment, buying them fine plumage and exhibit- 
 ing them as the spoil of financial war, and then 
 escaping to business. The daughter wants a dia- 
 mond necklace; father buys one. The daughter 
 wants a nobleman; father buys one." 
 
 Without ever alluding to it in that way, he was 
 so sure that a rich marriage was the real object of 
 Carniston's visit that he laid out a campaign 
 accordingly, opening the right avenues and inform- 
 ing him, in intelligent asides, of the status of each 
 girl whom he met. Mrs. Hodges, he remarked, 
 was a trial, although Miss Hodges was so beauti- 
 ful and charming that you overlooked the in- 
 cubus. "Besides, it's my opinion, not generally 
 shared, I own, that the young lady is deeper than 
 she seems ; a little perplexing and difficult, I should 
 say" — which was the acme of a hint to one who 
 would not waste time on a golden quest. 
 
 Among the invitations to dinner that Carniston 
 received was one from Bender. When the earl 
 mentioned this to his social mentor, the ambassa- 
 dor's eyes twinkled, without any change, however, 
 in his frock-coat manner or his rather heavy 
 countenance. Bromley was a product of merit 
 who had only recently come into his peerage, and 
 it was his Anglo-Saxon directness of method and 
 his real liking for the country, despite what he 
 would call his clear conception of its foibles — 
 
 194 
 
A Dinner at Bender's 
 
 the eternal reservations of one whose mind is a 
 looking-glass of many capitals — which had made 
 him the most popular British diplomatist ever 
 sent to America. His experience of the world 
 had taught him that a man who is a little pagan 
 in his loyalty to his own breed is the best man. 
 His private contempt for Bender was enormous. 
 
 "I think you'll find it worth while for once," 
 he said. "I shall be interested to learn your im- 
 pressions. You will meet only foreigners there — 
 of course, I don't regard Americans as foreigners." 
 
 As a careful student of manners, Bender had 
 achieved a position in Washington which was a 
 commanding one of its kind. The eldest of his 
 three daughters was married to a baronet in the 
 diplomatic service — but the son of a peer, as Ben- 
 der always told you; the second, to a German 
 baron; and the third, to a French count. His only 
 son flitted from place to place abroad. Reginald 
 was delightfully free from responsibility, the 
 family fortune being in real estate which his grand- 
 father, the hatter, had bought before Washington 
 had become a great residential city. In parentheses 
 he was always mentioning the fact that his three 
 sisters were titled; and he was convinced that 
 America was no place for a gentleman to live. 
 
 "The poor boy," said a witty American cabinet 
 officer, "is most unfortunate in his sex. It keeps 
 
 195 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 him always in the corridor explaining that he knows 
 the people in the boxes." 
 
 The dinner which Carniston attended was given 
 in honour of Prince Galitzini's engagement to Miss 
 Warwark, whose father had accumulated a fortune 
 in little more than the stipulated minute which was 
 the time advertised to cook the breakfast food he 
 manufactured out of bran. Warwark had shown 
 his future son-in-law over the plant to the last de- 
 tail in proof of his financial stability and position, 
 while Galitzini had carried away only one definite 
 impression. 
 
 "The little girls who filled the packets were not 
 like our healthy Italians, who live on simple food. 
 They were so pale. For lunch they ate candy and 
 oranges, and on four dollars a week they dress so 
 chic. Wonderful, wonderful!" 
 
 Mrs. and Miss Warwark had long ago deserted 
 the little Western town where the father had made 
 his fortune ; and Warwark, giving back nothing to 
 the land in bequests or in personal attention, took 
 no more sentimental interest in his home town than 
 if it were the interior of a coal mine. Returning 
 on the train, the prince had outlined happily once 
 more the plans for the reparation of his own estate 
 in his dear Italy. 
 
 Besides the earl and the prince, the others at 
 Bender's dinner were Geoffrey Calkins, a British 
 
 196 
 
A Dinner at Bender's 
 
 officer, who was also living at the embassy; Count 
 von Vorburg, of Prussia; Prince Morloff, of 
 Russia ; and four young Continental attaches. Be- 
 fore he was through with the entree Carniston felt 
 as bored as if he were shopping for ribbons. Be- 
 fore he reached the coffee he was positively under- 
 going punishment. He had that insularity which 
 is not without virtue in our cousins. To be a 
 Briton, he thought, was to have an advantage over 
 a foreigner in that he was a Briton in quite the 
 same way that John Frane, another man who was 
 true to the breed and the land, thought of himself 
 first as an American. 
 
 Some of the attaches had been watching their 
 opportunities for a year and more without finding 
 acceptance in a quarter where the finances were in 
 keeping with their ambitions or the personal sacri- 
 fice to surroundings was not too great. The 
 weather-beaten Calkins was in striking racial con- 
 trast to them. Carniston found himself cynically 
 computing how long it would take Calkins to 
 throw the lot of them out of the window, and 
 imagining how, in any crisis where men returned 
 to primitive conditions, Calkins, from sheer male 
 superiority, would take instant command of the 
 others. 
 
 After the dinner he and Calkins walked back to 
 the embassy together. Calkins had won the Victoria 
 
 197 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Cross about the same time that the girl he loved 
 married a man who was not poor and his brother, 
 the head of the family, died leaving a bankrupt 
 estate and heavy responsibilities to the younger 
 son, whose whole life had been spent in India. 
 
 "I saw the beggars there and rode through 
 them; and when I saw Phipps left behind, I had 
 to go back after him, and he called me a bally ass 
 for my trouble," he said when anybody tried to 
 make a hero of him. "I think he'd rather have 
 stayed. What was the use of living to him with 
 his polo arm gone ? I've apologised to him since, 
 and told him I had to save him because it was in 
 the game." 
 
 He was so mortally cold and matter-of-fact 
 about the object that had brought him to Wash- 
 ington, and the scar on his cheek made him look 
 so savage when he smiled, that His Excellency was 
 a little worried lest he should fail altogether. 
 
 "It's a rotten business, this," said the soldier, 
 with British candour. "If it wasn't for the family 
 I'd chuck it and find some billet in India. But 
 what can I do? I — I can't make money." 
 
 Yet the way for Calkins seemed clearer than 
 the way for himself, Carniston thought; for the 
 girl that Calkins loved was dead. Lucy was living 
 — living in that world to which he had become a 
 stranger. His four weeks in Washington had 
 
 198 
 
A Dinner at Bender's 
 
 shown him the inside of the life of those people 
 who come to the capital to get into society, and 
 from whose ranks are recruited many "hearts that 
 fly abroad." The sycophancy shown to his title — 
 that title whose existence was gall to him — and the 
 feeble efforts to prove an ancestry as a mark for 
 his approval, when ancestry meant to him the in- 
 heritance of a grim duty, were more depressing 
 than amusing. 
 
 There was a real America, he knew, which lay 
 beyond. He had glimpses of it in Washington, 
 and he had felt its abstraction with its own great 
 affairs, its indifference to foreign forms, and its self- 
 respect — the America which His Britannic Maj- 
 esty's Ambassador heartily admired. 
 
 Belmore belonged to it, and Frane; and they 
 and the others whom he liked were equally 
 alien to the ground of the wife-hunters' brigade. 
 He associated Geraldine with the Belmores, and 
 she, too, had these qualities. He was not averse, 
 after the dinners he had suffered, to dining the next 
 night en famille with Mrs. Hodges and Geraldine. 
 It was not intentional, let alone malicious, on his 
 part that Mrs. Hodges drank a deal of champagne. 
 
 His attentiveness was probably responsible for 
 her forgetting herself; and in such moments of ob- 
 livion, when formality no longer pressed on her 
 being as her corsets pressed on her avoirdupois, 
 
 199 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 she was again the woman who had once cooked for 
 her energetic young husband and gloried in his 
 achievements — as she continued to do until snubs 
 from the heights and overfeeding and his inadap- 
 tability to social usages led her to envelop him in 
 an atmosphere of complaint. He had loved Hat- 
 tie in his way, and the more money he had made 
 for her, the less she had been the Hattie that he 
 had married. If he could have heard the praise 
 she now bestowed on this giant — from whom Ger- 
 aldine had inherited her physique and a natural 
 dignity which education had refined — he might 
 have found some of the happiness in his success 
 which it had failed to bring. She told of their rise, 
 step by step, as the earl drew her out, till finally 
 she struck the table and exclaimed in her enthu- 
 siasm : 
 
 "Jim Hodges was a great man !" 
 
 Then suddenly she could feel the streams of 
 perspiration down her bodice and her face seemed 
 to be held to a furnace door. She wanted to sink 
 under the floor. 
 
 Throughout her recital Geraldine had smiled, 
 and her smile was ever the same. Not once, by 
 glance or word, had she endeavoured to suppress 
 the maternal digression. 
 
 "Masterful and creative," said the earl, "and 
 your choice of him and his choice of you were a 
 
 200 
 
A Dinner at Bender's 
 
 splendid tribute to you. I do not wonder that you 
 speak of him with pride. He recalls the founder 
 of our house, and more particularly another of my 
 ancestors whom we call the hunter. Yes, I think 
 they were very like." 
 
 It is a strange world, Hattie Hodges! Here 
 you have been for twenty years trying to impress 
 your gentility upon others by being untrue to your- 
 self, and here you are true to yourself and you de- 
 light the "scion of a noble family," as the novels 
 which you began reading in the first stage of pros- 
 perity would have called Carniston. 
 
 While the mother was tongue-tied, Geraldine 
 deftly took up the conversation and carried it eas- 
 ily away to other topics with the help of her smile. 
 If she had frowned or had exclaimed "Mother!" 
 in a pet, to stop the flow of the narrative, Car- 
 niston would have had a different estimate of the 
 daughter. Now he found himself liking her. 
 With her beauty there was a self-restraint and an 
 absence of pretence that charmed him. 
 
 201 
 
XX 
 
 CASTLES AND A GOTHIC GIRL 
 
 THEY were speaking of Geraldine when Lucy 
 happened to look out of the window at the 
 pile on a neighbouring hill in which Jim Hodges 
 had apparently aimed to combine all the architec- 
 tural types. Fanny suddenly made a grimace and 
 put her hands over Lucy's eyes. 
 
 "Don't blame Geraldine for that!" she said. 
 
 "Why should I ? Geraldine has to bear it. I'm 
 sorry for her." 
 
 "And you a stranger!" exclaimed Fanny, mar- 
 velling. "I've flattered myself that I was the only 
 one who understood Geraldine. Now I begin to 
 think that you understand her a little." 
 
 "I believe I do," Lucy rejoined; for, to tell the 
 truth, she had made Geraldine a study. She had 
 a presentiment that her fate was in some way 
 bound up with Geraldine's, and her attitude toward 
 the girl whom she already considered in one sense a 
 rival was one of mixed curiosity and sympathy. 
 
 Lucy had never been more lovable or more 
 thoughtful than during the last ten days. She 
 
 202 
 
Castles and a Gothic Girl 
 
 romped with the children; she quizzed them in 
 French ; she told them stories new to childish an- 
 nals, for invention was more preoccupying than 
 the narration of the old-timers. They helped her 
 to keep among the stars, away from the earth 
 where the ghosts were. With her hostess she 
 had formed one of those deep, sweet friendships 
 which may spring up in a week when natures 
 are rhythmic. Lindley called her cousin, and in 
 his gratitude for her presence his discussion of 
 plans with Dr. von Kar reduced itself to prompt 
 consent to all the doctor's suggestions for the 
 new factory. 
 
 Every time they had a word in private her hus- 
 band teased Fanny about woman's infallible intu- 
 itions as demonstrated by her conclusion that there 
 was an attachment between Lucy and the earl. 
 What he overlooked and what Fanny, almost con- 
 vinced of her error, overlooked was the essential 
 truth that such sparks as she saw when Lucy sang 
 the never-care song aboard the steamer could come 
 only when the two lovers were together. 
 
 Fanny was forever leading Lucy to talk of Car- 
 niston, and even such a clever woman as she was 
 could be deceived by such a supremely clever girl 
 as Lucy von Kar. In the moments of play-acting, 
 when he was the subject of conversation, she 
 who wept over him at night would express her 
 
 203 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 conviction that Carniston and Geraldine would 
 make a most delightful match. 
 
 "It so seldom happens that way!" she said. "I 
 know so many tall men who are married to short 
 women, so many stupid men who are married to 
 clever women, and stupid women who are married 
 to clever men, not to mention handsome women 
 married to plain men. That is wrong. Like 
 should wed like. Arthur and Geraldine are a 
 match fit for the gods, who, sailing in a stately ship, 
 should find life a summer sea. I can see them 
 riding in Hyde Park and hear cynical people ask- 
 ing, 'How did that happen ?' and all the nurse- 
 maids, who are true idealists, declaring that here is 
 a pair who look like a real earl and countess." 
 
 Geraldine would appear so thoroughly at home 
 under the heads of the beasts at the Steadley table, 
 and she seemed so easy to marry as a matter of 
 duty, that Solicitor Wormley, Lucy thought, must 
 be in control of the fate that sent her across Car- 
 niston's path. 
 
 "I think you are horrid!" Fanny cried; u you 
 and your earl, too — so horrid I've a mind to pinch 
 you. Geraldine is not going to marry him. She is 
 going to marry John." 
 
 "The politician ! What would she do — be bored 
 by his speeches, while he was woful because they 
 did not interest her?" 
 
 204 
 
Castles and a Gothic Girl 
 
 "I recant. I don't believe you understand her a 
 bit. Tall and stately fiddlesticks! What about 
 the hearts in the tall and stately bodies? She will 
 look at him sympathetically and bring him in- 
 spiration and steadiness. They were born for each 
 other. She will marry him; you will see." 
 
 "She is Gothic herself and likes cathedrals and 
 castles. She will marry the earl; you will see," 
 persisted Lucy. 
 
 "And you will see," said Fanny, crossly. 
 
 She thought that she was speaking with reason, 
 as she had a note from Geraldine asking: "Isn't 
 chums a little too honest to deal with the Kennan 
 monster? Won't he fool our good old John and 
 lead him on to ruin ? Of course I don't know, and 
 you mustn't tell chums that I said so. He will 
 think me such a stupid — and I know I am." 
 
 The Belmores had followed the course of John's 
 campaign with rare heart interest, thinking of him 
 as their hero whose preoccupation was making 
 him a stranger to them. He had been at the house 
 twice to a hurried luncheon, and then he had 
 talked more to Lucy than to Lin and Fanny. Lucy 
 had read the newspapers diligently, and her sym- 
 pathy had a certain intelligent quickness of appre- 
 ciation which theirs seemed to lack. Through her 
 they even received news from the warrior of how 
 the battle was going; for he had dashed off a 
 
 205 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 note to "the little German girl" explaining some 
 things which he feared that she would not under- 
 stand. 
 
 It was three or four mornings after John's 
 nomination that Fanny received a most disturbing 
 letter. Mrs. Hodges rarely wrote to Fanny, and 
 when she did it was usually through her social 
 secretary. This time the handwriting was her own, 
 which explained the grammar. There were five 
 pages with a paltry excuse as an introduction to 
 the subject of her boasting, "dear Lord Carnis- 
 ton," as she called him, and his attentions to Ger- 
 aldine, which were already so pronounced as to 
 amount to an avowal. As Lucy was in Phila- 
 delphia with her father, Fanny could not share the 
 news with her, and she had to restrain her vexa- 
 tion until Lindley came home from a trip to Pitts- 
 burg. 
 
 "We've done a good deal of thinking on John's 
 and Geraldine's account," he said, after she had 
 read him the letter, "and it's time we found out 
 whether we are wasting our pains on two people 
 who may have quite different ideas from ours 
 about their affairs." 
 
 "But how find out?" she asked, wonderingly. 
 
 "I am going down to see John," he rejoined, 
 "and warn him that if he wants to be in the run- 
 ning it's time he moved." 
 
 206 
 
Castles and a Gothic Girl 
 
 "That's very rash," said his wife, "but it might 
 do — with him. Yes, go — do go ! I want to hear 
 what he will say." 
 
 She walked down the drive with Lindley and 
 begged him for the tenth time, as he turned into 
 the road, to come straight back with the news. 
 
 In the first half hour he could call his own since 
 seven in the morning, John was trying to outline 
 the points of the speech for the ratification rally 
 the next evening at the Ford Opera House, when 
 Lindley knocked at the door. After a siege of 
 conferences, interviews, and vexations, the sight 
 of his schoolmate carried him back to days when 
 dreaming was as good as doing and he helped 
 Lindley on the classics and Lindley helped him on 
 mathematics. 
 
 "On the ground that one should always speak 
 when he thinks that candour will be of service to 
 a friend, I have come to see you about Geraldine, 
 John. This earl man, as you call him, is making 
 love to her. Fanny has a letter from Mrs. 
 Hodges, who is promoting the affair, and Fanny 
 and I agree that it looks serious." 
 
 With an effort at a smile Frane observed that 
 Carniston must consider himself a lucky fellow, 
 and that the world would wish happiness to such 
 a handsome couple. 
 
 "But, John," Lindley pursued, "Fanny and I 
 207 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 think more of you than of any one else in the 
 world, unless it is Geraldine, and " 
 
 "Thanks " — John laid his hand on Lindley's 
 arm, and Lindley could feel the hand tremble — 
 "I don't know that you ever said it in so many 
 words before. It means a deal to me now to have 
 it in that way from the two beings who are nearest 
 to me." 
 
 "And I feel," Lindley continued, "that I can't 
 go back and report to Fanny till I tell you that it 
 has always been our expectation and our plan, I 
 might say, that one day you and Geraldine should 
 be married. Though we don't know that you have 
 ever thought of her in that light, we can't stand 
 by and see this outsider paying court without say- 
 ing our word." 
 
 "It was my dream, too." In response, John 
 spoke without reserve. "I have waited for her as 
 a prince waits to come into his crown; and now 
 that she has reached womanhood I often find my- 
 self wishing that she were a little girl again. She 
 has changed — and probably I have changed, 
 too. 
 
 "Oh, Lin, I thrashed that all out in five minutes 
 of hard thinking the other day, and the castles 
 came down with a crash. You see, it had been a 
 fancy that I should like to take her as a bride to 
 the governor's house. But what is life in a State 
 
 208 
 
Castles and a Gothic Girl 
 
 capital to a girl like Geraldine and the world she 
 has chosen? Although I was happy in the knowl- 
 edge of her nearness to me, would she, as she is 
 now, be happy with the people she met there? If 
 I had been climbing the ladder of wealth instead 
 of politics, why, then, perhaps it would be differ- 
 ent. She has changed, I tell you, Lin, more even 
 than you realise. She is finding her place and her 
 tastes. Imagine the rage of her mother that a 
 governor of a State, who mixes with assemblymen 
 and county chairmen, should propose for the hand 
 for which an earl had made an offer." 
 
 "Mrs. Hodges is an aristocrat, I know," Lind- 
 ley put in, quietly, "but Geraldine, perhaps, would 
 consider an American governor as important as a 
 British earl." 
 
 "Her mother would say that I wanted Geral- 
 dine's money," John continued. "Doesn't it look 
 as if I did? I am thirty-five and a poor devil of a 
 politician ; she is young and rich, and the surround- 
 ings of wealth have become the necessities of life 
 to her. Would you give her the pain of having 
 to refuse an old friend toward whom I hope she 
 still feels kindly?" 
 
 "But if she loved you and would marry you 
 regardless of money and everything?" 
 
 "Then!" John sat bolt upright and drew a 
 deep breath. "How calmly, how finely she could 
 
 209 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 do it if she would ! Oh, I haven't forgotten how 
 she looked that day she was capsized on the lake. 
 But heaven is in the clouds, Lin," he added with 
 a wry smile, u and they say that no American 
 politician goes there — not even when he dies and 
 thus becomes a statesman." 
 
 "You have the chance of giving her the oppor- 
 tunity. There is something I am going to tell you 
 now which will surprise you a little. You know 
 that Jim Hodges was a man of primitive passions 
 and ideas, and you know his attitude toward you." 
 
 Jim Hodges had never spoken to John after 
 their interview when John, home from the univer- 
 sity on a vacation, with his own peculiar impetu- 
 osity and a student's cock-sureness, had outlined 
 his conception of one's duty to his fellow-man. 
 Hodges' eyebrows sank gradually to the puffs 
 under his eyes, and finally, after paying his respects 
 to the cuspidor, he said : 
 
 "I've not much use for anarchists, and I guess 
 I've not much use for you, Mr. Frane." 
 
 "No," John answered, smiling, and with a 
 junior's rudeness. "Our population is not yet 
 crowded, and we must not forget that when our 
 forefathers guaranteed personal liberty," and he 
 glanced at the cuspidor, "they also guaranteed 
 intellectual freedom." 
 
 210 
 
Castles and a Gothic Girl 
 
 Hodges never forgot this remark, which John 
 regretted, but which his pride would not let him 
 recall. When John first ran for the legislature 
 Hodges spent twenty-five thousand dollars to beat 
 him ; and yet more voters in that district cast their 
 ballots for the love of a man than for the love of 
 money, and John won ; with the result that, in view 
 of human perversity and the waywardness of the 
 times, Hodges concluded to give nothing more to 
 charity. 
 
 "Well, John, you know that he never forgave 
 you," Lindley continued, "and while his first will 
 left all his property to his wife under my direc- 
 tion as trustee, a second will provides that Geral- 
 dine shall be cut off with a small allowance if she 
 should marry you." 
 
 John's face was alight instantly; for to him 
 money was made to feed and clothe you, and 
 after that it was nothing, and affection and senti- 
 ment and the mind-free labours of chivalry every- 
 thing. 
 
 "Then I can go to her and ease my heart, if I 
 will," he said, "and offer her myself, wanting and 
 expecting nothing except herself." With the 
 pencil which he had been rolling between his fingers 
 he began covering the blotter on his desk with in- 
 choate marks. "Two years governor and no 
 
 211 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 man's man! Let that be the end of that game! 
 Then I would play another entirely for her. It 
 is a thing which most of us politicians do in the 
 end — make money — which we have to do when 
 gray hairs remind us of our poverty." The 
 pencil grew more active. He was sketching the 
 clearing and the cabin. "Yes, I would take up 
 my profession. I would work for her, instead of 
 the people. That is the greatest tribute that I can 
 pay to any woman." 
 
