A, H, VAN GUYSL1NG, Bailee 
 
 * 
 
 \
 
 
 LOS A*
 
 A SOCIAL 
 COCKATRICE
 
 A SOCIAL 
 
 COCKATRICE 
 
 ByFREDERICK W. ELDRIDGE 
 
 LOTHROP PUBLISHING 
 COMPANY BOSTON
 
 COPYRIGHT, 
 
 BY 
 
 L O T H R O P 
 
 PUBLISHING 
 
 COMPANY. 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published February, 1903
 
 A SOCIAL 
 COCKATRICE 
 
 2135296
 
 A SOCIAL 
 COCKATRICE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HE left New Orleans clad in confidence and 
 showering promises. Her last word trilled 
 from the Pullman car window was an epit- 
 ome of anticipation. 
 
 " You must come to Newport next summer, 
 girls," she cried. " I will have a villa then. 
 Meantime watch Fifth Avenue." 
 
 The group on the platform applauded. 
 " You can't help being a sensation, Beatrice." 
 " Climb on the wall, dearest then you can 
 pull us all up." 
 
 " We'll follow you in the society papers," and 
 then the clamour of the engine-bell cut in on 
 the pelting farewells, the wheels groaned and 
 
 ii
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 screeched, and the train rolled heavily away to 
 the North. 
 
 Beatrice Cameron watched the company fade 
 to an agitated cloud of handkerchiefs, and drew 
 away from the window with a sigh of relief. 
 
 " Thank Heaven," she said, addressing her sis- 
 ter, " we are out of the nursery." She leaned 
 back in her seat and smiled. " Lovely people 
 in New Orleans, of course, but, Edith, we are 
 going to New York." 
 
 Edith nodded blankly. 
 
 " We are," she answered, " and I hope it will 
 not be a case of marching up the hill and down 
 again. I should not like to see you disappointed." 
 
 "Why should I be?" 
 
 "Excuse my pessimism, dear; we have just 
 left our shell." 
 
 " We are rich." 
 
 " You oppose that shield to every difficulty." 
 
 " I cannot imagine a better one." 
 
 " But you do not dignify our quest. We are 
 not buying gowns; there are no bargains in so- 
 cial passports. Are you to invade New York 
 crying : ' I demand to enter society ! Make way 
 for wealth'?" 
 
 Beatrice laughed happily. 
 
 " In effect, yes. Auntie, of course, will play 
 
 12
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 herald. Don't be timid, Edith. I expect we shall 
 take our place as a matter of certified right." 
 
 " Let us hope so," said Edith, quietly. " My 
 sympathy is incidental, but you, Beatrice, have 
 made of society a fetich." 
 
 Beatrice gazed at the flying landscape without 
 reply. Into her eyes crept visions, and her lips 
 compressed tightly. Suddenly she turned to her 
 sister, and, bending forward, tapped her hand. 
 
 " You are moderate," she cried, a little excite- 
 ment in her voice. " What you rate an odd 
 ambition, Edith, is the first passion of my life. 
 In all the world there is to me nothing so im- 
 portant as caste. You may as well appreciate 
 this, for I shall demand your aid. We are ob- 
 scure, we are primitive, and because I know this 
 my whole soul cries out for the other extreme. 
 I cannot imagine a price I am unwilling to pay." 
 
 "That is fantastic, Beatrice." 
 
 " Not so. I believe the so-called aristocracy 
 a superior civilisation. Take that interest nearest 
 your own heart religion, is it not ? " 
 
 " Charity." 
 
 " Translate it society, multiply it past reckon- 
 ing, and you have my master desire." 
 
 Edith studied her sister curiously. 
 
 " Forgive me," she said, " it seems so trivial." 
 
 13
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I have no excuses to make, Edith. Normal 
 ambitions pass me by. Ideals of love, of home, 
 of usefulness, sting me with dreariness. A speech 
 that Madame Taliaferro made is my key-note of 
 existence. I met her at the Lantern ball. She 
 looked me over kindly. ' Why not climb Olym- 
 pus ? ' she said ; ' you are wasting your time, 
 child.' 
 
 " ' And Olympus is where ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' By the Hudson,' she answered. ' They are 
 waiting for you there.' ' 
 
 A flicker of mirth passed over Edith's face. 
 
 " I thought Olympus was a close corporation," 
 she ventured. 
 
 Beatrice flushed angrily. 
 
 "If you cannot take a serious view of my 
 hope, Edith," she said, " at least avoid ridi- 
 cule. I " 
 
 " Pardon me again, Beatrice," said Edith, hur- 
 riedly, " I merely wondered at your confidence. 
 Some passages in this society novel I have here, 
 suggested my fear. I want you to hear them, 
 for, in a way, it is a text-book of the organisa- 
 tion. It is not kind to the middle class." 
 
 " We are not middle class." 
 
 " Not in New Orleans in New York I do 
 not know. Hear what confronts you : 
 
 14
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " ' No siege of city, no investment of camp, 
 can match the strenuous campaign of the Amer- 
 ican middle class to force the barriers of capi- 
 talised seclusion. It is a spectacle of the century. 
 By night and day the struggle presses consum- 
 ing heart and conscience, leaving on its skirmish 
 grounds monuments of folly, sorrow, and crime. 
 Golden battering-rams crash and shatter on 
 golden barricades, axes fashioned of dollars hew 
 fortifications of bullion. Here and there a breach 
 is made, but more often the assailants, bereft 
 of weapons and exhausted of spirit, fall back to 
 oblivion and discontent ' 
 
 " That's true," cried Beatrice, nodding. " You 
 remember Mrs. Caston. Because she stumbled 
 over the lineage line in Philadelphia, she is a 
 fervent democrat." 
 
 ' Others, less valorous but more cunning, 
 bribe the keepers of the gates, and then, turning, 
 man the outer walls against their comrades in 
 arms. From all the assailing camps one banner 
 floats eternally aloft. On every standard the 
 cabalistic letters Bradstreet's or Dun's A. A. 
 are the warriors' warrant, certificate alike to 
 friend and foe. They are at once the reason and 
 the means, ammunition and password. With-
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 out heart, without genius or generosity, but not 
 the commission of Dun and Bradstreet.' ' 
 
 Edith stopped and looked up. Her sister was 
 not impressed. 
 
 " I do not see the point," she remarked. " You 
 read confirmation of my belief. The sine qua non 
 is money we have money ; lots of it." 
 " Money is merely ammunition." 
 " Then rely on my learning how to use it." 
 Edith closed the book, and viewed her sister 
 with a new interest. Her familiarity with this 
 strong ambition was only casual. That it could 
 excite such declarations, that it had been deified, 
 was a puzzle. And as she noted the emotion in 
 the beautiful face opposite, she was forced to 
 admit that, however worthless the ambition, it 
 was real and absorbing. She could herself feel 
 no sympathy. Both character and temperament 
 put her out of touch, and her disposition was to 
 look on social distinctions as unimportant. 
 Society she regarded as a harvest ground for 
 friendships the sphere beloved of Beatrice was 
 something vague and artificial. 
 
 A sudden stir at the far end of the car broke 
 in on Edith's reverie, and she saw several people 
 gather about one of the chairs. She was on her 
 feet in an instant. 
 16
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " There is something- the matter with that poor 
 invalid woman," she explained to Beatrice. " I 
 will ask what the trouble is." 
 
 She was back again in a moment, her face full 
 of sympathetic interest. 
 
 " Let me have your smelling-salts, Beatrice," 
 she said, " she is very weak. We shall have to do 
 the best we can until we reach the next station." 
 
 Beatrice slipped the crystal bauble from its 
 chain. 
 
 " Take it," she said, impatiently, " and keep it, 
 Edith. I can never use it after some sick 
 stranger." 
 
 " It is hardly fair," admitted Edith, smiling, 
 " but I will get you its twin in New York." 
 
 She hurried away with the pungent restora- 
 tive, and Beatrice, swinging her seat about, could 
 see that she had taken active charge of the un- 
 fortunate. 
 
 " I cannot understand," remarked Beatrice, 
 when Edith returned again, " why an invalid like 
 that should be without attendance. She is foisted 
 on the public by her friends." 
 
 " She is poor, I imagine, that's why," said 
 Edith, bluntly, " and she is only going to Mobile. 
 I suppose her friends thought she could get 
 through such a short run without trouble. If 
 
 17
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 you will excuse me, I will sit with her awhile. 
 She is coming around nicely." 
 
 " There seem to be several people nearer. I 
 wanted to talk to you." 
 
 " Her neighbours," cried Edith, laughingly, 
 " why, when she fainted, they almost followed 
 suit. Those people, Beatrice," she whispered, 
 mischievously, " are society folk." 
 
 Beatrice sat for a long while alone, and most 
 of the time she was thinking of her sister, 
 this sister who was to her, through much sep- 
 aration, almost a stranger. For the first time 
 in their lives they were beginning an intimacy, 
 and the unfolding of Edith's peculiarities had 
 been for Beatrice a constant surprise. She 
 watched the girl moving about the invalid's chair, 
 and the sight, although unappealing, impressed 
 her as characteristic. She was dainty and smart ; 
 her face a picture, and her gown a model; yet 
 she was nurse to a stranger whom half the peo- 
 ple in the car, herself included, viewed as a 
 nuisance. 
 
 It harmonised with the history that Beatrice 
 ran over in lazy review. In Edith's childhood 
 and womanhood it had always been the same, - 
 nothing usual, nothing normal, but a slavery to 
 charity as strange as it was persistent. She had 
 18
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 always found pleasure in labours hateful to youth 
 and foreign to her station. 
 
 Beatrice remembered that, even when a little 
 girl, Edith had conducted a hospital for wounded 
 cats; later it was a school for orphans, and 
 when her father died her money was drained for 
 benefactions without end. And to all of this work 
 she had given personal attention. While Beatrice 
 was rambling in Europe, Edith had stayed 
 at home, and made the air of New Orleans 
 sweeter by her presence. She remembered, too, 
 how Edith would come from some scene of pov- 
 erty, weak and disheartened, and how their father 
 would storm his protest. " Why don't you travel 
 like Beatrice? " he had cried. " You are killing 
 yourself, and you are disgracing me." But the 
 rumour of suffering always drove her forth 
 again, and charity became in time a fixed habit. 
 Only the earnest things of life seemed to touch 
 Edith. To the common distractions of girlhood 
 she gave but scant attention. Such work could 
 only debase or uplift. In Edith's case it had 
 made for gentleness and a refinement of temper. 
 Beatrice could not recall her other than placid, 
 except on one occasion, and in New Orleans that 
 occasion was historic. Edith had stopped a cart 
 in the street, and demanded that the driver re- 
 
 19
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 move the horse. For answer, he had raised his 
 whip to lash the wretched beast, when she ran 
 forward, and, snatching it away, struck him 
 fairly across the face. Then she held the horse's 
 bridle until a policeman came. 
 
 But despite the appeal of these labours, Bea- 
 trice could not remember that she had been sym- 
 pathetic. She was not sympathetic now, and she 
 even turned to the window with a little sigh at 
 the dreariness of it all. It was much pleasanter 
 to think of New York. 
 
 And Edith, watching the invalid drifting into 
 sleep, also thought of her sister. Far more than 
 Beatrice she felt the reproach of their separation. 
 When their father died, and Beatrice determined 
 on migration, Edith had welcomed this chance 
 for closer contact. But she was gradually real- 
 ising that the points of contact were few. From 
 eyebrows to morals they seemed to have nothing 
 in common. Even their types of beauty touched 
 the extremes of rivalry, and Edith suspected that 
 their intellectual and moral standards were even 
 further apart. 
 
 In her essays at friendship Edith had made 
 discoveries. Beatrice was headstrong, her tem- 
 per was uncertain, and she was selfish. Also she 
 lacked reverence. Edith did not doubt that, if 
 
 20
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Beatrice failed with ordinary methods, she was 
 quite ready to use extraordinary means held in 
 reserve. How far, for instance, would she go 
 to attain society? She was still thinking of this 
 even after she had helped the invalid alight at 
 the station, and she went back to Beatrice eager 
 to sound her. 
 
 " Suppose, Beatrice," she asked, abruptly, 
 "you should find the gates closed?" Beatrice 
 looked at her in surprise. She had expected to 
 hear -of the invalid. 
 
 " Then I should follow the book, and blow or 
 buy them open." 
 
 " But suppose," persisted Edith, " even that 
 failed? What then?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Beatrice, with a slow 
 smile. " I cannot tell. But I will never stay 
 outside." 
 
 And in this imperious spirit Beatrice Cameron 
 came to New York, with maids, much baggage, 
 and an antipodal sister, who hoped for the best. 
 
 21
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 /T was to be expected that an uninformed 
 Southern girl, and one blind to conditions, 
 should fail in her selection of ways and 
 means. She was besides heedlessly eager. But 
 that Beatrice should select an aunt merely rich 
 and of genealogical strength, suggests the depths 
 of her credulity. She spent months scouting the 
 outposts. It was an absorbing period, and the 
 awakening came slowly. She exchanged the even 
 atmosphere of the Southern capital for the cross 
 currents of the most interesting life in the me- 
 tropolis. It was the vast and pretentious middle 
 ground between the unimportant and the avowed 
 plutocracy. Rather than a festival of butterflies, 
 she found existence saturated with the spirit of 
 business. She met strong men and ambitious 
 women. She met bankers, and lawyers, and 
 leaders of the arts, all in the most delightful 
 community, and she met the wives of these 
 money-makers, the women who spent the money, 
 and rivalled the labours of Hercules in social 
 22
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 activities. She encountered, too, interesting 
 specimens of the parasites, who, by dint of genius 
 or craft, manage to attach themselves to chariots 
 bought by others. 
 
 In the beginning Beatrice permitted herself to 
 believe that this sphere was the antechamber 
 to Nirvana. There was quite enough extrava- 
 gance, quite enough spectacle, to justify her in 
 accepting the community at its own valuation. 
 
 It was to the newspapers, indeed, that she 
 owed revelation. These never wearied of re- 
 adjusting the plutocratic lines until they could 
 catalogue a precise " aristocracy." Of the doings 
 of any but these ticketed divinities they refused 
 to take notice. Names were added and names 
 subtracted, and the jockeying for journalistic 
 position seemed to be the first duty of the aspir- 
 ant. When she grasped the poverty of her out- 
 look, she attacked her relative. 
 
 " Auntie," she said, waving the Globe's latest 
 roster, " our people are not in society." 
 
 " How what what people ? What do you 
 mean? " 
 
 " Why, these people with whom we are asso- 
 ciated our set, I should say are not in so- 
 ciety not even in society's back yard, apparently.
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 You led me to believe they were the first men 
 and women in New York." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert stiffened like the snap of a 
 whalebone. 
 
 " Do I understand you to mean the friends with 
 whom I have brought you in contact?" 
 
 " Yes, the Fannings, the Aliens, the Webers. 
 One never hears of their association with the 
 leaders. You never read of their yachts nor their 
 automobiles, nor their rapid-fire divorces. In 
 fact, you rarely see their names in the papers, 
 and Willie Gotham even ignores their scandals, 
 which I think are quite as numerous and every 
 bit as ugly as the Newport variety." 
 
 " Beatrice, you are amazing. I am to infer, 
 then, that unless canonised by Willie Gotham one 
 is outcast? " 
 
 " Well, hardly as bad as that, auntie. But 
 when we have to die to get the attention bestowed 
 on a Pierrepont tea, it argues something shaky 
 in our claims. The other day, when Mr. Van 
 Dorn bought the best box at the Horse Show, 
 the Herald spoke of him as a Mr. Van Dorn. 
 With us, you know, Van Dorn is colossal." 
 
 " He is a descendant of one of the first Dutch 
 settlers of New York." 
 
 " Oh ! then he is a Knickerbocker ? " 
 24
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " What more, pray ! " cried Mrs. Lambert. 
 " It is silly to bracket such a lineage with the 
 money-bags. He " 
 
 " Pardon me," said Beatrice, crisply, " I am 
 not trying to rub the fur the wrong way. I am 
 in New York to go into society, the society 
 that gets its name in type, that is deified and 
 envied by the rest of the land ; and I am not ready 
 to compromise. The fact that your men and 
 women are pillars of the community is nothing 
 to me. They are not Cliff Walk divinities, and 
 they do not set the pace for the nation. When 
 I came to you I supposed your passport meant 
 freedom of the lines. You are as badly off as 
 I am." 
 
 She paused, her eyes glowing resentfully. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert felt the shock of an ambushed 
 assault. Her cheeks flamed, and reproaches 
 crowded to her tongue. But in the very mar- 
 shalling of her arguments she collapsed. 
 
 " Beatrice," she murmured, feebly, " it is too 
 absurd. Let us go to luncheon." 
 
 The surrender was the beginning for Mrs. 
 Lambert of a long season of unrest. As a mat- 
 ter of family pride, she had undertaken to launch 
 her nieces in the diversified company, which was 
 all she knew, but which she regarded as the 
 
 25
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 mountain-top of caste. There was no deceit in 
 the matter; her point of view simply did not 
 admit the plutocracy adored of Beatrice. She 
 did not understand the proposition, and she did 
 not see how any one else could. Her friends had 
 ancestors and money, and a standard that played 
 off dividends against descendants was beyond her 
 horizon. 
 
 Beatrice revived the issue cruelly. She used 
 to waylay Mrs. Lambert in transports of sarcasm 
 over some new proof of the social evolution. 
 She would show in figures a percentage of one 
 thousand to one in favour of Newport notoriety ; 
 she crowed over the Assembly lists, and she blud- 
 geoned her aunt with newspaper clippings until 
 the poor lady rued the day when her wings folded 
 over such a porcupine of ambition. 
 
 " Beatrice," she cried, " why don't you return 
 to New Orleans? Why waste time with my 
 cheap substitute? " 
 
 " Because, auntie, the experience is useful. I 
 am fitting myself to enter society," and, when 
 Mrs. Lambert grew properly crimson, she 
 laughed and fled. 
 
 But if New York disappointed Beatrice, her 
 sister found in its darker part a new and mighty 
 interest. The East Side was to Edith a Sahara 
 26
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 of woe. She had not believed such misery could 
 live, and, while it appalled her, its challenge was 
 clear. The very magnitude of the odds made her 
 eager. She set about studying the situation and 
 the best method of attack. When she decided 
 that personal work only could ensure results, she 
 did not spare herself by hour or day. In time 
 she came to know the noble workers who pre- 
 ceded her, and made friends of them by impartial 
 contributions. 
 
 " You are very good," they would say. " We 
 all mean well, but each prefers his own way of 
 showing it. There is much jealousy among us 
 as to method." 
 
 " You are right," answered Edith. " We 
 make the poor suffer to nurse our theories." 
 
 At home Edith found an almost total lack of 
 sympathy. Moreover, social duties were a hin- 
 drance and a source of friction. Her efforts to 
 escape irritated Beatrice, and she cried her dis- 
 gust. 
 
 " I trust you change your clothes when you 
 come home," she exclaimed once. " If you run 
 around among those poor people much longer, 
 you will be dangerous company." 
 
 " Beatrice, you are just a trifle disgusting," 
 said Edith, coldly. " Your idea of tenement- 
 
 27
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 house work seems to be a dollar in one hand and 
 a disinfectant in the other." 
 
 " No, I would send the dollar by some one 
 else. Really, Edith, I don't think much of your 
 subjects. I don't believe all the benefactions 
 under heaven would lead to a love of soap, 
 and if the gentle rains of charity fell on their 
 skins, they would not like it at all." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert, who was seated near by, looked 
 up anxiously. 
 
 " You you don't think, Edith," she que- 
 ried, dismally, " there is any danger of bac- 
 teria?" 
 
 And then, when Beatrice shrieked with laugh- 
 ter, Edith left the room, too hurt and angry to 
 reply. 
 
 But one day Beatrice read that the first woman 
 of the beloved plutocracy was heading a move- 
 ment for free baths on the East Side. She inter- 
 viewed Edith at once. 
 
 " I think I should like to go your rounds 
 sometime," she announced. "I I might get 
 interested." 
 
 Edith stared at her in doubt. 
 
 " What is your motive ? " she asked. 
 
 Beatrice flushed angrily. 
 
 28
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " You are very ungenerous," she said. " The 
 East Side is hardly a private preserve." 
 
 "No," replied Edith, quietly, "but it is a 
 poor place for curiosity excursions. In your 
 present spirit, you would only be disgusted. 
 Still," she added, contritely, " I am hardly fair, 
 after all. If you will promise not to view my 
 cases as exhibits, it might be a lesson. I only ask 
 that you dress properly." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "-Dispense with furs and a picture hat. Your 
 rainy-day skirt and a jacket would be in better 
 taste." 
 
 " I suppose it is a case of going to Rome. 
 Oan't we ride, either?" 
 
 " Society explorers and bishops ride," an- 
 swered Edith, slyly, " but we are workers, you 
 know." 
 
 Beatrice sighed. 
 
 " You select the costume," she said, meekly. 
 " I wish to be in form even over there." 
 
 They set forth cheerful, eager, and almost 
 congenial. 
 
 " Your skirt fits like a glove," said Edith, 
 admiringly. " I think, for a woman of your 
 splendid figure, it is better to be trig than pic- 
 turesque." 
 
 29
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Yes, but I am a friend of curves. You can't 
 get the effect with plain clothes." 
 
 Edith stopped at a florist's, and bought a bou- 
 quet of violets. 
 
 " What's that for ? " asked Beatrice, resent- 
 fully. " I thought we were to be humble." 
 
 " I am taking them to a sick woman," ex- 
 plained Edith, " only I am afraid it will be too 
 late." 
 
 " It is unfortunate I have no patients," said 
 Beatrice. " I feel terribly crude." 
 
 " I make a practice of walking over for exer- 
 cise," remarked Edith, as they went along, " but 
 if you prefer we will get a cab." 
 
 " O, no," Beatrice answered, boldly, " if we 
 are going to rough it, we may as well be hon- 
 est." 
 
 They walked on for many squares, and the 
 passage from one quarter to another interested 
 Beatrice greatly. Edith halted at last before a 
 building, huge, square as a box, and much af- 
 flicted with dirt. The doors stood open, and, 
 without hesitation, Edith walked in and up a 
 gloomy flight of stairs to the fourth landing. At 
 a small door in a particularly dusky corner she 
 knocked, and a voice in excellent Irish gave them 
 entrance. 
 30
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 On the door-sill Beatrice shrank from the spec- 
 tacle. Into a space not much greater than one 
 of her gown closets she saw compressed all the 
 home life of a family. A bed and a cot occupied 
 one side of the room; on the other was a tiny 
 stove and a table, while the floor between was 
 desperately crowded by a pair of feeble rocking- 
 chairs. In one corner hooks had been rigged 
 up to support clothing consisting in this case of 
 one cotton wrapper, one pair of overalls, and a 
 boy's jacket. Poverty shone on every square 
 inch of environment. Through an acrid haze of 
 smoke Beatrice saw a woman bending wearily 
 over the stove, and a small boy sitting on the floor 
 peeling potatoes. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. McGuire," cried Edith, 
 cheerfully ; " the top o' the morning to ye." 
 
 The woman dropped her pan with a clatter, 
 and wheeled around. 
 
 " Sure, 'tis Miss Edith," she exclaimed, loudly, 
 " and the Irish ye use is gittin' betther ivery day. 
 Not the minute since I says to me bye, ' Now, 
 what if Miss Edith shud come in and say me 
 thrying to fry thim iysters she sint she'd nivir 
 sind no more.' Two of thim's burned that black, 
 'tis an insult to the poor beasts, but Mike will 
 have to ate thim nivertheliss." 
 
 3*
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 She stopped for breath, and perched her head 
 on one side like a fat robin. 
 
 " And who is the lady with the bonnie black 
 eyes, now? " she asked. 
 
 " This is my sister, Mrs. McGuire." 
 
 " It is so," cried Mrs. McGuire. " I have yer 
 word for it, which is enough, but ye wud nivir 
 prove it otherwise. 'Tis a pair of beauties ye 
 are, though as onlike as two peas." 
 
 Beatrice looked mildly gratified. 
 
 " I am going my sister's charitable rounds," 
 she began, when she felt a quick nudge from 
 Edith, and changed the subject " and this is 
 your home, Mrs. McGuire? Where are the other 
 room's ? " 
 
 Mrs. McGuire laughed. 
 
 " They be all here, rolled into wan. 'Tis 
 small," she acknowledged, " but if Mike don't 
 git a job on the Underground soon, I'm thinkin' 
 we'll have a room big enough the whole side- 
 walk, sure." 
 
 " And do you eat and sleep here ? " 
 
 " Faith, 'tis quite a number of meals we have 
 missed, but we slape here." 
 
 Beatrice could not restrain herself. 
 
 " But isn't it dreadfully unhealthy ? " she cried. 
 
 " 'Tis, indeed, that," admitted Mrs. McGuire. 
 32
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I don't mind missin' a meal now and thin, but 
 'tis hard on Mike, 'cause his appetite is onquench- 
 able, work or no work. Me bye is more reason- 
 able." 
 
 " How do you get your baths ? " continued 
 Beatrice, curiously. 
 
 Edith, whose smile had vanished into a look 
 of annoyance, checked the inquiry. 
 
 " Mrs. McGuire," she asked, gently, " how is 
 the patient to-day ? " 
 
 The woman's face lengthened dismally. 
 
 "Sure, she is goin' fast," she said; "'tis no 
 use at all, Miss Edith, ye can't save her. She 
 asked for ye the mornin' whin I was down wid 
 the broth." 
 
 They were interrupted by a gasp from Bea- 
 trice, who had moved around to the table. She 
 pointed to a brown clay pipe leaning against the 
 coffee-pot. 
 
 " Surely, my good woman," she cried, " you 
 do not permit a pipe near your coffee? It is 
 certain to taint it." 
 
 Mrs. McGuire looked puzzled. 
 
 " 'Tis Mike's fault intoirely the careless 
 man," she replied, " he says it looks more home- 
 like." 
 
 " Come, Beatrice," said Edith, sharply, " we 
 
 33
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 have some distance to go. Remember, Mrs. 
 McGuire, you will look after the poor creature, 
 and, if your husband does not get work in a 
 week, you are to let me know." 
 
 On the landing Edith frowned darkly at her 
 sister, and then laughed. 
 
 " I beg of you, Beatrice," she pleaded, " re- 
 member these poor creatures' feelings ; we are not 
 a probing committee. And be careful also of that 
 word charity." 
 
 " Well, you are helping the woman, are you 
 not?" 
 
 " Of course. I stand between Mrs. McGuire 
 and eviction, but if I reminded her of it my 
 usefulness would end." 
 
 They walked a long distance before Edith 
 again stopped at a companion house to the one 
 they had left. The endless dreariness of their 
 surroundings, the atmosphere of poverty that 
 dogged their footsteps, had depressed Beatrice 
 greatly. She began to dread the next adventure, 
 and to be sorry that she had come at all. At 
 the very top of the gloomy building Edith 
 knocked at a door. It was opened cautiously, 
 and a ragged little girl peered out. Her face 
 was pallid, prematurely old, and full of a wan 
 fear. The instant she saw Edith she gave a 
 
 34
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 shrill cry of joy, and flung the barrier wide. 
 Then she turned and scuttled across the room. 
 
 " Felice, Mary, baby," she s'houted, " line up 
 together. It is the Christmas mother. Quick, 
 line up." 
 
 Edith entered the door, smiling happily. She 
 knew just what she was to see, and the knowl- 
 edge filled her with pleasure. 
 
 At one end of the room, side by side, their 
 hands clasped together, and their faces ablaze 
 with -eagerness, stood three little children. One 
 was hardly more than a baby, the eldest not over 
 six years of age. Watching them anxiously was 
 the little girl who had opened the door. " Sa- 
 lute," she cried, as Edith entered, and with one 
 motion they gravely bobbed their heads. 
 
 Edith made a low, sweeping bow in return. 
 
 "Splendid!" she cried, gaily. "You drill 
 like little soldiers. I wish you a very good 
 morning." 
 
 The trio bobbed again. 
 
 " And to show that I remembered you, the 
 grocer is coming soon with lots of good things 
 to eat." 
 
 " Possibly a little cash in hand would prove 
 your intentions better," remarked Beatrice, sud- 
 denly. " I think they look suspicious." 
 
 35
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Edith laughed. 
 
 "It is a good idea, anyhow, Beatrice," she 
 said, " let me try them." 
 
 She fumbled with her purse. 
 
 " Do you know what money is? " she asked. 
 
 The trio trembled with excitement. " We 
 don't know much," said the eldest, eagerly. 
 
 " She means that she would like to get better 
 acquainted," observed Beatrice. 
 
 " Well, here is a large, round dollar for each 
 of you," said Edith, " only, baby, please don't try 
 to swallow it." Then she turned to the girl. 
 " You are going to-morrow, little woman," she 
 added. " I have arranged everything." 
 
 The girl seemed stunned by the news. 
 
 "I oh I thank you," she stammered ; " if 
 only father does not come." 
 
 " It is not likely now," said Edith, cheerfully, 
 " and even if he comes it will not matter. I will 
 take you away myself. Once away, you shall 
 never come back." 
 
 The visitors left amid a concert of farewells, 
 and the girl escorted them to the street. 
 
 " I surmise," said Beatrice, when they were 
 alone, " that the girl is playing father and mother 
 to the little ones." 
 
 " Yes, it is one of the common horrors of the 
 
 36
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 district. They have been deserted a week, and 
 the elder girl has kept them alive selling papers. 
 I have gotten two rooms in a good neighbour- 
 hood, and I shall install her as housekeeper." 
 
 They walked along for a time in lively discus- 
 sion. Then Beatrice grew quieter and finally 
 stopped, turned pale and gasped. 
 
 " Edith," she said, faintly, " this this neigh- 
 bourhood is too much. I think, if you do not 
 object, I will go home. Besides, I have a dance 
 to-night, and I ought to be resting," and in this 
 inglorious fashion the trip collapsed. At the 
 Lambert residence Beatrice met her aunt on the 
 stairs. Edith had delayed in Broadway. 
 
 " Oh, auntie ! " cried Beatrice, " a festival of 
 horrors! I really think Edith must have a com- 
 mon streak in her to endure it at all." 
 
 She changed to a house gown with shuddering 
 relief. 
 
 " If advancement lie in that direction," she 
 murmured, " it is not for me." 
 
 The month succeeding the excursion was to 
 Beatrice a period of stagnation. Try as she might, 
 she could make no advance beyond the sphere of 
 which she had hoped so much and realised so 
 little. Every stratagem had failed, every plan 
 had been barren of profit, and she was fain to 
 
 37
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 admit, with numb regret, that she was no nearer 
 success than the day she left New Orleans. She 
 made two painful discoveries. One was that the 
 women about her had ambitions similar to her 
 own; another that Mrs. Lambert had abandoned 
 those activities helpful to the campaign of an 
 aspirant. The neglect was due to age and indis- 
 position, and she found it hard to break the 
 habit of years. Such teas as her aunt gave were 
 well patronised, but everything she did had about 
 it a matronly tone, and the younger element, 
 which believed in spectacular effects, remained 
 away. It was a handicap, and Beatrice raged 
 at the disadvantage. She knew that graduation 
 to the plutocracy must come through the smart 
 set of her own sphere, yet she was helpless to 
 make a showing in even this minor circle. She 
 pointed out to Mrs. Lambert that lack of display 
 meant defeat. 
 
 " You are killing my chances," she cried, bit- 
 terly ; " instead of drawing about me promising 
 young people, I am condemned to the dowagers. 
 If New Orleans knew," she went on, with a half- 
 sob in her voice, " I should be laughed at." 
 
 But Mrs. Lambert refused to see. 
 
 " In the first place," she said, resentfully, " I 
 do not know what you mean by this clamour 
 
 38
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 about society. You are in society now. I am 
 ready to entertain, but I cannot think of giving 
 my house over to gaiety. It would unsettle 
 everything." 
 
 " Then you are willing I should accept atten- 
 tions without return?" asked Beatrice, coldly. 
 
 " We are not obliged to match ball with ball, 
 dinner with dinner. Our position is too well 
 grounded," answered Mrs. Lambert, composedly. 
 And baffled by this stand, Beatrice gave up. 
 
 The check on ambition bred in her an ugly 
 change. She lost hope, and with it much of the 
 high spirits which had sprung from hope. The 
 certainty that Mrs. Lambert's attitude meant 
 failure stung her to revolt. As a companion she 
 was barely tolerable. 
 
 It was while in this state that unrest kindled 
 a bonfire of resolve. Under normal conditions 
 it could not have found birth, but she was 
 angry and desperate, and she readily believed 
 the crisis called for a special effort. The 
 expected drift on a summer sea of triumph had 
 failed she would spread the sails to any breeze 
 that aided progress. Her plan was a masterpiece 
 of ignorance. Plutocracy, she argued, meant 
 money plus notoriety. She had the first, she 
 must bid for the second. It was a daring scheme 
 
 39
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 an heiress publicly en rapport with the for- 
 bidden fruits and she did not see how its ap- 
 peal to a watchful press could fail. Nor did she 
 see how the great gossip-loving public could long 
 withhold the scathing gales that should sweep 
 her to a harbour of notoriety. Meantime she 
 would be enjoying herself. 
 
 As a beginning, she attached herself to the 
 Bohemian element of her own smart set. This 
 small but fervid group affected hotels, encouraged 
 men of the world, drank champagne, and loathed 
 conservatism. They lived deep and smiled 
 widely, and the one thing they feared was to 
 be obscure. 
 
 When Beatrice exchanged the gloom of the 
 Lambert circle for this quaint company, the move 
 caused just the flutter she desired. The con- 
 servatives stared awhile, caught their breath, and 
 scattered opinions. And Beatrice did not spare 
 herself to give these opinions colour, and to coax 
 other opinions to grow where before there had 
 been barren stalks of suspicion. From " that 
 young Southern girl at Lambert's " to the divin- 
 ity of private toasts was a rapid growth. From 
 the lifted eyebrow to open reproach was a nat- 
 ural sequel. Moreover what had been an expedi- 
 ent was now to Beatrice a pleasure. 
 40
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Mrs. Lambert became panic-stricken. She 
 attacked her niece, and Beatrice smiled. 
 
 " This dishonour, as you call it, can't be any 
 worse than death," she said, coolly, " and I would 
 rather be dead than go back to New Orleans a 
 social failure. You are helpless; you cannot or 
 will not help me, and it remains for me to find 
 a way. Besides, auntie, I do not admit your 
 charges," and she walked off jauntily. 
 
 In desperation, Mrs. Lambert sent for her 
 brother. He listened gravely. 
 
 " It is all very strange," he remarked. " What 
 is her idea? " 
 
 " O, she is bitter because she is not in what 
 she calls society. She thinks if she gets her name 
 in the papers as an unconventional heiress, the 
 Newport smart set will take her up." 
 
 " That is not impossible ; they have done it 
 before." 
 
 " But the disgrace and, oh, the people she 
 uses ! " 
 
 " I cannot believe she is serious." 
 
 ' You must. Beatrice is fomenting gossip 
 night and day. Where it will end is doubtful; 
 but it can have no end that I am likely to enjoy. 
 The point is to prevent being involved also to 
 save her." 
 
 4*
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Why not go to Europe? " 
 
 " I cannot run away. It would open the flood- 
 gates." 
 
 " You think it is merely a case of advertise- 
 ment?" 
 
 " Not altogether, no ; the spirit of old John 
 Cameron informs her ideas very largely. If 
 polite dissipation is part of her campaign, I 
 think she enjoys the cause as much as she antici- 
 pates the effect." 
 
 " It will end in some vulgar crash." 
 
 " I believe that it will." 
 
 The stock-broker relapsed into thought. Mrs. 
 Lambert paced the floor restlessly. 
 
 " I see three ways of escape," said the capi- 
 talist, finally. " One is to run away yourself ; the 
 other is to drive her away, and the last is to so 
 divert and interest her that she will abandon this 
 ridiculous plan of her own accord." 
 
 " Robert, you are nebulous. We cannot maroon 
 her. Short of that " 
 
 " Involve her affections. Select a possible 
 man in whom religion is a dominant spirit, and 
 excite his zeal. Point out to him that he has a 
 soul to save. Then make her fall in love with 
 him. Considering her money and beauty, I 
 should not think it hard to find a knight errant." 
 42
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Mrs. Lambert regarded her brother with in- 
 terest. 
 
 " Do you know, I think you have an idea," 
 she said, happily. " Moreover I know the man, 
 the very man, as good and clever as he is fas- 
 cinating. He will do this thing, too, because I 
 ask him." 
 
 The capitalist rose with the satisfaction of one 
 who has been patted on the back. 
 
 " Very good," he said, " but let us hope that 
 she does not make a convert o>f him." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert flew to her writing-desk. She 
 summoned up the vision of a brown-eyed, soft- 
 voiced boy with the spirit of a Christian gladia- 
 tor, and she called him to the lists of her strange 
 tournament with confidence. When she met him 
 that night in the drawing-room, this confidence 
 oozed away. She had known Philip Holt all the 
 way from short skirts to Ascots, but, neverthe- 
 less, while she patted his hand in introductory 
 nothings the strangeness of her brother's design 
 came home to her. Its outlook aroused alarm, 
 and she loved this lad as a son of her own. But 
 she took courage under his smiling gaiety, and, 
 with calculating effect, brought and laid before 
 him a portrait of Beatrice. 
 