 "Possibly she would not want you to give up 
 politics," said Lindley. "Possibly she would like 
 to work with you. Are you so sure that you know 
 her ? Fanny thinks the constraint which she shows 
 toward you is most auspicious. You, not she, 
 must ask the question which will decide. She is 
 in the hands of the Philistines now, and if you 
 have anything to say to her you would better not 
 wait." 
 
 Frane, in his way, was as much a man of action 
 as Belmore, only his acts proceeded from what his 
 friends called right impulses, rather than from 
 calculation. 
 
 "Beginning to-morrow night," he said, "I must 
 speak every day and every night for three weeks. 
 If I am going to tell her this, now is my only oppor- 
 tunity. I shall take the 12:30, catch the night 
 express at Philadelphia, see Geraldine to-morrow 
 
 212 
 
Castles and a Gothic Girl 
 
 morning, and be back here in time for the meeting 
 to-morrow night." 
 
 Lindley said everything to harden John's reso- 
 lution, and remained with him till he went aboard 
 the train. When her husband burst in upon Fanny 
 triumphantly and told her of Frane's love for 
 Geraldine, she beamed; but when he told her of 
 the journey to Washington and proceeded with 
 his story, she grew serious. 
 
 "You goose !" she said. "Do I pretend to un- 
 derstand your affairs — and what do you know 
 about affairs like this? I only sent you for infor- 
 mation. I, if you please, intended to plan the 
 action as soon as I knew that John was ready to 
 play his part. Now I think you've quite spoiled 
 everything." 
 
 "But I thought that was rather smart for me, 
 inventing the story that Geraldine would be cut 
 off without a penny if she married John," Lindley 
 pleaded. "It rang the bell, anyway, and it seemed 
 to me that money was the stumbling-block." 
 
 "You don't suppose, do you, that Geraldine 
 wants to go to him when she brings him nothing!" 
 Fanny cried. "She wants to help him. Oh, if you 
 understood her, you'd understand! I suppose he 
 went in a sack suit with baggy knees and threw a 
 collar into a bag." 
 
 Lindley had a faint recollection of seeing Jim 
 213 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 put something into a suit-case, and so remarked 
 drily. 
 
 "How long will he have in Washington?" 
 Fanny demanded in vexation. 
 
 "He arrives at seven and has to leave at ten, 
 I think, in order to make connections." 
 
 "I suppose he'll set the suit-case in the hall, and 
 while he waits for her in the drawing-room he can 
 take a sandwich out of his pocket and eat his 
 breakfast ! It's too bad that when she comes down 
 he can't present his proposal typewritten — and oh, 
 John could propose so beautifully if all the circum- 
 stances were right ! I can see him. He would be 
 irresistible in his magnetism, his sincerity, his ab- 
 sorption. Do you think I'd have married you if 
 you had approached me in that way, Lindley 
 Belmore?" 
 
 "Well, I was in tennis flannels, and we were 
 sitting on the beach under a parasol." 
 
 "It wasn't at eight o'clock in the morning and 
 you had been looking at me for days in a way that 
 led up to it — and why did I take that favorite 
 Viennese parasol, do you suppose?" 
 
 "I can send a telegram to John saying that he 
 has mistaken the route and to await further in- 
 structions from Fanny," Lindley suggested. 
 
 "Silly ! When he has gone all the way to Wash- 
 ington to propose ! Why, you ought to know that 
 
 214 
 
Castles and a Gothic Girl 
 
 one must pretend never to interfere with such 
 things. It is a case of leading with invisible 
 strings. I can't explain,, for you don't understand 
 such things, or Geraldine, either. He'll bring the 
 thing to her mind, and now you must leave all the 
 rest to me. To pay for your bungling you must 
 drop everything and go to Wentwood as soon as 
 the election is over and John is free. He must 
 come, and Geraldine and Lucy and Carniston, 
 too, and you're not to tell any one of them that 
 the others are invited. You are simply to leave 
 everything to me. Four hearts, not four railroads, 
 are concerned." 
 
 He assented humbly, and made his plans to go 
 to Virginia accordingly. 
 
 215 
 
XXI 
 
 A SOLDIER FROM THE FIELD 
 
 THE rough and true soldiers whose life John 
 shared fought with ballots instead of steel. 
 No romance of war clung to their leader, dusty, 
 dishevelled, and fresh from the hard-fought field. 
 After two or three hours' sleep snatched in an 
 upper berth, he was finding that the impetuous 
 decision reached by candlelight had taken the 
 shape of a fantasy in the morning. The ill- 
 assorted luxury of the room into which he was 
 shown made him unpleasantly conscious that his 
 coat was wrinkled, his hair carelessly combed, and 
 his tan shoes unpolished. 
 
 On arising, Geraldine had received his over- 
 night telegram with its perplexing request that she 
 would see him at nine, without the slightest sus- 
 picion of its true object entering her mind. The 
 sunlight of the clear October morning filtered 
 temptingly through the network of the curtains, 
 and she concluded that if he were going to stay 
 only an hour she would have the exercise for which 
 her mood, the air, and the day called. When she 
 
 216 
 
A Soldier from the Field 
 
 appeared in the doorway before Frane in her 
 riding-habit, buoyant and fresh, the meaning of 
 her little start of surprise which was due to his 
 pallor he mistook as directed at the carelessness of 
 his attire. 
 
 "I hurried on here, Geraldine — well" — where 
 was the rush of words which were at his tongue's 
 end the night before? His thoughts had become 
 so crowded that none was left with a definite form 
 of expression — "well, I've come for the purpose," 
 he smiled weakly, "of asking a stay in hypothet- 
 ical proceedings which are based possibly more on 
 apprehension than information." 
 
 "That sounds most dreadful, chums," she said. 
 
 She was still trying to comprehend how one who 
 looked so ruddy as he did when he left the steamer 
 could have so changed in three weeks. It was char- 
 acteristic of her thoughtfulness, however, that she 
 did not mention her impression for fear that it 
 might hurt him. 
 
 "Have you had breakfast?" she asked. 
 
 He admitted that he had not. It seemed that 
 there were four instead of two figures in the Bou- 
 guereau on the wall. He had not eaten since six 
 the night before, and he was train faint and hunger 
 faint. 
 
 "Then, let us talk about the hypothesis in the 
 dining-room, chums," she said. 
 
 217 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "You see, I was thinking of the half-hour with 
 you, Geraldine," John explained, "and then if I 
 had time afterwards I could get a cup of coffee and 
 a sandwich at the station — and I was sure of lunch- 
 eon on the dining-car, anyway.'' 
 
 When they were seated she asked him if he was 
 in the habit of swallowing coffee and sandwiches 
 as he ran. He laughed apologetically and said 
 that he was on occasion. She shuddered at the 
 idea and scolded him in a sisterly way. 
 
 The food revived him. He ate with nervous 
 rapidity, glancing at his watch at intervals. She 
 kept thinking how tired he looked. 
 
 "And what is the hypothesis?" she asked. 
 
 Could Lindley have overheard John's lame be- 
 ginning and his lamer progress he would have had 
 all-convincing proof of his wife's superior wisdom. 
 In broken sentences he explained how the letter 
 Fanny had received from Mrs. Hodges was re- 
 sponsible for his journey. 
 
 "I don't think she quite meant that," for Geral- 
 dine always protected her mother. 
 
 Then he repeated Lindley's information about 
 the will. 
 
 "So I came to tell you what I have had on my 
 mind for years — to tell you that I love you." 
 
 The light from the window was on her face, a 
 face that was always fine but never mobile. He 
 
 218 
 
A Soldier from the Field 
 
 saw her brown eyes open wide as they used to when 
 she was a small girl and he told her a wonder tale. 
 Beyond this there was no agitation; she remained 
 the serene Geraldine. Her friends said that she 
 was so good to look at that she need not talk. 
 Surely she had never been gifted in words. 
 
 "You've always thought this?" she asked, "and 
 you never told me?" 
 
 He had put a bogy into her fairyland of wealth 
 and ease, he concluded. His aspect and posi- 
 tion in her mind, as she looked at him out of 
 the windows of her house golden, became com- 
 prehensible in a flash of what seemed to him 
 naked truth. 
 
 "Yes, always, Geraldine." 
 
 He saw her eyes growing moist, and he felt that 
 he was hurting her. 
 
 "What a drag I would be on you if I hadn't a 
 penny," she said. 
 
 She, who knew that he was eloquent, wondering, 
 saw that she struck no fire with this remark. If 
 Fanny could have been present unseen and have 
 whispered to John unheard she would have said: 
 "Now, now is your time! Seize her hand and 
 plead, plead with all the ardour and sincerity of 
 your big heart !" But the famous talker was silent, 
 thinking of twenty-two giving up its patrimony 
 for the privilege of sharing the burdens of thirty- 
 
 219 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 five, which was the sum of his request as it must 
 appeal to her. 
 
 "You are to have a great meeting to-night," she 
 went on, tentatively. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, and he was calculating the 
 time necessary to reach his train. 
 
 "Do you think that you will be elected?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I say I shall. That is the thing to do. I don't 
 know. I don't think about it that way. It is the 
 campaign, the game ! That is wine to me every 
 moment." He seemed to be straining at the leash, 
 and glanced at his watch hurriedly. "I must be 
 going." When he turned to look at her again at 
 the door, he saw a tear on the face that was still 
 serene. "How I have hurt her!" he thought, 
 "letting her know that I ever thought of her in 
 that way!" And he said "Forgive me and forget 
 my nonsense," half inaudibly, and rushed down the 
 steps. 
 
 Geraldine went slowly up the stairs to her room. 
 It was the only room furnished to her taste in that 
 house which the cynics said, in comparing it with 
 the house at Kearn's Ford, represented the second 
 stage. She picked up the half-dozen papers that 
 lay on the bed — all from John's State — and with 
 her own hand cut out certain columns under glar- 
 ing headlines. When her maid came to say that 
 
 220 
 
A Soldier from the Field 
 
 Lord Carniston was waiting below, she answered 
 "Directly;" and "directly" seem to mean after 
 she had read every notice and scanned some of 
 those that she had filed away in her desk the day 
 before. 
 
 "I do believe I understand a little !" she thought. 
 "How I would like to see him to-night, giving the 
 audience his whole heart and soul ! What a heart 
 and soul they are to give and only an audience will 
 ever receive them." 
 
 After she had locked her desk she started leis- 
 urely downstairs, riding-crop in hand. At the 
 first landing was a gaudy Satsuma vase which she 
 had borne quietly, as she had everything else. This 
 morning it assaulted her eyes with an uncontrol- 
 lable repugnance. Her mother sometimes said that 
 "Geraldine has outbreaks, and because she is her- 
 self in five minutes afterwards no one thinks that 
 she has a temper." Her girl friends at school had 
 remarked that there was more in her than one 
 thought. 
 
 Now she brought the horn handle of the crop 
 down upon the vase with all the strength of her 
 arm — and how such a character as Lucy or John 
 would have loved her for that blow which sent the 
 fragments scattering! Mrs. Hodges, who was 
 with the earl, had fairly leaped out of her seat 
 when she heard the crash; and when her daugh- 
 
 221 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ter appeared, she asked if something had been 
 broken. 
 
 "Yes, mother," was the serene response. "Prob- 
 ably you know already," Geraldine added lan- 
 guidly, turning to Carniston, "how long it takes 
 a woman to dress when she is in the mood." 
 
 As they went out to the horses Carniston dis- 
 tinctly heard her humming under her breath one 
 of Lucy's never-care songs. 
 
 222 
 
XXII 
 
 THE COURAGE OF LEADERSHIP 
 
 THANKS to their interest in John's cam- 
 paign the von Kars had become ardent 
 newspaper readers. In the afternoon editions 
 which they took aboard the train at Philadelphia, 
 they caught the full effect of the first speech of the 
 eminent banker Oliphant, who had been nomina- 
 ted by the opposition. 
 
 "Behind Frane is Kennan and behind Kennan is 
 Belmore," he said. "Elect this young man and 
 you will find that none of the Belmore interests 
 will be opposed." 
 
 Who was Frane's college chum and his most 
 intimate friend? Why, this same magnate who 
 had condescended to say that in the event of a 
 strike the poor would still get their coal at the old 
 price. Did Kennan make his famous journey to 
 Kearn's Ford for pleasure? Let the No-Strings 
 reformer deny that he had made a deal with the 
 old boss! Let him explain at the Kearn's Ford 
 meeting to-night why the wells of his independence 
 
 223 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 had dried on the day that Kennan came out in his 
 favour ! 
 
 The doctor and Lucy both were immersed in 
 this wonderland of printer's ink when Frane him- 
 self, who had come on the same train, interrupted 
 them. Lucy looked him up and down question- 
 ingly. 
 
 "I was seeking the string," she said, laughing; 
 "and I was going to say that you were a stranger, 
 but, of course, you're not. You are at the Bel- 
 mores' morning, noon, and night, always running 
 the great man's errands." 
 
 This bit of satire gave him his first real laugh 
 of that long, hard day. He had felt the veering 
 of independent sentiment, and he had begun to 
 realise the handicap of carrying a boss on his back. 
 The name of Kennan was tainted, and no name 
 associated with it could escape infection. 
 
 "I hope you have some ammunition in your 
 locker and can give them as good as they send," 
 said the doctor, rather formally; for he still re- 
 fused to believe in Frane. He conceived of the 
 election as being a rough-and-tumble battle of 
 demagogues, and with such his temperament had 
 little in common. 
 
 "Yes," Lucy put in, "you can do that without 
 half trying. I know he's a humbug by his picture 
 and the way he talks." 
 
 224 
 
The Courage of Leadership 
 
 Frane beamed over her interest and partisan- 
 ship. When a man who believes that he is right 
 is attacked and the battle is fierce, he wants com- 
 prehension as well as sympathy, and he found both 
 in her. 
 
 "I want to hear you say something that will 
 make him look as small as he really is," she per- 
 sisted. "You must," she added, "you will, in your 
 speech to-night, won't you?" 
 
 When she begged that he would find her and 
 her father a place where they could hear him, his 
 delight took the form of offering them a box and 
 his escort to and from the meeting. Then he made 
 his excuses and went to join Kennan, who was in 
 the stateroom of the next car. 
 
 Kennan's decision to go to the meeting, as one 
 of John's friends said, indicated his intention to 
 cling as close to the candidate as matrimony. He 
 and John had not met since Oliphant had made 
 the charges. The old boss was chewing an un- 
 lighted cigar, and as they shook hands his eyes 
 sought John's piercingly. 
 
 "Well, are you going to throw me over in that 
 speech of yours to-night?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "No," John answered, smiling. 
 
 The boss regarded him narrowly. 
 
 "What line are you going to take?" he pursued. 
 
 "You've tried your old kind of politics; now 
 225 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 I am going to try mine — the new kind. It goes 
 without saying that I am in command of the field- 
 work." 
 
 "That 'No' was all I wanted to hear. Go 
 ahead," the boss concluded. "You've read 
 Oliphant's speech," he went on, giving the name 
 a slur as he spoke. "He's a holy man, he is." It 
 was plain that this speech had stirred him to the 
 depths. He drew a letter from his pocket as he 
 spoke. "Smug — that's it. If there's any kind of 
 man I hate, it's the smug man." 
 
 "So do I," said Frane, heartily. 
 
 "You, Frane, could stand up and say that I had 
 done certain things, and call me whatever you 
 pleased on that account, and I'd take it and keep 
 my mouth shut, because I know you wouldn't do 
 those things yourself. Well, read that!" 
 
 He passed to Frane the note which Oliphant, 
 in a moment when he was off-guard, had written 
 only three years before. It was addressed to 
 Kennan, and began, "In regard to our conversa- 
 tion of yesterday," and it told enough to show that 
 Oliphant as a business man was willing to bribe 
 that same city whose corrupt rule he had made his 
 battle-cry as a candidate. 
 
 "Oliphant, of course, was only the eminent 
 citizen acting for others," Kennan continued. "If 
 we'd granted what they wanted, it would have put 
 
 226 
 
The Courage of Leadership 
 
 the party out for twenty years." He went into 
 details as to the scandalous thing that Oliphant 
 had proposed, the huge price he had offered to pay; 
 and when the list of names of the financiers be- 
 hind him was given it was a pleasure to Frane to 
 find that Belmore's was not among them. 
 
 "They've been driving me to the wall," said the 
 boss, "and I've concluded it's about time I talked 
 back. You can make these charges against Oli- 
 phant to-night if you like, and if he denies them, 
 I'll substantiate." Thus the boss had proffered a 
 sensation which would turn the tide of suspicion 
 from John's direction to that of his opponent. 
 
 John had grasped the opportunity the instant 
 he had read the note and had already considered it. 
 The new school of politics treated Kennan to an- 
 other surprise when he said quietly that he was not 
 going to mention Oliphant's name that evening. 
 
 "But thanks ! You've helped me more than you 
 can guess." 
 
 So he had. Weary as John was, the heart taken 
 out of him by the fiasco of his journey, his thoughts 
 all the way from Washington had harked back to 
 Geraldine instead of forward to the other crisis — 
 that of his career. For the first time he faced life 
 with Geraldine wholly out of the reckoning. Out- 
 lines for his speech had come and gone in his mind, 
 but with none was there any fire, any moving con- 
 
 227 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ception. The letter had centered his thoughts 
 again. It had recalled him to the field of the good 
 fight. He was facing a candidate for governor 
 who regarded his fair name as a commercial 
 quantity which might be used to cloak a franchise 
 steal or to elect him to office. Such was the temper 
 of the times. This America was a land, not to 
 love, but to exploit for personal ends. How were 
 the people to know whom to trust when their faith 
 was a commodity for barter by those who held it? 
 But John was not to say this; the idea for the 
 speech which had come to him involved no plati- 
 tudes. When the train drew into Kearn's Ford 
 he was in the full fever of the people's work again. 
 
 "I'm going to tell them about our deal to- 
 night," he told the boss, expecting an explosion; 
 but none came. 
 
 Well the old warrior knew that victory de- 
 pended upon John's personality. According to 
 the rule of the political seesaw it was the turn of 
 his party to be out. Could the new kind of politics 
 and the new leader keep it in? If Frane's indis- 
 cretion lost, then Frane was dead, and the party 
 would come forward with some other leader and 
 go on in its old way. Kennan had made equally 
 strange political bedfellows before, but always 
 coldly — the speech-making he left to others — as 
 one makes any business transaction. The situation 
 
 228 
 
The Courage of Leadership 
 
 was new, in that he had taken a liking to Frane; 
 and when Frane rose on the stage of the opera 
 house that evening the boss was more nervous 
 than the speaker himself. The deafening cheers 
 that greeted the candidate were to be expected. 
 This was his home town ; it was a partisan ratifica- 
 tion meeting. But John himself had detected a 
 weakening of enthusiasm in the attitude of his 
 supporters, who he knew had followed him as an 
 enemy of Kennan in every fight that he had made 
 — and now he and Kennan were on the same 
 platform. 
 
 Before John had said half a dozen words after 
 the applause had died away, a voice sang out : 
 
 "What about your deal with Kennan? Let's 
 have that first!" 
 
 The speaker had sounded the key-note for 
 Frane, who made himself heard above the hisses of 
 his too-ardent admirers, and politely asked the 
 shouter to stand up and state his question in full; 
 and the shouter was not bashful. 
 
 "How can you be a No-Strings candidate and 
 be hitched up with Boss Kennan?" he called, 
 bluntly. 
 
 "I wanted you to ask that question," Frane re- 
 plied. "I wanted you to ask it, because you have 
 a right to know, as every citizen has a right to 
 know. He cannot vote intelligently until he does 
 
 229 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 know. Yes, there is a deal, and I will tell you just 
 what it is." 
 
 He took a step nearer the audience. If Geral- 
 dine could have seen him then, instead of in his 
 suit of awkwardness and timidity that morning! 
 The audience leaned forward to meet him. This 
 word "deal" typified all the trickery of the politics 
 of the time. Here was the man whom the people 
 set above all such contamination admitting that he 
 had made a bargain with the most reprehensible 
 of bosses. When Frane began speaking it was 
 as if to one of his townsmen in the street. His 
 style, in the language of Binns, keeper of the 
 Ford House, was "looking you in the eye and tell- 
 ing you straight." Word for word he related the 
 interview between himself and Kennan. He did 
 not palliate the boss or shirk association with him. 
 
 u He brings me his support. I accept it. What 
 I told him I would do I shall do, and so I tell you. 
 Now that you know all, it is for you to decide." 
 There he stopped. He had made no conventional 
 appeal for a cheer, but he had spoken with such 
 force, such earnestness and directness, that the 
 table on which at times he rested his hand seemed 
 to shake with his emotion. The second of silence 
 which followed the close of the speech was broken 
 by the man who had asked the question. 
 
 "I guess it's more a case of your being the driver 
 230 
 
I wanted you to ask that question," Frane replied 
 
The Courage of Leadership 
 
 than being hitched," he said; u and you're good 
 enough to drive for me." 
 
 This spark brought an explosion of applause, 
 followed by thunder and tumult as the people 
 rose to their feet. When the cheers had died 
 down a United States senator who was to speak 
 after Frane arose. But the audience had only been 
 recovering its breath. The second outbreak was 
 more prolonged than the first; for the more that 
 his hearers thought of this example of straight- 
 forwardness the more it thrilled them, 
 
 Kennan had been so affected that he forgot to 
 consider whether the speech was good politics or 
 not. 
 
 "You told it just as it was," he whispered; u and 
 they believed you. I could feel that they did." 
 
 Glancing toward the box which the doctor and 
 Lucy occupied, John saw her greet him with a 
 pantomime of approval; and then a man from the 
 wings brought him a note. 
 
 "That was splendid courage," she had scribbled 
 impulsively on a calling-card. "It doesn't matter 
 whether you are elected or not. It's enough to be 
 able to do such a thing." 
 
 Of all the compliments which he heard when 
 the crowd swarmed onto the platform after the 
 meeting was over this rang truest to him. The 
 doctor and Lucy remained watching the scene until 
 
 231 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Frane made it possible to excuse himself and to 
 walk home with them. 
 