 43
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Look, Philip," she said, quietly. " Do you 
 see that? There is a soul to be saved." 
 
 "A what? what's that, Mrs. Lambert?" 
 
 " I say, there is a soul to be saved, and I 
 mean it literally. Is she not beautiful ? " 
 
 " She is glorious." 
 
 " And yet the soul of a Cleopatra looks from 
 those eyes. You know her quite well by reputa- 
 tion, Philip; she is my niece, Beatrice Cameron. 
 Her story is very sorrowful; it is almost tragic." 
 She paused to note his scrutiny. He seemed 
 hardly to hear her, so she bent over his shoulder, 
 and went on in a deftly dramatic monotone: 
 
 " It is the story of a woman who puts her soul 
 on the bargain-counter of desire. She barters 
 for a prize so small, so trifling, that it would 
 seem the slightest pressure of a hand would save 
 her. It is not so. Appeal, advice, precept, count 
 for nothing. I tell you again there is a soul to 
 be saved." 
 
 " But what has she done, Mrs. Lambert, and, 
 for heaven's sake, what am I to do ? " 
 
 " You, Philip, must come to the rescue. You 
 must take her by the hand and lead her in the 
 narrow way." 
 
 He looked up with a smile trembling on his 
 
 44
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 lips, but it got no further. Mrs. Lambert's ear- 
 nestness was beyond jest. 
 
 " You are the one man in New York who can 
 do this, and I say to you that your duty as a 
 Christian demands the attempt. Everything else 
 has failed, but, Philip, love will win. Bring her 
 to see with your eyes; inspire her to reach your 
 level. Make her love you." 
 
 " So I understand you to mean that I am to 
 offer love to this Beatrice? It is astonishing." 
 
 " Yes, Philip, and when affection has restored 
 her I want you to make her your wife." 
 
 For an instant the man was silent with a great 
 amazement. 
 
 " This is frivolous," he said, finally. " I cannot 
 think you are serious." 
 
 " No, no," she cried, " you shall not mistake. 
 You have said that you wished to serve the 
 Master, Philip. This is a mission; it is your 
 mission, and I ask you to take it as a duty." 
 
 " Am I the only available martyr? " 
 
 " It is small martyrdom that involves a pretty 
 girl and millions of money. But I do not wish 
 you to view the material aspect." 
 
 " Marriage is the most material thing in the 
 world." 
 
 45
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Yes, but not the blossoming of a soul in 
 affection. That is different." 
 
 " Your confidence is remarkable. What of 
 Beatrice? Is it to be a case of love at first 
 sight?" 
 
 " Yes, I believe it will be just that. You know, 
 Philip," she went on, caressingly, " you are one 
 of the best-looking men in New York, and the 
 best thinking. When Beatrice meets you she 
 meets the best type of a man she is likely to 
 find in her environment. I know, too, that you 
 will recognise her true quality, and view this 
 matter as a passing madness." 
 
 " You really wish this thing, then ? " 
 
 " So much so that I appeal to your gratitude." 
 
 He walked over to her side and took her hand 
 with the affection a son might employ to his 
 mother. 
 
 " Mrs. Lambert," he said, earnestly, " I cannot 
 imagine a better reason for placing myself at 
 your disposal. I have owed much to your friend- 
 ship and guidance all my life. It is an odd thing 
 you ask, but I will play the beau cavalier to 
 please you. Besides," he added, lightly, " per- 
 haps the photograph is something of an influence 
 also." 
 
 And so the compact was made; but between 
 46
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 night and morning there came to Mrs. Lambert 
 some wofully bad hours. She realised that in 
 her haste to check Beatrice she had plunged her 
 knight into peculiar hazard. It was a play at 
 hearts that might not prove tragedy, but could 
 hardly ensure comedy. What proof had she that 
 Beatrice would follow the programme of regen- 
 eration? Might she not unhorse her cavalier? 
 Might she not will-o'-the-wisp his desires? 
 Might she not detect the plot and retaliate ? And 
 so on- and on, until with the ebb tide of speculation 
 she fell asleep. 
 
 But it was different the day after. When 
 Philip made his appearance she felt a glow of 
 confidence. There is something about a well- 
 groomed man that suggests capacity, masked in 
 others. His mere ensemble is a spur to imagi- 
 nation, and it is, moreover, a credit. Philip 
 looked very competent in a purely manly way. 
 His height, his mobility of feature, a gentle defer- 
 ence, all bid for consideration. 
 
 " Oh, fathers ! " she murmured, " what a glory 
 not to be common ! " 
 
 And with Beatrice, too, there was a visible 
 interest. She had heard much from her aunt of 
 this young man's qualities. His cleanness and 
 piety had led her to associate him with the cloth, 
 
 47
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 and it came as a novelty to find these uncommon 
 virtues housed in the character of a man of the 
 world. It awoke in her a vicious desire to play 
 the siren. She felt, without knowing it, all the 
 hostility struck from a baser nature by contact 
 with an assured superior, and she resented the 
 unspoken contrast. From the beginning they 
 played at cross purposes. She conceived a dislike 
 for him, which acted as a buffer to all his 
 advances. Her resentment grew into something 
 very like hatred, and, based as it was on natural 
 antipathy, it went beyond reason. No matter 
 what bud of interest blossomed in 'her heart, 
 Beatrice crushed it promptly. That very trick of 
 reversal feared by her uncle, she laboured to 
 bring about. With one hand she sped a web 
 of romance ; with the other she sought to strangle 
 in its meshes not Philip's heart alone, but his 
 manhood and his morals. She worked evil for 
 the sake of perversity. 
 
 " Do you know," said Mrs. Lambert, in a 
 thoughtless moment, " I don't see how so good 
 and pure a man as Philip stands the ordinary 
 run of people. I should think the level of vul- 
 garity would set his nerves on edge." 
 
 Beatrice's teeth came together with a little 
 click. 
 
 48
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Neither do I," she answered, blandly, " but, 
 don't you know, Mr. Holt is so dreadfully chaste 
 that at times one longs to daub him so that he 
 may seem human." 
 
 But the sting in Beatrice's sarcasm was quite 
 unwarranted. Philip had been both natural and 
 honest. He did not make capital of his integrity, 
 nor did he, as Beatrice imagined, plume his 
 virtues merely to impale her own. It was only 
 her dislike that gave her this idea. She was in 
 fact always on the lookout for points of criticism. 
 Her vision was of wilful compass, and, as it 
 helped justify her, there was no wish for proper 
 angles. 
 
 It came as a great blow to Mrs. Lambert when 
 she first began to doubt the success of her plan. 
 She saw signs of failure in a growing distaste on 
 Beatrice's part for her agent. She did not forget, 
 however, that eleventh hour romances are quite 
 as likely as first sight affairs, and she prayed hard 
 for a shift of wind. In the last extremity Philip 
 could withdraw and close the incident. But she 
 had an awakening at last, and one dark afternoon 
 watched the egg of experiment hatch forth a 
 raven. It was at a large picture exhibit, one 
 of those store displays which attract ten " con- 
 noisseurs " and one buyer, and Mrs. Lambert 
 
 49
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 in her role of art patron was enjoying herself 
 hugely. 
 
 In a small side gallery devoted to dramatic 
 works she ran across Philip. Save for him the 
 gallery was deserted, for there were none of the 
 " still life " inanities which give amateurs a 
 chance to rave over colour tones and talk about 
 Corot. Instead there were only big, blood- 
 quickening subjects that told of life and the end 
 of life, and before one of these Philip stood in 
 fascinated study. It was a woman's face, white 
 and gray with the pigments of death, on a coal- 
 black background. Nothing lived in the face 
 save the eyes, but they seemed to flame and glitter 
 with shifting fires and to breathe mockery in 
 their stare. 
 
 For a full minute, while she watched, Mrs. 
 Lambert saw Philip gaze at the face without 
 movement, and a curious feeling seized her that 
 the malignant eyes were looking back. Then she 
 looked at the picture herself, and the eyes seemed 
 familiar, haunting, suggestive. She trembled 
 with the recognition that crept to her brain. 
 
 Philip turned upon her suddenly, and, ignoring 
 greeting or question, clutched her by the arm. 
 His lips trembled with distress.
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Mrs. Lambert," he whispered, " I have seen 
 her look like that. She has looked like that 
 at me." 
 
 " Beatrice, you mean ? " she gasped. 
 
 ' Yes, Beatrice, and oh ! Mrs. Lambert, I I 
 cannot help it. I love her. I love her."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 rHE next few weeks brought to Mrs. 
 Lambert still more echoes of Beatrice's 
 harvest. They were not serious, having 
 to do with broken conventions rather than com- 
 mandments, but they served to annoy. Her imagi- 
 nation gave her no peace. Worst of all, she 
 found she was suspected of condonement. This 
 was almost more than she could bear. To be told 
 of some escapade of Beatrice, and then asked 
 whether she approved of such conduct, touched 
 the limit of patience. There were more female 
 visitors at this time than ever before. They had 
 heard things which they were afraid Mrs. Lam- 
 bert had not heard. They suspected Mrs. Lam- 
 bert of hearing things which they had not heard. 
 Between fact and fancy they enjoyed themselves, 
 even if Mrs. Lambert did not. But through it 
 all she preserved restraint. It was due in part 
 to a refinement that fled disturbance ; in part also 
 it was because of a lively fear of Beatrice herself. 
 There was something in her audacity that 
 
 52
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 blighted the aunt's courage in her direction 
 lurked disorder. While matters were at this 
 stage there came a breezy interlude in the visit 
 of Mr. Benedict Walters, Baltimorean, nephew 
 of Mrs. Lambert, and student at Yale. He came 
 clown from college for the holidays, and Mrs. 
 Lambert prefaced his arrival with a warning. 
 
 " Mr. Walters has some very peculiar ideas," 
 she hinted, " but he is only a boy. I hope, in 
 any event,'' and she looked severely at Beatrice, 
 " that you will both be indulgent." 
 
 He proved to be a freshman of the most afflict- 
 ing type. His pose of solemnity and his broad 
 egotism made him a trial. And there was 
 nothing in his appearance, either, to warn his 
 victims. He was tall and clean-cut, and in repose 
 his features bore a stamp of intelligence. College 
 life with him was a discovery. He spent his 
 entire time seeking some one to impress. Mrs. 
 Lambert listened for a night and two days, and 
 then took refuge in illness. Beatrice sprang into 
 the breach and tried to divert his mind, but he 
 would talk of nothing outside New Haven. 
 
 "Have you ever seen a college?" he asked, 
 hungrily. 
 
 " I have," she answered, with emphasis. " I 
 was educated in Louisiana and Paris." 
 
 53
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " It is a wonderful life," he said, his tone full 
 of reverence. 
 
 " Indeed, yes," she admitted, wickedly, " a 
 life none may live but the young." 
 
 He warmed at her attention. " I think our 
 curriculum now," he ventured, " is beyond criti- 
 cism. It is compressed culture." 
 
 " No doubt," answered Beatrice. " I like the 
 football schedule particularly." 
 
 " I am sorry to see you place athletics above 
 learning," he muttered. " I suppose you sit on 
 the benches and wave flags. What colours do 
 you wear, Miss Cameron ? " 
 
 " The colours of the Institut Superieur de 
 Jeunes Demoiselles La Rochefoucauld-Fenelon 
 de Paris," she answered, solemnly. 
 
 "I I see," he stammered. " There is noth- 
 ing like alma mater. The college spirit is the 
 finest thing in the world." 
 
 " I think so myself. I imagine every one does 
 except the police." 
 
 He looked at her suspiciously. 
 
 "When will Mrs. Lambert be down?" he 
 asked, abruptly. 
 
 "Hardly before Saturday." 
 
 " But that is the day I leave. And she has not 
 
 54
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 heard about our dormitories. She said she par- 
 ticularly wished to learn how we live." 
 
 " I will tell her," said Beatrice. " I will tell 
 her the exact facts. Now there is my sister," 
 she continued, searching for escape ; " she is very 
 much interested in higher education. I think 
 she might enjoy your experiences." 
 
 He balanced himself on the edge of his chair 
 and stared. 
 
 " I had a chat with Miss Edith," he said, 
 slowly, " but she was so so sweet and sympa- 
 thetic I was afraid she might misunderstand." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Beatrice, 
 keenly. She scented another " peculiar " idea. 
 
 " I was afraid she might think I was flirting," 
 he answered, with a show of confusion. " I 
 would not care to have any one think I was 
 flirting, because I shall never marry." 
 
 Beatrice looked at 'him in cold amazement. 
 The impertinence, the snobbishness of the hint, 
 dazed her. But its very absurdity forbade anger. 
 Instead she felt a wicked joy at the chance for 
 amusement. 
 
 " I thought college men were cavaliers," she 
 suggested. " You are unique." 
 
 " That's just the trouble," he said, earnestly ; 
 " the moment women find a man's a collegian, 
 
 55
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 they set all sorts of snares. I admit a collegian 
 may be more desirable than ordinary men, but he 
 has a great work ahead of him. He should be 
 above trivialities." 
 
 " It's the higher education that attracts," said 
 Beatrice, soothingly. 
 
 " Of course. Women are patrons of brains." 
 
 " It is very odd about Edith. She is usually 
 quite modest. I cannot imagine " 
 
 " I hope I have not given you a wrong impres- 
 sion." 
 
 " Dear me, no ! Your spirit is exemplary. 
 How long will you stay in New York ? " she 
 asked, suddenly. 
 
 " Until the end of this week." 
 
 " The time is short," she said, musingly, " but 
 still I may be able to change your views." 
 
 "On what?" he asked. 
 
 " Marriage. I am sorry Edith's first interview 
 with you failed. I know we can induce you to 
 think differently." 
 
 " But I would rather you did not try," he said, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "O, I must," declared Beatrice. "Your 
 ideas are too narrow; you need a woman to 
 take you by the hand," and she swept away, 
 leaving him doubtful and uneasy. 
 
 56
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Our new cousin talks very entertainingly," 
 Beatrice remarked to her sister that afternoon. 
 " I gather that he attends college." 
 
 Edith reddened with merriment. 
 
 "Do you need rescue?" she asked. 
 
 " If you give me a day's respite I shall be grate- 
 ful. I forgot to tell you that I brought out one 
 of his peculiar ideas. He scorns marriage." 
 
 "That is too bad," said Edith. "No man 
 should be allowed such heresy. It reflects on 
 our sex." 
 
 " Possibly you may convert him. He admires 
 your judgment. You will have to do something 
 to entertain him, or I shall follow Mrs. Lambert." 
 
 " I have been selfish," said Edith, regretfully. 
 " I will take him off your hands for a time." 
 
 Edith tried hard to atone. She talked educa- 
 tion until even Mr. Walters wearied of the sub- 
 ject. Then she turned to the marriage topic and 
 made a genuine plea for reform. He took fright 
 at once. Back of the arguments he saw personal 
 design and the threat of Beatrice. He was sullen 
 and emphatic. 
 
 " I don't believe in marriage," he said, " be- 
 cause I weary of people so quickly. I often get 
 tired of a woman in a few moments." He
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 looked at Edith severely. " And, besides," he 
 continued, " a wife costs more." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Edith, reproachfully, " love 
 is not dear at any price." 
 
 " And then, unless a woman is cultured, she 
 hampers one's career. Where were you edu- 
 cated?" 
 
 " In Richmond. But surely," she added, 
 earnestly, " you don't place the brain above the 
 heart?" 
 
 " I do. Our fellows at Yale believe that unless 
 a woman can write a dinner menu in three lan- 
 guages she will prove deficient as a helpmate." 
 He watched her closely. He feared she was about 
 to take his hand. 
 
 " But nearly every one speaks the languages 
 now," said Edith. " I spoke French and German 
 when I was thirteen." 
 
 " Still," he replied, in a tone of final warning, 
 " I never yet met a woman whom I considered 
 desirable." Her persistence worried him. 
 
 " It is a very singular view," observed Edith, 
 warmly. " It would please me if I could show 
 you just how much a bachelor loses." 
 
 " I beg you will not make it a personal matter," 
 he said, with sudden agitation. " I don't think 
 even you could convince me. Besides, I am going 
 58
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Saturday." He glanced eagerly toward the door. 
 And then in a flash she realised his fear. He ex- 
 pected a siege and from her. For a second she 
 was overwhelmed. When she regained her poise 
 her voice was acid. 
 
 " I was merely theoretical," she said. " I think 
 you are quite sure of safety." She walked to the 
 door. He sighed relief. " I am sorry to dis- 
 appoint you," he answered, and Edith shuddered. 
 
 For a time Edith's anger at the trap laid by 
 Beat-rice urged her to war. But the burlesque 
 quality of the issue soothed her, and when she 
 met her sister it was only to laugh. They agreed 
 to leave Mr. Walters to his ideals. Mrs. Lam- 
 bert issued forth refreshed, and before she col- 
 lapsed again Mr. Walters was gone. 
 
 " What puzzles me," said Beatrice, thought- 
 fully, " is how such a man can live in a college." 
 
 " Every community has its fool," responded 
 Edith. " Yale probably suffers as much as we 
 did." 
 
 But though the visitor had forced an armistice 
 in the household, it was only an armistice and 
 not peace. The strained relations between 
 Beatrice and her aunt deepened with time and 
 rumour. Practically the only point of familiar 
 contact was the family meals, and these were 
 
 59
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 occasions of dignity. Beatrice dealt in mono- 
 syllables, Mrs. Lambert took sly peeps at a 
 paper, and Edith worried both by her starts at 
 conversation. She saw that something had 
 fractured the entente, and she sought to play 
 the role of buffer. What the trouble was she 
 could not guess ; nor did she inquire. Her work 
 had put her out of touch with the family, and 
 she was therefore ignorant of her sister's tilts 
 at notoriety. A gust that swept the breakfast- 
 table one morning opened her eyes. It was a 
 dainty, cheerful apartment, this breakfast-room, 
 a place with the spirit of morning in its 
 delightful angles and its benediction of sunshine. 
 Old Dutch blues splayed the walls in the nooks 
 of china-racks, delicate wares burdened the side 
 tables, and in a niche in the wall, where a side- 
 board rested, every sunbeam struck from the 
 plate and glass cataracts of silver light. Yet 
 here it was, where environment beckoned on 
 appetite, that an explosion occurred which shook 
 the trio to the soul. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert came in with a visible increase 
 of chill. She applied herself straight to the 
 paper, and smothered the table in silence. Even 
 Edith felt its oppression. 
 
 Toward the end of the meal Mrs. Lambert 
 60
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 chanced to look up, and saw Beatrice leaning back 
 in her chair regarding her with a look astonishing 
 for its weight of deliberate insolence. There was 
 such provocation, such a flat challenge, in the 
 whole pose that it fired the elder woman's anger 
 like magic. She laid the paper aside and leaned 
 forward. 
 
 " For a person who plays harridan at night," 
 she said, steadily, " you have more impudence in 
 daylight, Beatrice, than any one I ever met." 
 
 Edith gasped, sat up stiffly, and clutched the 
 doth. 
 
 " I say you have more than the average share 
 of impudence," Mrs. Lambert continued, in a 
 biting, raging way, " but you have still another 
 quality. You recover more quickly than any 
 victim in the history of alcohol." 
 
 Edith settled back in her chair with a look of 
 fright. Beatrice neither stirred nor exclaimed, 
 but the slow whitening of her face told of the 
 shock. 
 
 " That is an insult, Mrs. Lambert," she said, 
 slowly. 
 
 " I know it is an insult ; it is only by insult 
 that you can be made to appreciate your conduct." 
 
 " I suppose I may thank Mr. Holt for this 
 commotion." 
 
 61
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Mrs. Lambert rapped the table in a tempest of 
 dissent. 
 
 " No," she cried, " no. Mr. Holt is a gentle- 
 man. Mr. Holt " 
 
 " Do not thump the table, auntie," snapped 
 Beatrice, " it is vulgar." 
 
 " I have not seen Mr. Holt," Mrs. Lambert 
 hurried on, " but you came home in a cab with 
 General O'Brien, and he told me the story not 
 Mr. Holt. He had no choice you you were 
 beyond speech. I demanded an explanation. He 
 told me the story with tears in his eyes, and it 
 was a mean, vile story, a story that fits no 
 Cameron woman in the history of the family. 
 You don't want to hear it, do you, but you shall, 
 and if it brings you one-tenth the humiliation it 
 gave me, that will be something. You went to 
 dinner with Mr. Holt, and when you encountered 
 General O'Brien you made him a guest. You 
 drank yourself, and you forced Mr. Holt, who 
 never drank a drop in his life, to drink with you. 
 And when you had made him a spectacle, you 
 taunted him before the fine old soldier, who 
 thought you a glory among women. Worse than 
 all, you shamed them before the world." Mrs. 
 Lambert paused, and her teeth came together 
 with a snap. " Do you know what you did ? 
 62
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 You snatched Mr. Holt's watch and hurled it 
 through a mirror. But the sequel is bitter as 
 death you were asked to leave the house. 
 Think of it, Beatrice Ronald Cameron's daugh- 
 ter ejected from a hotel." 
 
 Edith half rose from her chair. " Oh, auntie, 
 stop ! " she murmured. But there was no halt in 
 Mrs. Lambert now. With a face of tumult she 
 made the lash hiss across the cloth. 
 
 " General O'Brien brought you home,' r she 
 cried, " and Mr. Holt disappeared. He probably 
 thought himself an offence in your sight. I shall 
 find Mr. Holt, and when I do I shall ask him 
 to forgive my sin in letting him know you. I 
 may not be able to stop his becoming a drunkard, 
 but I shall save him from deceit. He shall not 
 have a dream that is nightmare, neither shall he 
 play dupe to your vanity." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert stopped, breathing heavily, and 
 Beatrice gathered herself for retort. Her gaze 
 on her aunt was a blaze of anger. But all in a 
 moment she relapsed. The flush left her cheeks, 
 and her eyes lost the glow of passion. It was 
 a triumph of natural audacity. 
 
 " Your handbook of insults, auntie," she said, 
 smoothly, " is very exhaustive. One needs years 
 to get such a vixenish tongue. Nor do I deny 
 
 63
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 their partial application. But there are two 
 things of which you need reminder. One is that 
 Mr. Holt was sent by you to pursue me. That 
 is shown by his plea, that you would be pleased if 
 I did certain things I declined to do among 
 them, marry him. I have, therefore, small 
 interest in his welfare. The other is that in this 
 madness there is method, as you should know. 
 If I fail in it, I shall at least have enjoyed myself, 
 though I admit last night was rather beyond my 
 programme." 
 
 " May I ask what you mean by programme ? " 
 asked Edith, suddenly. 
 
 Beatrice turned on her sister with irritation. 
 
 " No," she answered, " you may not." 
 
 Edith flushed, but Mrs. Lambert weakened 
 not an inch. 
 
 " I think," she said, hastening on, " those two 
 statements are rivals for falseness. Mr. Holt 
 we will not discuss. He is a fortunate man. 
 He discovered before, instead of after. But as 
 for your thought of joining the plutocracy under 
 the banner of notoriety, let me say that you are 
 absurd. I do not see why you imagine they 
 want their recruits decked with infamy. The 
 plan is idiotic. Finally, I do not believe you have 
 
 64
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 any such illusion. You are wicked because you 
 would rather be wicked than something else." 
 
 " I do not like that word wicked. It is not 
 warranted." 
 
 " This is not your first escapade, remember." 
 
 " The first in which Mr. Holt was engaged. I 
 suppose that is all you care about." 
 
 " Not so. I have endured your behaviour for 
 weeks, hoping for an awakening believing, too, 
 that it was caprice and not crime." 
 
 "'Caprice is more charitable. Wickedness lies 
 less in action than in intent. Let us not be tearful, 
 auntie." 
 
 " On the other hand, let us not have an 
 academic discussion. The truth of the matter is 
 that you are a martyr to heredity. You are 
 legatee for the sins of your grandfather. He was 
 the only man in the family who dared sit on a 
 prison board of directors and look cell occupants 
 in the face." 
 
 " I am glad heredity has come to the rescue. 
 This is not a matter for tragedy in fact, I feel 
 no worse than does the average man after an 
 average outing." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert looked at her with the fag ends 
 of anger turning to disgust. 
 
 " It is quite true," she said, rising, " there is 
 
 65
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 small profit in discussing either defects or 
 recovery with a person lost to shame. If you do 
 not turn, I am helpless. I cannot drive you away 
 and publish my own disgrace. I shall simply 
 pray for your recovery." She walked to the 
 door, and then turned. " But I shall try to save 
 Mr. Holt." 
 
 Beatrice followed her aunt to the door. " By 
 all means," she said. " You will excuse my with- 
 drawing," she went on, " but I can see Edith 
 is preparing a broadside, and I think I am entitled 
 to rest." 
 
 Then the two women swept out and the storm 
 was over. 
 
 Edith sat for a long time in dismal surprise. 
 The whole scene affected her as a stunning revela- 
 tion. She had never suspected evil in Beatrice, 
 and she 'had no knowledge of the moral defects 
 revealed by the hotel episode. Beyond a native 
 habit of coquetry, nothing that she had ever seen 
 had prepared her for the scandal. It made plain 
 to her how little she really knew of her sister. 
 They were not much closer than acquaintances. 
 But it was less painful to recall Beatrice's 
 escapade than the manner in which she had 
 treated it. Such flippancy, such lightness, 
 
 66
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 pointed byways in her character unthought of 
 and alarming. 
 
 The situation called on her for action, for 
 Edith was one of those rare persons in whom 
 conscience is a force. She was always fearful of 
 leaving undone something in which she might 
 have acted with profit. Now was no time to be 
 afraid. 
 
 So she got up and left the room, full of zeal. 
 She expected rebuff, but she felt within her the 
 glow of the missionary. She found her sister's 
 door locked, but she called her several times, and 
 finally won an answer. Beatrice swung the door 
 back with a jerk of irritation. 
 
 " Come in, Edith," she cried, " come in. I 
 know exactly what you want, and I would rather 
 you got it off your mind now than have you 
 lying in wait for me. You want to say how sorry 
 you are, and how you will pray for me. But 
 get it over quickly, because I want a nap. You 
 know I need sleep auntie told you that." 
 
 Edith halted, flushed and uncertain. She felt 
 a strong wish to retreat, but she feared her con- 
 science more than she did Beatrice. 
 
 " You know, dearest," she said, quietly, " I 
 love you too well to let you slip away from us 
 without protest. This is possibly a frolic, but it 
 
 67
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 is not the sort of pleasure at which you can expect 
 me to rejoice. I have no thought of badgering 
 you into good behaviour. I don't even know that 
 you need it." 
 
 " Well," answered Beatrice, with a flitting 
 smile, " a good deal of auntie's indictment 
 stands." 
 
 " Then you can hardly be surprised at our 
 alarm." 
 
 " I am not surprised," said Beatrice, quickly. 
 " It is just the uproar I expected. One of the 
 worst things about black-sheeping it in a respect- 
 able family is being talked to death by horrified 
 relatives." 
 
 Edith looked at her sister closely. She won- 
 dered whether this were affectation or nature, and 
 the sense of strangeness came on afresh. 
 
 " You do not mean that," she faltered ; " a black 
 sheep in petticoats is not like the other. There 
 is nothing in your education or character, dear, 
 to justify such folly. You are Beatrice Cam- 
 eron." 
 
 " Quite so, Edith. But, Edith, if I think this 
 course desirable, or that more so, I do not consult 
 my character. Also I am not on the defensive. 
 My sin is gaiety. I speak thus because I wish 
 ease for your conscience. You should be the 
 68
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 last to assail me. You profit by any progress I 
 make, and if you cannot aid me you should stand 
 aside." 
 
 " Yes, but auntie tells us that is a cloak," said 
 Edith, firmly ; "no ambition can make wrong 
 right nor justify wrong-doing." 
 
 " You are trading in platitudes. You talk like 
 a Sunday-school phenomenon, and do you know, 
 Edith, you look like one too. You have golden 
 hair and violet eyes, and a soft blush that makes 
 me feel as if the horns were showing." 
 
 Beatrice stopped in her walk, and stared at 
 Edith amazedly. " I wonder where you came 
 from," she murmured. " You must have been 
 put here to mock me." 
 
 " You may be jesting, Beatrice," said Edith, 
 with an effort, " in which case my appeal is 
 useless, or you may be indifferent, but I implore 
 you not to give auntie another such sorrow. I 
 don't ask thought for myself ; I ask it for her 
 and for you." 
 
 While her sister spoke, Beatrice moved to the 
 window and stood watching the avenue's flashing 
 panorama. She turned suddenly, and the lines 
 in her face had vanished with a new emotion. 
 Her eyes were soft and glowing. 
 
 " Edith," she cried, her voice full of passionate 
 
 69
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 longing, " can you not see how that woman has 
 failed me? can you not realise how my every 
 hope and plan has withered under her selfishness ? 
 I don't wish to pain you, but you you do not 
 know. I cannot make you understand. Look at 
 this," and she drew her impulsively to the 
 window, " see the procession. See the life and 
 gaiety and power in that river, and look at me 
 moving in this eddy, doing nothing, meeting 
 no one I who thought to lead ! Those car- 
 riages are going to Olders, to the Fannings, 
 while I must stand and watch them pass. It is 
 torture. And, Edith," she went on, more quietly, 
 " I am a woman, too. I would be glad if things 
 came easier if I could please you while pleasing 
 myself; but nothing weighs against what I would 
 have." 
 
 " I know that, Beatrice," said Edith, slowly, 
 " and I try to sympathise. But why not wait ? 
 Is it worth while to make a sacrifice that " 
 
 " Yes, Edith, yes," Beatrice broke out, impa- 
 tiently, " it is worth anything, everything. To 
 wait is to fail. I cannot make you appreciate, and 
 we will not talk of it any more. Let me rest, 
 Edith, and thank you for your interest." 
 
 She threw herself on a conch, her face buried in 
 
 70
 
 A SOCIAL .COCKATRICE 
 
 her hands, and Edith, after a second's hesitation, 
 slipped from the room. 
 
 Up-stairs Mrs. Lambert hurried to climax her 
 outburst. She dwelt with admiration on the 
 breakfast whirlwind, and would have liked to 
 rest, to revive the explosion, and to speculate on 
 its effects. But she was eager to learn what had 
 become of Philip Holt. It was impossible to wait 
 the sequel. She must see for herself. 
 
 Therefore she groomed and gowned, and called 
 for a carriage, in search of the knight who, wear- 
 ing her colours, had fallen in the lists. 
 
 It was not from any view a pleasant enterprise. 
 For awhile the exaltation braced her, but it was 
 pushed aside by the broad shoulder of failure. 
 She began to realise that her scheme of salvation 
 had foundered in the quicksand of Beatrice's 
 morals, and she thought solemnly of her brother's 
 remark : " Let us hope she does not convert him." 
 It was not now a question of advance, but retreat 
 not whether Beatrice could be saved, but could 
 Holt? She had realised his failure that time in 
 the picture-gallery, but it had never occurred to 
 her that withdrawal was not always possible. 
 At any point where it was desirable she expected 
 it to occur. His pursuit of Beatrice to the very 
 door of dishonour was an indictment of her own
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 common sense and a promise of disaster. It pal- 
 liated nothing that her intention had been of the 
 best. 
 
 So while the carriage rolled toward Holt's 
 apartments, her fears shook her like a small 
 demon of wrath. 
 
 In the sitting-room of his suite she awaited his 
 appearance with dancing nerves. She dreaded 
 the legacy of last night's disorder. She had 
 never known Holt other than rosy-cheeked, sunny- 
 eyed. What apparition of lost honour would 
 confront her, and, with intent or without, wave 
 at her its finger of reproach ? But the truth was 
 harder to bear than her imaginings. As he came 
 into the sunlight of the little room, she sprang up 
 with a smothered cry. He was a sight to behold. 
 His cheeks were pale with the pallor of a sick 
 man, great rings hollowed his eyes, and his whole 
 face was sabred with lines that seemed to have 
 grown in the night. Her hands flew out in a 
 gesture of sympathy. 
 
 " You poor boy ! " she cried. 
 
 He took both her hands in his in a quaint, 
 boyish way, and struggled with a smile. 
 
 " Where is Beatrice? " he asked. 
 
 " Beatrice," she answered, heavily. " O,
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Beatrice is at home, and and quite sober, 
 Philip." 
 
 He looked at her solemnly. 
 
 " Did she speak of our dinner ? I was very 
 sorry to lose her; we became separated." 
 
 " O, no, she did not speak of anything. 
 General O'Brien supplied the facts." Holt 
 dropped her hands with a start. 
 
 "General O'Brien?" he exclaimed. "Then 
 General O'Brien shall account to me. We had 
 a little commotion, yes, but nothing to warrant 
 his playing gossip. He " 
 
 " I forced General O'Brien to speak. It was 
 due to his honour. No man may bring home an 
 intoxicated girl, and deliver her as though a 
 bundle of goods. He acted splendidly." 
 
 "Then you have come to reproach me?" 
 
 " That is sarcasm, Philip. I have come to drag 
 you back from the trap my ignorance set. I want 
 you to abandon the mission. It is to avert re- 
 proach, not impose it, that I am here." 
 
 "What do you mean, Mrs. Lambert?" 
 
 " Look in the glass, Philip," she answered, 
 gently, " and you will see. Let us have no blind- 
 man's buff. I asked you to arrest what I viewed 
 as Beatrice's folly. Why, the woman is absolutely 
 wicked. You cannot save her, nor do I think 
 
 73
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 salvation possible until she has exhausted her 
 tendencies. She has no moral sense; she is 
 careless of results, and her will is in arms against 
 restraint. My concern is with you. I have done 
 a dangerous and a foolish thing; I want you to 
 withdraw before my mistake becomes worse." 
 
 " Don't you think you are giving undue weight 
 to last night's affair? Is it right to pile up such 
 an indictment on trifling errors ? " 
 
 " The matter is not trifling, and, believe me, 
 it is only one of several similar incidents. The 
 mere fact of her making you drink is enough. 
 The meanest drinking man alive takes no pride 
 in creating a drunkard." 
 
 " You must let me stop you there ; it was I 
 who gave consent. I cannot permit her to 
 shoulder my weakness." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert walked over to a settee and sank 
 down wearily. 
 
 " We will not discuss Beatrice's faults more 
 than we need to," she said. " They are to me 
 beyond argument. I simply want you to promise 
 that you will drop her entirely. She is in no 
 sense a fit companion for you, and still less a 
 mate. It is a strange thing to me that you do 
 not know this by instinct if not by knowledge." 
 
 Philip looked at Mrs. Lambert doubtfully, and 
 
 74
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 then seated himself beside her as though to 
 soften opposition. 
 
 " You know that I love her," he said, with 
 quiet assertion. 
 
 " I know that you said in the picture-gallery 
 that you loved her, and at the time I hoped it was 
 true. But when I unfolded Beatrice's character 
 I thought that you could at any time withdraw, 
 and I expect you to do so now. I will not 
 believe your affections are involved if I did, 
 my- heart would break." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you would be bidding for Dead Sea 
 fruit. She does not love you. My poor boy, 
 she cannot love you. She cannot love any man. 
 Selfishness controls every pulse in her body. 
 Such women know no more of mutual affection 
 than automatons. In addition to this, I tell you 
 the woman is bad. She is base, not in caprice, 
 but in nature. O, Philip ! " she cried, starting to 
 her feet, " tell me that you will turn back. Say it 
 is fancy. Do not force upon me the burden of 
 the fate you invite." Her fingers went in a 
 flutter to his arms. " I am afraid of her, Philip. 
 You cannot win her, and it would be terrible 
 if you did. I beg of you, I implore you, abandon 
 the thought." 
 
 75
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Philip looked at Mrs. Lambert in amazement. 
 Her face was white, her lips trembled, and he 
 noticed with awe that in a trifling while she 
 seemed to have grown years older. Nothing that 
 he knew justified such alarm. He felt himself 
 responsible for the shame of the night, and if 
 Beatrice was ordinarily casual and sometimes 
 repellent it did not follow that she was base. 
 
 It had to be admitted that on occasions Beatrice 
 had blazed out upon him in a way to support Mrs. 
 Lambert's warning, also that his progress had 
 been feeble, but long ago he had regretted the 
 scene in the gallery and been ashamed. In the 
 meantime, the flame in his heart mounted higher 
 and yet higher. He could not smother it on 
 demand. 
 
 " Mrs. Lambert," he said, soothingly, " what 
 you ask is dictated not by reason, but by the love 
 I have cherished years upon years. I do not share 
 your views, but I am willing to admit them, if 
 need be, and still I cannot withdraw. It is one 
 thing to start a blaze; it is another to quench it." 
 
 " You do not mean, surely, that your manhood 
 is forfeit to desire?" 
 
 " Possibly. I have changed greatly of late. 
 Calm, unemotional things appeal to me less than 
 the splendid fever which is the price of conversion. 
 76
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 I cannot heed your warning, but I can release 
 you from responsibility yes, even thank you 
 for the commission." 
 
 " She does not love you." 
 
 " That is a matter for correction." 
 
 " She will play vampire to your soul and 
 you will lose." 
 
 " I have told you already that I am heedless 
 of cost; the rest is the adventure of the chase. 
 Let me not be hypocritical. If faith and honour 
 are' needed to balance the scale of that girl's love, 
 into the scale they go." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert rose to her feet with a face 
 pitiful in its gray veil of regret. She fumbled 
 blindly with her wraps, and moved toward the 
 door. 
 
 " In trying to save one soul," she murmured, 
 " I have lost two." 
 
 Philip followed her remorsefully. " Do not 
 despair," he said, with strained cheerfulness. " I 
 may fulfil your mission yet. I will follow her, 
 yes, but, who knows, she may turn and follow 
 me." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert paused in the doorway and 
 shook her head solemnly. 
 
 " No, Philip," she said, " there is but one way, 
 to withdraw." 
 
 77
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Then that way is not mine ; Beatrice is my 
 fate." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert leaned forward and pressed his 
 hand gently. 
 
 " You poor, poor boy," she whispered, " she 
 is your doom."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 7j y/"RS. LAMBERT rode home, feeling 
 / yl that the calm of her days was for ever 
 shattered. She had meant to the full 
 her warnings, and Philip's attitude filled her with 
 concern. Where would it end? How could it 
 end otherwise than against the prayers she raised 
 even at the moment? Whatever hope of success 
 he hugged would, she felt, go to certain wreck- 
 age. His suit was not merely ordained to failure ; 
 it had failed already. And it was no comfort 
 to think that any other man would have suffered 
 the same. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert wondered at his persistence. It 
 meant a surrender of lifetime convictions. It 
 revealed an ardour, which, balked or repulsed, bid 
 for a tragical sequel, and this sequel, whatever 
 its burden, would be the price of her folly. 
 Philip's offer of responsibility, too, was a mockery. 
 That weight was for her shoulders alone not 
 even kindly intent might relieve its pressure. So, 
 scourged by alarms, she thought for one desperate 
 
 79
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 moment of throwing herself at Beatrice's knees 
 and crying for mercy, mercy for him and 
 through him for herself. Then her reason pic- 
 tured the result. She could see Beatrice look 
 down on her with that slow forming smile and 
 eyes heavy-lidded with insolence. 
 
 " Why, certainly, auntie," she would say, " Mr. 
 Holt? I entertain for him only the kindest feel- 
 ings. He can take his place with the leading 
 candidates. I do not know but what your request 
 may advance him a few numbers." 
 
 No, there was nothing to do but stand aside 
 and hope that he might take the certain blow as 
 a strong man. But whatever the outcome, she 
 prayed that there might be no heart-breaking play 
 at cat and mouse. Meantime she would do what 
 she could. First of all there must be a retreat 
 from the ground taken in the morning's battle. 
 It would never do to encircle Philip with one 
 arm, and with the other club Beatrice into chronic 
 hostility. Nothing short of surrender could bring 
 a profitable peace. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert's first move to this end was a 
 somersault. Within twenty- four hours she had 
 executed an about-face that puzzled Beatrice and 
 astounded her sister. She made no further men- 
 
 80
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 tion of the dinner episode, ignored Holt, and 
 was sweetly affable. 
 
 It was due less to poor acting perhaps than 
 to anxiety that she overshot the mark. After 
 her first rush of surprise Beatrice nourished sus- 
 picion. She saw Holt everywhere in the back- 
 ground; she even suspected him of complicity, 
 and it aroused in her a fresh and lively contempt. 
 Meantime, the new tone was pleasant, for Mrs. 
 Lambert urged her to a wider freedom, and prom- 
 ised -her cooperation as well. 
 
 " I do hope, Beatrice," she said, that evening, 
 " that both yourself and Edith will make a more 
 generous use of my hospitality. I rarely see any 
 of your friends here, and it is certain that since 
 coming to New York you must have acquired 
 quite a few." 
 
 " That is good of you, auntie," responded 
 Edith, promptly, " but my friends are largely 
 charity workers who, while worthy enough, are 
 not of the social temperament." 
 
 " And mine," echoed Beatrice, " while of the 
 social temperament, are not otherwise worthy 
 judged by your standards." 
 
 " What do you mean? " asked Mrs. Lambert, 
 timidly. 
 
 " Well, they are, classified generally, of the 
 
 81
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 smart set, for you know, auntie, we have a 
 smart set in the middle-class ranks quite as they 
 have in society, men and women with easy- 
 fitting views of things, people who know how to 
 enjoy life. I fear they might irritate you." 
 
 " Very possibly they would. I never cared for 
 license. Still I have no wish to be selfish." 
 
 " How may I know that I am not trespassing? 
 For instance, there are several women, well, let 
 us say something after my own stamp, whom I 
 should like to entertain here rather than at hotels. 
 Likewise, there are various men. But they are 
 modern. I wish first to be sure of my ground." 
 
 " It is not to be supposed," observed Edith, 
 wonderingly, " that you will take advantage of 
 auntie's kindness to bring undesirable people. 
 We are merely visitors." 
 
 Beatrice turned her dark eyes on Edith coldly. 
 
 " It is a matter of great pain to me," she said, 
 " that you will not remember that you are junior 
 to your sister. My characters do not wear laurels 
 for sanctity. I said that myself, but they do not 
 import bacilli from tenement-houses, and so 
 they rather discount the workers after all. By 
 the way," she added, " I would suggest that 
 you stay out of the East Side until the epidemic 
 
 82
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 is over. Auntie can get over an infliction of 
 loose morals much easier than the diphtheria." 
 
 " Gently, Beatrice, dear," murmured Mrs. 
 Lambert, " I cannot imagine that you will abuse 
 my trust. In any case I desire to remain in the 
 shadow. You take the house and the sceptre of 
 hostess, while I direct the housekeeping from 
 behind the scenes." 
 
 " It is wrong of you to play hermit," remarked 
 Edith. " Society loses by the exchange." 
 
 " That is one of Edith's best efforts," Beatrice 
 observed, icily. " It takes the innocent young to 
 throw these hand-grenade compliments." 
 
 Though she repressed it, Beatrice's pleasure at 
 the concession was great. It meant to her a much 
 needed stage for manoeuvres; it meant also the 
 placing in her hands of a trio of social crowbars, 
 prestige, freedom, and chaperonage. All these 
 she needed, and their lack had interfered with the 
 free-lancing for conquest. There were, besides, 
 entertainment debts to pay, and their acquittal 
 in the hotels even fashionable hotels always 
 seemed a check to progress. 
 
 The damper to Beatrice's visions lay in her 
 visiting-list. There were several names there 
 which would, she feared, prove an offence to the 
 patrician spirit of her aunt; possibly, indeed, 
 
 83
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 cause her to repent. They were names, too, she 
 had no desire to scratch, lieutenants ready at 
 her elbow to forward ambition, and needful as 
 lieutenants. These must not be shut out. 
 
 " I wish to explain to you, aunt," began Bea- 
 trice, suddenly, " what I meant by possibly un- 
 congenial friends. You know your house has 
 been closed for years. This has thrown me on 
 my own resources. I have no wish for a society 
 less than the highest, but in order to reach it I 
 am forced to pass the intermediate stage. I am 
 congenial with people whom I promise you to 
 afterward forget. Meantime, a few of these 
 are useful, others are necessary, and, if I invite 
 any one here, some of the latter must come. 
 These are the people you will not like." 
 
 " In effect, they champion your ambition ? " 
 " Exactly ; you see you have admitted you 
 cannot win me my place. I have had to do 
 what I could. There is Mrs. Jewett, for 
 example." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert started forward in her seat. 
 
 " Beatrice," she exclaimed, " not that woman ! " 
 
 " She is probably the worst of the lot, but she 
 
 is very useful. Just now I could hardly dispense 
 
 with her. It will interest you to know, auntie, 
 
 84
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 that she warns me against notoriety as a carte 
 de visit e. That fits with your ideas, I believe." 
 
 " Quite so, but it is a strange quarter from 
 which to get support. You know her, I sup- 
 pose? " 
 
 " O, yes, lawyer's wife, banker's wife, states- 
 man's wife, widow of them all. But she knows 
 society, pardon me, plutocracy. She is a female 
 Lucifer, but while she is out, and I guess will 
 stay out, she knows paths by which I may get 
 in."- 
 
 " It must be admitted that she is a singular 
 woman, unfortunate, too, perhaps. But let me 
 say that I have no wish to review your visitors. 
 I believe your ideas to be as false as your ambi- 
 tions, and I have sympathy with neither. I have 
 done all I could to save you. What I do now I 
 do as a " Mrs. Lambert halted in some con- 
 fusion ; then she resumed hastily, " with a desire 
 to entertain. But I make one condition which I 
 insist on." 
 
 Beatrice nodded. 
 
 " And that is that never at any time do you 
 expose your dear sister to doubtful influences. 
 Remember that, Beatrice." 
 
 It was a grave and pretty assent that Beatrice
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 gave, but she smiled covertly at the red tide that 
 surged from Edith's chin to brow. 
 
 Thus abruptly, and in somewhat clumsy fash- 
 ion, Mrs. Lambert seized on a forlorn hope for 
 Philip's salvation. In effect, she abdicated as 
 head of the house. Had she been able to direct 
 the festivities herself, she would have felt a sense 
 of completeness, but she disliked the work, and 
 took refuge behind her age and ill health. 
 
 On the afternoon following Mrs. Lambert's 
 surrender Beatrice telephoned to Mrs. Jewett's 
 hotel, and the two drove down to the Waldorf. 
 Beatrice enjoyed the distinction of the tea-room, 
 although the social parade tried her sorely. It 
 was too much like looking over the wall. Mrs. 
 Jewett had a most unpleasant habit, too, of 
 pointing out the elect and demanding reverence. 
 
 " I could stand your discourse better, Alice," 
 remonstrated Beatrice, one day, " if I did not 
 think I should be in the march instead of a 
 spectator." 
 
 "O," said Mrs. Jewett, subtly, "I thought 
 you wished to know your future associates." Nor 
 was it pleasing to Beatrice that her companion 
 occasionally won a distant nod or a reminiscent 
 stare more damning than gracious. It was just 
 a trifle worse than to be ignored. Also it threw 
 86
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 doubt on her wisdom in holding their friendship. 
 Still she felt that Mrs. Jewett was something of 
 an affinity, and Beatrice refused to probe the past 
 merely to explain the present. Mrs. Jewett was 
 experienced; that was enough. 
 
 They selected a tete-a-tete table in a little 
 alcove, from which they could look out on the 
 brilliant company, and where the music came 
 in faint, melodious throbbings. Mrs. Jewett's 
 eyes roved over the scene fondly. 
 
 "It is a cameo," she whispered, "a picture 
 of the only life worth living." 
 
 " Yes," assented Beatrice, " and to-day I am 
 in particular form to appreciate it. I feel less 
 like tea than champagne." 
 
 " It would be more pleasant, I know. Still, 
 tea is harmless." 
 
 " Physically, yes. As a stimulant to gossip it 
 has a dishonourable history. But my spirit is 
 amber. We are celebrating." 
 
 " Have we a reason ? We have done it without, 
 you know." 
 
 " What do you think of this for a reason, a 
 New York mansion, myself in the office of host- 
 ess, and carte blanche. It is a thunderbolt of 
 good luck." 
 
 " Has Mrs. Lambert gone travelling? " 
 
 87
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Beatrice beamed in triumph. 
 
 " O, no," she answered, " it is abdication. 
 She is everything, only ex-officio, you understand. 
 I hold a commission, and, Alice, I promise you a 
 carnival." 
 
 " I do not think your aunt realises what she 
 is doing," observed Mrs. Jewett, slowly. " How 
 did it happen? I thought her retirement ante- 
 dated even mine." 
 
 " I cannot explain. There is a man in the 
 case." 
 
 "I see; I see; auntie's man; desperate reme- 
 dies for desperate cases. Truly, the champagne 
 would be justified. But what of your sister 
 Edith?" 
 
 " Nothing of Edith." 
 
 " So easy as that ! Then I say, sound the 
 advance. I believe you are, after much wander- 
 ing, on the highway. What makes your position 
 strong is that Mrs. Lambert moved voluntarily. 
 What are you going to do with the man ? " 
 
 " Think of something else, Alice." 
 
 " O, certainly," said Mrs. Jewett, unabashed, 
 " it is not very interesting." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett looked at Beatrice idly, while she 
 tried to figure on the chances developed by Mrs. 
 Lambert's move. She had only known her 'com- 
 88
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 panion for a brief time, but she had become 
 interested in her personality, and of late had 
 learned to look on Beatrice as promising material. 
 This idea indeed had grown from a point merely 
 entertaining to one of possible profit, and now 
 with a theatre of operations the vista was wi- 
 dened. It might pay her to take this ambition 
 in charge. 
 
 " Do you know," she said, breaking her reverie, 
 " I am going to ask you to let me discourse awhile 
 on system and opportunity. No fulminates, my 
 dear; just advice. I am going to give you the 
 best known receipt for social conquest." 
 
 " You talk as though you really believed it," 
 said Beatrice, laughingly ; " it is what the news- 
 papers call ' important if true.' ' 
 
 "It is your place to believe; not mine. I 
 have wondered whether it was worth while giving 
 you the formula. You have floundered in such 
 dreadful fashion and stirred up so much muddy 
 water that I thought for a time you were impos- 
 sible. But your audacity, your beauty, and your 
 fortune, my dear, appeal to me as elements too 
 desirable to waste. I am disposed to work a 
 miracle. It can be done. My wealth, my influ- 
 ence, count for hardly anything my experience 
 discounts both." 
 
 89
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Mrs. Jewett stopped with a retrospective look 
 in her dark eyes, half happiness. Her fine 
 features, still holding the graceful imprint of 
 youth, glowed with enthusiasm. 
 
 " Never mind your credentials, Alice," said 
 Beatrice, rilling the pause, " let us have the 
 receipt." 
 
 " I have already given it to you in fragments. 
 It is told in a single word, entertainment." 
 
 " Is that all ? I thought we were going to have 
 something magical. It is to be believed in, of 
 course. I am going in for it myself. But you 
 can hardly call it an infallible receipt." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett viewed her companion carefully, 
 alert for sarcasm. 
 
 " Can you suggest any other short cut? " she 
 asked, aggressively. " Does not social history 
 teach you that when every other method has 
 failed, the masters of entertainment always turn 
 defeat into victory ? " 
 
 '' Yes, I admit that the best society contains 
 men and women who hold reputations as enter- 
 tainers. But that is incidental. I cannot believe 
 it won them their spurs." 
 
 " But you must believe it," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 with a touch of impatience. " Those very men 
 and women bought their way by systematic enter- 
 90
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 taining ; nothing else. Their other claims to elec- 
 tion were generally trifling, often non-existent. 
 Have you never heard of the statesman who gave 
 a metropolitan song-bird a thousand dollars for 
 every aria she chose to render his guests? Have 
 you never heard of the miner's wife who ran four 
 special trains to Florida to celebrate a single 
 banquet in an orange grove? Did these people 
 win? Of course they won." 
 
 " They were advertising artists," remarked 
 Beatrice. 
 
 " Quite so. And there is no reason why you 
 should not take a leaf from their book. That, 
 by the way, is a check-book." 
 
 Beatrice looked at Mrs. Jewett with freshening 
 interest. 
 
 " If I really thought that money applied as you 
 suggest meant victory, I would sign checks night 
 and day," she said. 
 
 " You would have to, my dear. But try and 
 be logical," Mrs. Jewett went on, with a quiver 
 of spite in her tones. " Other than by this path 
 what chance have you to enter society? It is 
 months since you came to New York, and what 
 have you accomplished ? What prospect is there 
 that you will ever go any further? And, mind
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 you, I say nothing of your antics in the byways. 
 Those may be lived down." 
 
 " This is what annoys me," cut in Beatrice, 
 eagerly. " It is so, and why is it so ? I have 
 the credentials, every one of them, family, 
 money, education, and beauty. Why have I failed 
 to secure a place to which my endowment entitles 
 me? Why? Why? No wonder I became des- 
 perate." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett smiled at the volley. 
 
 " On the other hand, my dear," she said, " why 
 should society welcome you ? Let us look it over 
 practically. You came to New York with the 
 veneration of a small city to suggest to you an 
 equivalent position here. You assumed a patent 
 of universal nobility. Is that not so?" 
 
 " Of course," replied Beatrice, defiantly, " why 
 should I not ? " 
 
 " Because while such a patent may go from 
 New York, it does not follow that it can come 
 here. You should have stayed in New Orleans 
 until you were leader there. Even then it might 
 not have answered. But what have you to offer 
 society in exchange for its interest not common 
 to a legion of other candidates? You are crude 
 you are raw New York standard, you know, 
 and, truly, Bab, but for the saving grace of your 
 92
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 money, I could myself sit here and laugh at the 
 steep of your aspirations." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett ended her declaration in a modu- 
 lated purr designed to rob it of sting, but 
 Beatrice was all aflame on the instant. She 
 leaned toward her critic with eyes full of menace. 
 
 " Reproaches seem a routine with me of late," 
 she cried, " but I see no reason why I should 
 admit them from a social outcast. I suspect your 
 reputation is quite as low as my ambition is high. 
 And let me tell you," she continued, with the 
 hard, wolfish look strong in her face, " if I did 
 not believe you were more theoretical than per- 
 sonal, I should leave this table at once." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett neither flushed, moved, nor spoke. 
 Instead she unfolded on her companion a smile, 
 neatly demoralising. It bespoke disgust, amuse- 
 ment, and a sense of superiority. 
 
 " My dear child," she said, with elaborate 
 tenderness, " you are convicted out of your own 
 mouth." 
 
 " Maybe I am," answered Beatrice. " I prefer 
 it to come from my own rather than yours." 
 
 " You have shown in one sentence why you 
 require the intervention of Mammon," Mrs. 
 Jewett went on, evenly. " You are crude, I 
 repeat, and you are, moreover, hopelessly vulgar. 
 
 93
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 You burlesque ambition. What you need is 
 reorganisation." 
 
 Beatrice gloomed at her censor. 
 
 " It is possible that I have been forward," Mrs. 
 Jewett continued, indifferently, " and even harsh. 
 Charge it to enthusiasm. I was stirred by the 
 belief, that if you took stock of your failings, and 
 reformed, anything might be possible. In my 
 hands in two years, but, if you please, I will 
 ring for my wraps." 
 
 " No," exclaimed Beatrice, with an impulsive 
 change of front, " I apologise. Where there is 
 so much smoke there must be fire. But pray, 
 file your javelins a trifle, Alice; they hurt." 
 
 " Very good," said Mrs. Jewett, with a re- 
 sponsive shift to geniality, " you need javelins 
 less than pruning-knives. You are embarked on 
 no mean venture." 
 
 Each sipped her tea to win back calm. Then 
 Beatrice resumed. 
 
 " Alice," she said, curiously, " be frank ; why 
 this interest? " 
 
 Mrs. Jewett laid down her cup with a movement 
 of surprise. 
 
 " Why, can't you see? I am to be rehabilitated. 
 I should hope to engineer you into leadership. 
 You would then drag me up after you." 
 
 94
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " That sounds illogical," said Beatrice, drily. 
 " If you can do this for me, why not for yourself? 
 By the way, your thought of reentering society 
 surprises me. I fancied you despised your old 
 affiliations." 
 
 " You noticed that I used the word ' drag,' did 
 you not ? " 
 
 "Drag? Yes, O, yes." 
 
 " Well, it will require dragging and nothing 
 else to put me where I was five years ago," Mrs. 
 Jewett declared, with blunt simplicity. " It will 
 be easier to install you than to restore myself. 
 So far as I may have suggested disdain, that 
 is affectation. I shall never be content until I 
 am restored." 
 
 " Then even you, who know this hated plu- 
 tocracy, deem it worth a fight," said Beatrice, 
 warmly. " It is novel to hear any one admit 
 that." 
 
 " Beatrice," said Mrs. Jewett, solemnly, " it is 
 the only tolerable band of people on earth. They 
 have all the money, all the education, all the 
 graces, that the rest of humanity lack. They are 
 the best men and the best women in New York. 
 O, I am perfectly caddish about society; it is 
 the natural nobility in a raw democracy." 
 
 95
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " You are very confident as to my case. I have 
 found it rather discouraging." 
 
 " I look on you as possible salvation. Permit 
 me, and I will give you your desire, but you 
 must look after me." 
 
 " This exile, how did it happen ? " 
 
 " O, I abused my privileges," Mrs. Jewett 
 answered, coolly, " but I really think my offence 
 lay in being found out." 
 
 " I thought the world we aspired to was lenient 
 in such matters ? " 
 
 Mrs. Jewett looked at her companion doubt- 
 fully. But there was an inviting smile, and her 
 diffidence passed. 
 
 " That is the vulgarian's view," she responded, 
 " but then you see my case was er rather 
 flagrant, perhaps. I would rather not go into 
 details ; it was, however, neither theft, swindling, 
 nor murder." 
 
 " Your trouble confirms what you and Mrs. 
 Lambert say as to my advertising plan. I will 
 admit, though, it was less a reason than personal 
 desire. It was not serious." 
 
 " You remind me of Mrs. Lever," she said. 
 " She knew Monte Carlo was wrong, but as she 
 never played over five francs she did not consider 
 that gambling. However, it must stop." 
 96
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " What is your first suggestion ? " 
 
 " Well, your worst defects are personal. I 
 want you to be serious, to study, to think. 
 Cultivate deportment; match your looks with 
 your manners ; be brilliant ; if not that, be clever 
 and pose. Be all things to everybody and some 
 things they never saw before. I don't care what 
 you do to the men, but for gracious sakes attend 
 on the women. That is the primer." 
 
 Beatrice smiled drearily. 
 
 "It sounds like an address to a governess." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett lifted her cup until the mischief 
 in her eyes was hidden. 
 
 " It does," she said, shortly, " but sometimes a 
 governess is a very capable person. Personally 
 I think you are short of all these graces. For 
 your station, Bab, you are absurdly untrained. I 
 think less of New Orleans." 
 
 Beatrice looked down and bit her lip. Mrs. 
 Jewett smiled again. 
 
 " You are learning already," she said, gaily. 
 " You have not offered even a retort. It encour- 
 ages me to suggest a move." 
 
 " Do by all means," said Beatrice. " It may 
 turn you from vivisection." 
 
 " Then here it is. You will take this house of 
 your aunt's, and as a prelude give a series of 
 
 97
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 small but extravagant entertainments. When this 
 has brought about you the parasites of society, 
 and possibly a genuine member or two, you must 
 take them into the country, get an estate, and 
 draw upon yourself the regard of all New York." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " By entertainment acrobatics. There must be 
 no limit. When you return you begin again in 
 the heart of Olympus. In time you will merge 
 with the elect." 
 
 "But why this migration?" queried Beatrice. 
 " Why leave the city ? Cannot we stay here and 
 operate? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mrs. Jewett. " In the 
 city you have competition. There is no certainty 
 of attracting attention, while in the country your 
 isolation buys publicity." 
 
 " The idea is to drive my fame ahead of me so 
 that the return engagement in the city will bring 
 crowded houses." 
 
 " Exactly. The best we can hope for at Mrs. 
 Lambert's is to attach some desirable aides. 
 Three or four men must be had, men, for 
 instance, of the type of Harry Layton. Layton, 
 you know," went on Mrs. Jewett, snappily, " will 
 take any chances with his social register if a 
 woman is involved. Then there is young Sinnott. 
 98
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 He will follow a champagne bottle into the 
 primeval forest. There will be no lack of 
 recruits." 
 
 Beatrice sighed pensively. " I find women 
 much harder to reach than men," she murmured. 
 
 "Of course," said Mrs. Jewett, "but the 
 women eventually follow the men." 
 
 " We must be original, Alice, original and 
 daring." 
 
 " No question of that ; we must spend money, 
 too." 
 
 " And this publicity that is the life-blood of 
 the plan, how can we ensure that ? " 
 
 " On the merits of the performances alone. 
 There is no such thing as buying these social 
 reporters. I have tried it myself. Willie Gotham, 
 though," Mrs. Jewett added, thoughtfully, " is 
 to be reached in a very curious way. He is the 
 last of a broken-down family, really good blood, 
 and if we remind him of that he is pliable. After 
 all, he is the most important of the lot." 
 
 " I am not certain," remarked Beatrice, " but 
 I think Gotham's real name is Carter, and the 
 family came originally from Virginia." 
 
 " Heaven grant so," exclaimed Mrs. Jewett, 
 fervently, " if you can't prove a relationship it 
 will be downright incompetence." 
 
 99
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Now one more question, Alice, and you may 
 finish your tea. How do you expect if, as you 
 say, you are persona non grata, that my rise will 
 ensure yours ? " 
 
 " That is just where you have me at your 
 mercy," replied Mrs. Jewett, with a flash of bitter- 
 ness. " It is a question of changing administra- 
 tions. All the present leaders discourage me, but 
 if you seize the reins they will feel they must take 
 me along. Love me; love my dog." 
 
 Beatrice wondered at the strong confidence, but 
 she said no more, and they neglected the chat 
 for the tea. Both women busily resolved the 
 prospects of their alliance beneath the lens of 
 optimism, and to both came more and still more 
 rosy expectations. 
 
 The younger woman felt that for the first time 
 since coming to New York a tangible path had 
 been cut into the jungle of her inexperience. 
 She saw the strong hand of knowledge reaching 
 out, and she had every disposition to grasp it. 
 
 On her side Mrs. Jewett believed that she had 
 chanced on just the agent for her " restoration," 
 and was disposed to regard Beatrice much in the 
 light of a discovery. Other material had been 
 tried before, but false starts, bad finishes, or a 
 
 100
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 breakdown half-way had left her still stranded 
 and still keen for escape. 
 
 Failing resources and sometimes cowardice 
 had hitherto wrecked her experiments, but in 
 Beatrice's case she saw no threat of these elements 
 indeed much that was novel might be hoped 
 from the unscrupulous spirit which was a high 
 note of the girl's character. She, too, was all 
 eagerness to go ahead. 
 
 Therefore the two women parted elate and 
 affectionate. At the cab door Beatrice pressed 
 Mrs. Jewett's hand. 
 
 " Alice," she said, " I am glad that we met." 
 
 " So am I," responded Mrs. Jewett, heartily, 
 " and Bab, I believe we will pay dividends on our 
 friendship." 
 
 101
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " ~i 1DITH," said Beatrice, the next morning, 
 
 ii " I am going to take every advantage of 
 auntie's offer. I wish therefore to know 
 your attitude." She had hurried into Edith's 
 dressing-room to win cooperation. 
 
 Edith viewed her doubtfully; she scented a 
 passage at arms. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked. 
 
 " I say I am going in for entertaining on a 
 large scale; money is needed; work is involved. 
 I want to know whether you will assist me for 
 our mutual advancement, or whether you propose 
 to stand off." 
 
 Edith smiled faintly. 
 
 " Have you had your funny French dejeuner 
 yet ? " she asked, nervously. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then for goodness' sake send for coffee and 
 rolls. You are so much pleasanter afterward." 
 
 Beatrice laughed merrily. " I shall have a 
 102
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 better appetite when I learn whether you are to 
 be an ally or an annoyance. You know, Edith," 
 she went on, with sudden wistfulness, " this is 
 my first chance. I look to you for help. I shall 
 be bitterly disappointed if you fail me." 
 
 " But I shall not fail you," answered Edith, 
 touched by the pleading look in her eyes. " I 
 am only doubtful of my value." 
 
 " I am more doubtful of my own," said 
 Beatrice, gravely. " Fancy me as hostess ! Mrs. 
 Jewtt says I lack dignity." 
 
 " I had not imagined her as sedate." 
 
 " She is not. It is an occasional pose. Dignity, 
 Edith, is the mantle of wise men and fools. What 
 Alice means is solemnity." 
 
 " That ought to come with your office." 
 
 " It will. Responsibility makes the matron 
 not age. Entertainers must feel like generals in 
 the field. Anyhow, the average reception is very 
 sobering." 
 
 "You will not fail, Beatrice," said Edith, 
 warmly. 
 
 " I must not fail. It would be tragic. When 
 I think that a door has opened at last I am 
 frightened, but there is no danger of panic. 
 Meantime, Edith, I am grateful." 
 
 103
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " And my service, Beatrice, what is it to be? " 
 asked Edith, curiously. 
 
 " I want you to do something practical. Help 
 me to receive, make yourself useful at dinners and 
 dances, and generally show to outsiders that you 
 sympathise." 
 
 " Certainly, Beatrice. I will aid even if I 
 cannot be enthusiastic. But will good intentions 
 replace experience?" 
 
 " It is a matter of endorsement. Auntie is 
 certain to hide away. I expect that. But if you 
 followed suit it would advertise us as a house 
 divided. Outsiders do not care to be caught in 
 domestic cross-currents." 
 
 " Insiders, either," murmured Edith, reflect- 
 ively. " I will do anything you wish, although 
 I am afraid you are taking a fish out of water." 
 
 " Perhaps it is about time you got in the 
 market-place, Edith," said Beatrice, gaily. " I 
 believe myself it w r ill be hard for you to show 
 your shoulders. However," she ended, as she 
 walked away, " the public may not look so closely 
 as you imagine." 
 
 The interview left a genial impression on both 
 
 the girls, and Beatrice, for just the reasons she 
 
 had given, was genuinely glad that her sister had 
 
 joined hands. It made her more than ever eager 
 
 104
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 to go ahead, and she was all on fire to find Mrs. 
 Jewett and compile a programme. 
 
 But to-day, urgent as was ambition, she set 
 aside every plan in favour of a much anticipated 
 private revenge, whose fulfilment hung in the 
 next few hours. It was a retaliation she had 
 pursued over many days. Labour, patience, and 
 something of money had gone to its perfection, 
 and the harvest was now at hand. The origin of 
 the trouble ran back to the day when, ill-advised 
 by -precedent, she had offered to Mrs. Frances 
 Thurston the right hand of fellowship and met 
 with a reception that stuck blackly in her memory. 
 The snub had come, as Beatrice viewed it, under 
 circumstances of peculiar atrocity. Early in her 
 association with the New York upper middle 
 class, Beatrice had been much interested in those 
 Nimrods of pedigree who banded their glory 
 in societies with colonial lineage as the warrant. 
 Over the utility of these bodies she was enthusi- 
 astic ; for their claims she had less reverence and 
 any amount of suspicion. She believed that most 
 of the men and all of the women had gone search- 
 ing originally for a line of the nobility, and had 
 taken out letters of credit on the Revolutionary 
 period only as prizes of consolation. But legiti- 
 mate or not, the societies appealed to her as 
 
 105
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 possible back doors to the temple, and worthy, 
 therefore, of support. In a sense they constituted 
 flank attacks on the plutocracy. Their pretension 
 was a defiance of the loftier society. 
 
 So Beatrice selected a few ancestors, presented 
 them to the Committee on Credentials, and 
 entered one of the best advertised of these com- 
 panies. Even in the novitiate stage she joined her 
 associates, in beating tom-toms before the fetich 
 of their own creation, and she looked on the step 
 as a practical move upward. 
 
 Beatrice's chief interest in the society lay in its 
 exclusiveness. To protect this and make it more 
 absolute became a practice. Quite naturally her 
 vigilance flattered the members, and gradually 
 drew upon Beatrice the attention of the whole 
 organisation. She became after a fashion the 
 censor of membership, and her veto was a blight- 
 ing frost to many a graduate of the waiting list. 
 Beatrice knew her power very well ; she imagined 
 even more than she knew. Therefore when, 
 without cavil, investigation, or demur, she ex- 
 tended to Mrs. Thurston the open palm of wel- 
 come, she felt that she was making a generous if 
 somewhat diplomatic concession. But she had 
 met rebuke, not casual nor incidental, but of a 
 deliberate flatness that left her not a loose end 
 1 06
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 of comfort. The scene recurred to her a dozen 
 times a day. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Thurston," she had said, with 
 the most winning inflection, " I want to make 
 you welcome to our society. I want to assure you 
 that your membership will be for us a new badge 
 of distinction." 
 
 Clumsy and a bit servile, the speech still bid 
 for courtesy, even if gratitude were denied. But 
 Mrs. Thurston did not feel the need of grace; 
 she- was arrogant, and arrogance is high pressure 
 stupidity. 
 
 " O, yes," she drawled, her tone charged with 
 stinging affectation, " you are the young person 
 who pokes into the credentials. Quite unofficial, 
 I believe, but your vise will do no harm. You 
 might look after my papers if you will. I am 
 going to Washington for a week, and I fancy 
 I shall hardly have time before the next meeting." 
 
 Beatrice stared at the woman a moment to see 
 if she were serious. When she was met by perfect 
 calm, her courtesy and temper went to pieces 
 together, and a hard, ugly look mounted to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I will look after your credentials, yes," she 
 cried, " and if, as I suspect, they carry you back 
 to the blood of a camp-follower, they will receive 
 
 107
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 all the attention you can possibly want," and then 
 with her head thrown back she turned and stalked 
 from the room. 
 
 The outburst awoke in Mrs. Thurston some 
 surprise, but more indifference. It seemed to her 
 childish and vulgar, but her annoyance was not 
 in the least equal to the affront. One of the first 
 women of the first society, she had stepped from 
 the heights to note a new growth of organised 
 caste. The condescension had won her own ap- 
 plause, and she expected it to be general. That 
 Beatrice's admiration had limits might irritate 
 her it could hardly change her opinion. 
 Altogether, the censor's cut went much less deep 
 than she imagined. 
 
 On her side Beatrice's mortification was a live 
 coal of torment. The check to her authority, the 
 cool dismissal of her power, lanced her egotism. 
 And she had wanted this woman's approval, too ; 
 here was a dweller of the mount, and she longed 
 for the helping hand it had been possible for her 
 to extend. Still the rebuff was not regretted so 
 much as the fact that Mrs. Thurston had suffered 
 less in the exchange than herself. She had been 
 just as brutal as the hurry of the moment per- 
 mitted it was still a question whether even a 
 dent had been made in the armour of the woman's 
 1 08
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 pride. Another sorrow lay in her ready oblation 
 at the Thurston shrine if she had held her 
 endorsement for a price, and so on and so on. 
 
 But Beatrice had no thought of wringing 
 her hands. Mrs. Thurston offended her as a 
 type. Directed against such a character revenge 
 rose to the majesty of duty. She entered on its 
 pursuit therefore with system and a cold deter- 
 mination. 
 
 Her first moves brought with them a stunning 
 surprise. The society had always endorsed her 
 efforts to keep up the bars, and from the society 
 she expected support. But in Mrs. Thurston's 
 case opposition met every count of Beatrice's 
 charge. One after another she told the members 
 of her affront and protested Mrs. Thurston's 
 entrance, but only here and there did she find a 
 champion. Some opposed her flatly; others 
 quietly hinted that Mrs. Thurston's infirmities 
 hardly weighed against her importance, while on 
 all sides there was a desire to excuse her and take 
 her into the fold anyhow. 
 
 Another discovery made by Beatrice at this 
 time worried her more than the defeats. This was 
 her loss of influence. Echoes of recent frivolities 
 had found resting-place in several matronly minds, 
 and she paid the penalty. It was not merely 
 
 109
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 unpleasant it upset all her estimates of the 
 value of this class of advertising, and it justified 
 Mrs. Lambert as well. 
 
 " Still," she reflected, during a reaction, " this 
 is the middle class, the most tiresomely virtuous 
 creatures on earth. I do not believe such intol- 
 erance exists among people of station. Their his- 
 tory proves otherwise." 
 
 When she found that mere denunciation would 
 not shut out Mrs. Thurston, Beatrice turned to 
 a weapon she had never before employed. She 
 hired agents to look up the applicant's claim. 
 When these experts, after a week of labour in 
 several localities, turned in their reports, she 
 could have shrieked in ecstasy. That for which 
 she had merely hoped had been made a certainty. 
 They proved with a wealth of interlocking detail 
 that the soldier ancestor claimed as Mrs. Thurs- 
 ton's warrant of membership was a sutler in a 
 regiment of the Maryland line; that, so far from 
 fulfilling his duties as an ancestor, he had served 
 a term for larceny, and, capping all, had died in 
 prison. 
 
 " Why, it's like the typical ancestral joke," 
 Beatrice cried, delightedly. " Are you sure of 
 your facts ? " 
 
 " Entirely so," replied the principal agent. 
 no
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " These items relate to his army service. The 
 records declare that after his conviction many 
 civil offences were brought forward against him." 
 
 To be quite sure of her ground, Beatrice em- 
 ployed another set of experts, who in rather 
 shorter time reported the same facts. 
 
 They shed light on Mrs. Thurston's supposed 
 audacity as well, by showing that a man of exactly 
 similar name had served as a captain of infantry 
 in another Maryland regiment long before the 
 sutler's appearance in the army. This officer had 
 been killed. Through faulty investigation or 
 downright ignorance, Mrs. Thurston had mixed 
 her men. Beatrice would never give her a chance 
 to straighten them out. Armed with this one- 
 sided evidence, the happy investigator felt that, 
 despite her support, Mrs. Thurston's claim must 
 collapse. 
 
 As head on the Committee of Credentials, Bea- 
 trice allowed a majority report on the enemy's 
 case to go through without protest; she voted 
 against it as a matter of record, and then prepared 
 a minority report, which she designed should 
 ignite the blaze of scandal. Of this she said 
 nothing; instead she laid her mine against the 
 day when at the regular meeting all the members 
 might view the explosion. 
 
 in
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 And this was the day. 
 