 "All great men of action have been gamblers 
 in a sense," the doctor observed. "They have not 
 hesitated to put all to the hazard in a crisis." 
 
 "Oh, it did not occur to you that way, I am 
 sure/' said Lucy, looking questioningly at John, as 
 if fearing that she was to have an ideal shattered. 
 "It was right to tell them and you did. Therein 
 lies your triumph.' ' 
 
 "You understand," he said to Lucy, in the fer- 
 vour of fellowship. He was in the afterglow of 
 his effort, radiant, cheery, boyish. In his outburst 
 of confidence he told her more of his aims than he 
 had vouchsafed to any one for many years. Rap- 
 idly he talked and eloquently — more eloquently 
 than on the platform — all the way up the hill, 
 while she, listening, realised the intimate charm of 
 his personality. When they reached the gate he 
 stopped suddenly, as if he had been caught in an 
 indiscretion. 
 
 There was a touch of exhaustion or sadness in his 
 good-night and in hers. He was wishing that Geral- 
 dine could have been in her place. He would not 
 have expected Geraldine to understand his remarks 
 in just the same way that Lucy could. To have 
 her at his side would be enough. Lucy was think- 
 ing if it had only been Carniston who had been 
 
 232 
 
The Courage of Leadership 
 
 speaking with such a set purpose, so free of the 
 trammels of yesterdays and so concerned with the 
 to-morrows — if Carniston would only stake all on 
 the hazard. She would not want or expect him to 
 be as brilliant as this man was. 
 
 "I have witnessed to-night the theatrics of an 
 American political meeting," Dr. von Kar wrote 
 in his diary. "You have been the confidant of my 
 many inconsistencies, little book. You have seen N 
 friendships grow and harden or melt away, and 
 you have smiled at me, thinking that the day's 
 exasperation which directed my pen would soon be 
 forgotten. I have to confess to-night that I was 
 wrong about Frane. He is a demagogue, but with 
 the difference that he is a good demagogue. He 
 is honest. He is free of heart, and not the least 
 of his virtues is that he has a contempt for money." 
 
 Yet before he fell asleep, the doctor ran happily 
 over the figures of his own fortune. 
 
 233 
 
XXIII 
 
 NOT A MATTER OF IMPULSE 
 
 GARNISTON had done that thing; and gal- 
 lantly, some schools of chivalry may hold. 
 No parental frowns of disapproval dammed the 
 words of the bashful suitor as he spoke the lesson 
 which he had rehearsed. Mrs. Hodges' sighs over 
 the prospective loss of her daughter were percep- 
 tibly softened by her outbreathings of delight. 
 Over further details we shall draw the veil of pri- 
 vacy, after remarking that she had not been al- 
 together frank in explaining the extent to which 
 the estate was in the hands of Lindley Belmore. 
 He had done that thing, and yet he felt none of 
 the relief of a duty performed, a road definitely 
 chosen. As he walked back to the embassy he 
 found himself looking forward to the proposal 
 he was to make to Geraldine — he and not her 
 mother was to speak to her first — only in the antic- 
 ipation that she might refuse. And if she did, 
 he thought — if all the girls to whom he offered 
 his hand should refuse in the same way that they 
 had refused little Count de Malmenberg, who 
 
 234 
 
Not a Matter of Impulse 
 
 had literally circularised the eligible girls of the 
 capital ! Then he would have done his duty with 
 noble persistence, and he could say "go hang" to 
 Wormley and the creditors. 
 
 It seemed to him while he was talking with 
 Mrs. Hodges that Lucy had been overhearing and 
 overlooking them. He could see her smile and 
 hear her banter him in mimicry. Was it she who 
 was suggesting to him that he might propose to 
 Geraldine in such a way that acceptance would be 
 out of the question? And why not? he asked him- 
 self as he entered the embassy door. 
 
 But two letters that awaited him overthrew his 
 realm of fancy. A long one from Wormley in 
 unconscious satire alternately reminded him of his 
 duty and wished him happiness in its performance. 
 This unctuous gentleman said that proud as the 
 native millionaire was to have a titled daughter, 
 his inherent fondness for driving a hard bargain 
 should warn any intending suitor who was inex- 
 perienced in business to be on his mettle. By 
 involution, and yet clearly enough, he advocated 
 a careful examination of the field before making 
 a choice, aiming high and thinking of no arrange- 
 ment for less than thirty thousand pounds a year. 
 
 A note from Fanny Belmore recalled Carnis- 
 ton's promise to visit Wentwood, whither she and 
 Lucy, she said, were going in two days. If he 
 
 235 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 had any engagement in town he could run in 
 and back again in the automobile. The signifi- 
 cance of this to him was that Lucy was coming 
 into his horizon again. If she were not at Went- 
 wood she would be in Washington. After all the 
 dumb show, the pantomime of wife-hunting, he 
 was hungrier for her than he had ever been before. 
 Bender and Mrs. Hodges and the others of their 
 unreal world had made him homesick for his Eng- 
 land and the English girl that he loved. He was 
 weak and amiable and a fool, or he would find 
 some way out of the situation, he told himself for 
 the hundredth time. After dinner he and Calkins 
 sat together far into the night. Theirs was the 
 growing comradeship of misery. 
 
 "Any station in India is better than this, and 
 perhaps a war by-and-by," said Calkins. u And 
 if not, no matter. This game of the white man's 
 civilisation is too fast for me. A little breeze in 
 the evening in the hill country is worth it all." 
 
 When he awoke in the morning Carniston felt 
 like a man of conscience who has turned bribe- 
 giver and bribe-taker. There was no putting back 
 now; he would have to see it through. He was 
 going for a walk with Geraldine at eleven, and 
 it was his plan to announce his suit before they 
 left the house. While he sat waiting for her to 
 come downstairs and rehearsing his little speech, 
 
 236 
 
Not a Matter of Impulse 
 
 Lucy appeared again in one of her never-care 
 moods. 
 
 "We all see you," she seemed to say; "go ahead. 
 It's not long since you were proposing in another 
 drawing-room on the other side of the Atlantic. 
 That girl, the silly! met you at the door." 
 
 Because Lucy put him out, Mrs. Hodges, who 
 was in her own room ready to be called to embrace 
 two dear children and give them her blessing, real- 
 ised that something was wrong when from her 
 window she saw them going down the steps only 
 a minute after Geraldine had entered the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Had she known how to proceed she would have 
 prepared Geraldine for the proposal. "Nobody 
 knows her like me," she had often sighed, "and 
 she is so uncertain and headstrong." Ever bully- 
 ing her daughter, yet the mother really feared her. 
 "Geraldine must; they were made for each other," 
 she thought desperately as she watched them 
 walking away. 
 
 Passers-by cast sidelong glances at the handsome 
 pair — some in admiration, some not, perhaps, 
 without envy of their atmosphere of luxury, good 
 health, position, and wealth. Geraldine was beau- 
 tiful. Carniston might not walk with her on a 
 clear November day and resist a certain pleasure 
 in the thought of having a creature so superb for 
 
 237 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 his companion. He must own that he liked her 
 quality. 
 
 "I have something important to say to you," 
 he began. 
 
 It would have seemed extraordinary to him to 
 offer his hand in marriage while they were walking 
 in the street if anything had seemed extraordinary 
 in his new career. But it is repugnant, too, when 
 you love another girl, to propose for duty's sake in 
 a drawing-room where the seclusion requires that 
 the occasion be eloquent — he could hear Lucy tell- 
 ing him so with a wise shake of her head. The 
 bargain, if bargain there was to be, could be con- 
 cluded here without a scene, and yet quite in keep- 
 ing with good taste when the two concerned had 
 such excellent control of their emotions. 
 
 "I came to ask you to go back to Burbridge 
 with me," he concluded. 
 
 She had flushed a little at his first words, fore- 
 seeing the trend of his speech; for she had had 
 enough proposals on horseback, on foot, in motors, 
 as well as in the proverbial conservatory, to recog- 
 nise the signs, however unusual. There was noth- 
 ing in her expression to indicate any sense of 
 humour or the nature of her final answer. 
 
 "By that you mean that you ask me to marry 
 you," she observed. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 238 
 
Not a Matter of Impulse 
 
 "Of course we shall need a lot of money to pay 
 off debts and fix up the estate," she pursued, with- 
 out the slightest touch of irony in her voice. 
 
 "Yes," he stammered, honestly. 
 
 "Such an offer is always entitled to respectful 
 consideration," she said, "and if I make inquiry 
 it is — as a lawyer would say, I suppose — with a 
 view to the satisfaction of a full understanding 
 now, instead of the pain of later disillusionment. 
 The future relations that you have suggested being 
 personal makes it allowable, perhaps, that I should 
 be a little personal before I give my decision. So 
 I shall ask you if you are not in love with Miss 
 von Kar, as I have guessed." 
 
 Geraldine, wondering at her facility in the use 
 of long words, as she put the question, looked 
 him full in the face, and she was smiling in the 
 same impersonal way that she had smiled when 
 her mother made the recital at the dinner table 
 and when, indeed, she had broken the Satsuma 
 vase. 
 
 "Yes," he admitted drily, while he heard the 
 voice of Lucy calling him a cad. 
 
 "And you were engaged?" she pursued quietly. 
 "Or wasn't it like that?" Her manner being that 
 of right took the edge of impertinence off the 
 question. 
 
 "Yes, we were. It was quite like that," 
 239 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 he said, proudly. "She sent me away/' he 
 added. 
 
 "It is fine of you to say so," and she gave him 
 an approving look. "Let it be so. But there sud- 
 denly came into your life a condition which forced 
 you to marry for money, and you swallowed your 
 pill manfully, and, after looking over the field, 
 I am your choice." 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes!" he said, pathetically and in con- 
 fusion ; and it was some satisfaction to hear Lucy's 
 voice calling: "Hurrah for the world of truth and 
 light and faith!" 
 
 " 'For the love that kings in courting lost,' " 
 Geraldine repeated softly and hummed the measure 
 through; while he recalled the afternoon on board 
 the steamer when Lucy had sung. "Miss von Kar 
 is extremely clever," Geraldine finally observed. 
 
 "Scarcely more clever than one other woman I 
 know," he said. 
 
 "I mean that if she has a thought she can put 
 it into words or music in a way that rings a bell 
 all round and makes you wish that you had the 
 same key to unlock the door in your forehead. 
 Her thoughts are in her eyes and on her lips, and 
 what she is you know. Mr. Frane has that 
 quality. He says no and yes, and I will and I 
 will not, and I think this and I think that; but 
 then you feel that you see all there is in his mind 
 
 240 
 
Not a Matter of Impulse 
 
 and heart. It is quite different from having your 
 face always a mask. 
 
 "Did you ever look at the diamonds in a shop 
 window and feel the repulsion of so much bril- 
 liance and as if you didn't care for diamonds any 
 more than for the glass on a chandelier? And 
 then did you ever have a diamond that you loved 
 for its shape or some thought associated with it? 
 You see, there are clever people in this world who 
 can give* you a thought or a smile that means more 
 than a show window full of brilliance — Miss von 
 Kar can. Though she is not beautiful to look at 
 at first, when you have known her a day or two 
 then she is good to look at forever, and it is dear 
 to be near her. Isn't that it?" 
 
 "Yes," he faltered, when he wanted fairly to 
 shout that it was. 
 
 They were across Lafayette Square now, and she 
 signalled to a newsboy and bought the first edition 
 of an evening paper for the latest returns. 
 
 For John Frane had been elected governor the 
 day before by a majority that had made the 
 startled country see in him a great national figure. 
 Geraldine's heart had been tingling all the morn- 
 ing with his triumph. Yet she had not mentioned 
 her happiness to any one. 
 
 "One hundred and eighty thousand now — more 
 and more," she said, half to herself. 
 
 241 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Then her eye caught another headline, announc- 
 ing her engagement to Carniston on the best of 
 authority, and two burning spots came into her 
 cheeks. It was in her usual voice, however, with 
 its slight lisp and monotone, that she observed 
 that they might as well turn away from the line 
 of the street cars. 
 
 When they were back in the square she showed 
 Carniston the paper, with her finger on the an- 
 nouncement. 
 
 "I see that it is to be the social event of the 
 season," she said before he could speak, "and 
 probably the most brilliant wedding ever celebrated 
 in Washington. " 
 
 He found some stumbling words to express his 
 deep regret at such an awkward error and his 
 willingness to do anything in his power to amend it. 
 
 "You saw my mother before you spoke to me on 
 this subject?" she asked. And when he nodded 
 she went on: "Naturally you would. It was not 
 right to go to the girl till you knew that conditions 
 permitted you to propose." 
 
 "Yes, I couldn't quite follow the American 
 custom, you see." 
 
 "Which possibly you did in Miss von Kar's 
 case, and that, too, naturally." 
 
 "Yes, and afterwards she went to my father." 
 He was trying to laugh as the whole history came 
 
 242 
 
Not a Matter of Impulse 
 
 back to him mortally and bitterly. "But I pro- 
 test, we are not talking about her," he half 
 pleaded, hoping to change the subject, but finding 
 his wit too dumb to do so for himself. 
 
 "Of course. You have asked me a question and 
 in courtesy I ought to answer, even if The Evening 
 Star has already settled the matter. When you 
 have money will you go into politics and try to 
 make a career?" 
 
 "That's rather difficult for me. One ought to 
 be in the Commons to accomplish anything. I'm 
 a peer, you see. I've been interested in science 
 mostly." He recalled Brent's remarks, and it 
 occurred to him that this girl who had divined his 
 love for Lucy was now revealing to him the mo- 
 notony of his future. 
 
 "It's a great honour you have done me, I am 
 sure," she said. "It will be quite easy for us to 
 consider it seriously, for we are both so rational. 
 Therefore, I'll not act impulsively." 
 
 He wondered if she were laughing at him 
 behind her smile or if she left open the chance 
 to accept him in the same matter-of-fact way, some 
 morning when they were walking or driving, that 
 he had proposed to her; and with her quite the 
 mistress of the situation, and with him nonplussed, 
 she led the conversation into other channels. 
 
 Her mother had been watching from the win- 
 
 243 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 dow for her return. Madame could conceal her 
 curiosity no longer. All excitement, she met her 
 daughter at the head of the stairs. 
 
 "Gerry, did he— did he ?" 
 
 "Have you read The Evening Star, mother?" 
 the daughter asked. When Mrs. Hodges saw the 
 headlines her face blanched. She quavered that 
 she had only told her social secretary — nobody else. 
 
 "I will call up The Evening Star" and Geral- 
 dine reached for the receiver. 
 
 "But — Gerry — you break my heart — I " 
 
 "Main 2440," Geraldine was saying. "Yes, 
 Mrs. Hodges wishes to speak to you about an item 
 in this evening's paper." She held her hand over 
 the mouthpiece. "Now, mother," she added; and 
 the weaker vessel gave way. 
 
 When Mrs. Hodges had sputtered an absolute 
 denial Geraldine, without further comment, took 
 the paper from her mother's hand and went to her 
 room, where she read every word of the returns 
 that concerned John Frane. 
 
 244 
 
XXIV 
 
 THROUGH ANOTHER'S EYES 
 
 NOT quite up to Dingwall's record but ex- 
 traordinarily prompt, and congratulations 
 just the same," ran the telegram which Carniston 
 received from Lucy the next morning. She had 
 been the first at the Belmores' to see the despatch, 
 with a Washington date line, in the Kearn's Ford 
 evening paper which was lying unopened in the 
 hall as they came down to dinner. 
 
 "I was sure our Gothic girl could not resist be- 
 coming a countess," she observed to Fanny, who 
 cried that it was all wrong and shameful as she 
 looked appealingly at Lindley. 
 
 "I don't think she is a Gothic girl," he said 
 finally, breaking his silence for the first time since 
 he had read the news. He was not touching his 
 soup. 
 
 "The question is, I believe, is Miss Hodges a 
 Gothic girl?" said the doctor, who saw that there 
 was a gap in the conversation. "Gothic! Miss 
 Hodges is stately. Perhaps she is Renaissance." 
 
 "Make it Greek with a tailor-made suit," chimed 
 
 2 45 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 in Lucy, laughing — how could she laugh when that 
 news was surging in her heart? — -"for we all ad- 
 mit — they are so far away — that the Greeks had 
 all the beauty and the form and the wit, mytho- 
 logically, classically, and gloriously; but they 
 lacked motors and modern improvements. Add 
 the tailor-made suit and you have perfection." 
 
 "Flippant!" exclaimed Fanny, crossly. 
 
 U A beautiful woman is the most beautiful thing 
 in the world, and Miss Hodges is truly beautiful." 
 The doctor found the fish excellent and the en- 
 gagement of another one of the millions on mil- 
 lions of couples on this planet an abstract and not 
 a concrete subject. "They tell me that your Amer- 
 ican women have come to like titles. Some of us 
 had hoped vainly that America would let quality 
 be its own insignia and forego the label which may 
 descend to bad goods." 
 
 "Perhaps that is true with some of us," said Bel- 
 more drily. 
 
 "And decidedly not of Geraldine," Fanny fairly 
 snapped. She was not out of temper with those 
 at the table, but with the world. "It's all owing 
 to her mother, I'm sure," she added. "I foresaw 
 it on the steamer. But an engagement is not a 
 wedding. Lin, I shall see Geraldine day after to- 
 morrow, when I shall tell her precisely what I 
 think. We're going to Wentwood immediately." 
 
 246 
 
Through Another's Eyes 
 
 This was the last meal that the four were to eat 
 together at Kearn's Ford, and it was most discon- 
 certing to the doctor, to whom dinner was a genial 
 function, to find the orchestra out of tune. He 
 proceeded, however, along the path of disquisition, 
 enjoying his own remarks. On the next day he was 
 going to New York. He had presented one of 
 Brent's letters and that had led to a chain of invi- 
 tations which he could not well refuse. 
 
 The honours extended by different schools and 
 societies flattered him a little, and were really very 
 acceptable at a time when the factory was in the 
 hands of the builders and he had no responsibility 
 except to write in his diary. He had come to 
 America, it is true, thinking of a holiday in Lucy's 
 company, and Lucy, deceiving herself, had come 
 thinking only of a holiday with him; and now the 
 inspiration which was to carry them away together 
 on a journey of exploration, as they had planned, 
 failed to develop. He was leaving the one who 
 was the soul of his existence at a time when, if he 
 had been near her, he might have learned her secret 
 — which spells the word money again. 
 
 So father and daughter separated at Phila- 
 delphia, Lucy and Fanny proceeding to the Bel- 
 mores' Virginia place, where Lindley was to join 
 them in two or three days. John Frane they left 
 behind buried in telegrams of congratulation. 
 
 247 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Among them was a "Splendid, splendid, splendid, 
 chums," which he took to mean a charitable and 
 friendly thought and nothing more. 
 
 Fanny, after a day's thought and a night's sleep, 
 was still determined to avoid all effort at diplomacy 
 and to scold Geraldine with one breath and plead 
 with her in the next. At the station in Washington 
 the headlines informed her of the positive denial 
 of the engagement by Mrs. Hodges herself. The 
 papers had made so much and in such a way of the 
 matter that Mrs. Hodges was wholly discouraged, 
 Geraldine ashamed, and the earl confounded. 
 
 "Now you see she is no Gothic girl who loves 
 titles!" Fanny cried. 
 
 "Oh, yes, she is," said Lucy, whose heart was 
 bounding. 
 
 "If she were really a Gothic girl who loved 
 titles do you think she would refuse such a hand- 
 some earl?" Fanny continued. "The earl first 
 spoke to mamma, and mamma, quite running away 
 with the bait, told the social secretary, who hinted 
 it to the society reporter, and the society reporter, 
 who had heard of the walks and rides together, 
 made what they call a good story, which was put 
 in print so all the world might see. Then Geral- 
 dine saw it, and pr-r-r! — for she is a devil when 
 she is roused." 
 
 "She is?" Lucy asked. 
 
 248 
 
Through Another's Eyes 
 
 "Yes; she is so repressed that when her feelings 
 do break out they come with a rush." ■ 
 
 Lucy knitted her brows in wonder. 
 
 "Nevertheless, she will marry Arthur," she 
 repeated. 
 
 When Fanny reached the Hodges' she said 
 nothing of the engagement; that could rest for 
 the present. She refused to take off her wraps 
 unless Geraldine agreed to come to Wentwood 
 that very night; and Geraldine was glad to escape 
 from her mother, who took rather hearty meals 
 in bed and was always crying when her daughter 
 appeared. 
 
 It chanced that night that, Fanny retiring early, 
 the two girls had a chat in Lucy's room. Lucy's 
 talk was alive with all the detail, interpreted ac- 
 cording to her own genius, of what had occurred 
 at Kearn's Ford since the group of steamer friends 
 had parted on the pier. Through the eyes of an- 
 other Geraldine saw the scene in the opera house 
 when John spoke. From the lips of another she 
 heard every word that John said as he walked up 
 the hill at the side of this foreign girl on the night 
 that he crossed his Rubicon. 
 
 "Lin and Fanny were not there?" Geraldine 
 asked. 
 
 "The terrible monopolists ! I know they wanted 
 to go, but they remained away because they knew 
 
 249 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 that their presence would be construed against him. 
 Wasn't that splendid?" 
 
 "And that night, after he had done the finest, 
 greatest thing in all his career, did he speak of his 
 old friends?" 
 
 Geraldine meant, did he speak of her, and she 
 might have betrayed her meaning had it not been 
 for her naturally controlled manner. 
 
 "Why, he wasn't thinking of them any more 
 than he was thinking of himself. He was think- 
 ing only of the hundreds of thousands who would 
 read his speech to-morrow — would they under- 
 stand him?" replied Lucy. 
 
 This was a surprise to Geraldine, who had al- 
 ways thought of John and his power as being per- 
 sonal. What woman thinks otherwise of the man 
 who interests her deeply? Evidently he had not 
 spoken or thought of her. He could know no real 
 love except love of his work, and marriage to him 
 would mean only intellectual affinity. 
 
 Geraldine, whose manner was so impersonal, 
 was at heart altogether personal. Half charmed, 
 half rebellious, she listened as Lucy, all uncon- 
 scious of the truth that lay hidden under the ex- 
 terior of this sphinx of a girl, went on from the 
 night of the speech to the night when the returns 
 came in. 
 