 One minor regret only tugged at her heart, 
 as, burdened with the damning documents, she 
 drove off to the club-house; that was the absence 
 of reporters. Mrs. Thurston's spirit was not to 
 be broken by rejection ; she would simply wonder 
 at the society's effrontery, and dismiss the whole 
 matter. But a good, lively, descriptive story of 
 the unmasking, and a verbatim copy of the mi- 
 nority report, would blast Mrs. Thurston beyond 
 recovery; she would be laughed into the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 And such a result might yet be had. She felt 
 quite sure, for instance, that if a reporter notified 
 by Mrs. Jewett called upon her she should have 
 a story warranted to convulse New York. She 
 determined to see if it could not be managed. 
 By the time Mrs. Thurston found the real ances- 
 tor the mischief would be done. 
 
 At the club-house Beatrice saw that everything 
 was moving to a desirable climax. There was a 
 large attendance and a general flutter of interest 
 over the slated advent of Mrs. Thurston. Each 
 and every member felt, and Beatrice smiled at 
 the delusion, that fellowship with a social giantess 
 meant a personal addition of influence. It was 
 the appearance of a whale among minnows. 
 
 112
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 When the credential reports were called, Bea- 
 trice entered upon an uneasy time. She heard 
 with disgust the sonorous report of the majority; 
 she grew wrathful over the amens of her fellow 
 committee-men, and the instant it was over she 
 sprang to her feet and touched off the mine. The 
 indictment was explicit, sweeping, and savage. 
 It left nothing to speculation, and the climax was 
 a capstone of sensation. 
 
 " The facts I have presented," ended Beatrice, 
 with'cold deliberation, " call for two things. One, 
 the rejection of the majority report, so far as 
 concerns Mrs. Thurston; the other, an investiga- 
 tion of the origin and maintenance of this bogus 
 claim. That such an unworthy application could 
 reach the voting stage, is, in my opinion, a 
 matter of scandal." 
 
 Then she halted, and as she sat down the whole 
 meeting succumbed to a tempest of disorder. 
 From end to end of the room swept a passionate 
 chorus of exclamations and outcries. A dozen 
 women were on their feet together. Some vol- 
 leyed opinions at the disturbing Beatrice, others 
 cried frantically for the attention of the chair. 
 The most agitated of these, and the first to win 
 the floor, was the sponsor of Mrs. Thurston. Her 
 fluttering hands and face of flame drew on her 
 
 "3
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the attention of the others, and they gradually 
 resumed their seats, conscious that a strong advo- 
 cate had taken the field. 
 
 She prefaced her speech with several dramatic 
 gasps. 
 
 " Never in the history of this society," she 
 cried, " have its members listened to such an 
 unwarranted and infamous document as the 
 report of the minority committee." 
 
 A burst of hand-clapping rounded the charge. 
 
 " It is a report conceived in falsehood and 
 malice. It is a report whose origin is so familiar 
 to most of us that we can only wonder at its 
 appearance. We owe much in the past to Miss 
 Cameron's care for our credentials, but she 
 should not take advantage of our confidence. 
 The fact of a quarrel with Mrs. Thurston is not 
 license for her to use official place for private 
 revenge. As to the charges, they are ridiculous. 
 I do not feel called upon to deny them " 
 
 Beatrice sprung to her feet. 
 
 " These are not charges," she cried, " they are 
 facts; facts established by experts who know 
 more of colonial rosters than all of us combined. 
 I do not want you to deny them ; I demand that 
 you disprove them ! " 
 
 " Is it not strange," exclaimed one of the 
 114
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 majority group, " that these alleged facts were 
 not brought out in committee?" 
 
 " You don't mean to say that they were not 
 given consideration ? " asked the president, se- 
 verely. 
 
 " Never a word of them," declared the speaker, 
 and with her statement a wave of hisses travelled 
 the meeting. 
 
 " It proves what I say," the sponsor cut in, 
 excitedly ; " the report is both irregular and un- 
 fair: The only pity is that Miss Cameron should 
 have selected for attack a woman who leads the 
 best society in New York. It is a matter of 
 envy. If these charges had been brought out in 
 committee, as they should have been, the minority 
 report would still have remained a minority of 
 one." 
 
 " Mrs. Thurston has already been offered a 
 regency by the Original Daughters," said a voice 
 from the rear. 
 
 " Mrs. Thurston is sought after by every 
 woman's organisation in New York," exclaimed 
 another. 
 
 " I expect she will repudiate us altogether after 
 such treatment," cried a partisan near Beatrice; 
 and on the heels of this suggestion came a fresh 
 disorder of tributes and praise.
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Beatrice listened in a fever of dismay. Once 
 more she felt the iron buffet of caste. She could 
 hardly trust her wrath, but she rose again and 
 forced the issue. 
 
 " I would suggest," she cried, addressing the 
 president, " that little but bad manners is likely 
 to develop from further debate. I suppressed 
 these facts in committee, because I saw the 
 members were committed to Mrs. Thurston. 
 They regarded her as a sort of social sacred cow. 
 I trusted then to the whole members' meeting, 
 and I trust now. This society may not adopt my 
 report, but they cannot adopt the majority report 
 without dishonour. I am quite ready for the 
 vote.'' 
 
 "Yes, the vote! The vote!" came from all 
 over the room. 
 
 " I think myself," observed the president, 
 soothingly, " that the members can better ex- 
 press their feelings by ballot than by debate. 
 The teller will please call the rolls." 
 
 Beatrice did not wait to note the details. Her 
 treatment was significant. If the tumult repre- 
 sented sentiment, her defeat was a visible cer- 
 tainty. So while the roll ran along with a 
 monotonous crying of " Thurston," " Thurston," 
 she left the room and called for her wraps. 
 116
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 When she returned, the president had just risen 
 to announce the totals. Clad in her street gar- 
 ments, Beatrice stood at the rear of the meeting, 
 waiting less for the result than for the speech she 
 had determined should sequel the figures. 
 
 They were even worse than she had expected. 
 
 " I am pleased to announce," said the president, 
 smilingly, " that the majority report has been 
 carried by a vote of 46 to 8." 
 
 There was great and prolonged applause. 
 
 The president used her gavel judiciously. 
 " We will now, if you please, proceed to other 
 business," she added, as though dismissing a 
 trifle. She had noticed Beatrice's attitude, and 
 the look on her face warned her to hasten into 
 the safe waters of routine business. But Beatrice 
 was not to be closured. She stepped down the 
 aisle and took up a position fairly in the middle 
 of the meeting, where she could be both seen and 
 heard. Her face was very white and still, but 
 her eyes, full of storm, roved over the members 
 in a challenging stare. She remained motionless 
 for an instant to give her pose a menace; then 
 disregarding the chair, she began and finished a 
 speech which so long as the society endured re- 
 mained an unwritten but unforgotten fragment 
 of archive. 
 
 117
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " When I planned my expose of the bogus 
 Thurston credentials," she began, in a tone 
 thrilling with scorn, " I relied entirely on the 
 verdict of the whole society for support. I have 
 explained to you why I ignored the committee. 
 It was not a tribunal to repulse any social Moses 
 crossing its path. They have thrown out scores 
 of applicants with better genealogy than Mrs. 
 Thurston's, but never one with equal social claims. 
 I presume that if we were to drag-net this society, 
 greater toadies, more hypocritical spirits than the 
 Credentials Committee, could not be found, and 
 I think, too, we have some very promising 
 material. Time and again I have used them to 
 push aside an applicant whose gown did not 
 meet my approval, or whose bonnet offended my 
 taste." 
 
 " Shame ! Shame ! " cried several voices. 
 
 " But these were the unimportant ones. The 
 committee investigations had solely to do with 
 the social labels on the waiting list. I am free 
 to state that if the Credentials Committee had to 
 pass on our present membership there would not 
 be a dozen to escape. So much for the commit- 
 tee. But I did believe, and believe honestly, that 
 when I brought my discoveries to the whole 
 membership the report of the majority would be 
 118
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 thrown aside. That is where I made my mistake. 
 I failed to remember a suggestive adage, ' Like 
 mother, like child.' ' 
 
 " Mrs. President," exclaimed the sponsor, 
 bouncing to her feet, " do you propose to let 
 Miss Cameron indulge herself in insult at our 
 expense ? She has not the floor ; I object ! " 
 
 " On the contrary," said the president, firmly, 
 " I propose to let Miss Cameron make just such 
 an exhibition as she pleases. The society will 
 then be able to get a true perspective." 
 
 " I say I failed to take into account," resumed 
 Beatrice, easily, " that this organisation is 
 founded on pretension ; that it is a refuge for the 
 shoddy ambitions that would, but cannot, scale a 
 loftier height. I might have known that when 
 a genuine aristocrat, or rather a genuine pluto- 
 crat, put her head into such a storehouse of the 
 imitation article she would be seized on willy- 
 nilly. It is a peculiarity of American arrange- 
 ments that we care nothing for the origin, and 
 everything for the conclusion. Let us assume 
 that Mrs. Thurston had not even this poor thief 
 of a sutler, or that she had instead two sutlers 
 and two thieves do you think that would have 
 made any difference? Not to this society. This 
 society is after ready-made celebrities, and if it 
 
 119
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 has to pay the price of reversible by-laws, why, 
 purchase them anyhow. Mrs. Thurston has a 
 home on Fifth Avenue; Mrs. Thurston has a 
 villa at Newport; Mrs. Thurston has been pre- 
 sented at court; therefore, for Heaven's sake, 
 clutch her, and hold on tight! 
 
 " I tell you such a society travesties common 
 honour. I want nothing to do with it. I resign. 
 I step out!" And then, while for the second 
 time that day a fetter of amazement bound the 
 assemblage, Beatrice turned, walked up the aisle, 
 and was gone. But even as she reached the street 
 door she heard behind her the discord that told 
 of recovery, and the swelling sound gave her the 
 first antidote for her wrath and pain. 
 
 From the club-house Beatrice raced her car- 
 riage straight to Mrs. Jewett's hotel. She found 
 her in her sitting-room, and shattered the calm 
 with the mere sight of her face. 
 
 "What is it?" exclaimed Mrs. Jewett 
 "Thurston?" 
 
 " Yes Alice, Thurston ! " Beatrice cried, 
 bitterly. ' They have beaten me; they have not 
 only taken that woman, but they have trampled 
 me underfoot to furnish her a stepping-stone." 
 She sank into a chair and was out of it in one 
 move. 
 
 1 20
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Oh, Alice, Alice ! " she said, pacing up and 
 down before her friend. " What a dreadful lot 
 are these middle-class people ! What hucksters of 
 ambition! The sham! The servility! Do you 
 wonder I am ready to go any lengths to escape 
 them ? I tell you I witnessed a scene to-day that 
 delivers me into your hands completely. Every- 
 thing goes on the scales to buy success. I want 
 to be a second Frances Thurston." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett smiled. " Very well, my dear," 
 she .said, " you have my receipt. But it sounds 
 odd to hear you rave against the prostration of 
 those others when you went so far as to throw 
 your morals on the counter. There is a problem 
 in proportion." 
 
 " That has not been proven." 
 
 " Save by your own admission," laughed Mrs. 
 Jewett, carelessly, " I am only scouting your 
 character. I figure now as guide and friend. 
 But the catastrophe how did it happen ? " 
 
 Beatrice rehearsed the meeting in gloomy 
 detail. Mrs. Jewett's comment was hardly sym- 
 pathetic. 
 
 " Hereafter," she said, with a touch of egotism, 
 " you had better come to me with your plans, 
 vengeful and otherwise. You have missed an 
 opportunity. Had I known of this expert evi- 
 
 121
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 clence, I should have told you to first threaten Mrs. 
 Thurston. We need a silent partner like her." 
 
 " Very possibly," answered Beatrice, gloomily, 
 " she might also have denounced me before the 
 society. Let us call it a closed incident. You 
 would interest me more, looking forward rather 
 than behind." 
 
 " Certainly. It is time we began. Have you 
 seen your sister ? " 
 
 " Edith is very good. She is disposed to help 
 in every way." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett looked relieved. She rated Edith's 
 value as an ally highly. She had never met this 
 younger sister, but her reputation painted her a 
 composition of unusual and, as it seemed to Mrs. 
 Jewett, unreasonable virtues. This was just the 
 element needed. Mrs. Jewett saw that her repu- 
 tation coupled with Beatrice's tendencies might 
 call for endorsement. From Edith this must 
 come Edith must play shield and foil. She 
 passed the idea on to Beatrice. 
 
 " If I were you I should nourish Edith," she 
 said. " She has a reputation antipodal to ours, 
 and we need her support." 
 
 Beatrice looked at her drearily. " Will you 
 never have done with preliminaries? " she sighed. 
 " I long for something practical." 
 122
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Just one more by-path," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 cheerfully, " and then for the highway. Have 
 you studied this project with care? Do you 
 realise the demands it will make, Beatrice?" 
 
 "In short, can I afford it?" 
 
 " Exactly, can you afford it? " 
 
 Beatrice burst into a shout of girlish laughter. 
 All the ill-humour of the day fled before the 
 strained and breathless anxiety that had crept 
 into the Jewett countenance. It was too painful 
 to prolong. 
 
 " I can afford it, Alice," she said, " if it can 
 be had for five, eight, or ten millions." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett gasped. " Ten millions," she ex- 
 claimed, " and that means a reserve ! But is it 
 yours in fact, or in legal fiction which gives 
 it to some one else, trustee, executor, or 
 guardian? " 
 
 " O, I have an executor, but I haled him 
 into court once, and he is tame. The money is 
 available. Edith has a little more than I. You 
 see our latest aunt to die thought Edith's way 
 of handling Sunday-school scholars worth a few 
 millions by itself. The rest of our money came 
 from father. Anything further, Alice?" 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Jewett, slowly, " except that 
 we have already won." Her eyes grew vacant 
 
 123
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 and lustrous with visions reared on pedestals of 
 dollars; she clapped her hands softly, as if 
 applauding a pageant of dreams. It was with an 
 effort she became normal. 
 
 " Start at once, Beatrice," she said. " Such an 
 endowment ends the doubt. Begin with a tea, the 
 regular thing, of course, but striking in at least 
 some one particular. We must not be too theat- 
 rical, but they must remember that tea; they 
 must remember everything you do. Have you 
 any suggestions?" 
 
 " None," said Beatrice, her face in a pleased 
 glow at the sensation she had caused ; " besides, 
 I should prefer to hear yours." 
 
 " The key-note must be lavishness," said Mrs. 
 Jewett, musingly ; " an exhibition of the golden 
 calf. Just now a floral display might do. That's 
 the idea," she exclaimed, " we will wall-paper 
 your biggest drawing-room with Jacqueminots. 
 They will remember that." She looked at Bea- 
 trice questioningly. 
 
 " With Jacks at six dollars a dozen my memory 
 will be longest," said Beatrice, smilingly. 
 
 " It will take a gallant check," admitted Mrs. 
 Jewett, " but you must get used to that the 
 point is, do you dare? " 
 
 " Of course; thank you for the idea." 
 124
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Mrs. Jewett was radiant. 
 
 "Good, good," she cried, "encore! Now for 
 the everlasting- details." 
 
 They talked it over for an hour, and Beatrice 
 took her leave happily assured that the campaign 
 was on. 
 
 When she reached the pavement, she was 
 astonished to find Mr. Holt standing beside the 
 open door of a cab watching the hotel entrance. 
 When he caught sight of her he ran up, hat in 
 hand, his face beaming. 
 
 "You were surely not waiting for me?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Indeed I was," he responded, joyfully. " I 
 saw you go into the hotel, and delayed until your 
 return." 
 
 " But I have been in the hotel two hours." 
 
 " Quite so. I was, however, prepared to wait 
 another two." 
 
 Beatrice felt a touch of disgusted amazement; 
 she was not impressed at all by this canine-like 
 devotion. She wondered rather how a man could 
 be such a simpleton as to tramp a pavement wait- 
 ing two hours for any woman on earth. It 
 argued a servility which she was only too ready 
 to add to her estimate of Holt's character. He 
 had done this thing with the intent of showing 
 
 125
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 off ; she was sure of it. Nevertheless, she turned 
 and waved her hand to her coachman, and stepped 
 into Philip's cab. She even essayed a feeble 
 graciousness. 
 
 " If you keep many vigils of this sort, Philip," 
 she said, " you will be finely equipped for a 
 cabman." 
 
 But if it was intended as a sneer it was lost 
 on him completely. He saw in prospect, five, ten, 
 twenty minutes with her arm resting on his, 
 with the incense of her hair lifting to his nostrils, 
 and his mind compassed nothing else in all the 
 universe. He stepped into the cab with the face 
 of a boy. 
 
 126
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 T f7 HEN the last leaf-strewn and thorn- 
 
 ists stung florist had left the Lambert 
 
 drawing-room, Beatrice stepped in to 
 
 review their performance. It was the morning of 
 
 the 'reception day, and since eleven o'clock of the 
 
 night before a corps of decorators had stumped, 
 
 thrashed, and crawled about the great apartment. 
 
 But they had left fairyland behind them. 
 
 When she opened the door, Beatrice could 
 hardly reconcile the scene with the band of 
 bloused and muscled humanity just disappearing 
 down the street. It smote on her senses with an 
 ensemble of pigments and a festival of perfume. 
 From the lofty ceiling, from all the generous 
 reaches of wall, imprisoned nature flashed a wide 
 and brilliant smile. 
 
 The room was one colossal bouquet. 
 
 Running from floor to ceiling and smothering 
 in clusters of colour every bare outline, four walls 
 of wonder spread their fronts. Roses blushed 
 through twining and alleviating greens, roses
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 nodded in groups and festoons, roses red and 
 roses white and yellow touched cheeks in kaleido- 
 scopic company, and beneath their accumulated 
 glory the bald interior became a place of dreams. 
 It was a theft from midsummer. 
 
 Stirred at times by vagrant airs, the whole 
 marvellous drapery gave forth a pleasant melody 
 of falling leaves and faint rustlings of petals 
 dropping from point to point like floral snow- 
 flakes, while now and then a single rose, heavy 
 with its wealth of sweetness, tumbled from the 
 brilliant cloth to robe the floor. Over all was 
 a cloying attar that fascinated the nostrils like 
 the breath from a garden in June. 
 
 Beatrice was not an imaginative person, but 
 her mouth rounded in a circle of awe at the 
 spectacle she had reared, and there was reverence 
 in her tiptoe steps to the door. She summoned 
 Edith and Mrs. Lambert at once, and they came 
 with quite the curiosity of children to see the 
 marvel of Beatrice's description. 
 
 It affected them differently. Mrs. Lambert 
 noted the display with a bleak frown. Her lips 
 tightened and her eyes roved over the room in an 
 evident try at higher mathematics. She was 
 counting the dollars. It annoyed Beatrice with 
 
 128
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 that savagery of irritation that visits one who 
 sees confirmation o<f doubts. 
 
 " My money, auntie, you know," she said, 
 resentfully, but Mrs. Lambert did not reply. She 
 had turned the house over to Beatrice, and she 
 would not handicap her plans, nor retreat on her 
 bargain. Silence was allowed to represent her 
 disapproval. 
 
 Edith did not hear the sally at all. She stood 
 with clasped hands in a lapse of rapture. Her 
 violet eyes fairly blazed with their joy of appre- 
 ciation, and her nostrils dilated to catch every 
 breath of the scented air. 
 
 " O, Beatrice ! " she murmured, " what a 
 sight! Next to man, God's dearest creatures 
 must be the flowers. I can understand the rose 
 now as a plaything of poets." 
 
 '' Yes," answered Beatrice, with suave satisfac- 
 tion, " though I fancy few of them would care 
 to rhapsodise at this price. You have the artistic 
 sense, Edith," she added, in an effort to rasp 
 Mrs. Lambert; " it is a relief from the material." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett had an advance view, too, for she 
 ran over in the afternoon to sound Beatrice's 
 nerves, and she had the diplomacy to do quite a 
 little raving. She also complimented Beatrice, 
 
 129
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 for she realised that by this time the protegee 
 thought the idea all her own. 
 
 " This is a very singular background," said 
 Mrs. Jewett, warningly, " and I advise you 
 against any outre gowning effects. You had 
 better rely on pink." 
 
 " I shall. I believe with you, Alice, that it 
 is better to be peculiar in morals than dress." 
 
 " By the way," said Mrs. Jewett, with a little 
 hesitation, " while I am here, Beatrice, I want to 
 meet your aunt and Edith. We must establish a 
 footing." 
 
 " I will not guarantee Mrs. Lambert. Edith 
 is a trusting person." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett chuckled as she followed Beatrice 
 up-stairs. 
 
 " You have finished talent for putting out 
 your claws," she said. 
 
 " Yes, Alice," admitted Beatrice, " but you 
 know your fur is very thick." 
 
 Edith received Mrs. Jewett with all the cordial 
 grace which the visitor expected of her reputation. 
 
 They scattered early seeds of friendship. Mrs. 
 Jewett knew lots about city mission work, and 
 she advanced some liberal ideas that pleased 
 Edith, and convinced her that no person so 
 
 130
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 equipped could justly bear her repute. She was 
 all for excusing Mrs. Jewett at once. 
 
 From Edith, Beatrice bore the visitor over to 
 meet her aunt. They had hardly exchanged a 
 laboured sort of greeting when Beatrice was 
 called away. She was gone perhaps twenty 
 minutes, and when she reached Mrs. Lambert's 
 room again the doorway framed a tableau that 
 brought her to a halt of bewilderment. The two 
 women were standing face to face with every 
 evidence of affectionate regard. More than that, 
 Mrs. Lambert's eyes were suffused with tears, and 
 even as Beatrice stared, she saw her aunt bend 
 forward and press a motherly kiss on the visitor's 
 cheek. Then she turned away, and Mrs. Jewett 
 moved down the corridor looking disturbed and 
 solemn. 
 
 " How did it happen? " gasped Beatrice. 
 
 " Easily enough," responded Mrs. Jewett, as 
 they walked along. " I told your aunt the story 
 of my life. Naturally it was expurgated, but 
 there was still enough to impress her unfavour- 
 ably. But, Beatrice, she sympathised with me. 
 Think of it! I could have wept myself! She 
 is a good woman, Beatrice, a good, good woman, 
 and I tell you now if our schemes put us in 
 opposition to her, I for one shall stand aside."
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " She is such a horrible prude," said Beatrice, 
 petulantly. 
 
 " No, she is a woman to whom experience has 
 granted a sane view of things ; that's all. We 
 think, and she knows. I will see you again at 
 four o'clock. Somehow I wish the reception 
 were another time. To-day I feel " and then 
 Mrs. Jewett's veil came down with a jerk, and she 
 was out of the house without explanation or 
 adieu. 
 
 Beatrice laughed. 
 
 Sometime before the hour for the reception 
 Beatrice gave her aides a critical survey. She 
 felt very correct herself in a blush pink crepe. 
 The body effect was like the stem of a flower, 
 tapering to a swirl of chiffon ruffles, and she 
 knew that it was a splendid foil to the flowers. 
 Of Edith she had been a little uncertain, but 
 when she appeared in a neutral reseda green she 
 breathed relief. Mrs. Jewett was discreetly 
 robed a la chaperon in black scintillant with jet 
 paillettes, and she made a picture of grace and 
 good form. Altogether the inspection, which left 
 her still the striking figure, pleased Beatrice com- 
 pletely. 
 
 In one particular at least the reception was a 
 flaming success. That was the attendance. It 
 132
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 took rank with such events as an opera, " first 
 night," or the opening- of a fashionable bazaar, 
 and it had all of the harrowing features. Like 
 most beginners, Beatrice, fearing a famine, had 
 chanced the avalanche and lost. Invitations 
 had gone to every one she knew and every one 
 she thought she knew. The weather being good, 
 every one came. It made the first hour a memo- 
 rable time of distress. The capacity of the house 
 was not merely strained; it was outraged. Dig- 
 nity and order vanished in the first fifteen min- 
 utes. Through the rapidly expanding throng 
 Beatrice had glimpses of Mrs. Jewett doing three 
 women's work, while Edith moved about a very 
 revelation of hospitality. But still the guests 
 poured in, and though Mrs. Lambert had, as 
 she contracted, made a ten minutes' appearance 
 and gone, Beatrice felt sorely tempted to cry for 
 her help and advice. 
 
 From crowding, the situation went rapidly to 
 confusion. A little eddy of guests circulated 
 about Beatrice, and there was some movement 
 on the edges of the crowd, but in the centre of the 
 room the company was hopelessly congested. 
 There was no advance for the new arrivals, and 
 no retreat for the victims already trapped. It 
 was a question how long such a good-natured 
 
 133
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 blockade would remain good-natured. The 
 attendants who tried to penetrate the mass were 
 swallowed up and fettered, the gay music of the 
 mandolin band was lost in the gale of conversa- 
 tion, and the whole affair trembled on the verge 
 of fiasco. 
 
 To complete her misery, Beatrice felt the floral 
 perfume tighten its clutch on the air until breath- 
 ing became an actual pain. She heard one woman 
 say : " For Heaven's sake, take me out. I shall 
 faint." She could have wept in her panic 
 dismay. At the very instant of despair came 
 relief. The company realised its misery, and 
 there was a general movement among the men to 
 escape. Holt headed a retreat to the library, and 
 this, together with the flight of a dozen or so 
 exhausted guests, restored the company to a 
 humane balance. Through all the wretched 
 moments just passed, Beatrice had been vaguely 
 aware that the rose display was a sensation. The 
 flow of adjectives told her this, and with the 
 first chance for movement she started in to 
 garner testimonials. It was Mrs. Jewett's idea, 
 of course, but that need not be mentioned. It 
 was her money. So she made a triumphal tour of 
 the room, and it was so delightful that she went 
 all over it again. Half-way around she ran into 
 
 134
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Edith and Mrs. Jewett, who, very much the worse 
 for wear, were using tea as a stimulant. 
 
 " Won't you have some? " they asked. 
 
 " No, thank you," said Beatrice, " I feel more 
 like first aid for the injured. Did you ever see 
 such a mortifying crush ? " 
 
 " Not mortifying at all," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 cheerfully, " the people who have been here will 
 think it an extraordinary function just because 
 there was a crush." She got up, nodded to Edith, 
 and drew Beatrice aside. 
 
 " For mercy's sake," she murmured, " where 
 did you get them ? flotsam and jetsam there 
 isn't a genuine article in the exhibit." 
 
 Beatrice looked surprised. " They are mostly 
 friends," she answered, " people I have met here 
 and there." 
 
 " They are snap acquaintances of your hotels 
 and clubs," Mrs. Jewett declared, severely; 
 '* there is not a person of weight in the lot, 
 artists, business men, and club-women ; they look 
 like middle class, and poor middle class at that. 
 I have really been sorry we had no meat for them. 
 If we do not get some newspaper advertising out 
 of this it will be tragical." 
 
 " There are no newspaper men here. You 
 should have looked after that, Alice." 
 
 135
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I did. Willie Gotham and several others were 
 on the list. Also I expected at least three men 
 who qualify as recruiting material." 
 
 " There are still a few stragglers. But really 
 I think the affair a success. I cannot share your 
 strictures; every one seems pleased." 
 
 " Of course they are. There is a predatory 
 school of middle-class sharks who will dart at 
 any bait. You seem to know them all. I tell you 
 I really think we should have had meat." 
 
 " That is a very stupid remark, Alice," said 
 Beatrice, heavily. 
 
 " It is a humane suggestion. But look, there is 
 young Trexler, one of my trio, coming in. He 
 is everything we desire. His father is a New 
 Englander, and his mother is from the South. 
 Take up the Puritan-Cavalier idea, and get him 
 to come again." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett turned off at an angle, while Bea- 
 trice hastened up to the newcomer radiating wel- 
 come. In a glance she saw he was an unusual 
 type. Of his class there could be no doubt. He 
 was a greyhound for fine lines. Also there could 
 be no question of the Southern blood. It was 
 manifest in several physical details, but less in 
 all these combined than in the magnetic quality 
 of his eyes. They had the blazing and fading 
 136
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 alternations peculiar to a mercurial temperament, 
 and, as they lighted a face without colour, their 
 variety of action was not always pleasant 
 sometimes even startling". 
 
 With Beatrice he found an instant affinity. 
 Most men imagined the same thing, but certainly 
 when Mrs. Jewett returned, convoying another 
 stranger, she found the two giving signs of an 
 understanding. 
 
 " So far as the men go," thought Mrs. Jewett, 
 admiringly, " they form no part of the problem." 
 
 " Layton," she murmured, as they hung in the 
 foreground, " I am going to recommend you to 
 the greatest heiress and the most beautiful woman 
 that ever came out of the South." 
 
 "Is it an opportunity?" 
 
 " It is a royal chance. But you must be grate- 
 ful, Harry. I want her to know the best people 
 in New York even if I I can't, and I expect 
 you to do your part. There are your sisters, you 
 know, and Mrs. Atherton. Mrs. Atherton will 
 do just what you say, so please say it." 
 
 Beatrice could read Layton's importance in 
 Mrs. Jewett's manner, and with pretty ingenuity 
 she spent the next half-hour in playing between 
 the two. She charmed the boyish Trexler with 
 her assumed sympathy of Southern blood, and 
 
 137
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 she quietly matched Layton's worldliness with a 
 cynicism that leaned just a little further from 
 convention than his own. 
 
 When they parted both men were enrolled 
 recruits, the first outposts of Beatrice's line of 
 battle. 
 
 Layton stepped up to Mrs. Jewett to give 
 thanks. " A wonderful woman," he said. " I 
 owe you a debt. You will hear from me again." 
 
 " You mean you will hear from me, if you 
 please. Try to be useful this time. Your sisters 
 and Mrs. Atherton at our next tea, or nothing." 
 
 " I will do my best, and if they come once they 
 will come again." 
 
 The crowd was thinning out steadily, and 
 Beatrice with Edith by her side was giving adieus, 
 when she saw the ubiquitous Jewett nod to her 
 from the far end of the room. By her side stood 
 a young man whose aspect marked something 
 literary. It might be one of the missing news- 
 paper men, and although very weary, she hurried 
 over to see. Her surmise was right. 
 
 " This, Miss Cameron," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 with pride strong in her tone, " is the cleverest 
 boy in New York. You know him already, 
 everybody knows him, and I am sure you will 
 be glad to meet personally the man you meet 
 
 138
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 every day in the papers. This," she wound up 
 with a climaxing swing, " this is Willie Gotham." 
 Beatrice favoured the tall, scholarly young man 
 with a girlish and only half-assumed confusion of 
 pleasure. Her hand flew out impulsively. 
 
 " You will let me take your hand, Mr. 
 Gotham," she said, sweetly, " it is like meeting a 
 lifelong friend. I have known you years and 
 years. You and I met in the New York Age 
 in my seminary days, and you have been my 
 social guide ever since. I am willing to confess 
 that I hoped when I planned this little affair 
 that it might bring us into contact." 
 
 Gotham blushed, less perhaps at her words than 
 at the clinging pressure of her fingers. He 
 believed every word she said. He believed it 
 because he saw before him no sign of the wolfish 
 social aspirant, but rather a beautiful, diffident 
 woman, whose ambition, if she had any, was tem- 
 pered by its charm. 
 
 " You have no idea how much more I should 
 have hoped had I known," he stammered. 
 
 " Your family, I believe, came from the first 
 blood of old Virginia," Beatrice went on, defer- 
 entially. " I often heard my uncle in Richmond 
 speak of Banker Carter. He seemed to think 
 
 139
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 there was no other financier quite like him in 
 the city." 
 
 Both women noted his little start of surprise. 
 It was for just such a movement they had been 
 watching. 
 
 " Your uncle was very kind and very right," 
 said Gotham, rapidly. " It was father's honesty 
 that engulfed him." 
 
 " The blow of his failure killed your mother, 
 I believe," said Beatrice, slowly. " She was from 
 Lynchburg, was she not ? " 
 
 " Yes," Gotham responded, with a far-away 
 look of half-assuaged sorrow, " she was a Vir- 
 ginian, and like most Southerners, Miss Cameron, 
 she was a beautiful woman." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett felt the warming atmosphere, and 
 moved away. From the shelter of Gotham's back 
 she dropped an applauding nod. 
 
 Gotham hardly noticed her. He was absorbed 
 in this unexpected intimate of his sorrows. She 
 was, besides, a marvel of good looks. When Mrs. 
 Jewett beat back again they were saying a pro- 
 tracted and moving adieu. She saw by a fixed 
 brightness in his face that his enrolment was 
 assured. And he was worth all the rest put 
 together. Mrs. Jewett accompanied him to the 
 door. 
 
 140
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " You will say what you can, won't you, Mr. 
 Gotham ? " she asked, pleadingly. " This is her 
 first entertainment, you know, and she is very 
 anxious to go further. Miss Cameron deserves 
 the very best society in New York." 
 
 " She does, indeed," assented Gotham, warmly. 
 " I imagine I owe my invitation to you, Mrs. 
 Jewett, do I not?" he added, curiously. 
 
 " Yes, I presumed on our rather trifling 
 acquaintance. I want it to be closer if you will 
 let me." 
 
 " You are the widow of the late Congressman 
 Simon Jewett, I believe?" 
 
 " Quite so," said Mrs. Jewett, sadly. " I had 
 hoped you had forgotten. I I want to be 
 a friend." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Jewett," said Gotham, kindly, 
 " I am one of the few men in New York who 
 know that your husband shot Mr. Roscoe, not 
 because of your friendship, but to settle a score 
 that antedated your marriage. He told me so 
 when he was dying in Auburn." 
 
 " Very true, Mr. Gotham," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 with a hopeless shake of the head, " and it is 
 generous of you to recall it, but I am not disposed 
 to dispute my exile. My husband killed two birds 
 
 141
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 with one stone. He knew it, and I knew it. My 
 task is to win forgetfulness." 
 
 Gotham smiled sympathetically. 
 
 " I shall help you to forget," he said quietly, 
 " by dropping the subject. Have you a photo- 
 graph of Miss Cameron? For the paper, of 
 course." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett raced away and raced back 
 again. The picture looked like business. 
 
 " Miss Cameron's very latest," she said, hur- 
 riedly, " for the paper first, and yourself after- 
 ward. She is immensely interested in your 
 family," she added, ingeniously, " and she hopes 
 you will not confine your visits to functions. 
 How clannish you Southerners are! Sometimes 
 I think you are one big family, the First 
 Family, of course." 
 
 " Who could help being clannish with such 
 a Southerner ? " he replied, mischievously. " It 
 is an instinct." 
 
 Executive achievement is, perhaps, of all suc- 
 cess the most gratifying. Mrs. Jewett felt the 
 expansive influence as she walked back to the 
 disfigured and now deserted drawing-room. The 
 master mind, the guiding hand, this was her 
 office, and she figured her initial moves with 
 jubilation. 
 142
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I am not a magician," she said to Beatrice, 
 happily, " merely a woman who thinks. Other- 
 wise Mr. Gotham would not be going away now 
 with a cabinet-size next his heart." 
 
 " Charming, Alice, charming. I can almost 
 hear the fanfare of trumpets. A moment since 
 I thought something of patting my own back. 
 Between receiving and forcing the only useful 
 men almost to their knees," she added, pettishly, 
 " I may be pardoned not seeing your exclusive 
 utility." 
 
 " You must admit Mrs. Jewett brought the 
 only persons of consequence," said Edith, 
 quickly. 
 
 " O, yes," Beatrice answered, guardedly, 
 " but there will be no lack of material in time. 
 I cannot fail. The men follow me, and the 
 women must follow the men." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett was good-humoured. She was 
 happy. The day had been a red-letter record of 
 kindness. Mrs. Lambert first, then Mr. Gotham, 
 both surprises and both spontaneous. Therefore, 
 instead of unhorsing this newly mounted egotism, 
 she passed it by. Perhaps, too, she saw some- 
 thing of the character she must handle. There 
 would be many times of provocation. To one 
 and all she must present philosophy and patience. 
 
 143
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Otherwise she would be again without an 
 agent. 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Jewett drove around to 
 the Lambert house immediately after breakfast. 
 She met Edith on the stairs shaken as though by 
 a lively timidity. 
 
 " Beatrice is in her dressing-room," she said, 
 in a subdued way, " and, O, Mrs. Jewett ! her 
 temper is something dreadful. She has seen the 
 papers." Mrs. Jewett laughed and continued on. 
 
 When she entered the room, Mrs. Jewett hung 
 between laughter and amazement. Beatrice sat 
 flat on the floor, while all about her spread a 
 white field of torn and disordered newspapers. 
 Every daily journal that Greater New York could 
 furnish lay heaped in her lap, or strewn at her 
 feet, or scattered over the chairs. Most were in 
 English, but there were several in German and 
 French, and Mrs. Jewett even noted one publica- 
 tion in Italian. It was like a reading-room gone 
 mad. Beatrice would clutch at a paper, plunge 
 through its columns, and, disappointed, hurl it 
 to one side; then another likewise, and still 
 another, all the while to a hissing soliloquy, and 
 getting more agitated with each inspection. 
 
 She was so intent on a frantic search of the 
 Journal that she did not hear Mrs. Jewett's en- 
 144
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 trance ; when she did see her, standing, as she was, 
 in a pose of goading surprise, she stared coldly. 
 
 " A most remarkable manager you are," she 
 began. " A wonderful thinker, Mrs. Jewett ! 
 Mr. Gotham with my portrait in his breast, 
 but not a line in his paper no, nor in any other 
 paper! Thousands of dollars spent on an idiotic 
 lot of roses that we had to give away to hospitals ! 
 It did not impress the papers, did it, that idea 
 of yours? I suppose the reporters credited it 
 to me, too, and are laughing over it as a piece 
 of beastly breeding what is " 
 
 " You are wrong when you say there is nothing 
 in the papers. I saw the customary paragraph in 
 several myself." 
 