 "We went to that, too, daddy and I," she said. 
 250 
 
Through Another's Eyes 
 
 "Wasn't it fine of him to invite two foreigners? 
 We hadn't even seen anything of the kind at 
 home, and your ways are different to ours. I be- 
 came so interested in the campaign and I came to 
 know so many of the people connected with it, that I 
 feel like a politician myself. Mr. Frane returned 
 the night before election, after his last speech in 
 Philadelphia. Election day was his first free, quiet 
 day. He said he felt like a young lawyer when 
 the jury went out on his first case. He sent up to 
 know if I wouldn't go riding with him. It was 
 good to see him so rested and care-free. He said 
 that the one delightful thing about politics was 
 that you were in it thick until the very minute you 
 stopped and you stopped the night before the elec- 
 tion without any ends dragging. 
 
 "I waited outside on my horse while he went in 
 to vote; for I wanted to see that, too. The pho- 
 tographers were at his heels, and I judge that if 
 any of them got a good one of him it would be 
 published. His attitude is very different to Mr. 
 Belmore's, who tries to dodge them. That's the 
 reason, Mr. Frane says, that his pictures in the 
 papers are so good and Mr. Belmore's so poor. 
 
 "And, well — I like that American word which 
 enables you to jump from one thing to another — 
 who were the others in the little office the night we 
 received the returns? The boss and his wife — 
 
 251 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 bless her good heart, so simple and unchanging 
 and so Irish; for truly, the longer I live the more 
 I believe they were all born to the purple — and the 
 proprietor of the Ford House and his wife, and 
 I believe that was all that had seats. 
 
 "Back of us the whole town, it seemed to me, 
 had crowded in, according to order of arrival. 
 Father, who never fails to discourse, said that we 
 should now see what the millions were going to 
 do to the demagogue, as he always calls Mr. 
 Frane. The hotel proprietor said it was a show- 
 down and coming to cases, and apologised to me 
 for using slang. But father likes the demagogue. 
 He has taken to calling Mr. Frane 'John,' and so 
 have I. It seems so natural; every one in Kearn's 
 Ford calls him John. 
 
 "Father and the negro valet were nearest the 
 telegraph instrument. Wasn't that odd — the man 
 from Africa and a scientist from London with their 
 heads close together, bent on the same idea ! You 
 see how we're being Americanised. We'll be tak- 
 ing out our papers next. The negro was the most 
 important of us all except the telegrapher, who 
 was to tell us whether John was elected or not. 
 John told me afterwards that he was immensely 
 pleased at the telegrapher's support, because no- 
 body is a hero to a telegrapher. 
 
 " 'I'll give it to you straight, John,' he said, 
 252 
 
Through Another's Eyes 
 
 'but if it's against you I'll give it with a breaking 
 heart. If you don't win this time you'll win next; 
 you'll win as soon as the people know you.' 
 
 "John, of course, was the coolest of all. He 
 was smiling at us and all of his friends who were 
 crowding in at the door. You see, he hadn't 
 thought of himself; he had thought only of the 
 cause. He had put the truth as he saw it very 
 clearly to those who were to judge, and if they were 
 against him there was no rankling in his heart; for 
 you were sure that he would rather live with his 
 friends in Kearn's Ford than go to the governor's 
 house. You see, he isn't like the American he 
 describes who is working always for his own cabin 
 and his own girl ; he wants good cabins for all the 
 others, and his fortune is theirs." 
 
 It seemed to Geraldine that this stranger had 
 given a true translatfon of John's nature — so kind 
 that he had come all the way to Washington to 
 propose to a girl who his friends said was the girl 
 for him; while not herself, but a stranger, had 
 shared his thoughts in the crisis of his life. 
 
 "The first news we had was from a ward in 
 Philadelphia. The boss exclaimed, 'I expected 
 that!' and the telegrapher exclaimed, 'Humph! 
 they're against everything that John stands for, 
 anyway.' He was as nervous in his movements 
 as the instrument, and fearfully angry. He really 
 
 253 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 didn't say 'Humph' ; he used a noun which kindly 
 theologists say represents only a metaphorical 
 idea. John was still smiling as he looked over at 
 father and me and hummed a never-care tune ; for, 
 you see, we didn't know but this first district was 
 an indication of the way all the others would go. 
 It is that way sometimes, they said. Then for a 
 minute we didn't get a word except that Texas had 
 gone Democratic. The boss growled, 'What we 
 want is news !' No doubt the telegraph is a grand 
 institution. But in the old stage-coach days people 
 weren't tortured so in ten minutes that they seemed 
 like ten hours. It was odd sitting there with every- 
 body silent, waiting for that little mechanical devil 
 to tell us whether John was elected or not. 
 
 "Then the reports came in very fast, and they 
 were all one way, and everybody talked ; and finally 
 the party manager sent word that it was at least 
 a hundred thousand. You wondered what the 
 candidate would do on such an occasion. Quite 
 the natural thing for him. He put his hand on 
 the big black paw of the man from Africa and 
 said, 'Jim, we win!' And the negro said, 'By 
 Gawd, we do, t'ank Gawd!' 
 
 " 'No strings! no strings! I told you so!' said 
 the hotel man Binns. He had been making 
 speeches all over the State, and has become quite 
 an orator, John says, by pretending not to be one. 
 
 254 
 
Through Another's Eyes 
 
 Then everybody nominated John for President 
 with a cheer; but he explained to us afterwards 
 that all governors are nominated for President 
 the night of their election. The old boss looked 
 over at him from beneath his shaggy eyebrows 
 and said : Tf you think of starting a primary school 
 for politicians you'll find me on the front seat 
 learning how to spell.' 
 
 "And, well, we won ! we won ! I felt as happy 
 as if I had been elected governor myself, and so 
 did father. The hotel man announced that there 
 were no strings on his house that night, and he 
 opened the doors for the crowd. He had pro- 
 vided a supper for Mr. and Mrs. Kennan and him- 
 self and wife and John and for the two foreign- 
 ers, and I think he put the climax to what we all 
 felt when he said to John: 'Nobody could help 
 voting for you if they knew you; and don't you 
 lose your faults now that you've got to be gov- 
 ernor. We know them, too, and we like them.' 
 John laughed and said that if it was his faults that 
 made him popular he would try to work his virtues 
 overtime while he was in office. 
 
 "He had something to say to every one in 
 the crowd, and he said it in a way that meant, 
 'You helped; you did it just as much as I did.' 
 When we left him he seemed to understand that 
 we were two foreigners in wonderland — 'And you 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 found it worth while to stay through it all!' he 
 said. 'It was very good of you.' Then father 
 quoted some Latin to him, and he surprised me 
 by responding in Latin in the midst of all that 
 turmoil. Whatever it was, it quite rang the bell 
 with father. Therein lies his demagogue's gift, 
 only father always adds now that he is a good 
 demagogue with a real backbone. 
 
 "Well — and this is quite the last well — I've 
 been keeping you up fearfully late; but I thought 
 you'd be interested, as you know John so well. 
 When we reached the hill we found the Belmores 
 up. Of course they'd heard the news over the tele- 
 phone, but they wanted all the details ; and Lind- 
 ley, so quiet and so real, said, 'Good old John 
 Frane !' and that is what we all felt." 
 
 Lucy slept like a brick because she did not love 
 John Frane and the earl's engagement to Geral- 
 dine had been denied; but Geraldine lay awake all 
 night, rehearsing the scene which Lucy had de- 
 scribed as a part of some world whose doors were 
 locked for her. 
 
 256 
 
XXV 
 
 BREAKING THE CIRCUIT 
 
 LYING in the same pocket of Carniston's port- 
 folio was Wormley's latest call to duty and 
 a call to the fresh air and open country. It was 
 after he had read Mrs. Hodges' public denial, with 
 its disagreeable associations for all concerned, that 
 he answered Fanny's note, excusing his acceptance 
 of her invitation to himself on the ground that he 
 deserved a holiday before he began the next lesson. 
 Joining Lindley as his host passed through 
 Washington, they went on together to Wentwood. 
 He was not surprised when he was told that Lucy 
 was there before him. He had expected as much, 
 and in his heart, so rebellious was his mood, he 
 had hoped as much. Sometimes the Belmores 
 hunted at Wentwood, an old plantation which had 
 descended to Fanny from her mother's side, and 
 again they went there simply to rest. This year 
 they would not have gone at all if a young mar- 
 ried woman had not had her own idea of the 
 proper denouement for this tale of four. There- 
 fore, she did not want a rabble at the house; 
 
 257 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 an objective four plus a subjective two were six 
 and just enough. 
 
 The key-stone of her plan was the promise of 
 John Frane to follow them in a few days. But this 
 was to be a secret from Geraldine — a vital, com- 
 manding secret — as the plotter kept reiterating to 
 Lindley. Nor had she mentioned to John that 
 Geraldine would be at Wentwood. She feared 
 that one or the other might retreat and she wanted 
 to bring them together quite unexpectedly and 
 under her own eye. 
 
 When Lindley and Carniston arrived it was 
 nearly dinner time, and they found Fanny some- 
 what worried about Geraldine. 
 
 "She has been erratic to-day, even for her," 
 Fanny explained. "It is almost rude the way she 
 has deserted us. She came to my room about 
 seven this morning and said she was going for a 
 ride. She seemed unusually preoccupied and quiet, 
 and just a trifle moody. We haven't heard a word 
 from her since. I have sent Hudson on to Smileys' 
 — she might go there, as she knows Mrs. Smiley — 
 to find out if they have seen her." 
 
 They were talking of a general search if no news 
 came soon, when Mather, the stableman from Smi- 
 leys', whom Hudson, going by a different path, had 
 passed on the way, brought a note from the miss- 
 ing one. 
 
 258 
 
Breaking the Circuit 
 
 "You and Miss von Kar must have thought me 
 distraite, indeed, to have bolted the way I did this 
 morning. I needed oxygen, I think. I had a fear- 
 fully long ride and am quite done up ; so I'm going 
 to remain the night here. Why can't you come 
 over for me in the morning? Mather will bring 
 your answer." 
 
 Lucy, the one who might have guessed the cause 
 of Geraldine's astonishing excursion at such an 
 early hour after having sat up so late the night be- 
 fore, was entirely innocent of any thought that her 
 narrative had disturbed Geraldine's peace of mind; 
 and, besides, she was preoccupied with her own 
 emotions. 
 
 As Carniston looked into her eyes again and she 
 looked into his, either was asking the question, 
 "How has it been with you since we parted?" 
 while either saw, or thought he saw, that the other 
 had grown older, or at least grown weary. Lucy 
 was thinner and paler and more spirituelle, and the 
 lines about Carniston's mouth had hardened with 
 his first real contact with that side of the world 
 where the furnaces are stoked and the money is 
 made. She called him Arthur as of old, and he 
 answered her with Lucy. Thus easily again they 
 went through the pantomime of two friends with 
 common interests of fellowship and reminiscence. 
 
 No chance for them to speak alone offered itself 
 259 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 that night. It came the next morning without seek- 
 ing, when the four started to meet Geraldine, and 
 the Belmores, leading the way, allowed the other 
 pair to fall behind. 
 
 Their horses, with the freshness taken out of 
 them, were at an easy walk when Lucy broke the 
 silence of an uncanny quarter of an hour, in which 
 she was smiling all the time and Carniston, abashed 
 and conscience-stricken, could not look her in the 
 face, while both knew that they would not part till 
 they had spoken of their secret. 
 
 "Come," she rallied him, "come, Arthur, it was 
 denied." 
 
 This sounds brutal in print. But there was 
 so little of banter and so much of sympathy in 
 her manner that she seemed a fellow-conspirator. 
 And her smile ! He had watched it flickering as it 
 did with a never-care song. Here was all her old 
 charm calling him after the drudgery of the first 
 lesson and away from the drudgery of lessons to 
 come. 
 
 "Lucy, if you are going to talk that way," he 
 said, in genuine appeal, "I'll take that fence and 
 gallop away to the devil. After Bender, I am sure 
 he would be real, honest company. I could at least 
 fight him with my fists, and they and a title are 
 about all I have for the battle." 
 
 "But tell me, was it so hard?" Lucy asked. 
 260 
 
Breaking the Circuit 
 
 "No, it wasn't, I am sure, with such a handsome 
 girl as Geraldine." 
 
 She spoke impersonally, and he caught for the 
 first time a suggestion of a change of attitude of 
 which she was soon to make him fully aware. 
 
 "Hard! I did my duty! Geraldine was very 
 kind. She is fine. She helped to make me ashamed 
 of myself." 
 
 Here was one from the home land, to whom he 
 might speak unrestrictedly, to whom he might ex- 
 plain the routine of his miserable weeks; and while 
 she listened with a sympathy that drew him on, he 
 told, not without some sense of humour, of Ben- 
 der's, of the sly hints of the old ambassador, of 
 some American mothers who offered their daugh- 
 ters on golden platters, and of other American 
 mothers who smiled at him indifferently as if he 
 were a drummer come to an overstocked market. 
 Continuing his comedy, which was all tragedy to 
 him, he even related the story of his proposal in 
 Lafayette Square which made him and not the girl 
 ridiculous. But he left out the little incident about 
 Geraldine buying the paper and devouring the re- 
 turns of Frane's election, which might have given 
 Lucy an inkling that Fanny and not herself was 
 right, after all. 
 
 "Her compliment about me was delightful," 
 Lucy said, "although I don't deserve it. I can't 
 
 261 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ^express myself. Nobody really can. I fear the 
 'world would be one babble if we could. Only, 
 Geraldine can smile and win everybody and I must 
 say something or they will overlook me. But the 
 main point for you is her answer to your question. 
 Will you tell me her exact phrase again?" 
 
 "It seemed," he said, after he had repeated it, 
 "as if, graciously, from her benign heights, she 
 was intimating that I need not be altogether dis- 
 couraged for she might pick me up again, although 
 she presently laid me aside; and I, a grandson of 
 the hunter, felt small and mean and futile." 
 
 "She did not say 'no/ " Lucy rejoined. "She is 
 a Gothic girl and she will be a countess yet. Yes, 
 she is a Gothic girl, even if she does have a sense 
 of humour. Think of the gargoyles; don't they 
 ever talk to you, Arthur? They were meant to 
 ward off the devils, but they don't keep the earls 
 away." 
 
 "Oh, Lucy!" he expostulated, suddenly stricken 
 with the idea, "since I went into bondage I seem to 
 have lost all sense of propriety. What an enor- 
 mity that I should have told you this!" 
 
 "Not an enormity to tell it to a friend and coun- 
 sellor," and she spoke slowly and softly, "a friend 
 and counsellor, you see, with special privileges; such 
 a friend as may come only once to a man — for 
 when the back seats were empty and we weren't 
 
 262 
 
Breaking the Circuit 
 
 thinking of the cost of petrol, we" — a long pause 
 — "you know." 
 
 Was it irresistible for her to test again those 
 strands by which she could tell whether or not 
 absence had made the heart fonder, or had she 
 no such author's or actor's thought? 
 
 "Lucy, if you talk that way I shall take wings 
 and fly with you to the end of the world, and laugh 
 at Wormley, and pawn the heads of the beasts that 
 the hunter killed!" 
 
 Little did he, amiably removed by two genera- 
 tions from the hunter, think that this was pre- 
 cisely what that dare-devil would have done. 
 
 "It's nice to contemplate flying," she said. "It's 
 done on the stage with wires; and if you don't see 
 the wires, and Columbine is petite, it seems quite 
 real. But Columbine comes down to earth again, 
 and I'm sure she wouldn't be a Columbine for long 
 if she couldn't pay for her meals and lodging. She 
 flies for pay; only the rich can afford to fly for 
 pleasure. I fear, Arthur, before we had gone far 
 we would find that the tissue of our wings was 
 paper money; and when the breeze of bills had 
 carried them away we would look at the frame- 
 work of sorry sentiment and find that it would not 
 make cover for our heads, and as kindlings the only 
 fire it would make would be heart fires, which 
 don't keep the grate from being cold on a winter's 
 
 263 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 day. Then we would look at each other and ask, 
 'Who proposed it first?' just to shift personal 
 responsibility." 
 
 She put back her sadness with play-actress buoy- 
 ancy as she smiled at him, while he cast his eyes 
 down in confusion and beat his boot with his 
 crop. 
 
 u But if I have truly loved you, I am truly your 
 friend," she proceeded. "I am trying to get out 
 of self and live for others. Mr. Frane has taught 
 me that. The fact that you feel so mean for hav- 
 ing to propose to one girl so soon after you agreed 
 to marry another shows that you are really good 
 and noble. Let's bring my never-care philosophy 
 to bear. It embraces science, which you under- 
 stand. Can you not see that this illusion which 
 is called love is produced by a certain mood of the 
 mind which, being exposed opportunely to a cer- 
 tain masculine or feminine charm, seems to com- 
 plete the circuit? You are afraid to break the 
 current. But once you do break it another circuit 
 is soon made." 
 
 "Not so soon," said Carniston, grimly. 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't come gradually," she said, and 
 it was not altogether a smile that made her lips 
 quiver. "It didn't with us. It is like a flash. Be- 
 sides, you can't get the new inspiration till you put 
 the old aside. Does the average young man say 
 
 264 
 
Breaking the Circuit 
 
 'I love that girl'? Do we believe in the Roman 
 oracles or in the divine inspiration of Joan of 
 Arc? If not, how can we believe that this man 
 and that woman were specially mated? 
 
 "Suppose I had been reared in Paris and had 
 never known London at all. Would we both have 
 gone through life inconsolable because we never 
 met? No. To-day their friends say Tom and 
 Mary will make a good match; conditions of 
 wealth, likes, and temper are in their favor. 
 Doesn't the law say that marriage is a contract? 
 Does it contemplate marriage as an illusion during 
 a mood? It's plain that you can't make your es- 
 tate, your position, and your whole life subject to 
 this whim of fate with which story-writers play as 
 jugglers play with balls. Have you never tried to 
 reason that way? I have. You see I am a phil- 
 osopher." 
 
 "Yes, I have reasoned that way through many 
 nights," he answered. 
 
 Every argument that she had advanced he had 
 rehearsed again and again ; and at the moment when 
 he felt that conviction was complete he always 
 heard another voice which was not contentious, 
 but made a statement as simple as that the grass 
 grows or the sun shines. 
 
 "But you love Lucy!" it would shout through 
 the door at the most inopportune moment. If 
 
 265 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 it gained a hearing it was not prolix, for it de- 
 pended on the "current" rather than on processes 
 of thought. "Astrology belonged to the ancients 
 and stocks and shares belong to the moderns," it 
 said. "I am the sacred fire of chivalry which you 
 cannot quench. I gave strength to the first man 
 who fought for the mate of his choice." 
 
 "But you love Lucy!" the voice was saying to 
 him now. 
 
 "You see, it is hard for me to break the circuit, 
 and so I can't get a fresh start," he said. 
 
 "I am sorry," said Lucy. But was she really 
 sorry? She gleaned in that instant a little happi- 
 ness out of much bitterness. It was good to be 
 loved, though it was folly. "You must think of 
 me as grown very worldly and wise of late," she 
 added. "You mustn't think you've broken my 
 heart or done anything wrong." 
 
 Something told him that the change was com- 
 plete ; that for her the current was indeed broken. 
 But for him who has been so matter-of-fact when 
 he showed her his father's letter time had only in- 
 creased the value of the treasure that he had lost, 
 and he was ready then, in the intoxication of her 
 nearness, to make the flight without thinking of 
 the kindling wood. 
 
 "So I'm going to help now. I'm not going to 
 be rude and banter you any more. It's all over. 
 
 266 
 
Breaking the Circuit 
 
 We're old friends; we understand each other," she 
 concluded. 
 
 "Yes, it's all over," he repeated, without look- 
 ing up. 
 
 Then they came in sight of Lindley and Fanny 
 entering the Smileys' gate, and their horses, being 
 near to a habitation, began to trot. Carniston, 
 poor at acting, looked blue when they arrived. 
 But Lucy was chatting gaily. Geraldine observ- 
 ing her concluded that she was, indeed, a play- 
 actress and began to dislike her. 
 
 "We weren't so much behindhand," Lucy ex- 
 plained. "I was telling Arthur about some letters 
 I had received from mutual friends at home, and 
 we saw a fence and wondered if we could take it, 
 and we did." 
 
 267 
 
XXVI 
 
 FOR SOMETHING REAL 
 
 THEY remained at the Smileys' only a few 
 minutes, and on the ride back Lindley and 
 Fanny again took the lead. But Lucy soon caught 
 up with them, purposely leaving Carniston and 
 Geraldine together. 
 
 The day was fair, the road hard, and the atmos- 
 phere of that November dryness and clearness 
 which John Frane said had made Americans out 
 of Anglo-Saxons, Teutons, and Latins. Geral- 
 dine was one of the finished products of America 
 and the air, and she was never so superb as when 
 on horseback. Carniston seemed a companion 
 even more in keeping with her than when they had 
 walked out toward Lafayette Square on the famous 
 morning that the final returns came in one hundred 
 and eighty thousand strong. 
 
 "Do you ride much at home?" she asked. 
 
 "Some, in the season. Father used to go in for 
 it a great deal. He was M. F. H. for a long time. 
 I thought he dropped it because he was getting 
 offish with the world. The real reason, which I 
 
 268 
 
For Something Real 
 
 never knew until he died, was that he was too poor; 
 and while he was making economies in every 
 direction in order that I might have a handsome 
 income, I had been living in a way which I know 
 now was not living at all. He had been very sweet- 
 tempered and careless when he was young, and 
 when he was old he made this sacrifice for me, 
 because his was such a character that he could 
 never forget what it meant to be young. The 
 sacrifice was all the more touching because he loved 
 to sit in the sunlight and be agreeable to every- 
 body." 
 
 He spoke with a boyish frankness which had 
 its charm — a charm of something the same sort 
 that his father must have had in youth. Her men- 
 tion of Burbridge had come to him just after his 
 glimpse of the Smileys had made him think of 
 home and family associations. The Smileys were 
 Virginians of the old school, living modestly, sim- 
 ply — and narrowly, perhaps — and thinking more 
 of Fanny's Southern family than of Lindley's 
 wealth. Carniston felt that he could understand 
 the Smileys better than many Americans he had 
 met. 
 
 "And your father gave it up because of money, 
 and you may lose the estate just because of 
 money?" she asked. "Just money?" 
 
 "Just money!" he repeated cynically, 
 269 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 But it was just money to her. Her meaning 
 was the same as if an ocean pilot had said, "just 
 air." 
 
 "And you in England," she went on, "you who 
 have all the other*things are led directly into touch 
 with a class of people here who haven't the other 
 things but have more wealth than they know what 
 to do with." 
 
 "Yes, it does sometimes seem a waste of energy 
 the way it is used." The phrase was one of 
 Frane's, but Carniston did not give credit, as the 
 exchange editors say, because the plagiarism was 
 unconscious. 
 
 "That accounts for the bargain," Geraldine 
 observed. 
 
 She was a little surprised at herself again to find 
 how easy it was for her to talk to Carniston. They 
 settled down into a long conversation, and when 
 they arrived a half-hour after the others, Geral- 
 dine did not make the excuse that they had been 
 taking a fence. 
 
 At the luncheon table she said quietly to Bel- 
 more that there was some business about which 
 her mother had asked her to speak to him. She 
 went later to the upstairs room where he had been 
 at work with his secretary answering letters and 
 telegrams. He looked up, kindly and curious. 
 
 "You saw that notice in the paper about my 
 270 
 
For Something Real 
 
 engagement to Carniston," Geraldine began. Her 
 eyelids were far apart, almost with the effect of 
 staring, as if she were wondering at herself for 
 what she was going to say. 
 
 "Yes, and happily saw it denied," Belmore re- 
 sponded. 
 
 "It was announced a little prematurely; that is 
 all," she pursued, rigidly. "You have been the 
 guardian of our property and the earl's estate is 
 poor. I should like to know if there is a million 
 available to pay off his debts." 
 
 "Geraldine ! You !" This much escaped him. 
 It stung her, but she gave no sign of embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 "I have thought hard, very hard," she answered. 
 
 "And you wish an accounting," he resumed; for 
 her manner seemed to leave him no other avenue 
 of approach. 
 
 There were many things that this man of blood 
 and iron and silence might have said. The chron- 
 icles of his family carried him back to the day when 
 Jim Hodges confessed himself bankrupt. It was 
 Lindley's father who had broken him in taking up 
 the gauntlet which Jim had thrown down, and Sam 
 Belmore, who could be bitter and harsh, was dis- 
 inclined to give quarter. But associated with them 
 was a Scotchman from Pittsburg, with his senti- 
 ment ever under canny control, who believed in 
 
 271 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 patting the world on the back and making it run 
 your errands. He said that Jim knew things that 
 were better left untold and he might turn insur- 
 gent; "and, man, he's clever, and he'll make more 
 money for us if we give him another start. He's 
 humble and willing now, too." So the Hodges' 
 fortune was saved and the friendship of the two 
 partners resumed, with the result that only a year 
 afterwards, when a panic was on the land and the 
 doctors told Jim Hodges that he had not long to 
 live, he left the management of his estate, literally 
 then worth nothing, such was the depression of the 
 market, to Sam Belmore, who had furnished the 
 cash to carry it over the crisis, and to his son after 
 him, with a prayer for Geraldine. 
 
 Lindley was thinking what the expenditure of 
 that fortune would mean in good roads, in bridges, 
 in parks, in schools. It would build and endow 
 twenty hospitals. To him, the man of gold, money 
 meant what soldiers mean to a general, and he 
 foresaw the loss of a corps which he had nursed 
 and trained and u made out of clay." It was power 
 for good taken out of the land whose overflowing 
 resources, answering to modern genius, were soon 
 to be exhausted; and it was going because of one 
 mother who had brought up an only daughter to 
 be unhappy. Such were the actual thoughts of 
 this so-called public enemy, who was said to have 
 
 272 
 
For Something Real 
 
 a "marble heart" because he did not know how to 
 give the "glad hand"; that "glad hand" which 
 sometimes has an itching palm. 
 
 Although it has taken many lines to throw 
 light on the character of this type of the second 
 generation, the summary of them all flashed 
 through Lindley's mind in that moment of evident 
 concentration on a subject which, his business asso- 
 ciates said, gave his judgments when they came an 
 air of finality. 
 
 "Why," he asked, "Geraldine, why are you 
 going to do this?" That was as good as saying 
 that he knew she could not really love the earl. 
 With him, love was the controlling factor in that 
 social convention called the marriage contract; for 
 he loved Fanny. 
 
 "If I tell you, Lin," and she leaned toward him 
 earnestly, "it's not because it's polite for you to ask 
 that question, but because you really have a right 
 to know. But you must promise not to argue. I'm 
 keyed up to the tenacity of the winning stroke when 
 vantage has varied out and in for five minutes. It 
 was so fortunate that Fanny invited me down here 
 where the quiet has made me logical." 
 
 "I'll not argue. I'll listen. You know that I 
 like to listen best, and always to you, Geraldine; 
 for you are very dear to Fanny and me." 
 
 "Please don't hurt me!" Then, as if brushing 
 273 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 aside her exclamation, she proceeded. "Maybe 
 I'm not like what I seem, even to you and Fanny. 
 I can lie awake for hours thinking about some little 
 remark that I seemed scarcely to notice when I 
 heard it. People only expect me to look beautiful 
 and smile. I am a kind of hothouse plant; that is 
 why they named me Geraldine. If only I might 
 have been Mollie or Kate or something simple ! 
 One thing you mustn't do — you mustn't think that 
 I don't understand things a little, even if it is so 
 hard for me to say what I mean. I did love father. 
 You know, I feel as if I could have done his cook- 
 ing and washing, as mother did once, and feel hap- 
 pier than I do to-day. He was so real — and we 
 used to make him so uncomfortable at times. If 
 I had him now — I'm older, I'm a woman quite, 
 am I not? — I'd parade him proudly, as much as 
 to say, I am his daughter — I, I! — the daughter 
 of this great, strong man, and he says I help him 
 to do something real — I like that word real best 
 of all, don't you ? 
 
 "But father went so long ago that I couldn't 
 even give him a good-bye smile which would make 
 him understand that all I wanted was to be a good 
 girl and make him happy. I do remember he did 
 say once, when I was holding his thumb in my 
 little hand — and what fine, big, strong hands 
 father had! — 'Be patient with your mother. 
 
 274 
 
For Something Real 
 
 When she scolds me because my manners are bad 
 it's because she's so miserable. If you could only 
 have known her when I knew her first and she 
 helped me — before the boy died and before you had 
 come at all ! I can never forget that, and you please 
 try to remember for me.' 
 
 "Well, Lin, I've remembered and I've been pa- 
 tient, though I did break out sometimes. Then I 
 was a little ashamed of myself. But I wouldn't 
 let the world know that I was — no, not for any- 
 thing. I suppose that's my father's pride. Any- 
 way, you can see what a lot I've thought about 
 things, haven't I?" 
 
 He nodded sadly, listening and thinking. He 
 was wondering if her refusal of John did not hark 
 back to her father's dislike of him; if the true 
 nature of her depths were not as yet unsounded 
 even by Fanny. 
 
 "But it has not been real since father died. It has 
 all been like a play when we were with others; 
 and when we weren't, it has been like a play when 
 you go behind the scenes after the last act. I like 
 something real. You and Fanny and John and 
 that little German girl — you are so real. Carnis- 
 ton is real. When I see you I always feel that 
 there is something missing, something that I want. 
 You understand. I've noticed it when I saw 
 Fanny and mother together — although you are so 
 
 275 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 kind — as if — as if we weren't exactly in your 
 world." 
 
 "No, Geraldine! Not that! Never, never!" 
 Lindley said. "We never thought of it. I suppose 
 it's your imagination or our preoccupation with 
 our own affairs. You are in Washington; we are 
 in New York. Your mother likes society and we 
 do not." 
 
 "You are the soul of kindness, and it's my fault 
 if you don't understand. I see so much and don't 
 know how to describe it. Remember, you prom- 
 ised not to argue. I came to you to say that I have 
 something to exchange for something that will 
 make mother happy, for something that will make 
 me patient, which is the thing father wanted. Over 
 there it is real, at least. Over there the path lies 
 plain, with no false efforts, and you live as you 
 please, because that is the privilege of position 
 assured. If half of the fortune is mine I want it, 
 and to leave half to mother, as I'm sure that father 
 would want me to." 
 
 It was at his tongue's end to make an appeal for 
 John, explaining the part he had played the night 
 he sent John on his quixotic journey to Washing- 
 ton. But he recalled his promise to Fanny not to 
 meddle. 
 
 "There's enough and more," he said. "It is 
 between five and six millions. I'll be glad to turn 
 
 276 
 
For Something Real 
 
 over everything to you and Carniston at any time. 
 As you have a man in the family now, that would 
 be better, I should say." 
 
 "Very well." She was the old Geraldine again, 
 undisturbed. 
 
 "And, Geraldine," he added suddenly, in view 
 of Fanny's plans and John's unannounced arrival 
 on the morrow, "the engagement is not to be given 
 out to-night at the table or anything like that. I 
 mean, it's just dressing-time, and it would come as 
 a shock all round and be somewhat awkward." 
 
 "No, we'll not announce it till it's convenient 
 for you to go to mother with me. That's under- 
 stood with the earl. We'll do it all quite regularly 
 this time. There'll be no denial." 
 
 She was serene as she went out of the door. 
 
 Instantly she was gone he hastened to Fanny, at 
 first giving her a brief of the situation as he would 
 have given to a man of affairs. But she demanded, 
 as he would have done in a serious matter where he 
 was an expert, a detailed statement. 
 
 "We must plan! We must plan!" she said. 
 "We must clear out and leave the house to them 
 — and if John only talks ! I have it ! Geraldine 
 must meet him at the station." 
 
 "Hardly practicable," he said. "It's the eight 
 A. M. at Wayne Junction. Would you ask her to 
 go alone to meet him at that hour?" 
 
 277 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "Oh, she wouldn't know he was coming. She 
 must meet him by surprise." 
 
 "How?" he asked, helplessly. 
 
 "I don't know. I am thinking. Why do you 
 suppose I am holding my fingers to my temples in 
 this way, you goose?" 
 
 "It seems to me," he said determinedly, "that 
 the thing is for you to go and plead with her 
 as only you can, Fanny. It was all I could do to 
 keep from telling her that it was all a hoax about 
 the disinheritance and — and shaking her back to 
 reason." 
 
 "Thank heaven you didn't! Argue with Geral- 
 dine now ! It would only stiffen her. All I ask of 
 you, Lin, is to keep still, to agree to any plan I 
 suggest. It all depends on them, now. Oh, I 
 can't express it, but you ought to know ! If John 
 talks — if she really does love him! I'm not so 
 sure she does. But I do know that to-morrow is 
 the last chance." 
 
 278 
 
XXVII 
 
 A FREE DAY IN THE COUNTRY 
 
 I TOLD you that I had invited Amy Standish 
 on from Pittsburg, didn't I?" Fanny had 
 dropped into Geraldine's room for a minute at 
 bedtime. "No? Well, no matter. I have just 
 had a telegram from her saying that she will 
 arrive at eight o'clock in the morning at Wayne 
 Junction. I wonder if you would mind having 
 coffee and toast at half-past seven and going in 
 the car with Lin and me to meet her, and all break- 
 fasting together when we return. Naturally, Lucy 
 — devoted little thing! — is going to sit up late 
 writing a long letter to her father and so she will 
 want to sleep late." 
 
 Of course Geraldine agreed. Fanny had given 
 herself no fears on this feature of her plan which, 
 generally speaking, as an old general would have 
 told her, was dangerously complex for actual field 
 conditions. To complete the assurance that Lucy 
 would not awake early, she went to Lucy's room 
 and there chatted till midnight, and then told her 
 that if she would leave her letter outside of her 
 
 279 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 door one of the servants who had to go early to the 
 Junction would post it for her. 
 
 When Geraldine came downstairs the next morn- 
 ing Fanny's maid brought word that her mistress 
 had a headache, and wouldn't Geraldine and Lin 
 please go on without her? 
 
 "Mr. Belmore was down half an hour ago," 
 Hudson, who brought the coffee, explained. "He 
 didn't sleep very well and he's out walking in the 
 grounds." 
 
 Geraldine wondered if her affairs had kept him 
 awake. Meanwhile, she kept glancing at the clock. 
 When she asked Hudson to tell Mr. Belmore that 
 it was time to start, he went out by way of the hall 
 and returned directly through the kitchen in the 
 manner of a servant making an apology. 
 
 "I'm so sorry, Miss, I made a mistake. It was 
 the cook who told me, and what the cook meant 
 to say was that Mr. Belmore had ordered coffee 
 for seven-twenty, and he's overslept and I'm just 
 going to wake him." 
 
 "Don't," she said; "there won't be time. He 
 needs rest. That is why he comes to the country. 
 Let him sleep, please, and tell him when he wakes 
 that I have gone alone." 
 
 Hudson was unctuously prompt in acceding to 
 her wishes. She was hurrying into her wraps when 
 it occurred to her that Lucy might be up, and if 
 
 280 
 
A Free Day in the Country 
 
 so she would have just time for coffee and to slip 
 into a jacket; but Hudson was unmistakably ready 
 in his answer to this suggestion. 
 
 "She particularly said she was to be waked on 
 no account before eight-thirty." 
 
 Having broken away from the academic com- 
 mandment, Fanny had invented with a freedom 
 that made her offence brilliant. As for the head- 
 ache, she was quite free from it for the first time 
 in twelve hours when she had the proof that the 
 servants had each played his part without arousing 
 suspicion, and she and Lindley from her bedroom 
 window saw Geraldine departing in the car. 
 
 "Fanny, you're a genius! You're a wonder!" 
 said Lindley. "I felt sure that some of them would 
 blunder." 
 
 "Now if John only talks!" she said. 
 
 "And he must," he rejoined, "for Geraldine 
 can't." 
 
 On the way to the station Geraldine concluded 
 that she would be dutiful enough in marrying Car- 
 niston without further gratifying her mother's am- 
 bition by having her trousseau made into Sunday 
 supplements. Yes, it must be a quiet wedding. 
 
 As the train drew in she was looking for Amy 
 Standish, of Pittsburg, when she saw the unmis- 
 takable, energetic person of John Frane among 
 the half-dozen people who alighted. His nostrils 
 
 281 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 were sniffing not battle this time, but the first 
 breath of the morning air of a free day in the coun- 
 try; his mind was not distracted with affairs five 
 hundred miles away but concentrated on play with 
 all the zest it ever gave to work. The girl on the 
 platform was as fresh as the November morning. 
 When his eyes met hers they sent a message of 
 delighted surprise as deep and honest as his heart, 
 while his face glowed with happiness which was 
 infectious, irresistible. She was glad to see him; 
 her heart sang to her that she was. 
 
 "John, you're looking splendid! You seem to 
 thrive on it, this politics," she said. 
 
 "We won, Geraldine ! I suppose one does feel 
 a little better than when he loses," he answered 
 happily. 
 
 "Isn't Amy Standish on the train?" she asked. 
 
 "Amy Standish? Oh, yes, I remember I met 
 her once with Fanny." He never forgot a face 
 and rarely a name. "No, I didn't see her. I'm 
 sure she isn't." 
 
 She was not, for the good reason that she had 
 never been invited to Wentwood. 
 
 "We thought that she was coming, too." Geral- 
 dine did not wonder why she put in that "too" or 
 why she did not tell him that she did not know he 
 was expected. "Fanny has a headache and Lin 
 overslept, or they would be here," she explained. 
 
 282 
 
A Free Day in the Country 
 
 "But you were up and you came. You are al- 
 ways a good soldier and a prompt one," he said 
 as he helped her into the car. When they were 
 seated he turned to her smiling, his enthusiasm and 
 magnetism in full play. "We've had a great time, 
 Geraldine, a great time since I saw you. It was a 
 good fight, and there's nothing in the world like 
 that." 
 
 "It's all in all to you," she thought. 
 
 "I'd like to tell you about it, but I don't know 
 just where to begin. Have you read anything?" 
 
 She was cut cruelly by his question, which was 
 to her only another way of intimating that she 
 could not understand his work; but she did not 
 remonstrate. 
 
 "The Philadelphia papers and the Pittsburg 
 papers and the Kearn's Ford paper — every one 
 for you and against you that I could get," she 
 answered, as literally as if she were on the witness 
 stand. 
 
 "You did this for me!" — and while he had 
 thought that she was only riding and dressing and 
 dining and thinking of any one but him. He had 
 gone through the campaign without the sympathy 
 he most needed, when it was overflowing in silence. 
 "You did all this for me!" he repeated. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, still literally. 
 
 "I don't understand — I — " The presence of 
 283 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 the chauffeur made him change his sentence. "Oh, 
 I wish you could have been there the night of the 
 speech! I believe you'd have found that worth 
 while, and the night the returns came in, too. Who 
 do you think were truly the happiest of all Kearn's 
 Ford because I had won ? Why, Jim and our good 
 old Boniface Binns across the street. 
 
 "You remember Dr. von Kar and Lucy?" he 
 went on incoherently, unable to say the thing he 
 wanted to say. "They became positively factious 
 for our side. I like that little girl. I like her and 
 I think that something is breaking her heart." 
 But he stopped himself in time from associating 
 Lucy with Carniston; for he had no right to con- 
 nect her with conjectures and, he added to Geral- 
 dine, it would never do to repeat his vagaries. 
 "The old doctor quoted Latin to me the night of 
 the victory. Illustrations from the ancient urban 
 republic are so applicable to modern continental 
 America !" 
 
 "What was your first thought when you won?" 
 she asked tentatively, wondering if it were not a 
 woman's silly question. 
 
 "That we had won — our side. Then, how I 
 must keep myself in hand, and how, after all, we 
 had only had the shout and cheer of sending the 
 army forth ; or at best we had only taken the outer 
 works, and before us lay the long siege, with 
 
 284 
 
A Free Day in the Country 
 
 steady firing and little theatricalism, and by-and- 
 by, probably, unpopularity. Then I thought " 
 
 But there was the chauffeur. On other occa- 
 sions and to other pairs who had been in the back 
 seats, the leather cap of this monster had seemed 
 like a gigantic hobgoblin ear set with a row of 
 eyes. 
 
 "Then I thought — I was selfish then — I thought 
 what it meant to me personally — I " 
 
 But here they were, looking at the back of a 
 leather coat when he had only one free day, and 
 going straight on to Wentwood where they would 
 be with other people till he had to return. Wherein 
 lay Fanny's cunning? Did she not know that the 
 chauffeur could see and hear? The pair in the 
 back seats had no idea that he had his eyes on a 
 certain tree, nor had they any reason to think that 
 he had a map in his pocket; for, as everybody 
 knows, modern strategy requires security of infor- 
 mation and an immensity of detail which takes all 
 the romance out of the work. 
 
 "And what did you think for yourself — for you 
 alone are the first premise with all your friends?" 
 Geraldine asked. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not the first premise ! I'm the instru- 
 ment, Geraldine, so far as the politics go, but" — 
 the car stopped beside the tree and the monster 
 in leather shook his head savagely. When he had 
 
 285 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 crawled under the machine they heard him speak 
 a word which was in keeping with the language 
 of monsters and which is supposed to be the per- 
 manent abiding-place of some of them. 
 
 "That lobster Jones, he's changed on me! 
 Broke square in two ! Well ! of all the — " It was 
 marvellous that a chauffeur who was so literal in 
 following instructions on a map should have the 
 imagination to act so well. But Fanny had had 
 perfect confidence in this particular subordinate 
 from the first. When he touched his finger to that 
 hobgoblin ear the pair in the back seats saw that it 
 was only a leather cap, after all. 
 
 "Busted!" he observed, cynically. 
 
 "Flow far is it to the house?" John asked. 
 
 "Two miles." 
 
 They had often walked two miles before in their 
 lives, John remarked to Geraldine, and they 
 started out together over that road where, the day 
 before, Lucy had tried to hasten the inevitable and 
 to do right, regardless of her ghosts, and Geral- 
 dine and Carniston had, with the indirection that 
 suited the occasion, made the bargain for what 
 Bender would have called "the flight of another 
 heart abroad." 
 
 "Geraldine, you asked me a question which I 
 couldn't answer on account of a third person being 
 present," said John, when they were out of hear- 
 
 286 
 
A Free Day in the Country 
 
 ing of the chauffeur. "I have much to say to you, 
 and to begin at the beginning, there was a night 
 when I lifted a load off my shoulders by making 
 a speech which was the turning-point of my career. 
 They say to-day that it was good politics. They 
 say that always when you go straight for the mark 
 and it happens that the bull's-eye rings the gong 
 of popularity. The load I would lift now is off 
 my heart, so that the way for my affections will 
 be as free and clear as my future career of use- 
 fulness. 
 
 "After the election, when I had time to think of 
 myself, it came overwhelmingly to me — this self- 
 ish part. Once I tried to speak to you, but the 
 way I spoke was false and wavering. I was mak- 
 ing a deal between my heart and my pride then, 
 not between principles and a boss. This time I 
 will tell you everything. I will tell you that of 
 all the congratulations I received I looked for- 
 ward most keenly to the one from you. You said 
 'Splendid, splendid, splendid, chums.' That 
 sounded like a dinner-table compliment. The 
 'chums' was graceful; the 'splendid' meant the 
 nature of the victory. But there was nothing 
 from you — you — the you revealed to me this 
 morning." 
 
 Yes, Fanny, he was talking now, and talking in 
 the way of a soldier who lays his heart bare and 
 
 287 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 in his power and resource backs the campaign on 
 one line. 
 
 "This telegram seemed a title for the picture you 
 made that morning at breakfast. The 'splendid' 
 was the impression you made on the world; the 
 'chums,' a reminiscence. It did not seem to me 
 that this could be really you, but the picture and 
 the evidence said so. Still, it made no difference. 
 I was speaking to you that night that I confessed 
 to a deal with the boss. You inspired me to come 
 out straight with the truth. I had a flash of you 
 as you looked that day when you were capsized. 
 I saw you, not doubting, not fearing, and ready 
 for the worst, smiling. I thought that I, too, 
 ought not to be afraid of the worst. I was winning 
 for you in the same way the night the returns 
 came in. 
 