 " Paragraph ! I expected columns ! " 
 
 " You do not know the New York papers. 
 Your payment will come from Mr. Gotham just 
 as I meant it should. What do you suppose he 
 took your picture for? " 
 
 " He thought I meant some of the things I 
 said." 
 
 " He did ; that's why he took the picture 
 to put it in the paper. You will probably find 
 what you are looking for in the Sunday Age. I 
 wish, Beatrice," she added, drearily, " that you 
 would recall my primer. You must exercise 
 
 145
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 patience, and realise, too, that the waste of yes- 
 terday may be repeated a dozen times with less 
 effect. If you are going to count the cost, lock 
 up the strong box and throw away the key." 
 
 " I cannot afford newspaper paragraphs at 
 one thousand dollars a line," responded Beatrice, 
 sullenly. " Unless the Age prints the matter you 
 promise, I shall hardly ask you to show me how 
 to waste money again." 
 
 " A few days ago," said Mrs. Jewett, in 
 genuine wonder, " you were full of courage. 
 Now it is the shriek of a spoiled child." 
 
 "It is always easy to spend other people's 
 money, Alice." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett left the room without attempting 
 an answer. She was not angry in an active 
 sense, but rather succumbed to a tired bewilder- 
 ment. Much was to be feared from the unruly 
 temper of her pupil, she had seen that from the 
 first, but such inconsistency was hard to meet. 
 Beatrice had done nothing which she might have 
 been expected to do, and while several trials at 
 nourishing social vipers prepared her for stings, 
 she was hurt nevertheless. 
 
 Was it worth while enduring pangs made pos- 
 sible only by ambition ? Should she not profit by 
 warning ? The fixed tax on dignity was it 
 146
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 reasonable to pay ? Decidedly not at first thought, 
 and decidedly yes at second. Yesterday had been 
 a day of revelations. Mrs. Jewett recalled with 
 a glow the incidents which showed how tangible 
 was her dream. A little step it had been, and 
 yet one distinctly forward. The march was on, 
 and she had small wish either to halt or to drop 
 out. 
 
 " After I have used this creature as a stepping- 
 stone," she thought, resignedly, " I will forget 
 how" rough it was to my feet. The idea of her 
 blaming me for not getting more press notices ! " 
 
 Purely as a reaction Mrs. Jewett sought out 
 Edith, and talked with her on city mission work, 
 relief for fallen women, and other topics which 
 she guessed lay nearest the girl's heart. 
 
 She was not interested, but she listened to 
 Edith's flow of charitable thought as one might 
 stand by a window where cool breezes blow. The 
 purity of her ideas was refreshment. 
 
 In the beginning Mrs. Jewett had classed 
 Edith's work with the bass drum charities be- 
 loved of advertisers too helpless to be original. 
 It was affectation of faddism. But a chance slur 
 on the charity societies brought such a pained 
 look to Edith's face that she saw her mistake 
 at once. 
 
 147
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " It is not hypocrisy, Mrs. Jewett," said Edith, 
 pleadingly, " there are so few contributors the 
 relief must be guarded." 
 
 " I do not blame the contributors," said Mrs. 
 Jewett, hastily, " but the society managers make 
 their aid such a formal effort that one dreads to 
 invoke it." 
 
 " It is self-defence." 
 
 " That is the stock argument. They are so 
 careful they draw interest on their money." 
 
 " Sometimes I do wish the bars might come 
 down," said Edith, dreamily. " It is dreadful 
 to think of missing a real sufferer." 
 
 " They are all sufferers after the societies get 
 hold of them," said Mrs. Jewett, playfully; " you 
 are a dear, sweet girl," she added, with sudden 
 tenderness, " the only clean-handed, the only 
 genuine woman I have met in years, and I want 
 you to let me help you. Your plan for aiding 
 fallen women I like that particularly." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett did not go to the Lambert house 
 again for several days. Sunday came, and 
 with it the Age, but there was no record of the 
 Cameron tea, so Mrs. Jewett decided to wait for a 
 settled barometer. Beatrice herself cut the knot. 
 She walked in upon Mrs. Jewett Tuesday morn- 
 
 148
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 ing, and while she was heavily formal, she was 
 nevertheless welcome. 
 
 " I have decided to overlook your failure, 
 Alice," she announced, with calm gravity, " in 
 the hope that you may do better on the next 
 effort." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett tried to look grateful. 
 
 "Of course you realise that if we are to con- 
 tinue our alliance you should show me its profit," 
 Beatrice went on ; " otherwise it is clearly my 
 place to make a more profitable arrangement." 
 
 " I am willing to help all I can, Beatrice," said 
 Mrs. Jewett, holding the check-rein on a desire to 
 be candid, " but I can't guarantee press notices. 
 I did not know that I was expected to. You have 
 no right to despair at the first trial." 
 
 " We will not go over that again. I feel that 
 I am entitled to newspaper attention, and that it 
 can be had by a clever woman. However, move 
 on. I want next to give a dinner dance, and I am 
 looking to you for something original." 
 
 " On the contrary," said Mrs. Jewett, still 
 wrestling with her longing, " I would not try it. 
 There is danger of playing the showman too 
 hard." 
 
 " You may be right," said Beatrice, rising, 
 " we had better be merely lavish. I expect this 
 
 149
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 function to show whether our recruits can hold 
 their commissions, Alice. Mr. Trexler must 
 bring forward his sister or retire. He is unen- 
 durable." 
 
 "Love?" 
 
 " Love or passion something violent. He 
 is too ardent for comfort." 
 
 " You must not let them develop so fast. We 
 cannot afford to lose the men." 
 
 " Certainly not. It is because they are the best 
 social agents that I am, let us say, a bon camarade. 
 Besides, it is so diverting to watch them work 
 up to the point where their hands tremble, that 
 I cannot avoid helping them along." 
 
 " What of their hearts? " 
 
 " O," answered Beatrice, laughing, " I am 
 not discussing anatomy. We will talk the dance 
 over later." 
 
 If during this nettling interview Mrs. Jewett's 
 pride had suffered, the next issue of the Sunday 
 Age brought revenge. The lost epic was found. 
 Garnished by pictures, and emphasised by display 
 type head-lines, one whole page of the issue told 
 how Beatrice had startled the " world of fashion " 
 with " one of the most Unique, Costly, and Pic- 
 turesque Entertainments in the History of Social 
 Diversion." It bristled with adjectives; it sparkled 
 150
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 with snappy catch-lines. " New Mistress of Mil- 
 lions," " Golden Beauty of the South," " Fortune 
 for One Day's Fragrance," " Four Walls Clothed 
 in Roses, " these were a few of the black type 
 exclamations, and boldly stationed in this field 
 of eulogium a rich half-tone of the wonder- 
 working Beatrice flashed the detail of her beauty 
 to support the tale. 
 
 Nor was the type the most impressive record 
 of the feat. The artist, too, had seized on the 
 cash register notes in her exploit, and made 
 sketches that brought the outlay to a point of 
 reality. He showed how forty thousand dollars, 
 the crudely estimated cost of the flowers, would 
 buy a Mont Blanc of bread, ten workingmen's 
 houses, several new locomotives, or, if desired, 
 a small lake of coffee, beer, or other life-giving 
 beverages much affected by the dismal poor. He 
 put a child on a scale balanced on the other side by 
 a chunk of silver labelled " $40,000," and, lastly, 
 he upset a specie bag over the top of the picture, 
 and filled the atmosphere with tumbling dollars. 
 In another section was an imaginative view of 
 the walls of roses. 
 
 Altogether it was a soul-stirring advertisement. 
 When Mrs. Jewett spread it out before her, the 
 first impulse of Beatrice was to throw her arms
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 around the maltreated Alice. This was what Mrs. 
 Jewett expected her to do. 
 
 " But, no," thought Beatrice, " if I am effusive, 
 she may grow dictatorial. She will annoy me." 
 Therefore she merely said: 
 
 "That is splendid, Alice, is it not? I rather 
 think my sympathy was effective. But why so 
 late?" 
 
 " This is the supplement," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 stonily ; " it takes two weeks to prepare." 
 
 " And he was faithful all the time. I must 
 attach him now. You say he would not consider 
 money? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Then read the article and you will see 
 another magnet. I am beautiful, you observe, 
 beautiful as a dream, he says, and listen to this : 
 ' There is a mystic, magnetic quality about Miss 
 Cameron, an elusive sense of physical attraction 
 born of multiplied graces, that charms the beholder 
 on sight. Hers is the tropic beauty of the South 
 that partakes of the East as well, and that in 
 spirit is more Oriental than Occidental.' ' 
 
 "Isn't that convulsing?" murmured Mrs. 
 Jewett. 
 
 " Not in the least," said Beatrice, sharply. " I 
 
 152
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 think my power over men is hardly to be ques- 
 tioned. Now as to his status." 
 
 " He is persona grata anywhere. His mother 
 led in the eighties, and he is so discreet that he 
 is something of a pet. You need not be afraid." 
 
 The publication was followed by a very pretty 
 note of thanks, and at a properly spaced interval 
 Gotham made his appearance. 
 
 " Reporters," he said, suggestively, " must keep 
 their eyes on the magicians." 
 
 "Then it is clearly to the interest of the 
 magicians that reporters have the best seats," she 
 answered, merrily. " Otherwise, they may not 
 come again." 
 
 They grew cordial by easy stages. Beatrice 
 revived the family records, and these proved a 
 binding tie. She did it easily, too, and left him 
 free of suspicions. He felt that he was being 
 accorded unusual favour, and his gratitude was 
 in proportion. 
 
 " I suppose," remarked Beatrice, as though 
 talking at random, " you see some diverting tilts 
 at society, Mr. Gotham ? " 
 
 f< Very many," he answered, " and Don Quix- 
 ote's assault on the windmill is not more unreason- 
 able than some of these same attempts. A certain 
 equipment is vital for every aspirant, yet it never 
 
 153
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 seems to dismay the legion who are lacking. 
 They try anyhow." 
 
 " It would be interesting to learn what that 
 equipment is," said Beatrice, curiously. 
 
 " You have small need to ask," he replied, 
 with boldness. " You furnish yourself a very 
 capable model for the junior candidate. I can 
 hardly say more." 
 
 " Indeed not," she declared, warmly, " and I 
 have no hesitation in admitting, Mr. Gotham, 
 that you encourage a personal ambition." 
 
 " If that is so, Miss Cameron," he responded, 
 no less warmly, " you can rely on my furthering 
 your hope in every way possible. I see no reason 
 why you should not succeed. If you wish it, 
 Miss Cameron, you shall succeed." 
 
 " Mr. Gotham," she said, gravely, " I wish it 
 above everything else in the world." 
 
 154
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 T T f HEN Edith read that Captain Maurice 
 
 ism/ Charming, late hero of the Santiago 
 
 hillside, was due to arrive in New 
 
 York on a transport she. grew reminiscent. Her 
 
 mind ran back eagerly to a certain military 
 
 academy and a certain cadet, and recollection 
 
 proved a pleasing task. She thought of a long 
 
 gone review day, of the brilliant parade-ground, 
 
 and the manly young officer who 
 
 " Beatrice," she asked, at the boudoir door, " if 
 you are not busy, I should like to talk with you 
 awhile." 
 
 " Come in, Edith. Such ceremony is sus- 
 picious. You must intend to be unpleasant." 
 
 " It depends on your humour." 
 
 " Well, do I not look gracious ? Could a 
 woman be otherwise in a kimono? " 
 
 " Not if it matched her complexion. You are 
 certainly striking. A touch of cherry blossoms 
 now, and you would make a very superior geisha 
 girl." 
 
 155
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Until I sang. Then I should have to appeal 
 to the Japanese consul. Excepting that, I have 
 several things in common with Piti-San." 
 
 "Beatrice!" 
 
 " Well, I did not introduce the subject. Be- 
 sides, it's jolly to shock you, Edith." 
 
 From the cushions of her divan Beatrice smiled 
 pleasantly. She looked indeed a bizarre figure, 
 whose background only was at fault. The dark, 
 magnetic eyes in the colourless face, the dense 
 blue-black hair, the eyebrows arched and sable, 
 these features relieved by the gay colours of the 
 robe made up a picture odd and fascinating. 
 Edith felt its charm, and she noted, too, the har- 
 mony of the sandalwood odour which filled the 
 room. 
 
 " If you had stayed in New Orleans, Beatrice," 
 she said, impulsively, " the next Mardi Gras 
 would have made you Queen." 
 
 " Considering that you never come in contact 
 with men, Edith, you make some very smart 
 speeches. It's a pity I can't wear this kimono 
 abroad." 
 
 " So far as the men go, I am not at fault," 
 said Edith, seating herself on the couch. " I have 
 an ideal." 
 
 " Then you are very unfair. If most of the 
 156
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 specimens about us keep out of court and debt 
 I think they are doing all that can be expected. 
 They think so, too." 
 
 " I imagined as much. Still I can wait." 
 
 " O, yes. Having an ideal breeds patience." 
 
 Edith was silent for a moment. Then quite 
 abruptly she changed the subject. 
 
 " Beatrice," she said, " Captain Charming is 
 coming to New York." 
 
 " Indeed," said Beatrice, looking puzzled, " that 
 is interesting. If he is a soldier I suppose he is 
 glad of it with all these wars on hand. Who is 
 Captain Channing?" 
 
 " I knew him when he was a cadet," replied 
 Edith, " but I have not seen him in years. O, 
 Beatrice," she flashed out, suddenly, " he is a 
 wonderful young man. I knew he would be 
 great, and if you could only read what the papers 
 said of his feat, you could not help admiring him. 
 The whole nation should make him welcome 
 we should be proud to entertain him. I I 
 only hope we shall do so." She wound up in a 
 myriad of blushes. Beatrice turned considerately 
 toward the window. 
 
 " That is what you came to talk about? " she 
 asked. 
 
 : ' Yes. I wanted to see if either you or auntie 
 
 157
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 objected to bringing him here. I think it is a 
 patriotic duty." 
 
 " It would be patriotic," assented Beatrice, 
 gravely. 
 
 " He has been stationed in Havana since the 
 war, and he is coming home on furlough with 
 Lieutenant Wilbur Morgan. They were both shot 
 in the last rush. Apparently they are great 
 friends." 
 
 " Then I do not see how you can separate them. 
 I would suggest you do not try." 
 
 "But auntie?" 
 
 " She will be amiable because I wish it. The 
 house is my plaything. She may ask you to 
 warn them against wearing their swords in the 
 drawing-room, but you can tell her that swords 
 are only used in swashbuckling plays." 
 
 Edith's face was eloquent. " You are very 
 kind," she murmured. 
 
 " Not altogether," answered Beatrice, crisply. 
 " If this Captain Channing is a hero, he is an 
 asset. Entertaining him, we advertise ourselves." 
 
 " I was not thinking of that," said Edith, re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 " I know you were not. It is I who must look 
 after the stage effects. Still, that need not mar 
 our hospitality. We are Southerners, remember." 
 158
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Edith explained her kindly plan to Mrs. Lam- 
 bert, and received a surprise. 
 
 " I knew Captain Channing's mother very 
 well," she said, " and I shall be delighted to make 
 him welcome. But have you spoken to Beatrice? " 
 
 " Yes. Why, auntie? " she added, with sudden 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Well, you see, I have practically loaned her 
 the house," answered Mrs. Lambert, with some 
 confusion, " and I do not wish divided interests. 
 She -is quite capable of offending an unwelcome 
 guest." 
 
 " I do not think you are justified in self-efface- 
 ment, auntie," said Edith. 
 
 " Perhaps not, Edith, but my motive is strong. 
 Let me know when they reach New York, and 
 I will invite them to dinner. It should be very 
 pleasant." 
 
 Edith waited the warriors' arrival with grow- 
 ing timidity. She had arranged the visit in a 
 moment of enthusiasm, which, paling, left her 
 conscious of responsibility. Her flimsy, school- 
 girl contact with the soldier seemed insufficient 
 ground for interest, and in a cold moment of 
 fright she wondered whether even that would be 
 remembered. More comforting was the thought 
 
 159
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 that patriotism urged her welcome, and to this 
 she clung. 
 
 When the day came that they were announced, 
 her fear of Auld Lang Syne welled afresh. She 
 came down to the reception-room in a small 
 tremor of anxiety. The captain she knew at once, 
 less by familiar features than by what she chose 
 to consider the perceptible marks of a hero. He 
 was the taller, he was the broader, and in his face 
 shone the quiet light of tried power and capacity. 
 The man by his side was a foil. He was short, 
 built largely, and presented a countenance puz- 
 zling in its quaint shifts of gravity and flashing 
 good humour. 
 
 " It is Miss Edith," said Channing, gaily. " I 
 thought it must be you when I got Mrs. Lambert's 
 kind invitation. The same little review officer 
 of the Louisiana Military Academy. Do you 
 remember how I saluted you on parade? I won 
 disgrace for that." 
 
 Edith's heart bounded happily. She put her 
 hand in his with a quick friendliness, and laughed 
 like the child he remembered. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " and it made you a little 
 girl's hero. Now you are the whole nation's 
 hero." 
 
 " Let us hope none the less your own," he said, 
 160
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 lightly. " Speaking of heroes, Miss Edith, here 
 is a genuine one, Lieutenant Wilbur Morgan. He 
 will say that he is not, of course. All first-class 
 heroes do that, but he is, just the same. I will tell 
 you all about him soon." 
 
 " Captain Channing's observation is based on 
 the fact that I once went five days without food, 
 Miss Cameron," said Morgan ; " he knows per- 
 fectly well that I couldn't get any." 
 
 " Not the true version at all, take my word for 
 it," -cried Channing. "I told you real heroes 
 were not to be relied on." 
 
 " Well, he can't be heroic in New York," said 
 Edith, laughingly ; "he will have to be prosaic 
 and dyspeptic." 
 
 " Even if I were a hero, I should deny it," 
 observed Morgan ; " it is a dangerous distinction 
 in this country." 
 
 " Indeed, yes," said Edith, " it is less trouble- 
 some to win laurels than to show that you did 
 not steal them." 
 
 " Personally I think the most humane treatment 
 for heroes is to put them in prison for a time," 
 declared Morgan, gravely. " When they got out 
 the people might view them with more charity." 
 
 " The trouble with the average hero is that 
 
 161
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 he believes it is true," struck in Channing, 
 merrily. 
 
 " And he mounts on a pedestal," echoed 
 Morgan. 
 
 " And standing on a pedestal may be very 
 wobbly," wound up Edith, gaily, and the trio 
 laughed. 
 
 The breezy, playful chatter slew the last rem- 
 nant of Edith's diffidence. She recognised be- 
 tween the soldiers and herself a bond of spirit, 
 and she blessed the inspiration which had brought 
 them to her side. They were genuine men, men 
 of breadth and experience, men beside whom the 
 formal creatures of the drawing-room faded to 
 infant proportions. S'he had a quaint feeling 
 of ownership, and she dreaded the thought of 
 giving them up to " functions." 
 
 In a vague way the presentations to Beatrice 
 disturbed her. With Morgan the ceremony was 
 perfunctory, but to Channing Beatrice displayed 
 those artificial mannerisms which Edith knew 
 were shafts of coquetry. They struck home. It 
 was to be seen in his quick turning colour and 
 excited interest. Edith noted this, and turned to 
 Morgan full of a biting impatience. 
 
 " I can quite believe soldiers are as impression- 
 
 162
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 able as they are painted," she murmured, and a 
 second later was sorry. 
 
 " You must forgive us," said Morgan, with 
 deft use of the plural, " we have been so long 
 among Cubans that appreciation has grown." 
 
 They had a gay little dinner the next evening, 
 and Mrs. Lambert made Edith happy by her 
 generous attitude toward the soldiers. 
 
 " You must not be too formal," Mrs. Lambert 
 said. " You are some distance from home, and 
 we Wish you to feel that we are all Southerners." 
 
 " You are very kind, Mrs. Lambert," said 
 Channing, graciously. " In Havana we felt like 
 exiles. Rescue from ennui is little less humane 
 than from starvation." 
 
 " Indeed, yes," chimed in Morgan. " I can- 
 not understand the rural sense in some people. 
 I think anything less than a metropolis is dreary." 
 
 " You regard the country, then, as a place of 
 recuperation ? " asked Beatrice, mischievously. 
 
 " My quarrel is with the small city. It is 
 neither one extreme nor the other, and has the 
 worst features of both. I suppose the dwellers 
 in such places have contentment, but I don't see 
 why." 
 
 " I imagine their vices are fewer than the 
 metropolitans', anyhow," observed Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 163
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Not always. Often they are more. The 
 opportunities for play are fewer." 
 
 " I sympathise with the lieutenant," said Chan- 
 ning. " I remember how one night in a Florida 
 camp I began dreaming of New York, and I 
 thought I should go mad. I saw the crowds pour- 
 ing from the theatres, the rolling cabs, the brilliant 
 hotels, and all the light and colour of the night 
 life so vividly that I felt like deserting. I can 
 imagine the Englishman in Africa thinking so of 
 London." 
 
 " Well, I trust you will not devote yourself to 
 the night life only," said Mrs. Lambert, doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 Channing flushed and smiled. " I mean," he 
 said, hurriedly, " that the night city is more 
 typical than the day." 
 
 " It is more enjoyable, I know," remarked 
 Beatrice. " You are justified, anyhow, Captain. 
 Late hours are fashionable just now." 
 
 Much to Edith's surprise, Beatrice failed 
 entirely to support her fears. The initial coquetry 
 which had so annoyed the younger sister was a 
 flash in the pan. So far from twanging the lyre 
 to the officers, Beatrice seemed to regard them 
 with indifference. She even dodged the small 
 burden of hospitality which their visits imposed. 
 164
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I am very busy with my plans," she explained 
 to Edith, " and if you relieve me I will be 
 grateful." So the soldiers passed almost entirely 
 into Edith's hands, and she was glad. The matter 
 of their outside entertainment puzzled her greatly, 
 and she sought Mrs. Jewett's aid. 
 
 " I am very anxious to be hostess de facto," 
 she said, " but I am helpless without a chaperon. 
 Auntie is too old, and Beatrice is busy. I must 
 look to you." Mrs. Jewett studied the situation. 
 
 " I am sure, Edith," she said, finally, " you are 
 quite at liberty to indulge your plans. You must 
 remember that we are not as yet in the circle 
 where every move is scrutinised. We have privi- 
 leges now which further on we lose. There is 
 nothing to prevent your being hospitable. I 
 will be with you when it is necessary, but there 
 is much that you can do by yourself, riding, 
 driving, the concerts." 
 
 " Do you think so, Alice ? " asked Edith, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " O, yes. We are and never breathe this to 
 your aunt still high class middle class. It is 
 quite different from the other, although I have 
 hopes of a change." 
 
 So with the word of Mrs. Jewett behind her, 
 Edith inaugurated a season, pleasant both for the 
 
 165
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 officers and herself. They had morning canters 
 in the park, which, with a Southern woman's 
 love of the horse, Edith thought the j oiliest of 
 outings; there were afternoon visits to the con- 
 certs, and an occasional night at the theatre or 
 opera with Mrs. Jewett in evidence, and no more. 
 The trio became a happy band of pleasure-seekers. 
 Edith felt not only the joy of giving joy, but a 
 sense of comradeship based on the open, manly 
 nature of her companions. 
 
 Morgan's delight over her patronage was great. 
 He followed her leadership with a fidelity that 
 suggested something beyond the mere chase of 
 pleasure. The idea never occurred to Edith. 
 Morgan's society bred friendliness without senti- 
 ment. His spirit was juvenile. She felt that 
 with him she might play skip-rope or run a foot- 
 race, and the wholesomeness of his character 
 struck from her a responsive note. 
 
 Edith's contact with Channing was of a dif- 
 ferent degree. No matter under what conditions 
 he appeared, she could not forget the wonder 
 of his feat. He was always a hero always the 
 demigod of the sword hand. The very gentleness 
 of her education assisted the view. 
 
 The story of his adventure came easily from 
 Morgan, but she wished above all else to hear it 
 166
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 from Charming' s own lips. She confided her 
 interest to Morgan. 
 
 " But I have told you how it all happened," he 
 said, with a fleeting look of reproach. 
 
 " You have been very kind," she answered, 
 shyly. " I only thought it would be so interesting 
 to hear a personal recital." 
 
 Morgan looked unconsoled. 
 
 " I am afraid you are a hero- worshipper," he 
 answered. 
 
 V Then, if so, you have small cause to com- 
 plain," she said, prettily. Morgan blushed with 
 a radiance out of proportion to the tribute. 
 
 " Of course, I did not object," he exclaimed, 
 " and I think, after all, I am something of a hero, 
 to sing another man's praises." 
 
 It was in detached chapters, by cross-examina- 
 tion, and after much delightful fencing, that Edith 
 captured the tale. Incidentally she brought to 
 light other features of Channing's character which 
 confirmed her regard. She found in him claims 
 to attention which lay outside his martial identity. 
 He was clever, he was generous, and she believed 
 that under trial he could not be merely brave, 
 but even noble. It became a habit with her to 
 learn his opinions and make them her own; she 
 
 167
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 passed from respect to admiration, and from this 
 to exalted confidence. 
 
 Charming recognised the girlish note in Edith's 
 applause, but by degrees he fell under the charms 
 of its music, and grew more and more inclined to 
 abandon himself to its sway. 
 
 And Edith noted his growing attention with 
 eyes into which the first glow of an unfamiliar 
 sunrise had cast beams of promise. Her field of 
 vision narrowed until it compassed but one figure, 
 the tall, masterful man, who, without intent, 
 and scarcely with knowledge, was teaching her 
 the lesson learned of all women. She went on 
 her way expectant and serene. 
 
 A week after the arrival of the soldiers, Bea- 
 trice met Gotham at a fashionable bazaar, and 
 seized on the chance for closer contact. 
 
 " You look perfectly miserable," she said, 
 kindly, " but that, of course, is appropriate." 
 
 " I have been standing here pitying people," 
 he said. " A bazaar is one of those clever ar- 
 rangements by which the rich do penance to the 
 poor." 
 
 " And you record their sacrifice." 
 
 " I do, but I can't say anything about my own. 
 I have just witnessed a typical case of suffering. 
 Mr. Wilson strayed from Madame, and foolishly 
 168
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 looked at those divan cushions. Miss Pendleton 
 saw him. You know Miss Pendleton. She is 
 not modest, and she wants the record table. 
 
 " ' That is a beautiful cushion, Mr. Wilson,' 
 she said. 
 
 " ' It looks very pretty,' he answered. 
 
 " ' It is ever so soft,' she went on, pounding it. 
 
 " ' Yes, it seems to be soft,' he replied, help- 
 lessly. 
 
 " ' It is soft; you ought to have it for that 
 
 reason. 
 
 a i 
 
 Are you sure it's soft? ' he asked, trying to 
 dodge. 
 
 " ' O, beautifully so here, just lean your 
 head against it ' and do you know that man 
 was so confused he actually did as she told him. 
 He looked really idiotic. He bought the cushion ; 
 I don't think it matched his complexion, either." 
 
 " Well, it matched his spirit. Aren't you rather 
 sardonic to stand by and gloat ? " 
 
 " Bless you, I have had my experiences ; only 
 I shall not expose them. Is Mrs. Jewett with 
 you?" 
 
 " No, she is helping Edith, who is incidental 
 hostess just now to a hero two heroes, I 
 should say. Another form of her charity." 
 
 169
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I imagine so, if she has to hear their cre- 
 dentials." 
 
 " It is the other way. She believes more than 
 they claim." 
 
 " My faith in heroes has been shaken ever since 
 I heard the story of Lieutenant Chappelle of the 
 volunteers. He tells it himself. He was with a 
 company in reserve near the firing line, when he 
 got a scalp wound. The shock dazed him, and 
 he ran. In his confusion he dashed through the 
 skirmish line and straight toward the Spaniards. 
 They saw him coming, and, supposing he was 
 leading a charge, fled a position they had held 
 for hours." 
 
 " He was promoted, of course? " 
 
 " No, but he wasn't court-martialed. Your 
 sister's charges they are Captain Channing 
 and Lieutenant Morgan, are they not ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Pardon me," said Gotham, halting in their 
 aimless stroll about the room, " but you are hardly 
 getting the credit that should come from such 
 proteges." 
 
 Beatrice looked at him keenly. " I have 
 thought so myself," she replied, slowly, " but 
 Captain Channing has never been lionised. What 
 am I to do?" 
 170
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Gotham delayed his reply some seconds. He 
 seemed deeply absorbed. 
 
 " Do you know, I fancy all our best thoughts 
 are spontaneous," he said, finally. " I have just 
 proved it. Imagine, if you please, a hypothetical 
 scene. You are seated in a theatre box with the 
 soldiers, your sister, and Mrs. Jewett. I am in 
 the auditorium. Scattered at different points are 
 several of my friends. Suddenly there is a stir, 
 glasses are levelled at your box, a whisper runs 
 around the house, and the interest spreads 
 through the whole parquet. Captain Channing 
 has been discovered. When the play is over and 
 just as you are entering the lobby a man rushes 
 up and seizes Captain Channing by the hand. 
 Another does likewise, and still another, and soon 
 there is a line of men eager to do him honour. 
 The next day a story of the impromptu reception 
 appears. It is, of course, your box party. The 
 celebrated Captain Channing is the guest of Miss 
 Beatrice Cameron." 
 
 Beatrice gazed at the plotter with parted lips. 
 
 " You are are wonderful," she half whis- 
 pered, " but is it not daring? " 
 
 " Not at all. You know the theatre claques of 
 Paris? It is a variation. So far as Captain 
 
 171
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Charming is concerned it is justice. He might 
 otherwise be overlooked." 
 
 Beatrice laughed excitedly. " I feel like the 
 spider and the fly," she exclaimed, " but you 
 shall know the date to-morrow." 
 
 " Do not trouble over ethics. Look at Miss 
 Pendleton. Conspiracy is all about us." 
 
 Beatrice went away impressed with the plan, 
 and still more impressed by Gotham's assurance. 
 She made her arrangements with care, and even 
 selected a theatre whose lobby was especially 
 adapted to the stratagem. 
 
 When the little company entered the box on 
 the appointed night, Beatrice deftly manoeuvred 
 Charming into a place near the rail, and seating 
 herself near him awaited developments. They 
 were long in coming, and expectation had faded 
 when the first flutter in the seats below brought 
 revival. She saw one opera-glass directed toward 
 them from a certain row, then another, and an- 
 other, until nearly every occupant of the line was 
 gazing at the soldier with rapt attention. Then 
 several glasses rose in the row ahead, and also 
 in the two rows immediately behind. The sudden 
 interest seemed to spread in every direction. 
 Watching closely, she saw clusters of staring 
 lenses appear in still other parts of the floor, and 
 172
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 she settled back contentedly to await the climax. 
 Her only problem now was to time their exit into 
 the lobby at the proper moment. This she man- 
 aged neatly, delaying over the wraps until the 
 flow of people was well under way. 
 
 A short flight of steps led from the box gallery 
 down to the great marble passageway, and when 
 they reached this, she stood at the top a second, 
 with Channing by her side in full view of the 
 moving throng. Then she stepped down into the 
 lobby. Almost on the moment a large, red-faced 
 man in evening dress came hurrying up, and 
 before the soldier realised the action the stranger 
 seized his hand. 
 
 " Is this Captain Charming, the hero of Santi- 
 ago? " he cried, his voice much above the normal, 
 and then he raised the unresponsive hand and 
 shook it warmly. Channing flushed and drew 
 himself up with rebuking dignity. 
 
 " I am Captain Channing," he said, pointedly, 
 " of the Regular Army." 
 
 ''' Then pray accept my congratulations, sir. 
 I think your exploit one of the events of the war. 
 We are proud of you." He bowed profoundly 
 and slipped away. His place was taken instantly 
 by a younger man, who, as Beatrice guessed, was 
 a second member of the claque. He shook Chan- 
 
 173
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 ning's hand gently, murmured words of praise, 
 and passed on. Before Channing could move, a 
 man and woman stood before him, the light of 
 tribute in their eyes. " You have no idea what 
 pleasure this gives me," she said, sweetly. 
 " America should be grateful to her soldiers " 
 The man followed with similar compliments, only 
 pitched in a higher key. 
 
 By this time the attention of the whole lobby 
 was drawn to the group. Many of those who 
 had stared through glasses saw now what was 
 evidently a reception to the celebrity, and fell 
 into place eager for salute. Still others joined 
 until the line extended back to the auditorium 
 doors. 
 
 Channing' s face was flaming, but he met the 
 situation readily and with grace. When he saw 
 that retreat was hopeless he fell into the spirit 
 of the affair, and seemed even to enjoy its novelty. 
 
 Beatrice with her companions had drawn to- 
 gether behind the captain, and the open amaze- 
 ment of Mrs. Jewett and Morgan made for the 
 conspirator a pleasant study. Edith's expression 
 was different. She watched the ovation with de- 
 light, and the look she bent on Channing had in it 
 a touch of reverence. Mrs. Jewett noticed her 
 
 174
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 attention and smiled. Morgan noticed it, too, but 
 he did not smile. 
 
 When the last man had gone Channing turned 
 and glanced at the others doubtfully. " I will not 
 be caddish," he said, abruptly. " I enjoyed it, 
 and I am proud, but please remember that I tried 
 to escape." 
 
 " It is the public which is honoured," said 
 Edith, brightly ; " you are legatee of your own 
 courage and devotion." 
 
 "indeed, yes," added Beatice. "One cannot 
 be a hero without paying the penalty." 
 
 They drove off to Sherry's, and had a happy 
 hour over the oysters and salads. Beatrice had 
 arranged a dainty feast in a setting of violets. It 
 was to be celebration if she won, and consolation 
 if she lost. The atmosphere was therefore bril- 
 liant. Her spirits were elevated beyond the night's 
 success, because she saw in Gotham a bold and 
 capable agent of her ambition. Hand in hand, 
 working for the same ends, what might they not 
 accomplish ? 
 
 " You shall have the place of honour, Captain," 
 she said, happily, " and if you care to hold another 
 reception we should like to give praise." 
 
 " No more, thank you," he laughed. " I am 
 content with my laurels." 
 
 175
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " There can be no question of your courage," 
 observed Mrs. Jewett. " I can guess which was 
 the greater ordeal the conflict or the congratu- 
 lations." 
 
 " You can, indeed," answered Channing, 
 heartily ; " it takes practice to receive homage 
 with a straight face. One solemn old gentle- 
 man asked me why we didn't fight from shelter 
 instead of rushing on the enemy." 
 
 " What did you say ? " asked Edith, curiously. 
 
 " I told him the best shelter we knew of was 
 held by the Spaniards. Their trenches were much 
 deeper." 
 
 " Well, you escaped one trial," said Mrs. 
 Jewett. " That was making a speech. I can 
 imagine nothing more dismal." 
 
 " Nor can I," declared Beatrice. " It is so 
 much easier to look things than to say them." 
 
 The only exception to the general gaiety was 
 Morgan. He was talkative and genial, but there 
 was in his manner a subtle restraint, which, escap- 
 ing the others, could not escape the keen-eyed 
 Jewett. It fired her resentment. 
 
 " What a pity it was," she murmured, " that 
 you were shot at the foot of the hill instead of 
 the top." 
 
 " Not so," he answered, quickly. " Had that 
 176
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 happened there might have been one hero too 
 many." He paused and looked at her coldly. 
 ' You force me to explain that there are worse 
 wounds than those of war." Mrs. Jewett leaned 
 back and blushed. " Forgive me," she whispered, 
 " I was very ungenerous." 
 
 Toward the close of the supper Beatrice lifted 
 her glass and held it toward the captain. 
 
 " A toast," she said, playfully, " a toast to 
 courage in peace not less than war." He looked 
 at her with grateful eyes. Into Edith's mind 
 came a chill memory of the dinner with Holt. 
 She leaned forward hurriedly, and before Chan- 
 ning could respond raised a glass of sparkling 
 apollinaris. 
 
 " A toast," she cried, " but not in the abstract 
 and not in wine. To your courage, if you please, 
 and in water." 
 
 " I admit the amendment," said Beatrice, smil- 
 ing, " but not the liquid. It does the subject 
 injustice." 
 
 " The issue lies with the captain," replied 
 Edith. 
 
 Channing glanced from one to the other ner- 
 vously. Mrs. Jewett and Morgan had ceased their 
 chat to note the tableau, and the silence heightened 
 the captain's embarrassment. But it was not for 
 
 177
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 long. Half filling a glass with wine, he poured 
 in an equal measure of water, and raised the 
 draught to his lips. 
 
 " I cannot reply to your toast," he said, lightly, 
 " but I may propose one to which this mixture is 
 appropriate. Let it be woman, then to her 
 strength and " he looked kindly at Edith 
 <; to her purity." 
 
 " Bravo," exclaimed Mrs, Jewett. " You ought 
 to be a politician, Captain ; you balance so nicely." 
 
 Long before his usual hour next morning 
 Morgan was astir in his hotel room packing up. 
 When the last fugitive garment had been cap- 
 tured, locks closed, and straps tightened, he 
 strolled down to the cafe for breakfast. He paid 
 more attention to the Age than the toast. There 
 was a very complete account of the reception, and 
 he noticed that Miss Cameron's name appeared 
 almost as often as the captain's. When he had 
 read this twice, he walked into the smoking-room 
 and settled down to wait for the hero. Some- 
 thing under an hour Channing made his appear- 
 ance, a Cairo in one hand and in the other an 
 Age. 
 
 " This is not egotism," he declared, waving 
 the paper, " merely curiosity." 
 
 " You do not have to justify yourself, Maurice," 
 178
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 answered Morgan, kindly, " and I want to tell 
 you now how happy that little affair has made 
 me. For once the fool public did justice." 
 
 Channing sank into a chair comfortably. " I 
 suppose there are limits to waiting orders," he 
 sighed, " but I hope Washington will be gen- 
 erous." 
 
 " Which reminds me of my own departure. 
 I am going to leave New York, Maurice." 
 
 Channing turned around sharply. " You are 
 jesting," he exclaimed. 
 
 " No," said Morgan, slowly, " I have not seen 
 my brother in years, and I think I had better run 
 down to Memphis before the call comes." 
 
 Channing stared at him reproachfully. " Mor- 
 gan," he said, " you are not honest with me. 
 There is some special cause something has 
 occurred. Is there any reason I may not know? " 
 
 Morgan hesitated. " Your friendship is per- 
 haps more to me than good form," he stammered. 
 " I will admit, then, that I love Edith Cameron 
 I think it sufficient reason for my going away." 
 
 " On the contrary," observed Channing, quietly, 
 " it seems an excellent reason for staying. You 
 surprise me very much." 
 
 " I want you to believe the matter is neither 
 
 179
 
 ASOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 pique nor chagrin," answered the lieutenant; " it 
 has become serious and beyond endurance." 
 
 "But why leave?" 
 
 Morgan stirred uneasily. "Why stay?" he 
 retorted, with a flash of bitterness. " It seems 
 odd, Maurice, that you of all men should ask." 
 
 Channing flushed, but when he spoke his voice 
 was even and almost soft. 
 
 " That speech can have but one meaning, Wil- 
 bur. You fancy I am in the way. It shows how 
 poorly you have read the situation. We have no 
 right to talk so, but as you suggest friendship 
 is above form, I tell you I am merely interested. 
 I am ready to leave you the field. I will start 
 for New Orleans to-morrow." 
 
 " No, Maurice, no. You make me feel unmanly 
 and mean. Besides, it would not help my case a 
 particle. I am seeking peace." 
 
 " You are determined, then? " 
 
 "Altogether so." 
 
 " Are you sure it is necessary ? " 
 
 " Yes without asking." 
 
 " You are deserting me, and exiling yourself. 
 It is very hard." 
 
 " So it is, Maurice. But I suffered enough in 
 Cuba. I am disposed to stop now before it is too 
 
 1 80
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 late. You will, of course, make a saving explana- 
 tion." 
 
 That same night Morgan was a passenger on 
 the Southern express. 
 
 " I venture to predict," said Channing, in 
 farewell, " that you will be back again, and I 
 hope you may." 
 
 In itself the dinner dance which followed swift 
 on the heels of the theatre incident was not 
 especially notable. Beatrice had taken Mrs. 
 Jewett's hint to get a contrast, and the whole 
 affair was marked by its absence of pretension. 
 Still the appointments were striking, and the 
 favours, through their value alone, left something 
 to excite attention. The roll of recruits was pleas- 
 ing. Layton brought his two sisters, strident, 
 conspicuous creatures, but still of the right rank, 
 and a Mrs. Atherton, who in the relation of 
 cousin chaperoned the girls. Incidentally she was 
 thought to maintain a Platonic fondness for 
 Layton. The suspicion did not affect her rating, 
 and Beatrice felt that attention to her was a sure 
 investment. 
 
 Trexler, too, obedient to Mrs. Jewett's sugges- 
 tion, had engineered the acceptance of his only 
 sister and a young man with a reputation as a 
 cotillion leader, so the little band neatly leavened 
 
 181
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the middle class majority of the company. The 
 presence of Captain Channing helped matters, be- 
 cause he furnished an attraction, and was also very 
 patient in talking warfare to the curious. Edith 
 tried to save him all she could, but it was rather 
 hopeless charity. 
 
 For Beatrice the affair was full of promise. 
 She saw an expanding horizon, and treated herself 
 to visions, but to Edith, who, as usual, did what 
 Mrs. Jewett called the " open arms " work, the 
 dance furnished an incident that quenched the 
 little gaiety she was trying to extract. 
 
 While passing behind a cluster of palms that 
 marked an exit from the ballroom, Edith came 
 upon the figure of a man, evidently a guest, but 
 crouched in the shadow of the leaves with the 
 air of an invading sneak thief. He kept his gaze 
 fixed on the dancers, and seemed, by a curious, 
 swaying motion of the head, to be following the 
 circuit of some particular couple. Once he shifted 
 his position, and the swift, catlike way in which 
 he crept along the edge of the foliage struck her 
 with a chill of menace. She thought, too, she 
 saw something glisten in his closed hand. Even 
 as she moved away to seek the company, he turned 
 suddenly and faced her. Her surprise was abso- 
 lute. It was young Mr. Trexler. 
 182
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " My God ! " she thought, " what a face ! " She 
 could look at nothing else. Its pallor, the ringed 
 and blazing eyes, smote her with a quick and 
 bewildering horror. 
 
 "Mr. Trexler," she cried, "what is it? what 
 are you doing here ? " 
 
 He seemed to struggle with his disorder; his 
 speech fluttered in his throat. 
 
 "I I was watching Miss Cameron," he mut- 
 tered, uncertainly, " and the victims led to 
 slaughter." 
 
 " You have no right to say that," Edith ex- 
 claimed, with a quivering sternness in her voice. 
 " It is unkind. If it is true, it is unmanly." 
 
 " I don't know who has a better right," he 
 cried, with sudden bitterness, " than the latest 
 victim of them all," and then, without apology 
 or explanation, he swept unceremoniously by her, 
 and was gone. 
 
 " Beatrice," said Edith, during the nightcap 
 chat which they held over the dance, " what have 
 you done to young Mr. Trexler ? " 
 
 " Nothing, except refuse a premature offer of 
 marriage." 
 
 " Were you rude or abrupt about it? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps I was a little. He hunted me 
 down until I had to be convincing. I did not want 
 
 183
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 to. He was valuable, and I tried to delay it, 
 but he grew intolerable." 
 
 " I am afraid you encouraged him, Beatrice. 
 I found him behind the palms to-night watching 
 you with a face it shocks me to remember. He 
 acted strangely, but he talked even more so. He 
 was very bitter." 
 
 "Incredible!" 
 
 " And I think, Beatrice, I am not sure, I think 
 I saw a pistol in his hand." 
 
 Beatrice smiled faintly. 
 
 " Pistols and swallow-tails, Edith it is 
 likely! But if it was one, why, maybe, my 
 partner, Mr. Holt, had a narrow escape, and that 
 would be a pity the escape, I mean. It's a 
 question which is the greater affliction Trexler 
 or Holt. Truly, I feel sometimes as though the 
 old-fashioned duel was a blessing it smoothed 
 out so many tangles." 
 
 184
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 T)EATRICE was reading a kindly little 
 
 j*\ notice of her dance in the Age, and 
 
 smiling at Gotham's use of the important 
 
 names, when a maid announced that Mr. Layton 
 
 was- at the telephone. She hurried down to the 
 
 library fearfully. Telephones always suggested 
 
 difficulties at long range. 
 
 " I would not have troubled you," Layton 
 called, " only I wanted to propose something, and 
 I was afraid the maid might leave off the some- 
 thing. Will you wait until I get around ? " 
 
 " I should not have been frightened if she had 
 left it off," answered Beatrice, merrily; "I 
 believe in meeting misfortunes boldly." 
 
 " That is a challenge," he cried. " If you wait 
 an hour, I will test your courage " and sure 
 enough, in less than an hour, although she did not 
 expect it, he was formally announced. 
 
 Beatrice was full of a fine broad humour, born 
 of the newspaper clippings, and welcomed any 
 escapade of sentiment. If Mr. Layton had 
 
 185
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 actually determined to catalogue himself with the 
 swains, she would treat him as his reputation de- 
 served. She knew just how to do this, and the 
 chance to do it pleased her. Layton was a familiar 
 type and vulnerable. 
 
 When she saw him, her suspicions took on 
 weight. He was bland, he was capable, and his 
 air of worldliness hung about him like a suit of 
 mail. Nevertheless, he was a trifle nervous. She 
 knew that from his eyes. The fact pleased her in 
 itself. Any woman who could shake this master 
 of experience must be unusual. 
 
 " I am getting a bit nervous over the accumu- 
 lating candidates," he began., boldly. " Can't I 
 head off a siege ? " 
 
 " You mean you wish me to hang out a warn- 
 ing, * No trespassing on these premises ? ' 
 
 " That is non-committal. I wish the placard 
 to read : ' These premises will be occupied after 
 June 7.' " 
 
 " I am prepared to argue the point." 
 " But I don't want to argue. I am in earnest." 
 " Better an empty house than a poor tenant." 
 " Every house should have a caretaker." 
 " Especially a storage place for gold coin, eh ? " 
 " Yes, or even a garret for bric-a-brac. You 
 have not heard my credentials yet." 
 1 86
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Beatrice laughed. 
 
 " You are Harry Layton," she said, with play- 
 ful scorn. " Where could they come from? Mrs. 
 Atherton?" 
 
 Layton flushed nervously. 
 
 " Now you are unkind," he said, " not to me, 
 but to " 
 
 " The woman you protect." 
 
 " Nonsense. I thought you had outgrown your 
 Hans Andersen. Such fables are told of every 
 man and woman you know. When you fell 
 down-stairs at the Carrols' dance, they snapped at 
 you in just the selfsame fashion." 
 
 " Quite right, too, but I have reformed. Mrs. 
 Atherton has not." 
 
 " I expected more of your catholic spirit. 
 Under the circumstances I will tell you something 
 about Mrs. Atherton. When I was very young 
 I married a poor girl. She paid the penalty. We 
 were deserted and alone. I think the cruelty killed 
 her, but it was Mrs. Atherton, who, during a long 
 illness, came forward and nursed her, cheered her, 
 and had her blessing at the last. I am a grateful 
 man. So much for Mrs. Atherton." 
 
 " Your story is very touching," said Beatrice, 
 " but it proves nothing." 
 
 A spark of resentment lit in Layton's eye. 
 
 187
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Then we will not consider her further," he 
 said. " I would like to know, however, whether, 
 if she were not a factor, it would make any 
 difference? " 
 
 " Not the slightest. I protest your coming to 
 me with such 'a reputation. I am not interested 
 in how you got it. I merely tell you it is too 
 heavy a load to carry. Why should you consider 
 me willing to bear it ? " 
 
 Layton looked dazed. 
 
 " I do not understand," he stammered. " I 
 love you." 
 
 Beatrice had seated herself before the window, 
 but when he said this she rose, advanced to where 
 he was standing, and put her hand caressingly on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " Do you know, Layton," she said, half kindly, 
 " I never hear that word without disgust. There 
 is no word in the world so misused or so mis- 
 understood. For every budding fancy it is made 
 to do service; it is used to dignify the meanest 
 depths of passion. On your lips it is sacrilege. I 
 don't want you to be angry. There may have 
 been a time in your youth when it meant some- 
 thing, but this thing you offer me is not love. 
 It is emotion; it is passion. Half the love in 
 
 1 88
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the world is passion. You are confounding your 
 desires with your spirit." 
 
 "It is not so," he cried, with sudden violence. 
 " I love you just as I loved long ago, only 
 stronger, with better understanding. I will be 
 anything you wish. I will " 
 
 " I do not care to experiment," she interrupted, 
 with a relapse to lightness, " even if I believed 
 the impossible things you promise. Still you may 
 hope, Layton. If I do not marry you, I shall never 
 marry another man. It is too bad we could not 
 have remained friends. You were very useful." 
 
 She paused a moment as though in reflection; 
 then with a sudden movement she reached up and 
 kissed him. 
 
 " That is what you would get if you were 
 married," she said. " It does not seem much, 
 after all, does it?" 
 
 He started and his face grew a dull crimson. 
 
 " What did you mean by that ? " he gasped. 
 
 " Nothing," laughed Beatrice. " I was just 
 demonstrating how trivial are these rewards of 
 love." 
 
 He was too confused to answer. He could not 
 tell whether this was burlesque, or an original 
 plan for easing his fall, and his embarrassment 
 
 189
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 was of the disorganising sort that is based on 
 ridicule. He longed for escape. 
 
 " I am thankful for the sample," he stammered ; 
 " it is a fine consolation prize." 
 
 " I wished merely to show you how much better 
 it would be to remain single, be my friend, and 
 have Mrs. Atherton. Your eyes cried for a caress. 
 They said you would marry to get it. It was 
 given ; there will be no marriage, and our friend- 
 ship has a chance to live." 
 
 " It is hardly a substitute," he said, " but pos- 
 sibly more than I deserve." 
 
 "But we are friends?" she asked, anxiously. 
 " You are not going to stop trying? You know 
 I need you." 
 
 " Oh ! I shall remain a most devoted agent. 
 You can devise a proper reward when you please." 
 He was making a graceful and commendable 
 retreat, but at the moment of parting something 
 of the sorry figure he had cut seemed to sting 
 him into an effort at saving his dignity. 
 
 " I don't mind telling you," he said, with malice, 
 " that you were right about Mrs. Atherton." 
 
 " Of course I was right," answered Beatrice, 
 smoothly, " but I did not expect you to confess. 
 It must make your mind so much easier." 
 
 She watched him walk down the street, and 
 190
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the drooping shoulders brought to her lips a 
 smile of satisfaction. 
 
 " Six feet of dishonour," she murmured ; " a 
 servant of passion." 
 
 He had hardly disappeared when the maid 
 brought in Philip Holt's card. When she saw 
 the inscription Beatrice's satirical humour gave 
 way to annoyance. She did not seem able to 
 control her repulsion for Holt, nor to treat him 
 with that charity which might, at least, have pre- 
 ceded her plans to betray. Even the necessity 
 of an external kindness only nagged her resent- 
 ment. She did not want to receive him at all. 
 But she had to be cautious. Matters were moving 
 too nicely to risk snapping the loose tie which she 
 knew bound Mrs. Lambert to her interests. 
 Therefore, when he came into the room, she 
 answered his glad, hopeful smile with a promising 
 counterfeit. She was even ready to bestow more 
 largess of kisses, if she had not been afraid of a 
 misinterpreted reception. He might believe her. 
 
 He stood holding her hand for a moment, and 
 looking at her with such direct, appealing affec- 
 tion that she felt an atom of shame. The deceit 
 ruffled her ease. 
 
 " Do you know," he said, gently, " I like to 
 
 191
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 associate you with the morning. It is the time 
 of hope." 
 
 She evaded the hint skilfully. " I wish some 
 others thought so," she laughed. " I am usually 
 associated with about twelve o'clock, midnight." 
 
 " I can imagine these others to be men," he 
 suggested, gallantly, " and disappointed men." 
 
 " It is always the point of view." 
 
 " The fault lies with yourself, Beatrice," he 
 said. " It is you who discontent men with the 
 milder emotion." 
 
 " And yet I do not wish to," she said, quickly. 
 " I see my friends pass into the clutches of pas- 
 sion, linger awhile, and then go away for ever. 
 Is there not one man whose hand I may take and 
 say, ' This is my friend,' without having him 
 demand a closer relation?" 
 
 Philip looked dismal. 
 
 " Not mine, Beatrice," he exclaimed, feebly 
 hiding his anxiety. " You see before you one 
 of the worst offenders, and if your little sermon is 
 designed to head me off, it will fail." 
 
 " O, Philip ! " she cried, in a distress that was 
 three parts genuine, " not again. Please, not 
 again." 
 
 " Just as you wish," he said, slowly. " If it 
 troubles you I will try to be generous. But this 
 192
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 is a great disappointment, Beatrice. I had hoped 
 something of your kindness. Wherein have I 
 failed?" 
 
 " In nothing, Philip," she sighed, with pity 
 softly simulated. " The lack is here," and she 
 laid her hand on her heart. " It is neither your 
 fault, nor mine." 
 
 " Not yours," he burst out. " If ever a woman 
 lived to move men beyond themselves, you are 
 that woman." 
 
 " A sad inspiration, Philip, whose only blossom 
 is passion." 
 
 " I will not dispute your definition. My own 
 case forbids. But it is a passion, Beatrice, that 
 must know its fate. If execution is to come I 
 only ask that it be final. Now I may be able to 
 survive a little later I am not so sure." 
 
 His voice shook, and his agitation was an index 
 to repressed misery. But Beatrice was too busy 
 revolving an answer to notice. 
 
 She knew instinctively, as any woman would 
 have known, that now was the time to cut the 
 knot. He had himself suggested that decision 
 was kindness. That first time she had evaded an 
 issue, but now he asked merely in mercy that she 
 evade no more. It pointed an easy exit to an 
 unwelcome situation, one, too, that might con- 
 
 193
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 serve friendship. But two motives urged her to 
 deceit. One was dislike for Holt and a reluctance 
 to let him escape without punishment. His sus- 
 pected role of Lambert agent had always been an 
 infliction, and she had promised herself a day 
 of reckoning. The other was Mrs. Lambert 
 herself. How would she view a dismissal of her 
 missionary? Would she consider it released her 
 from obligations that had for Beatrice proved so 
 profitable? Would she let fly another tempest? 
 Would she cry halt to the social march by closing 
 her doors against the crowd ? She might not ; she 
 might accept Holt's fate as a reasonable finale to 
 a dismal performance, but if she did not that 
 were disaster. Knowing nothing, but suspecting 
 everything, Beatrice believed her aunt was too 
 deeply concerned with Holt to take his dismissal 
 calmly. She must play him awhile, juggle his 
 hopes until her social parade was well under way, 
 and not fall victim to impetuosity. So she 
 answered him falsely, although fear smote her 
 at the blazing revival in his eyes. 
 
 " Execution may never come, Philip," she said, 
 with womanly frankness. " I do not want you 
 to think this is the end." She took his hand 
 with just the theatrical spirit she had used 
 upon Layton. " I have never felt this love, 
 194
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Philip, but if any man can teach me you should 
 be the one. I respect you, I admire you the 
 next step may place me by your side. I don't want 
 you to go away, and I don't want you to despair. 
 I love no other, and I can safely promise that if 
 I do not marry you I shall marry no man." 
 
 His face was radiant. He passed with her 
 words from dull restraint to a boyish delight. 
 
 " You have made me happy," he whispered. 
 *' If I fail now, it will be no fault of loving 
 endeavour. But remember, dear, hope deferred 
 maketh the heart sick." He raised her hand to 
 his lips. " I shall study to be a capable teacher." 
 
 When he was gone, Beatrice stood for a minute 
 in disturbed reflection. 
 
 " I fancy I made a mistake there," she mur- 
 mured, " giving him a commission to trail me 
 around with Dan Cupid on his shoulder. A nice 
 price to pay for house rent." But she felt better 
 when she reflected that Holt was still in leading- 
 strings, and that she had passed a crisis. It made 
 her more confident to know that there was no 
 enemy in the rear. 
 
 A few days after, Mrs. Jewett was surprised 
 by a visit from Edith. She went into her sitting- 
 room expecting some conference on slum mission
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 work, but the girl's doleful countenance upset the 
 idea. 
 
 " What is it," cried Mrs. Jewett, " is any one 
 ill?" 
 
 Edith smiled dolefully. " No, indeed," she 
 said, trying to look cheerful. " I have come over 
 to see if you won't help me with Beatrice. I 
 asked her to assist me in a little tea to the members 
 of the Helping Hand Association, and she was 
 so cross and brutal about it that I am in despair." 
 
 " What if she doesn't help? " 
 
 " It is not that she declares she will not 
 allow the affair to occur says it will injure her 
 social reputation by having a lot of middle-class 
 clowns performing on the same stage she uses." 
 
 " Did she say clowns ? " 
 
 " Just that. I think it is a very cruel term 
 for the noble women who are helping me. She 
 is afraid it will be noticed by the papers. You 
 don't think the papers would observe such a little 
 affair, do you ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. Why didn't you go to your 
 aunt?" 
 
 " I did not want to involve her if it could be 
 
 helped. She is afraid of Beatrice, and they have 
 
 done hardly anything but quarrel for months. I 
 
 would abandon the matter entirely, but you see 
 
 196
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 I have verbally promised this to several of the 
 members. It will leave me in a dreadful position. 
 I thought you might influence her," she added. 
 " You seem to be the only person who can. She 
 is very determined." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett disappeared into her dressing- 
 room. When she returned she was clothed for 
 the street. 
 
 " Come along, Edith," she said, firmly. " It 
 seems to be my forte to fight that woman, but 
 you- shall have that tea, and I will help you receive, 
 too. So will Beatrice." 
 
 When they reached the Lambert house, Mrs. 
 Jewett rushed in upon Beatrice without cere- 
 mony. She had been accustomed of late to 
 informal visits, and the present was more informal 
 than usual. She sat down and looked at Beatrice 
 coldly. 
 
 " Edith tells me," she said, with stinging 
 deliberation, " that you oppose her reception. I 
 should think the way she has worked for you 
 would breed a natural gratitude, but in any event 
 that reception will be held. Please understand it. 
 Also we will both be there. If you offer any 
 opposition, I will withdraw and take Trexler, 
 Layton, and the rest with me." 
 
 She did not wait to hear Beatrice's reply. It 
 
 197
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 could only be stormy, and as she had quite deter- 
 mined to do as she promised, there was no profit 
 in argument. 
 
 Edith came over the following day to report 
 that Beatrice had surrendered not gracefully 
 at all, but still had yielded the point. It 
 seemed to impress Edith with a reverence for 
 Mrs. Jewett's power. 
 
 " I don't know what you could have said to 
 her," she remarked, admiringly, " but she is very 
 quiet and I am sure I am grateful." 
 
 " I thought she would be," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 wisely, " and now, my dear, we must turn in and 
 shame her with the cleverest little reception of 
 the winter." 
 
 And in a way it was all she designed. The 
 appointments were perfect, the arrangements 
 exact, and in every detail the managerial hand of 
 Mrs. Jewett loomed large and competent. Mrs. 
 Jewett herself was a feature. Her grace and 
 affability moved the company to tribute. Every- 
 where she went, kindly admiration rippled in her 
 trail, and her eyes sparkled happily as she realised 
 that she had reached the clean hearts of these 
 Christian workers. 
 
 " Fancy, dear," she whispered to Edith, " I 
 
 198
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 am making a hit. If they only knew my repu- 
 tation ! " 
 
 " Your reputation dates from to-day," an- 
 swered Edith, lovingly, and Mrs. Jewett pressed 
 her hand. 
 
 But to Beatrice who was there because she had 
 looked on a different version of the Jewett face, 
 the affair was a " bore " and a " weariness to 
 the flesh." She stayed far away from Mrs. Jewett, 
 and wandered here and there with the fixed intent 
 of making herself as politely unpleasant as pos- 
 sible. On the subject of bacteria she was flatly 
 odious. Nearly every one she met had to explain 
 how they managed to dispose of germs gathered 
 in tenement houses without retaining any, and 
 to a number she affirmed the belief that it could 
 not be done. Edith caught an echo or two of 
 these utterances, and she tried to balance them 
 with a wider cheerfulness. But Beatrice tripped 
 finally on a snag of her own making, and it was 
 the ubiquitous Jewett who aided her fall. Beatrice 
 had found a pleasant-faced matron standing some- 
 what apart from the company, and engaged her 
 in talk with the sole purpose of annoyance. 
 
 " Why is it that society people neglect the 
 charities ? " she asked. " Is it because the work 
 
 199
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 calls for qualities beneath their dignity?" The 
 matron looked bewildered. 
 
 " I was not aware that they do neglect it," she 
 said, amazedly. " As for your other question, 
 it is, if you will permit me, just a trifle absurd. 
 You are Miss Cameron, are you not ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then surely, Miss Cameron, you must know 
 that your sister is associated on the Ice Fund 
 with such women as Mrs. Van Lever, Mrs. 
 Cooper, and the leader of New York society her- 
 self, Mrs. Wilbur Fanning, and I assure you that 
 these women give not only of their money, but 
 what is better, their time and labour." 
 
 Beatrice stared at her companion blankly. 
 
 " I did not know that ; Edith never told me," 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 The matron smiled. 
 
 " Very possibly," she answered, " your sister 
 would hardly excite herself if her co workers 
 were crowned heads. She has the reputation." 
 And then to underscore the repulse, Mrs. Jewett 
 came bustling along quite incidentally as it were, 
 although she had eavesdropped the whole chat 
 not ten feet away. 
 
 " I have been hunting for you everywhere, 
 Beatrice," she exclaimed, " but I might have 
 200
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 known I would find you at the fountainhead of all 
 that is good. You know Mrs. Belmont, of course. 
 No? Then you shall at once. Mrs. Irvin Bel- 
 mont is the arch-conspirator in every charitable 
 plot in New York." 
 
 Beatrice felt the lance of coincidence. The 
 name in its peculiar relation to her slur upon 
 charity \vorkers came as a blow. Mrs. Belmont 
 was one of the leaders of the elect and she 
 looked like a temperance worker. There was 
 nothing to do about it, nothing to be said. She 
 felt the clutch of the trap she had sprung, and 
 she disentangled herself by the least painful way. 
 
 " If Mrs. Jewett had not come," she said, look- 
 ing the deceptive matron straight in the eye, 
 " just think how much worse it might have been," 
 with which enigmatic sentence she turned 
 about and moved away. 
 
 But her thoughts ran less on the fiasco than 
 upon the revealed associations of Edith. 
 
 " The idea of her not telling me," she thought, 
 " although, of course, Edith's standing cannot 
 be much when only one or two of her giants came 
 to the reception. I might have known that, next 
 to the church, charity is the most profitable 
 agency under the sun. It ought to teach me a 
 lesson." 
 
 2OI
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 The discovery with its attendant suggestions so 
 engaged her that she forgot her mission. She 
 wandered around the room for some time without 
 irritating any one. 
 
 " I cannot do Edith's work," her reflections 
 ran, " but I might build a hospital. There are 
 certainly enough poor people to go around. And 
 after all," she ended, snatching at a phantom com- 
 fort, " it is only a question of money." 
 
 The idea that Edith had distanced her, grew 
 on Beatrice with a dragging weight. The longer 
 she carried it, the fiercer the pressure. She deter- 
 mined to call Edith to account, and in the light 
 of this resolve she allowed the reception to end 
 without further interference. 
 
 The news that young Arthur Trexler had killed 
 himself descended on the little circle at Lambert's 
 like a rebuke of Fate. It shivered a period of 
 unusual calm just three days after the dance at 
 which he had furnished such a melancholy spec- 
 tacle. Beatrice had drifted into good nature over 
 the nebulous character of Edith's social strides, 
 which she had explained were based on charity 
 work; Edith was happy because Beatrice was 
 placated, and Mrs. Jewett was genial because 
 she needed a rest. Mrs. Lambert affected the 
 202
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 household barometer not at all. Her effacement 
 had been complete. She fretted them neither by 
 appearance or interference. Into this pool of 
 domestic concord there plunged suddenly the red 
 aerolite of tragedy. 
 
 Beatrice was sitting in conference with Mrs. 
 Jewett, conjuring the wonders of a vaudeville 
 dinner, when the door of the sitting-room 
 revolved slowly on its hinges, and Edith, a pic- 
 ture of distress, tottering rather than walking, 
 clinging indeed to the framework for support, 
 moved through the opening. In one hand she 
 clutched a newspaper. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett saw her first, and sprang to her 
 feet with a little cry. 
 
 "Edith," she exclaimed, "what is it? Are 
 you ill ? What has happened ? " 
 
 Edith made no reply. She looked past her with 
 unfamiliar eyes of pain and horror to where 
 Beatrice sat. She halted, staring at her sister 
 in a strange, inquiring way, and then moving 
 forward again she laid the paper down in front 
 of her and silently placed her finger on the page. 
 Then she sank into a chair and kept her eyes 
 with their questioning look fastened on Beatrice. 
 
 Beatrice measured her with a speculative 
 glance, and after that paid no further attention 
 
 203
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 until she had finished the column. Mrs. Jewett 
 hung nervously over Beatrice's shoulder, trying to 
 read the story. It was an ugly narrative. Trex- 
 ler had been found crushed and bleeding in the 
 area-way of the Phoenix Club. The corpse lay 
 beneath the window of a room which he often 
 occupied on the third floor, and the fact that this 
 window was open, that the dead man was clad in 
 a dressing-gown, and that he had been depressed 
 and ill for days, all pointed to suicide. The theory 
 of an accidental fall was upset by the arrange- 
 ment of the window. The lower sash cord had 
 been broken, and the frame had jammed. In an 
 excess of despair, it was suggested, the dead 
 man must have exerted strength, and forced the 
 sash from the bed, solely for the purpose of clear- 
 ing a path to death. That he had wished to create 
 a belief of accidental death, was shown by his 
 failure to leave letters, but the clumsy work with 
 the window sash pointed the truth. When she had 
 read the article through precisely, noted the head- 
 lines, and studied the half-tone cut of the suicide, 
 Beatrice handed the paper over to Mrs. Jewett, 
 and turned on Edith. 
 
 " Now that we are in possession of the facts," 
 she began, easily, " may I ask why you are 
 agitated, Edith?" 
 204
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Edith looked up dully. 
 
 " He was dying when I saw him," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " I assume you mean he was depressed. It 
 was not your fault, was it ? " 
 
 " No," answered Edith, sternly, " but yours, 
 Beatrice, yours. You encouraged him; you 
 made him believe and and the lie killed 
 him." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett did not lift her eyes from the 
 paper. Beatrice smiled with a feint of weariness. 
 
 " I saw the truth in his face that night," Edith 
 went on. " He was half-crazy then, and I warned 
 you, Beatrice, you know I told you, and you 
 made no effort to drag him back. It was such a 
 little thing to do, and you owed him something, 
 Beatrice. His bitterness was not assumption. 
 You had promised him something, and you had 
 failed of your promise." Her voice had trailed 
 away and was devoid of spirit. She seemed to 
 know when she spoke that, however true her 
 charge, it fell upon heedless ears. Beatrice fol- 
 lowed her stoically. Her reply was evasive. 
 
 " You can never prove what you say, Edith," 
 she declared, " and even if you could I am free 
 of blame. These men are sentimental gamblers. 
 If they lose, it is not my fault." 
 
 205
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Edith answered nothing, but into her soul that 
 spirit of dread which once before Beatrice had 
 invoked came to take up a dwelling-place. There 
 was silence for a time, and then Mrs. Jewett laid 
 down the paper and glanced over at Beatrice. 
 
 " There is but one clue, Beatrice/' she said, 
 musingly, and yet with a certain covert slyness; 
 " that is a letter which Trexler mailed an hour 
 before his death." 
 
 " Yes, I noticed that," replied Beatrice. " He 
 gave it to a club servant. The man refuses to 
 say to whom it was addressed." 
 
 " Have you seen your morning mail yet? " 
 
 Beatrice started. 
 
 " No," she said, with leaping curiosity strong 
 in her voice. " I will ring for Mary to bring it 
 up." 
 
 The maid came in with a thick bundle of un- 
 opened correspondence, letters, tradesmen's cir- 
 culars, and here and there the familiar invitation 
 missive. On the very top of the heap Beatrice 
 noted with a chilling thrill the boyish flourishes 
 of Trexler's handwriting. The envelope was post- 
 marked the night before. It was the missing 
 letter. In two dexterous movements she had 
 dropped the bundle in her lap, and shuffled the 
 letter from top to bottom; by still another she 
 206
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 managed to slip it out of the pack entirely and 
 into the folds of her gown. Then she examined 
 the others with elaborate attention. 
 
 " There is nothing here," she announced, 
 finally. " It is just possible, you see, that Mr. 
 Trexler may know other women than ourselves, 
 in which case Edith appears somewhat ridiculous. 
 I wish, Alice, you would take her to her room 
 I can endure no more. Persuade her to be 
 sensible." 
 
 Edith rose to her feet. " I will try to be chari- 
 table," she said, sadly. " I can hardly be more 
 sensible," and then, with Mrs. Jewett following 
 after, she left the room. 
 
 When they had gone, Beatrice took out the 
 Trexler letter and opened it with nervous impa- 
 tience. There was a single sheet, minus date, 
 direction, or superscription, but bearing in its 
 centre a line of four words, whose terrible signifi- 
 cance made address unnecessary. Beatrice read 
 them twice, then again, then over and over and 
 over, until they seemed to flame up before her 
 eyes and burn their message on her brain. With 
 every fresh perusal the fantastic thought that the 
 letters heightened and broadened grew into optical 
 delusion. When she heard the quiet voice of the 
 maid at her elbow she almost shrieked. Mary 
 
 207
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 held out a card. It bore the name of Trexler, 
 Mrs. Theodore Manton Trexler. 
 
 " She insists on seeing you, Miss," said the 
 maid. " I told her you were lying down, but she 
 seemed quite tearful about it. Said you would 
 know that it was a matter which would not 
 admit delay." 
 
 Beatrice thought rapidly. What did it mean? 
 Was the mother come to add her burden of 
 reproach, to call down vengeance, to create a 
 scene? Was it wise to admit her? What did 
 she know ? What would she say ? Beatrice took 
 fright at the speculation, but curiosity tinctured 
 with self-protection urged her to face the visitor. 
 She might be able to arrest scandal, though in 
 the depths of her soul she knew that, if scandal 
 were advertisement and not injury, she would 
 welcome its appearance. 
 
 " Bring her up quietly, Mary," she said, " and 
 do not let any one know she is in the house." 
 
 She slipped over and bolted the door leading 
 from her own room to Edith's suite, and remem- 
 bering the letter hastened to conceal it. Then she 
 waited the meeting. 
 
 Mrs. Trexler's appearance was a restorative in 
 itself. Instead of an agent of retribution, the 
 woman who faced her was a contradiction of her 
 208
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 station and clearly helpless for injury. The 
 shrunken, almost feeble body, the old-fashioned 
 face, worn and troubled, seemed not the legitimate 
 property of a banker's wife, but rather of a woman 
 who found life a trial. Beatrice, as she watched 
 her, remembered that it had been the Trexler 
 children and not the parents who had conquered 
 society. Her clothes were severe and her attitude 
 depressed. She stared at Beatrice with anxious, 
 near-sighted eyes that were full of appeals. One 
 arm reached out in a gesture half-imploring. 
 
 " You have a letter from my son," she said, 
 and her voice trembled. 
 
 "How do you know that?" asked Beatrice, 
 cautiously. 
 
 " He posted one letter before before the 
 tragedy. It was addressed to you, Miss Cam- 
 eron." 
 
 " Well, yes, I did get a letter which I suppose 
 came from him. It was unsigned, but it seemed 
 to be in his handwriting. Why, what of it ? " 
 
 " It was the last, the only message that my boy 
 left. I am his mother. I came to ask if I 
 might see it, if I might hear its contents, and 
 if you would let me keep the paper as a 
 memento? " 
 
 Her anxiety agitated face, voice, and body. 
 
 209
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 She took a step toward Beatrice as though to 
 invite the favour. Beatrice stiffened up with the 
 quick instinct of defence. 
 
 " I would rather not," she said, coldly ; " it is 
 entirely private and would not interest you in the 
 least." 
 
 The little old-fashioned woman withered. Her 
 hands fell to her sides; the face lost its activity 
 of hope. 
 
 " Do you not understand," she faltered, " it 
 was his last message. It will be for my eyes alone. 
 It will be in confidence." 
 
 " It is not a message I wish to make public," 
 said Beatrice, stonily. " I do not care to suffer 
 unearned reproach." 
 
 " It cannot matter now," said the visitor, her 
 eyes filling swiftly with tears, " my poor boy is 
 dead nothing can bring him home again. I 
 do not want to reproach you; I want to see his 
 handwriting to hear his voice beyond the grave. 
 You have the only message in the world. I beg 
 of you to be merciful if I may not keep it, let 
 me see it let me look at it." 
 
 For an instant pity, keen and honest, touched 
 
 Beatrice's heart. She strove to be tender. But 
 
 she knew that she must resist every appeal no 
 
 other eyes but her own should see the dead man's 
 
 210
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 missive. Her only concern was to make refusal 
 easy, to wound this woman as little as possible, 
 and still refuse. 
 
 " I cannot do that," she faltered, " it would 
 only make you unhappy, Mrs. Trexler." 
 
 " Tell me, did he speak of me? " 
 
 " O, no." 
 
 " Was it a loving message did it sound like 
 my boy ? " 
 
 Beatrice flushed. 
 
 " No, I hardly think you would recognise it. It 
 was a purely personal communication." 
 
 " My boy loved you, Miss Cameron. I think he 
 died for you, and you who have robbed me of 
 the only light in a life of bitterness, of suffering 
 you refuse me this blessing. I cannot think 
 you mean to be cruel." 
 
 Beatrice's lips drew together in aggressive 
 lines. 
 
 " It is you who are cruel," she said, " if your 
 son killed himself for me, he struck a coward blow 
 at an innocent woman." 
 