 "I remember that after the speech, when I 
 walked home with the little German girl, full of 
 my own ideas to the exclusion of other people's, 
 as I frequently am, and expecting everybody to 
 listen to me, I was talking to you; and when we 
 reached the lamp at the Belmores' gate I saw her 
 surprise at the sudden change of my expression. 
 And the night we won — then, again, I wanted to 
 talk to you, for no other reason than that you are 
 you. That is the whole thing and the great thing. 
 I haven't any money, and I would take yours away; 
 
 288 
 
A Free Day in the Country 
 
 and I tell you what is in my heart, for I can't help 
 telling you." 
 
 She turned to him as both stopped; her lips were 
 quivering and her lashes were wet. 
 
 "John, I — I" — and she swayed a little, though 
 her strong will was still in control — "John, is it 
 all true? I mean, is it true to you? — for that is 
 enough for me. I am so stupid — it does not seem 
 that I could mean so much to anybody. Do I — 
 do I?" 
 
 There was a mighty demand for truth in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "I swear •" He clasped both her hands in his. 
 "No, you are not stupid. You are fine, which is 
 better than being clever. You have the art of 
 action and comprehension and not the art of chat, 
 which is sometimes the art of little feeling and 
 little doing. The thing that is in you and your 
 heart would pass to me in a glance of your eyes 
 if we were in the same room among a thousand 
 people. You can go through to the end of the 
 path you choose without hesitation at the cross- 
 roads. My hope has always been that ours should 
 be the same path. I swear! But I am so poor 
 and you are so splendid, and you ought to have the 
 luxuries to which you were bred." 
 
 She was all quiet happiness now, smiling 
 through her tears, 
 
 289 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "Just money," she said. "I don't know as I 
 could do the washing, but I could iron. Yes, 
 John, I can iron beautifully. Just money ! What 
 is it? Who cares? The world is full of people 
 who are trying to use it as balm for broken hearts 
 and only irritating their wounds. Foreigners care 
 when they have vast ancestral estates; we aren't 
 troubled that way, are we, John? Besides, my 
 friends tell me I look better in simple gowns. I 
 don't think I should ever look badly, should I?" 
 
 There was here a womanly touch of pride in 
 bringing him something of whose value her 
 mirror had often told her. 
 
 "Anything to help you and be near you always," 
 she said, giving herself to him. 
 
 After that first moment when they fully under- 
 stood each other she confessed about Carniston; 
 Then the monster in leather came bringing the 
 car up cautiously over the hill to see if the coast 
 were clear. John beckoned him so mirthfully that 
 he approached at good speed. 
 
 "I've fixed it all right," he explained. 
 
 "I am glad," said John, "because I am going to 
 borrow it, if you will join me, Geraldine. It's our 
 holiday, and we can get a second breakfast at that 
 little hotel at Boone." 
 
 She agreed instantly. Then she wrote a note 
 to Fanny, explaining the unimportance of an 
 
 290 
 
A Free Day in the Country 
 
 automobile compared with a free day in the 
 country to two of its owner's friends. She did not 
 write to Carniston, for she had forgotten him im- 
 mediately it was decided not to return to the house, 
 and the awkward situation of their meeting was 
 out of the way. 
 
 When he was convinced that Geraldine knew 
 how to run the machine — John usually rode on 
 street cars — the proud workman turned it over to 
 them, with many admonitions, and, bearing the 
 note, started along the road, only to turn after he 
 had gone a few yards and say triumphantly : 
 
 "It wasn't busted, after all." 
 
 "We're so glad you thought it was, and so glad, 
 too, that you found you had made a mistake," John 
 answered, laughing. 
 
 At that the monster in leather muttered to him- 
 self that he guessed they had made their repairs 
 all right, too. 
 
 They turned the automobile about, and with the 
 back seats empty they sought the hotel at Boone, 
 as Lucy and Carniston in a motor car had once 
 sought an inn when they had had a free day in the 
 country on the way to Burbridge. The map of 
 Virginia and Maryland was their plaything till 
 they rode into Washington at dusk, where they 
 dined together. She made him take the nine 
 o'clock train to Pittsburg to keep the engage- 
 
 291 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ment he had made ; for she must never be allowed 
 to interfere with his work. She promised that she 
 would come to Kearn's Ford as soon as Fanny 
 returned, and in the home town — their town — they 
 would be married "soon — very soon." At the 
 station he alighted just outside the glare of the 
 lamps. He kissed her good-night, and she went 
 back to her own house feeling very patient with 
 her mother, and conscience-free so far as the break- 
 ing of a certain nobleman's heart was concerned. 
 
 "If you are only good to the world it is so good 
 to you," John murmured before he fell asleep. 
 "The joy of living! the joy of living!" 
 
 Geraldine, though she gave her thought no 
 words, was thinking the same that night. 
 
 292 
 
XXVIII 
 
 A GOVERNOR-£LECT 
 
 JOHN talked this time," Fanny said, as she 
 passed the note that the chauffeur had 
 brought across the table to Lindley at breakfast. 
 Lucy was present, but Carniston was outside pac- 
 ing the porch as he smoked a cigarette. 
 
 "You were right; you always are," Lindley an- 
 swered; while Lucy could not help observing from 
 their manner that the news was vital to both. 
 
 "I simply can't sit this breakfast through with- 
 out shouting!" Fanny exclaimed, as the few lines 
 became more comprehensible. "You're already as 
 good as in the family, Lucy. I'm sure you would 
 like to know that at this moment two people are 
 dwelling in the clouds of the greatest happiness 
 of the world, all glorious and new-found to them." 
 
 The note was passed to Lucy, who read it, filling 
 in with imagination the lapses between Fanny's 
 series of explanatory exclamations. 
 
 "Isn't it like John!" Fanny said. "There al- 
 ways was that irrepressible mischief and dash in 
 him. Think of it, you prosy old married man, 
 
 2 93 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Lin! Oh, think of it, everybody in this bill- 
 paying, debt-collecting, dressmakery, convention- 
 riveted world — here are John and Geraldine in an 
 automobile with the back seats empty !" 
 
 u The back seats empty!" Lucy gasped, abstract- 
 edly. She knew what that meant. Unconquerable 
 memories arose, but she stifled them by joining in 
 Fanny's happiness. "With the back seats empty," 
 she continued, a and — and oh, there are enough 
 roads even if the petrol does run out — and it 
 doesn't when you are rich." 
 
 "Yes, and I didn't tell you all. I didn't tell you 
 that as they fly they think that she has lost her 
 fortune." 
 
 "Her fortune! Miss Hodges — how?" Lucy 
 asked. 
 
 "That's the glorious part of it," Fanny added, 
 after she had explained the deceit that Lindley had 
 practised on John. "Think of the gameness of 
 Geraldine, reared in luxury and so used to it in 
 every way. Because you and I couldn't have 
 done that ourselves, Lin, we admire it the more 
 in others." 
 
 "They took each other and they didn't care! 
 They said they'd bend the old world's wrinkles 
 into smiles! Both — both did that ?" Lucy looked 
 from Fanny to Lindley and back again a little 
 wildly. "I love them both!" she added. 
 
 294 
 
A Governor- Elect 
 
 Geraldine with her wealth and beauty, whom 
 fate seemed to have sent across Carniston's path, 
 was now out of the way. The next girl whom he 
 courted might not make duty so attractive. Was 
 Lucy glad on this account? Was she glad at all, 
 except to find that the felicity which was denied 
 to her might be enjoyed by others ? 
 
 "Now you admit that she is not a Gothic girl," 
 Fanny said, triumphantly, "our Geraldine I" 
 
 "No. She's Spartan or early Roman, with the 
 charm of modernity, and I am glad — glad. It's 
 so beautiful; it's so good that some one had the 
 courage and would not turn back." 
 
 At this point Carniston entered, and, looking 
 from one to the other, he was conscious that his 
 coming was coincident with the close of a conver- 
 sation in which he was not expected to share. 
 
 "Another fine day. I begin to believe in your 
 climate," he said, as he seated himself rather help- 
 lessly. As he looked across at Lucy his colour 
 heightened and her eyes sought her plate. He 
 had been telling himself, too, that the wedding 
 should be quiet; and once he was settled in Bur- 
 bridge his laboratory and the responsibilities of 
 his position would dull his feelings on a score 
 where, if he were a rational man, he would have 
 none at all or at least be able to control them. 
 
 Lucy's tongue was stricken; Carniston spoke 
 295 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 about the weather again, and in the depression 
 which came with his presence Fanny realised for 
 the first time that strategy is tiring both to mind 
 and nerves. She and Lindley had been up most 
 of the night. He had made the map and coached 
 the chauffeur, while she coached the servants. 
 
 "Miss Hodges not down yet?" asked Carniston, 
 trying again. 
 
 "She had to go into Washington on a sudden 
 call," Fanny explained. "We're expecting her 
 this evening" ; and she was curious as to Geraldine's 
 method of breaking the news and its effect on him. 
 
 When they rode to Smileys' and back again to 
 pass away as best they could that day which went 
 on wings of joy for John and Geraldine, she tried 
 in vain to throw Lucy and Carniston together. 
 Lucy was unusually gay and Carniston correspond- 
 ingly quiet. A telephone message after dinner 
 from Geraldine informed them, with excuses, that 
 a borrowed automobile was in the Hodges' garage. 
 
 "Yes, we lost a machine and you found your- 
 self," Fanny answered. "Who is going to tell 
 the earl?" 
 
 "I'll write him a note to-morrow. I'm too 
 happy to write to anybody to-night, unless it is 
 John" ; and there Geraldine hung up the receiver. 
 
 As she sat opposite Carniston at the card-table 
 that night, Fanny was reminded of games on the 
 
 296 
 
A Governor-Elect 
 
 stage where one of the actors is out of the secret 
 that the others know. They retired early, to be 
 awakened about midnight by the steady ringing of 
 the telephone bell with the electric mercilessness of 
 a fire-gong. Only something of pressing impor- 
 tance could account for such persistency at that 
 hour. Lindley himself went to the instrument, 
 fear-stricken lest the children had been taken ill. 
 
 "It's life and death and Mr. Frane asked it, sir," 
 were the words he heard as he put the receiver to 
 his ear. Then Fanny, listening, heard him say: 
 "You can't tell how bad? I'm coming as fast as 
 forced draught can bring me ; tell him that and tell 
 him quick." Then he began, in his quiet voice, to 
 give orders, bringing out of their beds men who 
 would have arisen only at his command. 
 
 "If Benson will take me over his line from Bain- 
 ville to Hopper Junction it will save an hour." 
 Benson was one of Belmore's worst enemies. 
 "Ask him to do it; tell him it is a family matter. 
 Every limited must be sidetracked to give us right 
 of way. You must have a locomotive and car at 
 Wayne Junction in three-quarters of an hour — no? 
 — you must ! Stop a freight and take a locomotive 
 off — then stop a passenger! I'll be at the Junc- 
 tion in three-quarters of an hour and I'll count 
 every minute after that to somebody's discredit," 
 he concluded as he hung up the receiver. 
 
 297 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "Fanny," he said at her door, "there's been a 
 wreck and John is in it. He has sent for me. I'm 
 going to take a special at the Junction." 
 
 "John — in a wreck to-night — to-night! Oh, it's 
 awful!" she said. "I'm going, too — I can get 
 ready as quick as you." 
 
 "But, Fanny — impossible! You can't leave 
 Lucy and Carniston here." 
 
 A nearby door opened and an English voice 
 spoke : 
 
 "I couldn't help overhearing and I'd like to go, 
 too. The fact is, I'm not sleepy at all, and he's 
 such a thoroughbred. I'd like to go, really. You 
 look after Mrs. Belmore and I'll wake the stable — 
 I can help a little." Barefooted, Carniston bolted 
 along the hall, with Lindley calling after him what 
 horses to take. For the first time since he had come 
 to America Arthur felt that he was doing some- 
 thing real. 
 
 When another door opened, it was Lucy who 
 asked to join in this journey through the night to 
 John Frane. The two women came down the 
 stairs with their hair in braids, for a woman can 
 be quick when a man is sick, instead of waiting 
 below. 
 
 Lindley, who drove, minded neither the ruts nor 
 the horses' lives nor wheels spinning in the air. 
 Though the others talked he spoke never a word 
 
 298 
 
A Governor- Elect 
 
 till, rounding the hill near the station, they saw a 
 locomotive pulling in. 
 
 "Good work! We have lost no time/' he said. 
 
 It was not a finely appointed private car that 
 he offered to his guests on this occasion. The pea- 
 nut shucks left by the day passengers were still on 
 the floor. No one had thought to sweep them up 
 in the preoccupation of that order, growing 
 stronger and stronger as it descended the lines. It 
 made every suddenly awakened employe think only 
 of the one word "speed" as he worked under the 
 eye of the commander of a disciplined industrial 
 army. The station-master started to express 
 his regrets about something; but Belmore said, 
 "Thanks; well done," before the words were out 
 of the employe's mouth. 
 
 "Do walk those horses around a little and put 
 some blankets over them afterwards!" Carniston 
 called to the station-master. He was trying to 
 be useful, and at least he knew horses; while he 
 was as unaccustomed as Lucy to the American reck- 
 lessness of breaking one thing in the haste to repair 
 another. 
 
 The young engineer, with his head thrust well 
 out of the cab, was watching Lindley, and the car 
 started instantly the commander's foot was on the 
 steps. 
 
 "It's Belmore himself back there and it's a fam- 
 299 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ily affair," he said, as he turned to his fireman. 
 "Get the kinks out of your backbone." 
 
 Lindley walked up and down the aisle, oblivious 
 of the others, his head bent forward, his hands 
 in his pockets. The attitude was a favourite 
 one of his father's, which he fell into whenever 
 he faced a critical situation. It was heredity 
 breaking through the repression of the second 
 generation. 
 
 "By God ! I can't stay here thinking that maybe 
 John" — it was the first time his wife had ever 
 heard him swear, and she liked him for it. "I'm 
 going forward." 
 
 When the fireman saw him climbing over the 
 coal, that grim soldier did not hesitate to take the 
 shovelful fairly out from under the feet of the 
 man whose power was almost feudal. He went 
 on with his work, and Lindley noted the fact and 
 that was why the fireman received such rapid pro- 
 motion afterwards. 
 
 "Pretty old, isn't she?" Lindley said to the engi- 
 neer, as he looked over the engine. "What can 
 you get out of her?" 
 
 "Fifty or I'll bust her. I judge that was your 
 idea, sir, from the way the order came in;" which 
 explains why the engineer also received promotion. 
 
 Lindley nodded and looked out into the night. 
 
 Back in the day-car the brakeman arranged the 
 300 
 
A Governor- Elect 
 
 seats to make beds for his passengers, who thanked 
 him without availing themselves of his thought- 
 fulness. Fanny, gazing absently out of the win- 
 dow at passing lights and shadows, was thinking 
 of Geraldine, who had been kept out of John's life 
 through misunderstanding, and now was kept from 
 him in this terrible hour. Lucy and Carniston sat 
 a little apart from her. The brakeman wanted to 
 express his sympathy and finally began by offering 
 a piece of pie to Carniston and a piece of cake to 
 Lucy out of the luncheon which his wife had put 
 up for him. 
 
 "Oh, I've got heaps. Mother's always afraid 
 I'm going to starve. She must have thought I was 
 off to the North Pole to-night the way she threw 
 the whole pantry into the basket when I was jump- 
 ing into my pants after the operator called me. 
 No? Well, I'll keep it for you. You'll be hungry 
 before light. It" — and there he brought his curi- 
 osity to expression — "it must be something pretty 
 bad to bring Mr. Belmore out in a rush like this. 
 Family sick?" 
 
 When they told him that Frane had been in- 
 jured his interest was instant and personal. 
 
 "And Mr. Belmore's going to him?" he asked 
 incredulously. He could not quite understand this. 
 Belmore was the commander of his livelihood and 
 John Frane of his political opinions and sentiment. 
 
 301 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 It was difficult for him to associate the two; and 
 here was another note for Dr. von Kar's diary. 
 
 "They were friends at school," Lucy interjected. 
 
 "Well, that's different. That's nothing to do 
 with politics and business. I'd vote for John Frane 
 for anything from coroner to President. Think of 
 it ! — just when he's been elected to get into a cussed 
 railroad wreck!" 
 
 He went out on the platform gloomily, leaving 
 Carniston and Lucy as good as alone. Lucy me- 
 chanically closed her eyes, although she did not 
 expect to sleep. She had thought of Arthur so 
 much that it seemed that there was nothing to say 
 to. him now. Beside the haunting sense of the 
 nature of their errand was her knowledge of Ger- 
 aldine's secret, of which he was still ignorant. Al- 
 though she had paved the way for him to propose 
 to Geraldine on the ride back from Smileys', the 
 fact that he did so stung her deeply. If he had 
 only waited two or three days, she told herself. 
 
 This unpeopled habitation on wheels, with its 
 two flickering lights, seemed an unbridled monster 
 carrying her and the man she loved on to eternity. 
 She compared it to that fate which had borne her 
 helplessly in its train for the last two dragging 
 months. The same thought was in Carniston's 
 mind. Ahead of him in the wreck, dying perhaps, 
 was a man who had lived his every hour in the joy 
 
 302 
 
A Governor- Elect 
 
 of labour, and on the locomotive was another who 
 had the power to bring the special out of the dark- 
 ness and give it right of way by a few words spoken 
 into a rubber disc in a country-house at midnight. 
 
 "My bent is futility," he thought, recalling 
 his father's words. "I am the passenger, while 
 others stoke and direct. I am the seventh genera- 
 tion and I was born with the shell of the seventh 
 and the impulses — some of them, at least — of 
 the first." 
 
 "Where is Frane going?" he asked, to break the 
 trend of his thoughts and the noise of their flight. 
 
 "He was coming from Washington." She did 
 not think of telling him more. 
 
 "Does he leave nothing but his popularity — no 
 relatives?" 
 
 "None," she rejoined; "he was from the stars, 
 too, and it's a mistake to have even a summer cot- 
 tage there while the problem of aerial navigation 
 remains unsolved." 
 
 "It's odd that one with so much affection should 
 never have married," he pursued. 
 
 "Not so odd. He could love only once, you 
 see, and he loved Geraldine and she loved him — 
 but — just money!" This much she might tell 
 without breaking her promise to Fanny about the 
 secret, while she wondered as soon as she spoke 
 why she had told even that. Her lids were droop- 
 
 303 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ing, and she did not see Arthur's look of surprise. 
 Now she closed them altogether. "Come, we 
 must get a little sleep," she said. 
 
 Carniston went out on the platform, where the 
 brakeman talked to him about Frane. The careen- 
 ing train crashed through tunnels, echoed through 
 valleys, hummed across open places. They passed 
 the faint lights in station-windows, the lamps out- 
 lining the streets of towns, the shadowy houses 
 of sleeping villages, occasional brakemen's lan- 
 terns, the upturned faces of Italians in the flare 
 of torches stepping aside from their work on the 
 tracks, day-cars with their cramped, reclining pas- 
 sengers, with the dark sleepers behind them on the 
 switches. Lindley Belmore saw these things only 
 as mile-posts. The click of every rail under him 
 was another step nearer his friend — that man 
 whose character had remained through life as 
 clear as it was at school, uninfluenced by comrade- 
 ship or surroundings. 
 
 At dawn, as the car slowed down suddenly, they 
 saw at the other end of the curve which they were 
 rounding the piled cars of the wreck still smoulder- 
 ing. The neighbouring fields glistened with the 
 first frost of the year. About a nearby farmhouse 
 were many figures, scattered and in groups, re- 
 lieved by white specks of blankets and linen. 
 Fanny and Lucy and Carniston looked at one an- 
 
 3°4 
 
A Governor-Elect 
 
 other significantly, and rose without speaking as 
 the car came to a jolting halt. Lindley had for- 
 gotten their existence. As he sprang down the 
 steps among the spectators and those of the pas- 
 sengers who had escaped unhurt and were nar- 
 rating their experiences to the first arrivals 
 from the evening papers, he was thinking only 
 that John lay there among the injured and the 
 dying. 
 
 His monosyllabic question was answered from 
 a dozen throats. Every one knew where John 
 Frane was. The politician's triumph and the say- 
 ings from his speeches were still fresh in men's 
 minds. He was near to the people in the very 
 way he shared his faults with them. The passen- 
 gers had this morning seen the man proved in the 
 deed. They had seen him, when half-stunned and 
 bleeding internally, labouring with his own hands 
 while he tried, as the born leader would, to direct 
 the work of relief. They had heard his insistence 
 that he was all right when he returned to conscious- 
 ness after he had fainted. The exact words of 
 Surgeon Holden, who happened to be aboard the 
 train, were passed from lip to lip. Holden him- 
 self was also famous in his calling. He knew John 
 Frane's face at sight, as the others did. His was 
 also the true professional pride which counts the 
 truth of a man's work above all things else, and 
 
 3°5 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 he had recognised in his hasty reading of his morn- 
 ing paper that Frane was a kindred fighter in an- 
 other field. 
 
 When John insisted that the other injured ones 
 should be taken inside the house — "There is so 
 much more room outside; I prefer it," he said — 
 Holden whispered not to irritate him and "the 
 more fresh air the better." So they placed him 
 against the trunk of a leafless tree, with a root for a 
 pillow, while the light and shadow from the flames 
 of the wreck played on his pale face. When he 
 asked Holden a direct question the surgeon gave 
 him the same candid answer that he himself, a 
 strong man, too, would have wanted in the same 
 situation. Then John sent for two men, both of 
 whom had put all their personal power behind 
 specials. Kennan was bending over John when 
 Belmore approached. 
 
 "He's a weak brother, that lieutenant-gov- 
 ernor," John was saying. "He reflects the colour 
 of the branch he's on. The only advantage is that 
 it is easy for a spineless man to be an agent for 
 good or for bad. Well, when the lieutenant- 
 governor-elect becomes the governor-elect, what 
 then?" 
 