 " Let us not be contentious," answered the 
 mother, sadly, " we stand by an open grave. If 
 there is anything in this letter that you fancy may 
 offend me, realise, please, how little reproach can 
 serve to regain the lost. I did not mean to wound 
 
 211
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 you. I only ask that you believe my forgiveness, 
 if forgiveness is needed, and let me have the mes- 
 sage. It shall go along with his clothes and his 
 trinkets, and no other eye shall ever learn its 
 secret." 
 
 " No, Mrs. Trexler," said Beatrice, with a 
 clumsy effort at gentleness, " the message would 
 only distress you, and besides, you would not 
 understand it if you saw it." 
 
 The little woman looked at Beatrice as though 
 unable to realise her disappointment. Then with 
 a sigh she turned and walked to the door a 
 trembling, age-stricken figure, whose normal lot 
 seemed sorrow, and whose shoulders bent to 
 receive this new burden with resignation. 
 
 Beatrice lit a gas jet, and taking the letter 
 from its envelope turned its open length to the 
 flame, and the fire ate up around the edges slowly, 
 leaving as its last morsel the four bitter words 
 staring from the centre of the sheet " THOU 
 
 SHALT NOT KILL." 
 
 212
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 rHE great vaudeville dinner was designed 
 for calcium effects. Its interest was 
 purely spectacular. Neither Beatrice nor 
 Mrs. Jewett treated it with any more conserva- 
 tism than they would have given to an amateur 
 circus. There were to be singers and dancers and 
 short-skirted soubrettes who turned hand-springs, 
 jugglers and ragtime artists; and they even 
 revived the stag dinner triumph of bringing in a 
 young person in a pie. 
 
 To be sure of missing no feature, Mrs. Jewett 
 got a vaudeville programme and turned it over 
 to a theatrical agency for imitation. 
 
 " There is not a new thing in it," she explained 
 to Beatrice, " but our people cannot see vaudeville 
 without risk, and you can rely on its being a 
 novelty." 
 
 " I don't know," said Beatrice, doubtfully, " the 
 individual in a pie is certainly a revival." 
 
 " Suppose it isn't new. Nobody can be original 
 nowadays ; too many persons are thinking at once. 
 
 213
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 When you provide the Irish sketch team and the 
 Dollybird Sisters you give them just what they 
 want, although they do agonise over the trilogy. 
 How many of these people do you imagine ever 
 heard ragtime in its native lair ? And how many 
 do you fancy know the flat-footed dancers or the 
 German comedian? They'll be delighted." 
 
 They had come together to arrange the details 
 a few mornings after the Trexler episode. Mrs. 
 Jewett, with a considerate idea of saving Beatrice, 
 had made no reference to the suicide, and she was 
 therefore surprised when Beatrice herself un- 
 covered the spectre. 
 
 " Before we take up the dinner, Alice," she had 
 said, with baffling composure, " I would like to 
 ask if you do not think it strange the papers have 
 not tried to connect me with Mr. Trexler's death. 
 You have seen nothing of the sort, have you ? " 
 
 " No, and I pray I may not," answered Mrs. 
 Jewett, quickly. "Why?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied Beatrice, evasively. " It is 
 their custom to omit no romantic feature, and I 
 wondered why I should escape." 
 
 " While we are on the subject," said Mrs. 
 
 Jewett, thoughtfully, " let me ask that you cater 
 
 to Edith's view of the matter far enough to make 
 
 it a closed incident. It might be well for you to 
 
 214
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 show some little compunction. Either do that, or 
 deny responsibility. She is conscientious, you 
 know, and the matter has inspired a dread of your 
 power." 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the kind, Alice," said 
 Beatrice, with decision. " Edith has no right to 
 side against me." 
 
 " It is not that," urged Mrs. Jewett. " Edith's 
 temperament is spiritual and religious, and she 
 thinks you abuse the charm nature has given you. 
 I ca'ught her crying once." 
 
 " It is too bad that Edith cannot engage the 
 cavaliers. She would appreciate my difficulties. 
 The affair has shocked me, Alice, and I request 
 that you never bring it up again." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett stared and caught her breath. 
 Then, as though finishing an interrupted sentence, 
 she returned to the dinner. 
 
 " In stag parties," she remarked, " it is usual 
 for the contents of the pie to do a pas seul on the 
 table." 
 
 " But that might embarrass the men," said 
 Beatrice; "their wives will be there." 
 
 " I was about to say so. Therefore, it would 
 be better if the contents acted as a messenger." 
 
 " A Cupid, you mean," asked Beatrice, ex- 
 citedly, " with a girdle and quiver? " 
 
 215
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " No, I am afraid of that. The only available 
 Cupids are child actresses. The men would resent 
 the compromise, and the matrons might worry 
 about her catching cold. A better plan would 
 be a postman." 
 
 " But why the pie, Alice? Couldn't he come in 
 like any other postman, only laden with favours ? " 
 
 " That is an idea, but I prefer the pie for two 
 reasons : it looks daring, and it gives the com- 
 pany material for jests. A pie is the easiest thing 
 to joke about under the sun." 
 
 " What would the messenger distribute? " 
 
 " Gold mounted opera-glasses, or better yet, 
 personal notes impaled by stick-pins. These 
 might be very costly." 
 
 " Don't you think we are taxing the dignity 
 of the guests ? " 
 
 " Just a little," admitted Mrs. Jewett, " but my 
 excuse lies in the fact that it is a wholesome 
 wrench from the ordinary. We run a risk of 
 being absurd, but we may so far amuse them as 
 to be called original. In any case, the papers 
 must say something. Let us be dauntless." 
 
 " You have the spirit of a dance-hall manager," 
 said Beatrice, laughing. " I think I had better 
 stand aside." 
 
 The whole project was in very fact an audacious 
 216
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 and uncertain move. Mrs. Jewett's plan was to 
 leap from the familiar level of the dance to 
 theatrical heights of hospitality. It would be not 
 merely a dinner it would be a combined circus 
 performance and gift scheme, whose magnitude 
 would compel that attention necessary to progress. 
 She figured on the interlude between the floral 
 display and the present time softening any hint of 
 advertising. 
 
 The invitation list gave Mrs. Jewett great 
 concern. Where such an open bid was made for 
 publicity it was imperative that it should have 
 social endorsement. This fact was impressed on 
 her during a business-like talk with Gotham. 
 
 " Mr. Gotham," she had said, " you know 
 Miss Cameron ranks you among her very closest 
 friends. You can hardly fail to reciprocate. We 
 want every society reporter in New York to give 
 this dinner attention." 
 
 " I hardly see how you can expect that, Mrs. 
 Jewett," answered Gotham, shrinking at the 
 breadth of the hint. " The progamme is not 
 original, and I'm afraid the brass-band quality 
 may be misunderstood." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett smiled cheerfully. 
 
 " When you look back on the vegetable parties, 
 the fancy dress balls, and society minstrels," she 
 
 217
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 said, " I think you will admit that we are not the 
 only patrons of the bass drum. I don't care how 
 much they misunderstand, only I don't want them 
 to neglect it." 
 
 Gotham came up to her confidentially. " Then 
 see to it, Mrs. Jewett, that your company warrants 
 the display. The rose reception was a freaky 
 affair, and was treated as such. The people were 
 below par. This time you want serious treatment. 
 To use a theatrical term, your guest list should be 
 made up of ' top liners.' ' 
 
 " I am sorry it is not a musicale," sighed Mrs. 
 Jewett. 
 
 " So you could establish a record price for song- 
 birds?" 
 
 " O, no. It is the fad now to produce unher- 
 alded genius. One is credited with fostering 
 talent" 
 
 " Also it is cheaper." 
 
 " I was not thinking of that. A musicale is so 
 much easier to handle. You can use the tri- 
 angular method working from Friend No. I to 
 Friend No. 10 to capture desirable guest No. n. 
 A dinner is restricted." 
 
 " Yes, but the triangular method is dangerous. 
 There is the case of Mrs. Van Ornam." 
 
 " O, she is the exception to every rule." 
 218
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " She invited a young woman after that fashion, 
 and when she responded, Mrs. Van Ornam was 
 horrified to find that she was an old flame of her 
 husband's. The visitor had married, and Mrs. 
 Van Ornam was deceived by the new name." 
 " The other woman knew, of course? " 
 " Certainly ; she was seeking revenge." 
 " What happened ? Did Mrs. Van Ornam 
 suffer?" 
 
 " Not at all. Her capacity for getting into 
 trouble is only equalled by her skill in getting 
 out." 
 
 " I know some men like that. They make a 
 habit of bankruptcy." 
 
 " Mrs. Van Ornam told the ex-rival that her 
 husband was eccentric that he had become 
 religious." 
 
 " Meaning to frighten her off, I suppose? " 
 " Quite so. And she succeeded. When Mr. 
 Van Ornam made his appearance he was full of 
 a revival spirit and " 
 
 " Then Mrs. Van Ornam told the truth ? " 
 " Full of reviving his old love, I mean. But she 
 talked mission work with the idea of interesting 
 him, and he dared not change the subject because 
 he thought she had grown spiritual. They separ- 
 ated highly disgusted with each other." 
 
 219
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 "And Mrs. VanOrnam?" 
 
 " She commiserated both." 
 
 " The only fault I have to find with your version 
 is that it is not correct." 
 
 " O, they may have righted their wrongs 
 afterward." 
 
 " There was no afterward. Mrs. Van Ornam 
 threw them together in the hope of escaping her- 
 self. She gave the musicale for that purpose. 
 The young woman was really religious at that 
 time and she tried hard to interest the man. 
 The fact that he was disgusted is true enough, 
 but he was not nearly so disappointed as Mrs. 
 Van Ornam." 
 
 " How can you know that ? " 
 
 " I was the other woman." 
 
 Gotham's face reddened, and he looked at 
 Mrs. Jewett in dismay. 
 
 " Well I I like your version best, any- 
 how," he stammered. 
 
 " So do I," laughed Mrs. Jewett. " My name 
 was Register then. It was my first marriage, and 
 that is why you did not identify me. When it 
 occurred, I imagine, you were still at Harvard." 
 
 " Mrs. Jewett, I was clumsy. Forgive me." 
 
 " O, don't feel badly. You have no idea how 
 
 22O
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 much worse you might have done if you knew 
 more of my career." 
 
 " Tell me, Mrs. Jewett," said Gotham, curi- 
 ously, " was Mr. Van Ornam a party to the plot ? " 
 
 " No," answered Mrs. Jewett, shortly, " but 
 he worked just as hard as though he were." 
 
 " Another legend gone," sighed Gotham, play- 
 fully ; " I think, though, the substitute is better." 
 
 "If you must have any at all, yes." 
 
 " It shall go on the shelf. I am sorry, too, for 
 I dislike Van Ornam." 
 
 Gotham's warning about the guests aroused 
 Mrs. Jewett to the need for action. He had 
 pointed out the weakness of scenic effects where 
 the promoters lacked an audience of the elect. 
 To purvey freaks and win position in supplement 
 spreads might answer for a time, but the real 
 stepping-stones to social position lay in serious 
 chronicles of their efforts. This was not to be ob- 
 tained unless Beatrice's associates in their personal 
 identity bid for recognition of all that she might 
 do. So Mrs. Jewett was microscopic in her search 
 after the " top liners." For one entire day she 
 edited and revised until there was catalogued 
 every important member of their clientele. The 
 list was brief, but it contained a group of names 
 not to be overlooked by any society editor in 
 
 221
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 New York. As it stood it marked encouraging 
 progress. From the day she and Beatrice had 
 linked fortunes over the tea-cups there had been a 
 steady gain of good material. Even Edith was 
 made to do service. 
 
 " It is practically a joint dinner," urged Mrs. 
 Jewett, " and some of the younger members of 
 your Ice Fund, for instance, would come if you 
 asked. You must do something, Edith. Our 
 list is still slim." 
 
 " I am rather afraid of the vaudevilles," an- 
 swered Edith, slowly, " otherwise " 
 
 " It does not matter what they think after they 
 are here," Mrs. Jewett hurried on. " They can't 
 run, and I predict they won't want to. It's a 
 private jaunt into Bohemia." 
 
 " I will try," said Edith, courageously, " only 
 I fancy I shall be busy afterward explaining why 
 I betrayed them." 
 
 " Nonsense. I hope, Edith, you are not letting 
 that Trexler matter depress you still ? " 
 
 Edith raised her hand pleadingly. " Don't, 
 Alice," she said, quickly, " please, anything but 
 that." 
 
 " Very well, Edith. I had an object in asking. 
 Have you seen Captain Channing?" 
 
 222
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Not since, Alice. I have been afraid to face 
 him. I pleaded illness." 
 
 " I think you do him an injustice. He cannot 
 possibly connect you with the matter, and you 
 are not responsible for Beatrice. Besides, I ques- 
 tion whether he knows anything. He is away 
 from the gossips. He will be at the dinner, you 
 know." Edith was silent. She looked at Mrs. 
 Jewett as though for guidance. " And you must 
 meet him as though nothing had happened," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Jewett. " I cannot imagine that he 
 will even look any suspicions he has, much less 
 speak them." 
 
 " I will do as you say," replied Edith, her face 
 brightening, " and trust that he does not know." 
 
 " Your idea of Captain Channing is unique," 
 laughed Mrs. Jewett; "with most of the men 
 Beatrice has advanced her worth." 
 
 When the time arrived to send out the invita- 
 tions, Mrs. Jewett knew that a number of the 
 foremost members of the smart set would respond. 
 It was the strongest array of names that had ever 
 graced a beginner's banner, and the middle class 
 element used for filling in had been reduced to a 
 minimum. Gotham's mandate stood obeyed. 
 
 She displayed the list to Beatrice with pride. 
 " The battle line moves forward," she observed. 
 
 223
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " You have done well, Alice," replied Beatrice, 
 with a flicker of gratitude; " but you must admit 
 that you have an excellent drawing card." 
 
 "Meaning the dinner?" 
 
 " Meaning myself, Alice." 
 
 While Mrs. Jewett grappled with the mana- 
 gerial problem, Beatrice was occupied in putting 
 down a sudden rebellion by Mrs. Lambert. The 
 aunt came out of her retirement and filed a vigor- 
 ous protest against any mutilation of the ballroom, 
 which Beatrice had seized on for the entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 She did not like having a special table built, 
 and at the proposed stage she balked flatly. " The 
 idea of theatricals in a private house," she ex- 
 claimed ; " it is vulgar ! " 
 
 " Some of the scenes we witness in the family 
 circle are vastly more vulgar than those on the 
 stage," replied Beatrice, pointedly. 
 
 " Possibly," retorted Mrs. Lambert, unabashed, 
 " but we do not have an audience." 
 
 Beatrice was both persuasive and defiant, but 
 she gained nothing. Experimentally she sent for 
 Holt. She told him her dilemma, and begged him 
 to overthrow the ultimatum. His success was 
 complete. Mrs. Lambert surrendered at all points. 
 But so far as Holt was concerned, the net result 
 224
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 was to enliven Beatrice's already brisk animosity. 
 His triumph was pleasing, but in its celerity lay 
 an affront. It took a real effort to thank him. 
 
 It is a commonplace of philosophy that ex- 
 pectation is more than realisation. This applies 
 quite as much to things evil as to things good. 
 It applied with particular force to the dinner. 
 Every one of the fears that beset Beatrice proved 
 wasted forebodings. The chef was at his best, the 
 theatricals seemed an astonishing novelty, and 
 the 'dreaded effect of vulgar display was not at 
 any time manifest. To Beatrice the census of 
 guests was an ecstasy. She saw gathered a com- 
 pany whose meeting at her board marked definite 
 progress. They were the youngest and least known 
 cadets of society, but they had a line apiece in that 
 very catalogue which she had once waved in the 
 face of her aunt, and they made a majority of 
 those present. 
 
 She ran her eyes along the glittering, crescent- 
 shaped table, cleverly designed to focus the tem- 
 porary stage, and murmured the names as a 
 stimulant. On her right sat Mrs. Jewett, then 
 Gotham, next Holt, beside him Captain Channing, 
 and then a half-dozen, perhaps, of the middle 
 class stand-bys. After these came Mrs. Clinton 
 Bostock, a dashing society widow, quite the ideal 
 
 225
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 type of reconciled relict ; Mrs. Theodore Thomp- 
 son, who appreciated her golf-playing reputation, 
 and would talk of nothing else; Mr. French 
 Smithers, a dilettante portrait artist, who was 
 unpopular with the men because he painted their 
 wives; and two colourless debutantes under the 
 needless restraint of a dowager cousin. Far out 
 on the horn of the crescent sat Layton, who 
 debited Mrs. Jewett with his isolation from Bea- 
 trice, and who spent the evening making dynamic 
 remarks to his neighbours. 
 
 On the other side of the hostess sat Edith, still 
 wearing a visible depression, but not permit- 
 ting the shadow to mar her spirit. Next to 
 her was Felix Wetmore, the cotillion leader and 
 only remaining member of the Trexler contingent, 
 and beyond him the flower of the feast Mrs. 
 Ancaster Roberts, the Sempleman girls, Mrs. 
 Atherton, Miss Layton, Fairfax Royer, an import 
 from Virginia; Lester Allison, prototype of 
 Layton; Vance Burden, prototype of Allison; 
 Mrs. Castle, of the Ice Fund circle; Mr. Castle, 
 and on the end Mr. and Mrs. Sloane, just emerg- 
 ing from the honeymoon stage to the limpness 
 of close acquaintance. 
 
 Beatrice sparkled at the review. 
 
 " Mr. Gotham," she murmured, " what do you 
 226
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 think of them? An opinion, if you please, as 
 reviewing officer." 
 
 " Splendid," he replied, smiling, " best junior 
 turnout I have ever seen for a primary effort." 
 
 " I am particularly pleased that we have Mr. 
 Wetmore," she added, meaningly. 
 
 " It is just as well. I killed his resentment, 
 though, a week ago. Told him you thought he 
 preserved the best traditions of Beau Brummel." 
 
 " That was kind. I suppose you meant in 
 clothes?" 
 
 " He thought so. What I meant was another 
 tradition." 
 
 "His audacity?" 
 
 "No, his debts." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett's theory of the theatricals was 
 grandly vindicated. Vaudevilles were no novelty 
 to the men nor to one or two female adventurers 
 into Hammerstein's, but with the majority they 
 proved unique and delightful. They suggested 
 forbidden fruits enjoyed under the domestic wing. 
 
 Nor did the bogus pie fail of effect. When two 
 waiters staggered in bearing the colossal pastry, 
 both Mrs. Jewett and Beatrice trembled; they 
 shrank from a fizzle. But when under the touch 
 of a giant carving-knife, a dainty maid clad as a 
 postman leaped from the crust, and running from 
 
 227
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 guest to guest, left at each plate an appropriate 
 missive, the whole table rippled its applause. 
 
 " We owe you thanks," murmured Gotham. 
 " I was afraid it was going to be an apparition 
 in tights." 
 
 " No," responded Beatrice, gleefully, " we are 
 seeking novelties. Those notes, you will find, 
 have a personal significance." 
 
 " Yes, I see," he answered, mischievously. 
 " Mine is addressed ' To the moulder of public 
 opinion ' social opinion, you mean, don't you? " 
 
 " Of course. It is a compliment. Social 
 opinion is much harder to mould than public 
 opinion." 
 
 When the last dainty ice had marked a period 
 to the feast, Beatrice rose in her place, and looked 
 slowly about the company. The talk ran off into 
 concluding ripples, and then stopped altogether. 
 There was a hush of expectation. She stood in 
 silence for a full moment, flushed, smiling, her 
 eyes brilliant and excited, a picture of the hostess 
 triumphant. Mrs. Jewett looked across at Edith 
 nervously. This move was not on their pro- 
 gramme, and she dreaded some indiscretion. 
 Edith looked back fearfully. Their distrust was 
 mutual. 
 
 " I know it is not customary to make speeches 
 228
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 at private dinners," began Beatrice, " but I see 
 no reason why the flow of soul, which is such a 
 feature of the banquet, should be denied in the 
 home circle. Therefore, I shall disregard custom 
 and take advantage of my position to reform what 
 I consider a much abused toast. There was never 
 a banquet among men where the familiar toast, 
 ' To the ladies,' did not range the adjectives of 
 eulogium; there was never a response which did 
 not ring with hypocrisy. Women are not such 
 wonderful creatures; their limitations are many, 
 and their incapacity great. Women never did 
 anything well in the world, except the things they 
 are intended to do, and legions of them fail in 
 even that. Every departure into the fields of 
 men meets with rebuke. The very men who make 
 these toasts believe in women as women, and 
 despise them for anything else under heaven. 
 Let us then hear something sensible about the sex 
 and from a man. Let us not sit smiling under 
 the adjectives, but welcome a fresh breeze of 
 analysis. I have been curious all my life to hear 
 an honest man's honest opinion of ourselves in 
 the concrete, and I know all the rest of you 
 have. It is in line with the novelties of the 
 evening." 
 
 She halted, and played with the flowers at her 
 
 229
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 corsage, while the company hesitated between 
 applause and dissent. 
 
 " This flower," said Beatrice, holding up a 
 violet, " shall designate the man. I reserve to 
 myself the right of reply." 
 
 She tossed the flower deliberately to one side, 
 along the line of guests to the right. It fell 
 squarely between Philip Holt and Captain Chan- 
 ning. Both men made a simultaneous move to 
 rise, but Beatrice leaned forward and checked 
 Holt with a motion of her hand. Her eyes were 
 brilliant with the light of excitement. 
 
 " I said man," she half- whispered, " not mis- 
 sionary." 
 
 For an instant Holt hung on the point of rising ; 
 then his cheek paled, and he sank back into his 
 seat. Those who heard the remark saw the intent 
 to insult without understanding. Some few stared 
 at Beatrice and then at Holt, but the others tried 
 to relieve the embarrassment by indifference. 
 Channing saved a scene. Instead of taking fright 
 he rose hurriedly and plunged into his assignment. 
 With a dozen words he had diverted attention 
 from Holt, and confined knowledge of the incident 
 to those about him. It was quick and clever. 
 
 " I can hardly imagine myself in this attitude," 
 he began, gracefully, " except under orders. My 
 230
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 inclinations are all in favour of beginning, ' The 
 ladies, God bless them/ and winding up with 
 ' God bless the ladies.' But as our charming host- 
 ess desires analysis and not platitudes, I can only 
 hope to please her while displeasing myself. The 
 limitations of women are quite as numerous as she 
 suggests too numerous to review. I shall, 
 therefore, confine myself to the familiar matter of 
 sexual sentiment. This is a subject in which we 
 are all interested ; it is the greatest problem in the 
 world. From its solution springs sometimes hap- 
 piness, very often sorrow, and now and again 
 tragedy. But no one of us may escape its question. 
 Love is an asset or liability that appears on the 
 books of every individual, and it is in these records 
 that the shame or glory of women is written. And 
 why women ? Why not men ? Because with men 
 love is incidental, with women it is the first fact 
 of existence. Perhaps this explains the cruelty of 
 women in a sense I admit it may even justify 
 it. Seventy per cent, of the failures of love pro- 
 ceed from woman's incompetence and cruelty. 
 They go into the world believing that the love of 
 man, or rather his adoration, is their birthright 
 and due. They never look for friendship or 
 brotherly affection ; they demand prostration, and 
 they insist on the fullest measure of material 
 
 231
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 slavery. It never occurs to them that happier 
 results might flow from comradeship than from 
 bondage, and they put on the screws of senti- 
 mental demand until the victim faints beneath the 
 pressure. Have you ever seen a prettier spectacle 
 than a mutually dependent man and wife, sharing 
 their duties, exchanging comradeship for the task- 
 master, Love? And can you imagine an uglier 
 picture than the selfish woman standing above the 
 infatuated man, shrieking, ' My love demands 
 more money,' ' My love demands more affection,' 
 ' My love should be the first thing in the world,' 
 until the day arrives when it really becomes the 
 first thing the first thing he wants to escape 
 from. And yet this is the normal attitude of seven 
 women out of ten. They do not want man's love 
 other than as tribute. What is the result? The 
 poor victim, bereft of passion, and denied love, 
 adopts hypocrisy in defence, or, worse still, sinks 
 to dishonour to ease his sufferings. When women 
 realise that love does not give them a first lien 
 on a man's body, soul, and pocketbook, there will 
 be a day when marriage is not a scoff, and the 
 poets will have a new song to sing. It is for 
 women to be merciful ; they are the natural 
 rulers ; but let their dominion be a sisterhood, and 
 not tyranny." 
 232
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 The speaker stopped, as if conscious that he 
 had shown a trifle more emphasis than the occa- 
 sion demanded. He bowed sweepingly to Bea- 
 trice. " I have arraigned our sisters on probably 
 their cardinal failing," he ended ; " for the rest, 
 they are very superior cooks, splendid nurses, and 
 much better than men in the care of small chil- 
 dren." 
 
 The applause that Channing received was thin. 
 The men could not respond, and the women 
 would not, but he looked to Beatrice to justify 
 him. She did so promptly. 
 
 "Captain Channing has, in a measure, disarmed 
 me," she began, as she arose. " I feel so in har- 
 mony with his thought I cannot attack it. Be- 
 tween friendship and the emotion called love, 
 which is really an alias for passion, there is 
 nothing to argue. If more of what is sneered 
 at as Platonic affection could prevail, happiness 
 would increase. Still I doubt not I shall find a 
 text. Captain Channing's toast may be called 
 ' The Tyrant Love.' My own shall be ' Vanity 
 as Self-defence.' Captain Channing declares us 
 Shylocks of affection. The truth of his claim may 
 not be denied. But we have the excuse of neces- 
 sity. Man is the highest type of egotist. He 
 assumes that he is under-lord of creation, and for 
 
 233
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 many centuries his dominion over women had 
 the sanction of law. Woman was forced to rely 
 on the protection of sentiment when sentiment 
 could be aroused. Is it any wonder, then, that 
 women guard their agency of power? Is it 
 strange, that knowing sentiment as their only 
 strength, they should struggle to keep its flame 
 alive in the breasts of husband, lover, or friend? 
 It is never hard to light the blaze of passion, but 
 it is so hard sometimes to nourish that other flame 
 of affection from which springs happiness. Captain 
 Channing complains that women make men toe 
 the sentimental mark. I tell Captain Channing 
 that if they were not reminded of their duty they 
 would never do it. When a woman gives her 
 heart away, she gives so much of her being that 
 she cannot bear to see a failure of exchange. So 
 she battles to win the half of that which she gives. 
 It is not cruelty, though it may be thoughtless 
 tyranny. If man had nothing else in all the 
 world but his heart, we may suppose that to 
 nourish it he would employ cruelty unknown to 
 woman, because missing from her nature. It is 
 a pitiful spectacle, this warfare to retain a foothold 
 on the quicksand of man's affections. Were men 
 less busy dodging their romantic obligations, 
 women would be less active imposing them. For 
 
 234
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the rest," she ended, in mockery of Channing, 
 " men are excellent money-makers, good for 
 checking baggage, and much better than women 
 as escorts." 
 
 As she finished, she raised her glass and smiled 
 happily. 
 
 " Let us toast that beautiful borderland between 
 love and indifference the sweet, calm country 
 of' Friendship." 
 
 The company responded with noisy enthusiasm. 
 Nobody had given the speeches serious thought, 
 but there was danger of offence in comment, and 
 they retreated gladly to the shelter of the toast. 
 It was a graceful finish to a piquant episode. The 
 dinner had won. When the guests were leaving, 
 Edith slipped up to Captain Channing, her eyes 
 grave and anxious. 
 
 " You did not mean it all," she asked, seriously, 
 " there is nothing in your life " 
 
 " My dear Miss Edith," he interrupted, lightly, 
 " I did not mean any of it. I was called on for a 
 performance, and I played a part. How could 
 I mean it," he added, with sudden tenderness, 
 " when I know you ? " 
 
 " I am glad," she said, happily, " and I should 
 have understood." 
 
 235
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 The next morning Beatrice sat again in a field 
 of newspapers, but this time it was to clip. 
 Gotham had done his work thoroughly. In his 
 own newspaper a column display told glowingly 
 of the dinner, and in every other paper of value 
 there was a mention large or small. None of 
 them neglected her. Gotham reprinted her pic- 
 ture, too, and made a special feature of the odd 
 discussion of love, seeming to regard the snap 
 debate as the most original feature of the pro- 
 gramme. 
 
 " It may be expected hereafter," he wrote, " that 
 an academic entree will be a fixture at all private 
 banquets certainly Miss Cameron has suggested 
 a charming relief to the vapid intercourse of the 
 average dinner." 
 
 Her heart bounded at the recognition; the list 
 of names, too, grew so imposing in type that she 
 pictured their impression on the public. She read 
 them over to herself, she read them over to Edith, 
 and she took particular malice in retailing them 
 to Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 " You see, auntie," she remarked, solemnly, " if 
 you had not deserted us, your name would have 
 been there, too, instead of figuring merely as the 
 owner of the house." 
 
 " I have neither entertained nor been enter- 
 236
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 tained since your uncle died," said Mrs. Lambert, 
 composedly. " It is too late to resume." 
 
 To Mrs. Jewett Beatrice sent a typical note. 
 " Congratulate me," it ran, " and come to lunch. 
 We are marching on! " 
 
 237
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 T^vURING the next few days Beatrice kept 
 j J herself as much in evidence as possible by 
 "^~"*^ attending the flower shows, art exhibits, 
 and concerts that had the social endorsement, and 
 it pleased her to see that the reporters had begun 
 to note her movements. Then she had a card to 
 Mrs. Thompson's musicale, was a member of the 
 tri-monthly Roberts box party, and under Mrs. 
 Atherton's patronage made a small sensation at 
 the Westchester Hunt ball. She used these oppor- 
 tunities to the fullest advantage. One acquaint- 
 ance after another was won, until the roll 
 impressed even Mrs. Jewett. 
 
 During this week of proselyting some dismal 
 stories came to Beatrice regarding Holt. He had 
 made a commotion at a bachelors' dinner, he had 
 created a scene in an up-town cafe, and had at- 
 tacked Layton in the lobby of Daly's. Of the 
 budget of rumours she believed just one the 
 assault on Layton and she preferred this be- 
 cause it amused her. Why he remained away from 
 238
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the Lambert house, she could not determine, ex- 
 cept on the ground that he wished to spare her 
 aunt an exhibition. 
 
 Therefore, when one morning she received his 
 card, she awaited him in the belief that he had 
 regained his poise, or he would not be there. 
 When she saw him she believed everything she 
 had heard ; he was an object to vindicate rumour. 
 His face bore traces of dissipation, and even in 
 dress he helped the gossips to make out their case. 
 Beatrice stared at him with disgust. 
 
 "You look wretched," she gasped; "what in 
 the world have you done? " 
 
 He drew himself up stiffly. " I have been 
 trying to forget that I was a missionary," he 
 answered, with cutting bitterness. " I recovered 
 this morning, and I am here to learn whether the 
 relapse is to become permanent." 
 
 " I think you play a very ignoble part," said 
 Beatrice, coldly. 
 
 " No doubt. I have been using your receipt, 
 you know; you despise me when I am sober, 
 Beatrice, and the other is relief. Or do you 
 despise me," he asked, with sudden, straining 
 eagerness, " do you really believe me contempti- 
 ble, or have I dignified mere petulance? Say that 
 I have," he burst out, " say that I am mistaken. 
 
 239
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Tell me that I have been a fool, a weakling, but 
 for God's sake, tell me that I misunderstood." 
 
 Beatrice looked him over slowly. He was not 
 a pleasant analysis. The trembling hands, the 
 weak mouth, an aspect of cringing so far from 
 winning pity, his attitude annoyed her and 
 hatched a desire to confirm his woe. She knew 
 she should temporise, should maintain an entente, 
 no matter how false or gauzy, but the call of 
 temper was hard to resist. She had always dis- 
 liked Holt, and she felt now she would like to 
 tell him exactly how much he fell short of her 
 approval. It would have pleased her more had 
 he kept his original note of defiance. 
 
 " I don't know that you have misunderstood 
 me," she said, tersely; " maybe you misunderstood 
 in the first place." She had no idea of nursing 
 his delusions. 
 
 The thrust seemed to startle him. 
 
 " You can't mean that," he said, with a strange 
 stare, " that would be too cruel. It would make 
 of every pretty speech an abominable lie. I will 
 not believe it. My discredit dates from the 
 dinner. How? Why? Give me a chance to 
 explain." 
 
 " You know what I meant by missionary? " 
 
 " I presume it was to flout my unworldliness. 
 240
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 If you only knew," he went on, slowly, " how 
 ready I am to become whatever you will, you 
 would forgive me that." 
 
 "If your religious spirit offends me, you will 
 cast it out ; is that what you mean ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Beatrice flushed darkly; the feeble cord of 
 prudence snapped. 
 
 ' Your thought is detestable," she cried. 
 " Why you imagine religion may not live in my 
 atmosphere, I do not know. My remark had to 
 do solely with the mission you took for my aunt. 
 It may interest you to know that I realised your 
 role from the first." 
 
 Holt looked dumbfounded. 
 
 " It is all of a piece with your training to take 
 advantage of my aunt's sentiment," she rattled 
 on, bitterly. " I never knew a religious poseur in 
 my life who wouldn't put a trickster to blush when 
 there was a money prize. I am ready to admit 
 one point in your favour. I believe Mrs. Lambert 
 urged the enterprise. Possibly she thought the 
 advantage would be mutual, but the only result 
 has been to force me to maintain unreal senti- 
 ment. If I offended you, I offended her. Had 
 you been manly, you would have scorned the lever 
 of a relative's patronage." 
 
 241
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Why did you not tell me? " stammered Holt, 
 weakly. 
 
 " It was not my place to teach you chivalry. 
 You knew all the time that my aunt was interested 
 in you and that her interest protected your suit. 
 Why, even had I loved, such intrigue would have 
 killed affection." 
 
 " You might have told me," he repeated, cling- 
 ing to a defensive reproach; "you might have 
 saved me from hope. It would have been kinder 
 than this; I had no wish to be oppressive." 
 
 " Your own deceit excuses me," said Beatrice, 
 crisply. " Heaven knows," she added, with a 
 little tantalising laugh, " I have wanted to give 
 you my opinion often enough. Your alliance with 
 auntie reacted on yourself. I dared not speak. 
 I should not be frank now, I suppose, but you 
 see, Philip, your course is more than I can endure. 
 I confess had I been a little cooler at the dinner 
 I should not have spoken, but now well, you 
 understand, and I hope it will bring me relief. 
 It is even possible that we may be what we have 
 never been friends." 
 
 As she finished speaking Beatrice turned, and, 
 
 walking over to the window, looked out. She 
 
 seemed indifferent and weary. Holt, confounded 
 
 by her reproaches, stood vainly seeking a reply. 
 
 242
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 He felt all the awkwardness of his position. He 
 dared not justify himself because that was dis- 
 credit not for himself alone, but for Mrs. Lam- 
 bert. And would it be justification even if he 
 told all? Was it vindication to deny seeking 
 fortune, but to admit that the original plan was 
 reform? Decidedly not not, at least, with 
 Beatrice. If anything, the idea that her morals 
 needed rescue would inflame her more than the 
 first delusion. Besides, no matter what his profit 
 in confession, he was bound to protect Mrs. Lam- 
 bert. Had she not, indeed, warned him against 
 just what had happened? So he stood, conscious 
 that Beatrice's deduction painted him a schemer, 
 yet shorn of defence and loving her as he 
 loved neither his life nor religion. In his 
 restraint lay the sting. He must go away, and 
 he might say no single thing that could prove his 
 passion, that might show its honesty, or that could 
 serve to assist Mrs. Lambert. Mere protest would 
 not move Beatrice an inch, nor was Mrs. Lambert 
 to be guarded by showing her own effort to drag 
 him back; denial was as useless as argument. 
 He made no effort at an answer, he did not even 
 say good-bye; he turned, and, without a look 
 behind him, walked from the room. Beatrice 
 watched him going off down the street, just as 
 
 243
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 she had watched that other time when he had 
 been happy in hope, and so little did the pathos 
 of his exit impress her that she actually felt relief. 
 There was something physical in her antipathy to 
 Holt, and the outbreak brought content. 
 
 " Now," she said, as she turned away, " now 
 for more trouble with Mrs. Lambert." 
 
 But there was no conflict with Mrs. Lambert; 
 there was not even evidence that she knew of 
 Holt's dismissal. One day ran into another, and, 
 as she made no sign, Beatrice felt a small doubt 
 of her analysis. 
 
 " It cannot be that I am mistaken," she re- 
 flected ; " this silence is certainly odd. But why 
 did auntie give me the house? Holt, of course. 
 He is more manly than I expected, that's all." 
 
 But if Mrs. Lambert gave no sign, Holt sup- 
 plied an abundance. The reports of his mis- 
 conduct began again with variations. He was 
 drinking, and his penchant for disorder in public 
 places seemed to have become a habit. What he 
 said during these scenes Beatrice could not learn, 
 but the possibilities made her uneasy. Ordinarily, 
 to have a man of Holt's class crying his repulse 
 would have appealed to her as advertising, but 
 she was afraid something would reach Mrs. 
 Lambert and end her concession. After Holt's 
 244
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 exit she had resigned herself to this, but with the 
 lapse of time and the absence of hostile signs 
 hope revived. 
 