 Kennan was as outspoken as the surgeon. He 
 wasted no time on bedside cheer. He understood 
 how superfluous that would seem to John in this 
 
 306 
 
A Governor- Elect 
 
 emergency. His jaw came up sharp with every 
 word, for he was thinking as he talked, and he 
 meant to make good every word he said. 
 
 "No, the lieutenant-governor hasn't the back- 
 bone of a charlotte russe," he said. "He's looking 
 for one, and I'll be there first and supply it. I'm 
 going to try, my boy, to be just as human and 
 honest as you are. I didn't go to college, you see, 
 and you've been my education. I'm going to try 
 to do just what I think you would do." 
 
 "Thanks, Frank," and he called Kennan by his 
 first name. "You can do it better than I could. 
 I have been to school to you, too. You know the 
 game and the tricks they play to beat a man even 
 when he is trying to do right. But I think I can 
 give you a valuable hint on reformers. They're 
 like the others — some are good and some are bad. 
 You'll have to watch out for the gentlemen who 
 make beautiful speeches about saving the republic 
 and who try to bribe the policeman on the way 
 home. The only way to judge reformers, I've 
 found, is by the amount of work they're ready to 
 do after they have addressed the meeting. This 
 is a democratic government, and we conduct our 
 public schools with a view to having the people 
 understand what is straight and what is not. If 
 you are going to make a deal, make it before their 
 faces and not under cover." 
 
 3°7 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "Yes, I'm going back to 'em every time, as you 
 did. If they don't like it, it's down and out. This 
 new kind of politics is a good deal simpler than I 
 thought it was. You trust me, my boy." 
 
 "I do. You have been fine to me; everybody 
 here has. It was kind of Mr. Holden to tell me 
 the truth so that I might send for you. You know, 
 Frank, though I have been a politician I've found 
 it a good world, after all." 
 
 When he saw Lindley, John smiled faintly and 
 tried to offer his hand. 
 
 "We didn't plan it just this way when we were 
 in school, did we, Lin? I hope I didn't hurt you 
 by the way I left you alone last election. I wonder 
 if you understand how much I have loved you. I 
 believe in you, too. It has always been easy to 
 know just where to find the Belmore magnate. He 
 knew that giving something with his name in gilt 
 across it was not the best way, whether it was a 
 library or a hospital. In the world in which fate 
 placed you, old fellow, you have been a power of 
 light. That is the great thing. You have felt the 
 love of the land and the duty of keeping close to 
 it, and you have felt that you owed this hill and 
 that river and the people of the town something 
 for what they had done for you. Another thing, 
 Lin, you old king, smile a little when you give; 
 then you'll reach the hearts of men and you can 
 
 308 
 
A Governor- Elect 
 
 do them more good. Here I am making a speech 
 to my betters again ! 
 
 "And, Lin" — it seemed that he had kept the 
 sweetest thing for the last — "I didn't want to wake 
 Geraldine. I didn't want her to see me hors de 
 combat like this. It is pleasant to think that her 
 last glimpse of me was when I was well and myself. 
 I suppose all this suffering comes to her because 
 she can bear it bravely and go on smiling. Tell 
 her that the game and the governorship were noth- 
 ing to me beside her. Tell her — no, tell her 
 nothing that will make her burden heavier." 
 
 It was fitting that this man of action and impulse 
 — and of vagaries, perhaps — should pass away 
 suddenly while his mind was still clear and he was 
 still in harness. 
 
 309 
 
XXIX 
 
 FOR A SINGLE DAY 
 
 GERALDINE had slept soundly and late; 
 and, half awake, she wondered if she had 
 been dreaming the scene by the roadside when John 
 Frane had laid his great love at her feet; dream- 
 ing the ride in the automobile with the back seats 
 empty; dreaming the plans of the life that a gov- 
 ernor and his wife should lead, and dreaming the 
 kiss. 
 
 "It's too good," she breathed to herself, in the 
 full dawn of consciousness, "this thing that has 
 come to me simply and unexpectedly and as gently 
 as blessings mixed with the dew of heaven." 
 
 She divided life into two parts, as girls have 
 done out of time: The part that ended with yes- 
 terday and the part that began with to-day. In the 
 glow of her happiness she slept again. When she 
 awoke the second time a delicious inspiration en- 
 thralled her: She would write to John now, before 
 she dressed, and when he returned to Kearn's Ford 
 awaiting him on his desk would be the story of her 
 thoughts of him and of their future on that dear 
 
 310 
 
For a Single Day 
 
 first morning after their engagement. It was a 
 long letter, this; a very long letter for her, which 
 she sealed in wonder at the ease with which the 
 words had come. Did love make speech easy, 
 then? she asked. Would it bring her that gift 
 whose absence she had missed so often? 
 
 Outside her door lay the morning paper with 
 its leaded stop-press notice of the wreck, and men- 
 tion of the vital fact that Governor-elect Frane 
 was among the injured. In past mornings she 
 would have seized it with avidity as soon as she 
 awoke. Now the election was over, and she had 
 heard the story of how it was won from the win- 
 ner and the story, too, of all his plans. 
 
 Fanny felt that it was her duty to be the first 
 to tell the news to Geraldine in order to soften its 
 shock. When Geraldine heard her friend's voice 
 over the long-distance wire she thought that she 
 was to be bantered again about the theft of an 
 automobile. After she understood what had hap- 
 pened she remained conscious long enough to hang 
 up the receiver. 
 
 When she awoke, with her head lying on the 
 desk, she knew that the new life had lasted only 
 one day and the old life had begun again. Her 
 eyes fell on the letter to John. She kissed it and 
 put it in the drawer. 
 
 "I said it was too good." For several minutes 
 3ii 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 she was as motionless as a woman of stone. "And 
 I couldn't even be with him in that last moment." 
 Then she threw herself on the bed, where she lay 
 a long time quietly sobbing. 
 
 "I must go on with life just the same," she said 
 when she arose, "playing the game as he would 
 if he were in my place." 
 
 Her mother, who had never liked Frane, would 
 not go to the funeral. Geraldine made the journey 
 alone, and thankfully alone, to Kearn's Ford. The 
 young pastor had the felicity to avoid a eulogy of 
 his own composition. He said that John Frane 
 meant to all present what he had meant to himself 
 and words could not express that; so he would 
 only read a little speech about the love of the land 
 that John had once made to the school children of 
 the town. 
 
 With thousands of others, Geraldine and the 
 von Kars and the Belmores and Carniston had 
 their last glimpse of the face which lay among the 
 flowers. To Geraldine he seemed to be smiling 
 with the joy of work and the joy of living. Lucy 
 saw the strength in the chin and the firm lines 
 around the mouth, and wished that the man whom 
 she loved might possess them, too. Lindley felt 
 as if he had become an old man in two days, and 
 to Fanny it was as if she and Lin were left alone 
 forever in Kearn's Ford. 
 
 312 
 
For a Single Day 
 
 Geraldine offered no excuse to Fanny for not 
 remaining over night. Through the car window 
 she had an instant's glimpse of the first house that 
 her mother had built, outlined against the after- 
 glow of the setting sun. She hoped that she might 
 never see Kearn's Ford again. The thought of re- 
 turning to Washington was equally hateful. She 
 wished that the train which carried her might run 
 on till it brought her to some new, strange land. 
 
 She had not come in mourning, as Fanny had 
 half expected, nor had she mentioned that secret 
 which she knew would be faithfully kept by those 
 who shared it. 
 
 "This great thing is mine,' , she told herself, u to 
 keep forever. It is sweeter to me because the 
 world knows nothing of it." 
 
 313 
 
XXX 
 
 THE LADY OF THE PORTRAIT 
 
 WE ourselves can't abide this house for 
 months to come," Fanny said the next 
 morning to the von Kars, who had set their 
 departure for* that afternoon. "You'll come to 
 New York, won't you, Lucy, and you, doctor? 
 I am sure that it will be a mine for your diary." 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "I find I wrote so much 
 about that leader of men" — as he called Frane now 
 — "that I had to buy a new book. You know, I'm 
 going to send a letter to The Times explaining to 
 our English friends why it is that only America 
 could produce him. I am sure that they do not 
 understand him at all. Thank you, we shall be 
 delighted to come to New York, and we will re- 
 serve the privilege of calling on you there later, if 
 we may. You see, I have promised to go to a 
 dinner in Washington, and I thought I should like 
 to have a glimpse of that side of America." 
 
 They went to the capital expecting to remain 
 only a few days, but, thanks to Lucy, they were 
 to be there for many long weeks. Her languor, 
 
 3H 
 
The Lady of the Portrait 
 
 her moodiness and her growing paleness had finally 
 made its impression on the doctor. At first when 
 he rallied her she met him half-way, but with an 
 exuberance that grew more and more affected, until 
 he noted that her never-care songs were rarely 
 merry by her own choice. Here, then, was an 
 effect, quoth the scientist. When, out of his ab- 
 stractions, he had deduced a cause his heart was 
 heavy. 
 
 "Why did I ever leave London?" he asked him- 
 self. He began to refuse all invitations which 
 might not be a diversion for her who was now the 
 sole object of his solicitude. "I have always said 
 that if she did love it would be with her whole 
 heart. I knew she had the blood of chivalry in 
 her veins and the quality of utterly submerg- 
 ing self in a grand enthusiasm. I cannot resent 
 what she has inherited from me. It was inevi- 
 table when two such souls came in contact that 
 they should love. But time will cure her as it 
 cured me. As she is going out more and more 
 here, we will remain in Washington as long as 
 she chooses. When I was young, I know, it was 
 best to let me have my way and run my course; 
 so she shall have her way. Back in the old house 
 in London, now, she would have nothing to do but 
 think of him." 
 
 Lucy did not see Carniston again until the ball 
 315 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 at the British embassy. He realised that while he 
 was still engaged to Geraldine the man whom she 
 actually loved, as Lucy had revealed on the train, 
 was dead. The situation was already difficult 
 enough when he returned to Washington the day 
 after the funeral, without the word he received 
 from the worthy himself that Wormley was coming 
 to America. When he called on Geraldine she 
 seemed if anything more quiet than usual. The 
 handsome couple again walked along Connecticut 
 Avenue, while again some passers-by envied and all 
 admired them. He spoke of an invitation that he 
 had to go shooting in the West. His grandfather 
 had been a great hunter, he explained, and he 
 thought that* he himself would like to have a try 
 at new game. She advised him to go, without 
 making any reference to their engagement. Till 
 Wormley came, then, he would fortify himself 
 with the joy of the open air and the primitive sim- 
 plicity of hunting-camps. 
 
 The ambassador would not listen to Carniston's 
 departure until he had promised to return in time 
 for the ball. Next to Calkins the old diplomat was 
 fonder of Arthur than of any of the titled immi- 
 grants who had come for many years. Calkins he 
 simply adored. 
 
 "Miss Hodges will be quite the queen of the 
 occasion," he wrote to Carniston, later. "Besides, 
 
 316 
 
The Lady of the Portrait 
 
 we shall have a Miss von Kar, whom you know. 
 That little German girl, as Washington calls her, 
 has won all of our hearts. Lady Bromley and I had 
 her with us for dinner last night en famille, when 
 she sang some of her never-care songs. Peculiar 
 bits they are, and the way she does them certainly 
 rings the bell, as our American friends say. She 
 has the art of listening, too. The older I grow 
 and possibly, therefore, because I have the more 
 to say, the less I am given to talking, and it is 
 quite extraordinary how Miss von Kar led me 
 to tell her most of the interesting things of my 
 career. ... So never mind the mountain lions, 
 her ladyship bids me tell you; return and be the 
 lion of our ball." 
 
 The date of the ball was the same as that on 
 which John Frane would have been inaugurated 
 governor. This may explain why Geraldine de- 
 clined Their Excellencies' invitation. She held as 
 steadfastly to her decision in the face of parental 
 fussing as on that day when she called her mother 
 to the telephone to make a denial of a certain pub- 
 lished report. Mrs. Hodges herself went, of 
 course. It was the first time that she had been in- 
 vited to the embassy, which showed already the 
 value of her acquaintance with Carniston ; and her 
 social ambitions lay in the direction of Connecticut 
 Avenue rather than in that of the old colonial 
 
 3 1 ? 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 house across Lafayette Square which Geraldine 
 and many of his countrymen had hoped might one 
 day be the residence of John Frane. While her 
 mother was enjoying the company of the great, 
 Geraldine was reading again in the evening papers 
 the inaugural address of the weak brother, which 
 was as strong, although it lacked the personal char- 
 acter, as Frane's own address might have been. 
 The thoughts were Boss Kennan's and the lan- 
 guage that of the newspaper man who was his new 
 secretary. 
 
 Lucy went to the ball for the same reason that 
 she had thrown herself heart and soul into sym- 
 pathy with John's campaign. The ghosts were so 
 persistent now that they took hold of her fingers 
 as she pressed them to the keys of the piano. She 
 wore the famous gown and the imitation pearl 
 necklace, and the effect was as Monsieur Celestin 
 had prophesied. The men exclaimed, "What a 
 girl!" and the women immediately wondered who 
 had "designed it." 
 
 But who was the fine old man with Lucy ! The 
 doctor did not often suffer himself to be vain, yet 
 he had brought to America the bush to the wine 
 before it was sampled. Across his breast lay two 
 rows of medals ; and there are medals and medals, 
 as surely as there are wars and kings who honour 
 scientific achievements that lessen the burdens of 
 
 318 
 
The Lady of the Portrait 
 
 overcrowded populations. You may have all the 
 fourth- and all the fifth-class ones and your 
 march of triumph will be only that of the sergeant- 
 major who goes ahead of the general. The legation 
 people know which ones are significant and which 
 are not and the advantages of the old-world cus- 
 tom which officially enables you to put a man in 
 his proper pigeon-hole immediately without the 
 trouble of an investigation. It was the Austrian 
 ambassador first, pretending to see through his 
 eye-glass, whose naked eye noted one of the doc- 
 tor's medals which spoke volumes to him. When 
 he said the "Ah!" of understanding to the doc- 
 tor, the answer was "Maximilian," as if it were 
 a password; and so it was with the Austrian am- 
 bassador. 
 
 However, it is not the Austrian ambassador who 
 concerns us in this story, but the Russian ambassa- 
 dress. 
 
 "Lord Bromley told me about your wonderful 
 never-care songs," she said to Lucy, and as she 
 spoke the ostrich feathers of her fan trembled with 
 emotion. 
 
 "Yes," Lucy said sweetly, but with a peculiarly 
 English manner; for she did not like to be intro- 
 duced to people as a minstrel. 
 
 As the countess led the way to seats outside the 
 crush, Lucy studied her face wonderingly. 
 
 3 l 9 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "We have met before, haven't we? Where?'' 
 she asked, in a reaction of good humour after that 
 cutting little "yes." 
 
 "Where?" the countess repeated rather va- 
 cantly, and she looked down at her fan. That 
 melodramatic scene which she had wished to avoid 
 the girl had unwittingly precipitated at once. 
 
 Lucy was trying to look behind the years that 
 had lined the countess's face as one tries to make 
 out features through a veil. 
 
 "I know now," she said at length, and mar- 
 velled how she could speak so coolly. "Your face 
 has been over my father's desk ever since I can 
 remember. You were younger then, but not dif- 
 ferent or more charming, I fancy." Playing with 
 those last words as she would with the words of 
 a song, she made them significant. 
 
 "My child!" The countess made a Continental 
 gesture. But the hand which she started to seize 
 in her own was engaged at this critical instant in 
 drawing the hem of Monsieur Celestin's creation 
 closer about its wearer's feet, lest some passer-by 
 should step on it. 
 
 "Really!" said Lucy. 
 
 "You — you who are so electric, so mercurial, so 
 brilliantly changeable in mood that everybody in 
 Washington wants you to dinner!" the countess 
 gasped, in admiration of that quality of sangfroid 
 
 320 
 
The Lady of the Portrait 
 
 which she herself had made a matter of lifetime 
 cultivation. 
 
 An observer would have said that the surprise 
 was entirely on her part, not on Lucy's. She had 
 known for the last ten days that the Dr. von Kar 
 who was in Washington was the one of her story. 
 Once, unrecognisable behind her veil, she had 
 passed him in the street. She had looked forward 
 to the inevitable meeting with him, and as a child- 
 less old woman had even built her castles of air. 
 
 "Dear girl," she said, with a simulation of non- 
 chalance, "I was not altogether to blame. May I 
 tell a romance in a word? There was a war be- 
 tween France and Germany in seventy and seventy- 
 one, when a proud people were overrun by the 
 strongest of all people — except the horrid English, 
 as the count says — and I was one of the proud 
 people. Oh, I'll not go into details. It sounds too 
 much like a novel as it is; but it's nothing beside 
 the story of the Portuguese minister and his wife. 
 The girl was caught in a country-house and a franc- 
 tireur appeared, all fire for the French and 'all 
 there,' as the Americans say, courageous as a devil 
 and handsome, too. He was in the mid-thirties 
 then, your father, half student, half soldier, with 
 the charm of youth and the force of maturity uni- 
 ted. He had fought in Mexico and Algeria and 
 Italy. 
 
 3 21 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 "I thought that his fighting would end forever 
 when Paris fell. But it seems it was not to be so. 
 I was to wait at home, and he was to go to war and 
 travel when he pleased. After the Commune, 
 after peace came, after France out of her vine- 
 yards and her thrift had paid her debt and we 
 were ourselves again, I had my fortune and my 
 position back and your father's fortune, too. I rode 
 again in the Elysee and the Bois. I was of the 
 world — that has killed me. Your father, grow- 
 ing restless, was ready for adventure once more. 
 He always had a wonderful mind; I fancy he was 
 learning three languages while he was still at milk. 
 Now what do you think he did in seventy-three? 
 He started out in search of the broken link between 
 the Christianity of the Abyssinians and the Chris- 
 tianity of the North — or something like that!" 
 
 "Truly — why not?" Lucy asked in a monotone 
 which would have done credit to Geraldine. "I 
 think that it would have been most interesting, and 
 how father would have enjoyed reading the re- 
 sults of his investigation before learned societies!" 
 
 "You do 1" The countess blinked and beat her 
 knee with her fan. "At all events," she pursued, 
 trying to keep down her agitation, "he kept on 
 with his wanderings till he turned up in the Russo- 
 Turkish war. Then when he came back he was 
 like an apparition, for it was more than a year 
 
 322 
 
The Lady of the Portrait 
 
 after he had been reported dead. I was married 
 to the count and you were two years old. You 
 see the embarrassing situation," and she tried to 
 smile, "for me and the count, too. I had fallen 
 into the way of gambling a little and I was of the 
 world, as I tell you, and I liked life and I spent 
 freely. My dear, I was stone broke, as they say. 
 But I was good-looking. You can see that by the 
 old picture, can't you ? The count was young and 
 handsome, a man of great wealth, and a first secre- 
 tary of embassy, and — well, what would you when 
 my soldier of fortune was dead? 
 
 "Your father never called on me but once after 
 he returned. He sent me a note which was like 
 him in those days — I don't know what he is like 
 now — saying, 'So glad for your sake that you 
 heard the report. So sorry for my sake that it was 
 not true. It is delightful that you have all the 
 money you want.' He called once, as I say, and 
 then he went up to the nursery and took you in his 
 arms. Marmy and I were spectators on the stairs. 
 He only said to us, 'She is mine, if you please.' 
 Ah, he was magnificent that day, making you feel 
 that if you stepped across his path you would go 
 under the wheels ! He was like he was when I fell 
 in love with him — the splendid audacity of him! 
 
 "So he took you out and put you in the cab and 
 that was the last I saw of you. Should we have 
 
 3*3 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 taken the matter to the police? Should we have 
 advertised? Ours was a public position, and 
 Marmy was not very sorry to have you gone. 
 Then we expected — but now, you see, you are my 
 only child. I have grown old and" — still no help- 
 ing word from the listener — "and it's quite odd, 
 isn't it, quite like a novel?" 
 
 Lucy looked up for the first time during the 
 narrative and opened her eyes questioningly. 
 
 "Why shouldn't my father have taken me 
 away?" she asked. 
 
 "You are glad that he took you away?" the 
 countess exclaimed. 
 
 "Why, yes, of course." Lucy seemed surprised 
 at a question whose answer was so obvious. 
 
 "Have you never felt the need of a mother?" 
 
 "Were you thinking how much I needed one 
 when you let father take me downstairs? Wasn't 
 that a test of maternal affection?" 
 
 The countess could make no answer. As a 
 woman of the world, however, the manner of the 
 rebuff made her appreciate the value of the thing 
 she had lost when the soldier of fortune made his 
 descent upon the nursery. 
 
 "You are marvellous," she said, "quite as mar- 
 vellous as they say. I might have known that you 
 would be." 
 
 The countess told herself that she must go 
 324 
 
The Lady of the Portrait 
 
 slowly with this little girl if she would achieve the 
 end she had in view. She ventured to hope that 
 Lucy might come to luncheon with her, and Lucy 
 declined with a shade of surprise that seemed to 
 say, "My dear lady, if you will so transgress the 
 proprieties you must expect to be refused without 
 the invention of a polite excuse." Still the count- 
 ess was not abashed. She determined to go on 
 trying to find some ground of approach until Lucy 
 should rise and leave her. To judge from her face 
 Lucy was remaining because she was faintly 
 amused. The countess wondered if the girl had a 
 heart of stone. It did not occur to her that the 
 current of Lucy's agony was so deep that its sur- 
 face was unruffled. 
 
 "Those are very beautiful pearls," she finally 
 ventured. 
 
 Lucy's flush when she thought of the lie they 
 represented flooded the neck which the false string 
 circled. 
 
 "They are imitation," she hastened to say. "But 
 they are more valuable to me than if they were 
 real," she went on, defiantly. "My father gave 
 them to me. You see, he is only a poor working 
 chemist — but with a great, good soldier's heart — 
 who likes to think that his daughter has things as 
 fine as other girls have. I wear them to please 
 him." 
 
 325 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 As the countess bent over and took the chain 
 in her fingers the more closely to examine it, her 
 touch, which was like wet ashes to Lucy, found 
 life and youth in contact with the young flesh. 
 
 "You can't fool me on pearls, my dear," said the 
 countess. "I know that the average person can't 
 tell a hundred thousand dollar string from a five 
 hundred dollar string, but once you do know, you 
 know forever." 
 
 "They are imitation," Lucy repeated; "my 
 father said they were. Whatever he may have had 
 when you knew him, Madame, he has no money 
 now with which to buy real pearls." She drew 
 away tremblingly from the countess's fingers, which 
 still held the strands. "Please — I don't under- 
 stand you, and I don't want to be rude even to 
 you." 
 
 Lucy would have risen then even if Carniston 
 had not come to claim her for a waltz. The count- 
 ess noted the glance that passed between her 
 daughter and the handsome youth who had the 
 American distinction that night of wearing no 
 medals. These two must know each other well, 
 else she would not have called him Arthur and he 
 called her Lucy. She watched them through the 
 waltz, her dark eyes sharp with curiosity. 
 
 326 
 
Lucy would have risen then even if Carniston had not come to 
 claim her for a waltz 
 
XXXI 
 
 THE CABIN AND THE GIRL 
 
 CALKINS had expressed the feelings of two 
 guests of the embassy exactly before they 
 went downstairs on the evening of the ball. 
 
 "I'd rather have half an hour's polo," he said, 
 "or see the whites of the Afridis' eyes when we get 
 close, than own the whole show, unless I could 
 turn it into money. If I could do that I wouldn't 
 be staying in Washington long, I assure you." 
 
 "The decorations aren't half as good," Car- 
 niston replied, "as that blue sky out in Colorado. 
 The ices will be rather insipid beside the grub that 
 you get off the chuck waggon out there." 
 
 "You know I heard one of these American words 
 the other day," Calkins resumed vacantly, "which 
 precisely explains my situation and I rather fancy 
 yours, too. You and I are misfits." 
 
 "Yes, and I suppose it's our fault. One 
 shouldn't quarrel with his tailor about the styles." 
 
 "No — not mine!" Calkins responded sharply. 
 "No, I wasn't trained for this pidgin. I was a 
 younger son and they sent me out to India. It's 
 
 327 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 not fair to be switched into a different branch of 
 the service when you are forty. My word, I've 
 looked the field over and I must say that that little 
 Miss von Kar — she's all English, if they do call 
 her German — is worth all the other entries put 
 together. I wonder why it is that English girls 
 are always poor, or spoken for, or in trade. I 
 couldn't marry into trade — not at home — posi- 
 tively, no." 
 
 To Carniston, the American girls were interest- 
 ing in the same way as the boxes at the horse show. 
 The ensemble was pleasing to look upon, but he 
 did not know where to begin with any particular 
 one, while their twang made his ears tingle. If the 
 lion was blushing slightly and was slightly bashful, 
 why, those who took their cue from Bender only 
 found him the more attractive. The simple truth 
 was that the lion was waiting and watching for 
 Lucy, who came rather late. The temptation was 
 strong to shut out the face of Wormley and the 
 grim pages of the ledger for one night, without 
 thinking of the cost to the partner of his folly. 
 
 When he saw Lucy in that gown which made 
 a Frenchwoman who caught sight of it exclaim, 
 "Oh, the little one ! Who is she? and where is she 
 from? and why?" Carniston, revelling in the sight 
 of her, drinking to the full of her, told himself 
 that she must and should be his wife. For he was 
 
 328 
 
The Cabin and the Girl 
 
 fresh from the West, where torsos are broad and 
 frames are lean and eyes are blue and institutions 
 are as distant as the legend of the Buddha. Here 
 was the girl he loved, and what was simpler than 
 that he should forget all others but her? His trip 
 after mountain lions had given him some of the 
 strength and directness of the hunter earl. 
 
 Lucy would not allow him all the dances he 
 asked, and out of those that she did not occupy 
 he gave most to Lady Bromley and the wife of a 
 Cabinet officer, reserving one for "hope," as he ex- 
 pressed it. Lucy wrote "hope" on her list too. She 
 offered herself an explanation for her conduct no 
 more than he offered himself an explanation for 
 his. The "hope" number was after the waltz 
 which followed her interview with the countess. 
 He who knew the embassy building so well led her 
 to a retreat where they would be quite alone. 
 
 "Lucy, I have had a wonderful time in the 
 West," he said, and his manner was that of the 
 youth who had returned from Norway. "You 
 know that I found life out there just as John Frane 
 told me it would be, quite as the hunter wrote in 
 his diary that it was, quite as I once heard Lord 
 Baringbury describe it to my father. I begin to 
 believe that Baringbury was such a great Prime 
 Minister because he roughed it in Australia, and 
 there learned a philosophy and attained a big- 
 
 329 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ness of range that never left him. Out West a 
 man is simply a man. Isn't it strange that one 
 should have to travel so far to find this? You 
 know, I begin to understand the hunter and Cal- 
 kins and fellows I've met from India and other 
 places who used to seem rather monstrosities to 
 me. It's strange and delightful to find yourself 
 in a place where you are not enmeshed in such a 
 skein of conventionality that if you move you are 
 smothered and warned of your folly in trying to 
 escape. In the West men fight nature and one 
 another. Nature is such a straight, clean foe be- 
 side conventionality. And, Lucy, you remember 
 what Frane said about the cabin and the girl when 
 we were on the steamer ?" 
 
 "Yes." That idea had always fascinated her. 
 
 U I saw the cabins out there!" he cried boyishly. 
 "I met men who had girls waiting back East. 
 Amazing, isn't it! It set me thinking. I found 
 myself feeling as if I were something more than an 
 institution. I asked myself, haven't I just as 
 much right as anybody to wage my battle against 
 nature and make my clearing and build my cabin? 
 I did fairly well at Oxford, and I know a good 
 deal about science; why shouldn't I apply it to 
 earning a livelihood as your father has? I went' 
 to the doctor as soon as I arrived to-day and told 
 him the truth. I told him that my estate was bank- 
 
 330 
 
The Cabin and the Girl 
 
 rupt, and I asked him if I couldn't get a place in 
 the new factory." 
 
 "You didn't tell him that " 
 
 "No. I haven't forgotten my promise. It was 
 purely what Americans call a business propo- 
 sition." 
 
 "But he didn't suspect? You are sure? It 
 would make him worry and make him miserable." 
 
 "No, not in the least, I assure you." 
 
 "And what did he say?" she asked. 
 
 "He smiled at me in the same way that father 
 and Lord Brent did. 'Quel garqonP he exclaimed. 
 'It's like going to a play. It's like a fairy story, 
 and I must say it is quite refreshing to find that 
 such romantic thoughts are still entertained. But 
 they'll never, never do, Carniston, in the age 
 of steam and practical politics.' That was what 
 he said. That is what they would say in London 
 or New York or Paris. But what would the fel- 
 lows around the chuck waggon say? Why, I can 
 hear them : 'Hustle and get a job and marry the 
 girl you want to. What's to hinder? Ain't this 
 the United States? Ain't this a free country? 
 The trusts haven't got it all yet, though they're 
 fencin' it in with barb wire pretty fast.' " 
 
 "And father — did you tell him that?" 
 
 "No, I couldn't tell him that without telling 
 him I was in love. I only said that I wanted to 
 
 33* 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 earn my own living. And he said ''Quel garqonP 
 again and warned me of my duty to my estate. I 
 was an institution; I must make a rich marriage. 
 He suggested Miss Hodges." 
 
 "Father is a wise, kind man, with a deep expe- 
 rience of the world/' Lucy said slowly to herself. 
 
 "Lucy!" Carniston had seized her hands in his. 
 "Lucy, I do own myself and I'll do as I please. 
 I'll throw it all up. I'll laugh in the face of 
 Wormley to-morrow. If I find the cabin, will you 
 be the girl? Will you — will you?" 
 
 His words were sweeter even than the glorious 
 first words in the house in London. She was see- 
 ing him in all his attractiveness, so kindly, so clean 
 in his thoughts, so surely a companion for a good 
 woman. His was something more than the Car- 
 niston charm of manner. Could you have traced, 
 by examining his blood, the strain from the dollish 
 mother who in childhood imagined how she would 
 like to be the countess of a fairy tale, and finding 
 herself one was altogether so naive and lovely in 
 the part that the "amiable Carny," in the midst of 
 his spendthrift career, was sometimes amazed and 
 again delighted? More than once he had said to 
 her, "What a girl!" 
 
 "Lucy, will you — will you?" Arthur repeated. 
 
 Her head was bowed. It was not her wish to 
 win him for a moment, but to hold him forever. 
 
 332 
 
The Cabin and the Girl 
 
 "Arthur, I am in Monsieur Celestin's gown 
 which cost father a good part of a piece of luck 
 and, Arthur, we are at a ball, when it seems as if 
 some invisible hand had made all the flowers and 
 the decorations and the plumage of the guests and 
 they were not the result of hard work and money, 
 money, money, before the curtain went up. When 
 you stop to think that the curtain must come down 
 in the morning it is a warning not to live your part 
 too deeply over night." 
 
 She wanted to say yes; to fall into his arms and 
 make him stronger with her strength. If he had 
 been like Frane or the hunter earl and had put his 
 word to such a plan — but she loved him none the 
 less on this account; the more, probably. 
 
 "You know what we said once about holding 
 hands, Arthur, and being grave and brave and rea- 
 sonable," she began, drawing away from him. "I 
 couldn't bear it if — if I — and if afterwards — 
 Arthur, you will think to-night and you will think 
 in the morning, and then if you will come to me at 
 tea-time and say the same thing — why, then, to- 
 morrow afternoon will be the beginning of the 
 great good joy; and you and I will go together to 
 father and tell him that you are after the cabin and 
 I am the girl. 
 
 "Arthur," she put out her hand, "let us go 
 where the air is fresher. You won't mind if I 
 
 333 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 rest myself on your arm for just a minute? You 
 are so strong; you have been out West." Thus 
 they started to descend the stairs. "Now the little 
 dizziness is over; I am quite right again. It's late, 
 isn't it? Won't you find father and tell him that I 
 am ready to go ? No, no — I have my hand on the 
 balusters. I can get a drink in the cloak-room. 
 Good night. To-morrow afternoon the girl will 
 be waiting — not in the cabin, but in a hotel apart- 
 
 Lucy noted to her father, with an effort at cheer- 
 fulness, how the carriage door swings open softly 
 when you arrive and bangs when you go away. As 
 soon as they were clear of the lights her head 
 dropped on his shoulder. 
 
 "I met my mother to-night," she said, slowly. 
 
 The long silence which followed was fraught 
 with fear and perplexity for the doctor. Lucy had 
 found him in a falsehood. Did it mean that he 
 would lose her ? Had she taken her mother's part ? 
 The words of his own conversation with the 
 countess that evening ran through his mind. It 
 was the first that he had known of her presence 
 in Washington. Ever since they had parted she 
 had been as a dead woman to him. He was not 
 even aware that the name of the Russian ambas- 
 sador to America was Marmoff. 
 
 334 
 
The Cabin and the Girl 
 
 She had not seen him until after her talk with 
 Lucy and she had recovered herself, when she had 
 audaciously greeted him as "Emil" with her first 
 sentence. She had told him of her hope that the 
 past might be so well buried that his daughter 
 could become the protegee of an ambassadress in 
 order that her own mother might be near her. He 
 had said stiffly that Lucy was no one's protegee. 
 She had asked him if the portrait he had hung over 
 his desk was the same that she had drawn of her- 
 self, as she looked in a mirror, on the back of an 
 envelope one memorable day during the siege of 
 Paris ? It was, he admitted. And why had he hung 
 it there? "When I saw that Lucy did not have 
 your features," he had answered, "but those of 
 my mother, I kept the portrait for the same reason 
 that I kept the hat and the carbine. They wrote 
 finis to the two motives of my old career. If I 
 became restless and felt that I might wander away 
 again from the path I had set myself for my 
 daughter's sake, I always had before my eyes the 
 insignia of folly and the end of folly. Madame, 
 I was a franc-tireur, which was not playing fair. 
 Madame, I loved you, which was simply lunacy." 
 She had made a grimace and remarked, "How 
 characteristic!" He must have become rich again 
 to afford such a fine gown and such a superb string 
 of pearls for "our Lucy," as the countess persisted 
 
 335 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 in calling his daughter. "Madame, I must be im- 
 polite," he had said, with simple assurance; "pos- 
 sibly your eyes are growing old." Then she had 
 told him that she knew from what she had seen 
 that night that Lucy loved the earl. "Madame," 
 he had answered, "she does nothing of the kind. 
 Good night." 
 
 For if he was sure of any one thing as the result 
 of his deductions it was that Lucy loved John 
 Frane, and his greatest fear was that Frane's 
 death would break his daughter's heart. But he 
 had given no hint of his knowledge to her. He 
 respected her secret as she had once respected his. 
 
 The rubber tires spun softly along, the horses' 
 hoofs clicked on the asphalt of Connecticut Ave- 
 nue, while Lucy, her declaration made, remained 
 silent and the doctor could find no words. He felt 
 as if the fair head on his shoulder were a tribunal 
 deciding his fate. 
 
 "Daddy, you told me a falsehood," she said at 
 last, "for she is alive — so terribly alive ! But you 
 told it for the same reason that you have done 
 everything — for my good. I am glad you did. 
 She taught me so much about you. She showed me 
 what a splendid fellow you were when you were 
 young — as I always knew you must have been — 
 and this was quite the contrary effect from what 
 she wanted. She made my heart bigger. Now 
 
 336 
 
The Cabin and the Girl 
 
 there will be more room in it for love of you. Tell 
 me, father, is it wicked — is it a sin which should 
 make me pray every night if she is hateful to 
 me?" 
 
 "No," he answered. "She is dead. Let us still 
 think that. Shall we, madchen ?" 
 
 "Yes, and never speak of her, and take down the 
 portrait; shall we?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "And why should we 
 stay in Washington any longer? Why shouldn't 
 we travel more? Why shouldn't we go quite 
 around the world?" 
 
 "Have we the money?" she asked. "Two such 
 dreamers as you and I are likely to forget that, 
 father." 
 
 "Yes. But I have saved a little and I get some- 
 thing from royalties on one of my inventions, and 
 it will not be so expensive." 
 
 He made up his mind that she should soon know 
 how much that little was; but not to-night — not 
 when they were within a block of the hotel. It 
 must be at such a luncheon as they had had in Paris 
 when he gave her the pearls. First he would tell 
 her that the pearls were real; then he would lay a 
 list of his securities before her and explain how he 
 had gained them in behalf of a little bundle of 
 humanity which he had once carried down the 
 stairs of a Parisian house. After that he might 
 
 337 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 spend as much as he pleased in order to make her 
 forget her love for Frane. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I'll be ready to go any time 
 after to-morrow," as she knew she would if Arthur 
 did not come. 
 
 We need not follow the doctor's inscrutable 
 mental processes further than his happiness at find- 
 ing that she was still all his as she kissed him good 
 night and called him the king of fathers. 
 
 Once in her room, she looked again at the gown 
 in the mirror, for she was feminine and she loved 
 the gown and thanked it for the part it had played 
 in bringing Arthur near her for a few sweet mo- 
 ments. Then she thought of the one to whom 
 credit was due and flew to her writing-table. 
 
 "Enfin, Monsieur Celestin, 
 J'ai porte votre robe, enfin, 
 Et on a dit ce que vous avez dit, enfin, 
 Enfin, Monsieur Celestin,' * 
 
 she began. This girl who had pricked her finger 
 in order that Mrs. Hodges' feelings should not 
 suffer could imagine the little man pirouetting as 
 he read the note, which would bring more joy to 
 his artistic soul than any number of checks. Mean- 
 while, the ghosts were creeping, creeping, creeping 
 up till they gripped the very piano keys on which 
 she played her never-care songs. 
 
 338 
 
XXXII 
 
 WORMLEY CALLS 
 
 WORMLEY was a member of Parliament 
 now, and he expected to be at least a 
 baronet before he died. The broker's part that 
 he had played for the family of Steadley stood 
 for more than one rung in the ladder of an am- 
 bitious man. He was already in Washington 
 when Carniston returned from the West barely 
 in time for the ball; and failing to see him that 
 afternoon he went early to the embassy the next 
 morning, where he waited patiently until he was 
 shown up to the earl's room. After some formal- 
 ity in introducing the subject, he explained that the 
 death of one of the creditors had complicated 
 affairs. The executors, it seemed, were disin- 
 clined to see any advantage in delay rather than 
 immediate settlement. Therefore, the estate 
 could count on no longer grace than the six months 
 originally accorded to the late earl. 
 
 "Only a month remains," Wormley explained. 
 "We had heard of your engagement to Miss 
 
 339 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 Hodges, who was certainly a most excellent choice 
 — combining health and beauty with wealth — 
 only to hear it positively denied. Then you go 
 away on a six weeks' hunting trip, which I fear, 
 my lord, was a departure from the spirit of the 
 arrangement by which we advanced the money." 
 
 Carniston had sunk deep in his chair, and he 
 was watching the smoke roll upward from his 
 cigarette while Wormley spoke. 
 
 "I've been out where you eat grub off the chuck 
 waggon," he said. "It costs little to live and be free 
 out there. Even if I can't get a place in the fac- 
 tory, I can go West." 
 
 "Factory!" 
 
 "Yes, I have about made up my mind, with all 
 thanks for your trouble on my behalf, to marry 
 a poor girl that I love. There's still room in the 
 world to do such a thing. Odd, isn't it?" 
 
 As Wormley told his wife over his best port 
 the night after his return, his father had drilled 
 it into him as a boy that London was a biggish 
 town and never to lose his head. 
 
 "Lord Carniston, let us reason." He compli- 
 mented himself to Mrs. Wormley on the self- 
 control, the respect, and the firmness of this intro- 
 duction. Then, as he explained to her, he appealed 
 to sentiment and affection, "because," as he con- 
 cluded, "both must be prominent qualities in a 
 
 340 
 
Wormley Calls 
 
 young man who wanted to marry for love and 
 give up Burbridge for a chuck waggon." 
 
 Wormley made Carniston see the ever-fresh 
 green of an English lawn; he made him feel the 
 soft thickness of English turf under his feet; he 
 took him through the rooms of Burbridge, end- 
 ing with the dining-room, where hung the heads of 
 the beasts which the hunter had killed. He re- 
 called the six earls who had gone before and his 
 father's sacrifice, the honour and responsibility of 
 an English title, and the villagers whose welfare 
 was his trust. Could the heir throw up the estate 
 when he was their debtor? Would he turn away 
 the loyal old servants? 
 
 Carniston sank deeper in his chair, seeing only 
 the smoke from his cigarette. 
 
 "Besides," said Wormley, "being a man of 
 action, if I may so allude to myself, and being 
 familiar in detail with the affairs of a family which 
 I am bold to say I have served faithfully and, I 
 hope, wisely, I undertook yesterday to go in per- 
 son to Mrs. Hodges, whom I found to be an 
 excellent business woman. Although at the time 
 she was uncertain of the state of her daughter's 
 mind, it seemed, later I received a telephone mes- 
 sage from her in the light of which this announce- 
 ment of yours — when I anticipated that I had 
 only to ask you to hasten the performance of the 
 
 34i 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 ceremony already arranged — comes — comes, I 
 must say, as a bolt out of the blue. Is it possible 
 that your reference to the girl's poverty is a — a 
 joke? For I assure you, my lord, Mrs. Hodges 
 told me over the 'phone that her daughter had 
 said that she was engaged to you." 
 
 So Geraldine had. When she surprised the 
 maternal heart with the announcement she avoided 
 embraces; and she made a reservation. 
 
 "You'll be happy here in Washington," she 
 said; "popular with the Benders as the mother of 
 an English countess. Father wanted you to be 
 happy. But I think, too, that he wanted me to 
 suffer as little as possible. So I go with the under- 
 standing that you will not visit us for more than 
 a month a year. The wedding is to be quiet and 
 in England. No ! — not here where Lin and Fanny 
 would come." 
 
 Mrs. Hodges was in the mood to make conces- 
 sions of detail in order to gain the main point. 
 
 "Father said that you always won, mother," 
 Geraldine added. "You win this time." 
 
 She needed John Frane to bring out the best in 
 her character. She could no longer soothe her 
 heart with thought of him. Washington had 
 become unbearable to her. A girl must marry 
 some time; and a girl may like peace. If this does 
 
 342 
 
Wormley Calls 
 
 not explain her action, then one can only say that 
 she was Geraldine. 
 
 Lucy had put on the Celestin afternoon gown 
 and the piano was open if it were needed to play 
 some of the new and merry never-cares which had 
 flitted through her mind. But Arthur did not 
 come. She and her father had tea alone; and 
 after his second cup, which she poured holding 
 the pot with all her strength lest he should see her 
 tremble, he asked her for just one song. She sang 
 him the only thing that was in her heart, a verse 
 from de Musset which she had set to music: 
 
 •« 'Quand j'ai traverse la vallee, 
 
 Un oiseau chantait sur son nid. 
 Ses petits, sa chere couvee, 
 
 Venaient de mourir dans la nuit. 
 Cependant il chantait l'aurore: 
 
 O ma Muse! ne pleurez-pas. 
 A qui perd tout Dieu reste encore, 
 
 Dieu la-haut, Tespoir ici-bas.* " 
 
 Yet she who could draw on her futures to play 
 the game for the moment paid her farewell calls 
 that very afternoon; and the next day the von 
 Kars left Washington to take a steamer for the 
 Mediterranean. . . . The luncheon hour came 
 in the France her father loved so well when he 
 yielded a miser's secret; and she, praying then to 
 
 343 
 
Lucy of the Stars 
 
 be an actress for his sake, sang with delight and 
 kissed his forehead. ... In England there is a 
 countess, beautiful and serene, and an earl, known 
 not as the "amiable" — no, not quite — but as the 
 "kindly" Carniston. This pair never travel in 
 their motor car with the back seats empty. They 
 knew in the essential of its ending the story of a 
 one-time soldier of fortune, seeking with the 
 change of season the fair places of the East and 
 West for his daughter's health, who when he was 
 one day left alone in the world asked himself the 
 question, "What is the good of all my money 
 now?" 
 
 THE END 
 
 344 
 
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