 Once only did she herself come in contact with 
 Holt, and while the meeting was incidental, it lay 
 on her memory. She had been out shopping with 
 Mrs. Jewett, and was seated alone in her carriage 
 waiting her companion's return from a store, when 
 the window darkened, and Holt's face and shoul- 
 ders filled the opening, a vision of relapse. 
 Pale, red of eye, and with disordered toilet, he 
 embodied an accusation. She recoiled, and he 
 laughed. 
 
 " Nice sight, isn't it ? " he sneered. " Monu- 
 ment to your coquetry; next tenant of your 
 private graveyard." 
 
 Beatrice flushed angrily. 
 
 " Who's my successor ? " he asked, coarsely. 
 " Do you know, you have no idea what a blessing 
 this drink is," he added, with a quick switch of 
 vindictiveness. " I can't tell how much I owe 
 you for making me know its soothing qualities. 
 It is not every viper that provides its victims with 
 an antidote," and then, before he could say 
 more, the high, cheery voice of Mrs. Jewett 
 sounded behind him, and he turned with a bow. 
 
 " No, I am not feeling well," Beatrice heard 
 
 245
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 him saying. " Heartburn from smoking poppy 
 leaves. One must pay for these artificial visions, 
 you know." 
 
 Beatrice moved to the far corner of the car- 
 riage ; she had no appetite for post-mortem satire 
 on dead loves. There was some further chatter 
 outside ; then Mrs. Jewett entered, waved an adieu 
 to Holt, and the vehicle moved off. Beatrice was 
 sulky and nervous. 
 
 " Well," observed her companion, sweetly, " it 
 must be admitted that you do your work thor- 
 oughly, Bab." 
 
 " Don't be ugly, Alice." 
 
 " Bless your soul, Bab, I don't care," laughed 
 Mrs. Jewett. "It is not my place to champion 
 these men. I think myself he is an unappealing 
 specimen." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert was heard from finally. She 
 came into Beatrice's sitting-room one day with 
 an air of investigation. 
 
 " Have you seen Philip lately ? " she queried. 
 
 " No," replied Beatrice, easily. " Not for sev- 
 eral weeks." 
 
 "Why has he absented himself?" continued 
 Mrs. Lambert, suspiciously. 
 
 " I don't know ; possibly I was rather dis- 
 
 246
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 couraging the last time he proposed. I think it 
 was the third time." 
 
 " That explains his drinking," said Mrs. Lam- 
 bert, slowly. " I hear he is proving an apt pupil 
 of yours." 
 
 Beatrice declined to answer. Mrs. Lambert 
 stood watching her for some seconds. It was 
 evident that she hung on the point of an outburst, 
 but her natural timidity asserted itself, and to 
 Beatrice's joy she left the room. 
 
 During the next few days the household's only 
 news of Holt came through drifting rumours. 
 Their colour was uniformly drab. Layton volun- 
 teered some data, but found Beatrice indifferent, 
 so he carried it to Mrs. Lambert. He knew, as 
 did every one, that she had a lively interest in 
 Holt's concerns, and he hoped that his facts might 
 discredit the protege. He had not forgotten his 
 beating. 
 
 One night after a particularly heavy domestic 
 meeting, an evening of books, and whist, with 
 Mrs. Lambert gloomy and Edith restrained, Bea- 
 trice wandered into her sister's dressing-room 
 and tried to strike a spark of cheerfulness. She 
 found Edith still muffled in the reserve that had 
 marked her manner ever since the Trexler episode, 
 and she put forth special efforts to learn its com- 
 
 247
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 pass. She had no interest in " bringing Edith 
 around," as she termed it, but this resentment in 
 a person wholly outside the tragedy gave her 
 something to probe. Edith's dressing-room was 
 the last of the double suite occupied by the two 
 girls, and one of its doors opened on the passage, 
 which ran half the length of the floor and ended 
 in the stairs. The night was fog-draped and 
 close, and, while they chatted, Edith swung the 
 door wide to assist a lazy ventilation. It was 
 oddly quiet in the house, and as Edith glanced 
 down the dark corridor she heard the murmur of 
 voices, coming apparently from the first floor. 
 She supposed it was Mrs. Lambert giving last 
 directions to the butler, and smiled at her dili- 
 gence. 
 
 She had hardly turned away, when from some- 
 where in the black depths of the lower floor the 
 sound of a dreadful crash echoed through the 
 house; there was the tinkle of shattered glass, 
 and on its heels a scream, wild, savage, and 
 prolonged, a shriek like the cry of a man in 
 torture. Then came broken sounds of a struggle, 
 the violent opening and shutting of doors, and 
 again silence. Both girls hung in the clutch of 
 instant horror. They stood looking at each other 
 fearfully, listening and waiting. 
 248
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 "My God," gasped Beatrice, "what is it? 
 See, Edith, see go to the door ! " 
 
 Edith obeyed bravely. She was starting down 
 the corridor, forbidding now as the path to mys- 
 tery, when she heard on the stairs the patter of 
 hurrying feet. She stopped in dread. The racing 
 steps passed the first landing, beat up the second, 
 a white gown glimmered suddenly at the end of 
 the passage, and, almost before she could step 
 aside, Mrs. Lambert dashed by her and was into 
 the room. Her face was white, and her eyes had 
 in them a look to match the dreadful cry that had 
 rung up from below; there were scars and 
 blotches on her hands, and her gown showed a 
 rent that ran from shoulder to waist. She halted 
 in front of Beatrice, and one hand shot out in a 
 clutch on the girl's shoulder. 
 
 " Come with me," she exclaimed, " come with 
 me. You shall look on a piece of your handiwork 
 that will give you pride and encouragement. 
 Come, and write ' finished ' on your triumph ! " 
 she cried, wildly. 
 
 Beatrice shook herself free. 
 
 " What do you mean by such conduct ? " she 
 stammered. "I will go nowhere; you are de- 
 lirious. Edith, send for the butler." 
 
 249
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 With a quick motion the elder woman grasped 
 Beatrice by both arms, and shook her savagely. 
 
 " You will come," she cried, furiously. " You 
 will come if I have to drag you every step of the 
 way. He is waiting for you, and you shall see 
 him ; you are too modest to claim your credit." 
 
 Edith interposed hurriedly. " Stop, auntie," 
 she pleaded, " stop ; you forget what you are 
 doing. Beatrice, go with auntie, and I will go 
 with you." 
 
 In a flash of intuition Beatrice saw Edith's 
 drift. She was soothing her aunt her aunt 
 was demented ; it was a lightning stroke of aber- 
 ration. Something had happened; Beatrice 
 changed front in an instant. 
 
 " I will go anywhere auntie wishes," she said, 
 quickly, " if she will cease this violence. Release 
 my arms," she continued, addressing Mrs. Lam- 
 bert, " and I will follow you at once." Mrs. 
 Lambert complied; then without another word 
 she turned and walked from the room, and the 
 two girls followed. Down the stairs she led the 
 way, and along the hall to the little library and 
 writing-room, where an hour before they had left 
 her at her correspondence. At the door she hesi- 
 tated, then, swinging it open with a quick move- 
 ment, she shoved Beatrice ahead of her and whis- 
 250
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 pered, " Look, and be satisfied ; " and Beatrice 
 looked, and the thing she saw brought agony 
 to her soul, and she heard Edith behind her catch 
 her breath with a gasp of pain. Directly before 
 them two servants held down on one of the great 
 leather-covered settees the struggling form of a 
 man. His eyes wide and staring saw nothing; 
 around his lips bubbled a white rime of froth. It 
 was Philip Holt. One hand held the broken frag- 
 ments of a photograph, and with the other he 
 battled steadily against his captors. Around the 
 room was the evidence of a madman's wreckage. 
 The great glass front of the writing-cabinet had 
 been smashed in, and a broken chair told of the 
 demolishing blow. Here and there were pieces 
 of overturned furniture, and dozens of books were 
 scattered on every hand. 
 
 At intervals the figure on the settee heaved 
 itself up in rebellion; there would be a sharp 
 struggle, and he would sink back again. The 
 absence of any sound, save the gasps of the com- 
 batants, made these efforts more terrible to view 
 than the clamour of a greater violence ; they held 
 the little group with a dread fascination. 
 
 On their entrance, one of the captors had 
 looked qver anxiously at Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 251
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I hope the ambulance is coming soon, ma'am ; 
 he is getting very hard to hold." 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " I have telephoned the 
 hospital. They promised to be here in a few 
 minutes. Before they take him away, William, 
 we must secure that photograph." She moved 
 up close behind Beatrice, and began whispering 
 in her ear. 
 
 " Look at the result of your coquetry," she 
 hissed, softly ; " it is the end of a weak, incapable 
 soul; of a man who needed only kindness to 
 survive even contact with you. But you preferred 
 the cruelty of a conqueror. The hand that should 
 have guided him from disaster knifed his man- 
 hood and slew his spirit. I feared it. I warned 
 him, but I did not believe even you could cremate 
 a soul to see the sparks fly. I did not believe it." 
 
 She halted a moment and was silent, watching 
 with painful intentness every move of the labour- 
 ing figures. Then the even, monotonous hissing 
 began afresh. 
 
 " Those who live by the sword shall die by the 
 sword. You can let this warn you, or you can go 
 on until God bids you halt. Philip came to me 
 to-night wrecked and broken. The mere mention 
 of your name drove him mad. That desk was 
 destroyed that he might get from it what ? 
 252
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Your photograph. It was the same I showed 
 him as an introduction. That is it in his hand 
 oh ! look out, William, hold him, but don't hurt 
 him don't hurt him, William ! " 
 
 " I think I hear the ambulance bell, ma'am ; 
 tell them to hurry, please he is getting worse 
 every minute, ma'am." 
 
 The metallic echo of a gong floated into the 
 room. Mrs. Lambert tapped Beatrice on the 
 shoulder. " Come," she said, " you must go 
 now ; " she marched to the door, " by to-morrow 
 night I want you and your last scrap of baggage 
 out of the house. Edith," she added, kindly, " you 
 had better go to your room. Forgive me for 
 bringing you here. I let you come, because I 
 did not intend this woman should escape what 
 she has seen. She would not come without you." 
 They passed out mechanically Beatrice stony- 
 faced and hard-eyed ; Edith with tears glistening 
 on her cheeks. Mrs. Lambert watched them 
 calmly. 
 
 They stumbled up the stairs and back again to 
 the brilliantly lighted room from which they had 
 come. Beatrice flung herself wearily into a chair. 
 
 " I leave it to you, Edith," she said, theatric- 
 ally, " if you ever listened to such absolute non- 
 sense in all your life. Mrs. Lambert is " but 
 
 253
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Edith with neither word nor look passed on into 
 the adjoining room, and Beatrice heard the snap- 
 ping of a lock. 
 
 The next morning the maid knocked at Edith's 
 door and brought breakfast. With the breakfast 
 was a note. The agitated writing marked its 
 author. 
 
 " I had intended seeing you," it ran, " but 
 I cannot bring myself to the task. I fear to 
 encounter Beatrice, too, for while I wish to be 
 charitable, I hope that I may never lay eyes on her 
 again. She must leave the house at once. I could 
 not endure her presence another day, and the 
 thought that she is here now agitates me beyond 
 measure. When she goes she takes with her the 
 remnants of peace and joy left in my life since 
 your uncle's death. You did not know my boy, 
 my sweet-souled boy ; you did not see him 
 crumble under her blasting touch from a manly 
 spirit to the wreck of last night, and you did not 
 understand how I had taken him into my lonely 
 life if you had felt any one of these things, 
 you would appreciate my bitterness, and the re- 
 proach that is my portion. If only she had been 
 kind not loving but kind merely ! Of 
 course, you will go with her; I could expect 
 254
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 nothing else, although I know your character well 
 enough to believe that she is a constant cross. I 
 am not sure, indeed, but that you have a mission 
 before you to save this woman from the crimes of 
 her vanity, and in saving her to protect society. 
 I see no one else by whom this may be done. 
 Stay by her, labour with her in time a change 
 may come. If not, she will go through the world 
 leaving behind her a trail of sorrow. Of Mrs. 
 Jewett I can say nothing. I believe that Beatrice's 
 conduct has had the singular result of disgusting 
 her, and when her ambition has been gratified, 
 you may find in her a valuable ally. At any rate, 
 I do not believe her influence has been for bad. 
 Good-bye, and forgive me for not seeing you. 
 
 " AUNT LYDIA." 
 
 All night long Edith had remained awake in a 
 passion of horror and regret. The double shock 
 of Trexler's death and Holt's fall were as brand- 
 ing-irons of reproach. She felt responsibility and 
 a sense of neglect that she whose days were given 
 to good had failed to halt the evil at her elbow. 
 Money had been spent and labour given to purify- 
 ing other atmospheres, while here at home a 
 noxious blossom poisoned the air. Had she done 
 her best to stay its growth had she done any- 
 
 255
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 thing at all but stand by and sigh regrets? 
 Could she do anything? Was it certain that her 
 influence over Beatrice was altogether useless? 
 She did not know, and therein lay her censure. 
 She should have tried, and if one avenue closed, 
 then another should have been opened until an 
 approach to Beatrice's conscience enabled her to 
 work. She would try. In the end, if it were 
 failure, then even this would be sweeter than 
 neglect. 
 
 Between midnight and morning something in 
 her nature had been killed, but something too 
 had been gained. Her aunt's letter clinched the 
 nail of resolve. 
 
 To Beatrice, too, had come breakfast and a 
 message only verbal. 
 
 Lucy arranged the meal with exactness, then 
 made a sweeping curtsy. 
 
 " Miss Beatrice," she said, deferentially, 
 " Missus told me I was to help you pack up." 
 
 Beatrice looked at her strangely. The girl's 
 speech was proof of her aunt's determination. 
 Mrs. Lambert had meant what she said. Bea- 
 trice's hope of pardon vanished. 
 
 " I do not need your help," she said, angrily, 
 " and you will please leave the room." Lucy 
 paled and fled. Beatrice heard Edith's door click, 
 256
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 and in another moment she was in the room. Her 
 face was worn, but a calm curtained its unrest. 
 She smiled on Beatrice sweetly. 
 
 " Sister," she said, " auntie has asked us to 
 leave the house, and I think the sooner we go, the 
 easier we make it both for her and ourselves. If 
 I can assist you in any way, let me know. I 
 shall be through with my own work in an hour." 
 Beatrice looked at her in sullen surprise. She had 
 prepared for a different encounter. 
 
 " I was not aware that you had been ordered 
 out," she said, suspiciously; " I did not hear it." 
 
 " Neither was I," answered Edith, simply, 
 " but you are my sister." 
 
 Beatrice was embarrassed. She ate stolidly. 
 Her appetite had not suffered over night. Edith 
 took a seat with an air of friendliness, and 
 watched her. It was more than Beatrice could 
 endure. 
 
 " Edith," she said, laying down her fork, " you 
 snapped your door in my face, and now you 
 are not consistent." 
 
 " I am sorry, Beatrice, I do not want to quarrel. 
 I think we have been growing apart. This dread- 
 ful affair should bring us to see our responsi- 
 bilities." 
 
 " Mine, yes, but not yours ; you are not inter- 
 
 257
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 ested. Neither am I particularly. It is going 
 to interrupt my social work, that is all. If you 
 are here to point a moral, Edith, as I suspect, 
 your visit will not be welcome." She looked at 
 her sister coldly. Edith felt her resolves take 
 phantom shapes. 
 
 " You are best acquainted with your con- 
 science," she said, struggling bravely ; " I do not 
 believe you realise the harm you do, sister. I 
 merely pray that your generosity guide you. If 
 coquetry has such terrible results, you should 
 refuse to practise it." 
 
 " I am not a coquette," answered Beatrice. " I 
 treat a man pleasantly, and he If I acted other- 
 wise I should be called a boor." 
 
 " Your power should be used to inspire, not 
 as a blight. If a man delivers you his love, yours 
 is a sacred trust." 
 
 " Edith," replied Beatrice, patiently, " I use 
 these men as social agents. I am not serious 
 myself, and they have no right to be." 
 
 " Not serious," repeated Edith, sadly, " not 
 serious when you see two men slain as surely 
 slain as " she paused with a catch in her throat, 
 and at the same time Beatrice's hands flew to her 
 face and her body shook with sobs. Edith gazed 
 in dismay. She had never seen Beatrice cry, 
 258
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 and the sudden lapse filled her with pity. She 
 slipped around the table and touched Beatrice's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Rebuke is not needed when you yourself see 
 the peril," she whispered, " forgive me." The 
 caress seemed to sting Beatrice. Her sobs ceased, 
 and she looked up chill and resentful. 
 
 " You have done very well with your little 
 sermonette," she said, " and I have been patient. 
 I will hear no more. Let us talk of our de- 
 parture." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " We will go to Mrs. Jewett, and if you want 
 to arouse the generosity of which you spoke look 
 after the packing while I pick out a suite." 
 
 Edith, as soon as possible, escaped to her room. 
 She felt her repulse keenly, but it did not lessen 
 her resolve. What worried her most was the 
 poverty of her method. She did not know how to 
 handle Beatrice, and it was a question whether 
 she would learn. The hardest task was to combat 
 her satire, to meet that callousness which proved 
 so great a barrier. To her fainting spirit she 
 applied the restorative of Thomas a Kempis. 
 The sombre, morocco volume .was her daily study. 
 She read one of the many sermons of faith, and 
 the old monk seemed to speak to her, to infuse 
 
 259
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 her with the uplifting note which he struck in 
 every message. 
 
 But even as she felt its power she realised the 
 task of opposing selfishness with spiritual 
 weapons, for selfishness is a part of nature, and 
 with Beatrice it was a large part. She must try 
 to subdue her vanity, to control it, and despite her 
 fierce desire she sighed at the outlook. 
 
 They left the house that evening. Departure 
 had been made easy. Every servant in the place, 
 acting apparently under orders, had bent their 
 efforts toward speeding the guests. Of Mrs. 
 Lambert nothing was to be seen. Edith made no 
 attempt to find her, because she feared the offence 
 to Beatrice, so when the door closed it was to the 
 farewell of the butler. 
 
 Edith was greatly depressed as the carriage 
 rolled away, and Beatrice tried to cheer her. 
 
 " Every sorrow has its compensation," she 
 said ; " at least there will be no more scenes. 
 Although, I admit," she added, gravely, " it is a 
 serious blow to my plans." 
 
 They had a lively dinner at the hotel that 
 night at least a dinner two-thirds lively 
 Edith being the minority third. And she tried 
 hard to be otherwise, too, for she knew that if 
 Beatrice was ever to be reached, it must be 
 260
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 through sympathy and not righteous opposition. 
 But she had not the aid of champagne, and she 
 felt strange and lonely in the exile of a hotel. 
 Mrs. Jevvett shielded her all she could. 
 
 " Don't you talk at all, Edith, dear," she said. 
 " You look completely worn out, and I don't 
 blame you, either, for I think your aunt acted very 
 hastily. After dinner we will consider the future." 
 
 And after dinner they did quite a formal 
 conference it was, with Mrs. Jewett as presiding 
 officer. 
 
 " So far as our plans go," she said, addressing 
 Beatrice, " this matter need prove no interruption 
 at all. You know my country-house scheme, and 
 as spring is coming on, it was about time for you 
 to move anyhow. I have an option on the lease of 
 what I believe the grandest country home any- 
 where south of Newport. It is on the Sound, 
 within an hour of New York, and it is ample for 
 any purpose. You can entertain a score or two 
 at a time, and the grounds well, when Edith 
 sees them I know she will say I have found a 
 Paradise. We have three months before hot 
 weather sets in, and it may pay us to stay right 
 through until fall. We will take liberties with 
 Lent, and after April first we can be startling." 
 
 261
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Can you get any one to go to such a place? 
 So far off, I mean," Beatrice asked, vaguely. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett laughed. " Indeed, yes. When 
 we are well under way I expect Mrs. Thurston 
 will come. To-morrow we shall run down and 
 look it over ; and you, little girl," she added, pat- 
 ting Edith's hand, " will find the greatest band 
 of poor folks in Woods Corner, about two miles 
 away, that ever taxed a material angel. You 
 won't be lonely at all." 
 
 So the next day, while Edith arranged for an 
 absence from her charities, Mrs. Jewett and 
 Beatrice left New York to look over the property. 
 They came back in the evening, tired but radiant. 
 
 " Alice is right," said Beatrice, joyfully, " it 
 is a Paradise." 
 
 " And not so far from the shopping district, 
 either," added Mrs. Jewett. 
 
 262
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 /T was a full week before they were ready 
 to leave New York, and it had been a week 
 of activity. Mrs. Jewett was busy getting 
 automobiles and new furniture; Beatrice nego- 
 tiated the lease, and Edith hunted up a house- 
 keeper. This task and the vast shopping opera- 
 tions of Mrs. Jewett did much to keep Edith's 
 mind in the balance she was prone to lose when 
 she looked backward. She seized every chance 
 for activity. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett spent money grandly. She sent 
 down three car-loads of extra furniture and kept 
 decorators at her elbow five hours a day. Then 
 she went on to see that her ideas prevailed. Late 
 on Monday afternoon Beatrice and Edith made a 
 formal start for their new home. Edith watched 
 the metropolis fade from view with elation. The 
 city's shadow made of the fields and woods a 
 blessed panorama. The estate lay on the edge 
 of the Sound near Greenwich, and the station bore 
 a name Excelsior which Mrs. Jewett de- 
 
 263
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 clared was very appropriate. When they reached 
 Excelsior they found the advance agent bubbling 
 welcome. An automobile wagonette was drawn 
 up by the platform, and while the maid looked 
 after the wraps, Mrs. Jewett with a childlike pride 
 took her place as chauffeuse. The ride over the 
 wide, well-kept road put the trio in a glow of 
 spirits. There was the chill of early March in 
 the air, and the fields were stark; yet the sense 
 of largeness, the height and breadth of the out- 
 look, was in itself reviving. 
 
 The house and the Sound came into view at 
 the same time. In the gloaming the waters lay 
 a sea of quicksilver, and the great dwelling sil- 
 houetted against the light in the east with every 
 detail in relief. They saw it first from the top 
 of a hillock; then the wagonette ran into a little 
 valley, and when they mounted again it stood 
 before them. Just as they made the rise the sun 
 in the west struck a flame from one of the tower 
 windows, and as the base lay shrouded in gloom, 
 this strange fire flared out aloft like the shine of 
 a giant eye. Edith gazed at the odd appearance, 
 and a chill dissipated her spirits. 
 
 Who shall say what is intuition? Who shall 
 sneer at that subtle essence of understanding that 
 with some rises almost to the importance of a 
 264
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 sense? When she saw the reflection it came over 
 Edith as an omen, a signal light that was the 
 more ominous because it flamed in opposition to 
 the first joy she had felt in weeks. 
 
 But in the morning Edith awoke to a world 
 of sunshine and of flashing waters. Her room was 
 a splendid apartment overlooking the Sound, and 
 when she saw the wide lane of water with its 
 parading marine life, she fairly clapped her hands 
 in applause. She watched the coming and going 
 of the craft until breakfast, the prospect banishing 
 for a time the city's burden of memory. After 
 the meal Mrs. Jewett took her on a tour of the 
 house and premises. The elder woman as sponsor 
 had a set pride in the whole estate, and Edith 
 sought to please her by praising all she saw. To 
 do this was no effort of courtesy; the adjectives 
 were honest. 
 
 " I want you to view the house from the out- 
 side first," said Mrs. Jewett, expectantly ; " you 
 can tell me then if you ever saw such a variety 
 of architecture in one mansion. You will see 
 no less than seven different styles, but while the 
 effect is not harmonious, it makes for comfort. 
 Look at that veranda, Edith ; it runs clear around 
 the Sound side. There are three balconies over- 
 looking the water. And just see the oriels, bays, 
 
 265
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 and towers ! Why, the owner must have changed 
 the place every few months. He wanted lots of 
 room and plenty of light. Some people are 
 insane on the subject of light in houses, you 
 know." 
 
 " Was there no wife on the premises ? These 
 octagonals look like a woman's work," observed 
 Edith. 
 
 " There was, and her death is the reason for 
 our being here. I was a guest of Mrs. Tailer, 
 who leased it two seasons ago, and it has im- 
 pressed me as a prize place for entertaining. 
 This is the exploited part of the Sound shore. We 
 have villas like ours right and left." 
 
 " Villas ! " 
 
 " Funny, isn't it after the Newport idea. 
 We only lack a lodge. We should have a nice 
 little red lodge, and then we would be irreproach- 
 able. Come over to the shore for the star feature ; 
 then we will tour the grounds." 
 
 She led the way along the gravelled walk, until 
 in the rear of the house they came on a great 
 granite stairway that ran from a marble plat- 
 form down to the water. It was a broad and 
 splendid descent, ending in a little pier, which 
 suggested past glories of yachting. The stair was 
 built in a succession of terraces, and at every 
 266
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 landing the walls bore exquisite carvings of 
 marine scenes and yachting devices. Over every 
 inch of the way a handsome roof of Spanish 
 copper gave protection. 
 
 " Wife again, I guess," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 merrily, " fighting sunburn. I knew a woman 
 once whose face looked like a surveyor's map when 
 Old Sol kissed it. We'll have a boat here in 
 season," she continued, as they reached the pier. 
 " I am going to hire a steam yacht, and tie it 
 up for show. I believe any one can keep a steam 
 yacht if they tie it to a pier, or have it anchored 
 regularly. Let's go back and see the natural 
 beauties." 
 
 From the water side Mrs. Jewett and Edith 
 moved off to view the display which the estate 
 furnished inland. They explored a maze of 
 walks, whose tracing covered acres of cultivated 
 grounds, and it needed small imagination to guess 
 that in summer the place was a garden. Even 
 now, with its nudity of colour, and with a raw 
 wind beginning to boom out of the west, the 
 scene bred in Edith a serenity of mind which she 
 cherished. The wide, lawn-like country, the 
 great whispering trees, the patches of forest, and 
 afar off the glimpses of fields, seemed so removed 
 from the sordid things of life that she felt as 
 
 267
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 though here evil could never enter in. In this 
 playground of nature the memories of the city 
 faded away. 
 
 The first half of Lent was given to preparing 
 the dwelling for visitors and to building an electric 
 plant. Beatrice had been a firm believer in incan- 
 descents ever since her first night on Broadway, 
 and as sufficient power was not to be had she 
 arranged to get her own power. She did not 
 wish any workmen visible when the guests ar- 
 rived, so she tripled the force, and hurried them 
 night and day. In just two weeks a dainty little 
 white building to all appearances a woodland 
 casino housed dynamos and the men to run 
 them. In its way it was quite a minor feat of 
 the Aladdin dollar, and she did not neglect to 
 get out of it what advertising she could. Willie 
 Gotham from his desk in the Age office helped 
 her along. 
 
 The first instalment of guests was drawn from 
 the dinner list. Layton, the Sloanes, Mrs. Rob- 
 erts, Fairfax Royer, and Willie Gotham, and sev- 
 eral others straggled in one after the other, and 
 each arrival was made an excuse for some fes- 
 tivity. Beatrice had hoped for the Sempleman 
 girls and Mr. Allison, but the sisters had gone to 
 Asheville, and Allison was at Palm Beach. 
 268
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Gotham excited a special demonstration. There 
 was an automobile run, a state dinner, and a gay 
 little dance, all inspired, as Beatrice said, in his 
 behalf. She wanted to compel obligation, and 
 Gotham, who knew he was being enslaved, looked 
 at Beatrice's face and was glad he had something 
 to give. He began to take Beatrice seriously. 
 
 Edith saw the invasion with regret. There had 
 been a respite from the sowing of passion-flowers, 
 and the reappearance of the cavaliers worried 
 her. What new tragedy was to find here its seed 
 and blossom? Which of these men was to tread 
 in the footsteps of Trexler and of Holt? Several 
 times lately Edith had dropped significant pleas 
 and little sisterly sermons, but she had done so 
 out of duty and with no real idea that she was 
 having effect. The same old ridicule parried her 
 advances, and far more than anger withered her 
 zeal. With this new material for a bonfire at 
 hand, she had little reason to hope that Beatrice 
 would not apply the torch. Had Edith been better 
 versed in country-house entertaining, she would 
 have indulged no hope at all. The theory of the 
 house party is good. The theory, indeed, is the 
 best thing about it. As a conservatory of tropic 
 growths the house party is unrivalled, and to its 
 cultures are due its popularity. Had she known 
 
 269
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 this, had she realised the peril of enforced con- 
 tact, she would have feared not one blaze but 
 several. 
 
 Channing had been expected among the first 
 arrivals, but had been . delayed. Mrs. Jewett 
 regretted his absence on Edith's account. The 
 weariness in the girl's face reminded her of how 
 lonely she must be amid the present company. 
 There was no man, and certainly no woman, who 
 could appeal to her, and when at last he wrote 
 Beatrice that he would arrive the following Mon- 
 day, she hurried the news to Edith. 
 
 " I am very glad," said Edith, frankly. " Cap- 
 tain Channing will be a relief. I do my best on 
 sister's account, but these men, Alice, are very 
 trying." 
 
 " Pray don't apologise," answered Mrs. Jewett, 
 " they are trying to any one that is, any one 
 who thinks. I asked Wetmore yesterday if he 
 liked the Rubaiyat. * I cannot say that I do,' he 
 replied. ' I stick pretty closely to old Tokay 
 myself.' " 
 
 As Mrs. Jewett had expected, Channing was 
 forced to rely on Edith for company. His view 
 of the other guests matched hers, and if there 
 had been no other reason their mutual disfavour 
 would have kept them much together. 
 270
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Beatrice was very busy with her plans, and 
 hardly noticed him after the first greeting. 
 Whether this disappointed him Mrs. Jewett could 
 not tell. Sometimes she thought he was more ani- 
 mated when with Beatrice, but of this she was not 
 sure. Certainly he seemed to delight in Edith's 
 patronage. 
 
 Had Channing himself stopped for analysis he 
 would have been quite as much puzzled as Mrs. 
 Jewett. He felt for Edith congeniality; beyond 
 that, nothing. This was true when Morgan deliv- 
 ered his hint, and it was true now. He did not 
 speculate. He was content to indulge their friend- 
 ship without troubling as to sentiment. Also his 
 modesty forbade the notion that her interest was 
 unusual. What did trouble him was the warmth 
 with which he received from Beatrice the smallest 
 attention. She had for him an elusive charm. 
 He could hardly understand this, and it made him 
 secretly ashamed. It was almost like treason to 
 Edith. 
 
 The younger sister planned for him a variety 
 of entertainment. They had long walks in the 
 early morning and still longer canters on the two 
 saddle-horses which Channing ordered from the 
 city. Edith was never so gay as when riding 
 through the keen March air, now and then spur- 
 
 271
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 ring her companion to a brush and at other times 
 racing along out of pure exhilaration. They 
 varied this with automobile outings, and when 
 Mrs. Jewett could go they would stop for lunch 
 at some out-of-the-way farmhouse. Then there 
 were the golf links of the neighbouring country 
 club. Edith played wretchedly, but Channing was 
 so devoted to the game that she tried to learn 
 merely to furnish him an opponent. In such 
 fashion they passed a happy week to Channing 
 of the truest companionship, to Edith of this and 
 more. 
 
 Once a mishap occurred, which, while it shad- 
 owed their pleasure, served also to make clearer 
 their estimate of each other. They were travel- 
 ling along the highway near the estate when, 
 without warning, a boy darted through the hedge 
 and started across the road before the machine. 
 Edith was at the levers. She tried desperately 
 to save the child, but it was too late. One of the 
 wheels struck him and hurled him aside, uncon- 
 scious. Edith did not faint or cry out. Her lips 
 quivered when Channing laid the little victim on 
 the seat, but she made a pillow of her cloak and 
 wiped away the blood from his brow. She 
 watched Channing numbly while he examined the 
 wound. 
 
 272 

 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " There is a bad cut in the forehead," he 
 announced, " but I am sure there is no fracture. 
 He has been stunned." 
 
 " We had better take him to the house," sug- 
 gested Edith, brightening, " and bring Doctor 
 Knowlton." 
 
 " No," said Channing, " I have seen this child 
 before. I believe his parents live in the farmhouse 
 a mile ahead of us. We had better take him 
 there." Channing stationed himself at the levers, 
 while Edith, to save him from jolting, took the 
 urchin on her lap. Then they whirled away. At 
 the farmhouse there was a pitiful scene. The 
 mother wrung her hands, and the father stormed 
 angrily at both Edith and Channing, but more 
 particularly at Edith. 
 
 " I have seen you tearing along before," he 
 cried, " and I'll pay you for this, see if I don't. 
 You think because you're rich you can run down 
 anybody. I'll have the law on ye." 
 
 " I was running the machine when it hap- 
 pened," said Channing, quickly, " and I am 
 responsible. The boy dashed under the wheels." 
 
 " They all say that. I'll make you prove it ! " 
 
 Channing cut short the wrangle. " I am going 
 after a doctor," he said. " We will talk the 
 matter over afterward." 
 
 273
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I cannot go with you," Edith whispered ; " the 
 poor woman is so distracted she will be useless." 
 
 " Very well," said Channing, doubtfully, " I 
 am only afraid you will be insulted." 
 
 " I must not notice." 
 
 When he got back with the doctor, Channing 
 found Edith had revived the boy and bound up 
 the wound. The doctor made light of the injury. 
 
 " A cut and a shock," he said, " no fracture 
 and no chance of trouble." By his cheery banter 
 he restored the parents to calm. 
 
 " We will pay for everything," said Channing 
 to the father, " and when he is around I will see 
 that a present makes him forgive us." They left 
 the doctor at the farm and started for home. 
 
 " Captain Channing," asked Edith, earnestly, 
 " why did you tell the man you were responsi- 
 ble ? I had no wish to hide behind you." 
 
 " To be frank," said Channing, lightly, " I was 
 afraid you might be arrested." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 " And if anything happened, it is just possible 
 that some zealous district attorney might have 
 claimed manslaughter." 
 
 "Oh!" said Edith, paling, "that would be 
 terrible." Then after a pause she added, impul- 
 sively, " In time, Captain Channing, I may appre- 
 274
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 date how much above other men you are. As 
 it is, pray accept my thanks." 
 
 As Mrs. Jewett had promised, the widest lati- 
 tude was taken with Lent. 
 
 "It is not good form to dance the first two 
 weeks after Ash Wednesday," she told Beatrice, 
 " but now we need not be so careful." So they 
 had" several small affairs, although to Beatrice the 
 restraint was annoying. 
 
 As Easter Sunday approached there was some 
 talk of joining the parade in the city or on the 
 boardwalk at Atlantic City. 
 
 "Where is Atlantic City?" asked Beatrice. 
 
 " Atlantic City," volunteered Mr. Wetmore, 
 who suspected a sarcasm, " is on the coast near 
 Philadelphia. It is quite the custom to go there at 
 Easter, because more people can see your gowns 
 there than anywhere else." 
 
 "Why so?" queried Mrs. Sloane. 
 
 " The boardwalk, you know, is restricted. You 
 can go over the same ground often enough to be 
 noticed. Then the accommodations for spectators 
 are good." 
 
 Beatrice hurried away to Mrs. Jewett. 
 
 " Alice, do you think it would pay us to run 
 a special train to Atlantic City? " 
 
 Mrs. Jewett looked interested. " It is an idea," 
 
 275
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 she said, thoughtfully ; "ask Mr. Gotham." He 
 was consulted. 
 
 " O, it's worth three or four hundred words 
 here and there if the train is gorgeous enough," 
 he said. " It would show you were modern." 
 
 So a train was ordered, whose function was 
 advertising first and transportation afterward. It 
 was the sort of movable palace in which presi- 
 dents are housed, and Gotham said so in his paper. 
 When he left New York the other papers said 
 much the same thing. Beatrice had reserved 
 half the biggest hotel at the shore, and in order 
 to fill the suites she picked up in the city the 
 Layton girls, Mrs. Thompson, and two important 
 cousins of Wetmore. 
 
 Their departure from New York was noted; 
 Philadelphia observed their flight, and when they 
 reached the shore the correspondents there sent 
 away details of the whole performance. Beatrice 
 was happy. 
 
 " My idea this time, Alice," she said, as though 
 she had not claimed all the others, " and you must 
 admit it has paid us. Besides," she added, " it is 
 helping to pass away Lent." 
 
 It rained during the whole of their stay. 
 
 On their return to the Sound, Beatrice cele- 
 brated the end of the obnoxious season with a 
 276
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 dance. It was used for a reunion of her social 
 constituents. To the roster was added the Wet- 
 more cousins, and an effort was made to get out 
 its full strength. The response was unanimous. 
 
 " You see how it pays to spend money," said 
 Mrs. Jewett. " These people know that if you 
 are not original you are sure to be lavish. It's 
 almost like ringing a dinner-bell." 
 
 " Yes," assented Beatrice, " and note, if you 
 please, that none of the old set remain. We have 
 gotten rid of them for ever." 
 
 The affair grew by stages into an ambitious 
 display. Beatrice got the owner's consent to cer- 
 tain " desirable alterations " in the great white 
 and gold ballroom, and a band of workmen locked 
 themselves in to labour on a surprise. Then she 
 bestirred the electricians, and for several days 
 there were elaborate manoeuvres all over the 
 grounds with great coils of wires, and in the 
 dance-room still further operations. 
 
 Such a series of events occupied the guests that 
 the activity was hardly noticed. Mrs. Jewett had 
 charge of the minor entertainments, and she left 
 not an hour of the day without its pleasant dis- 
 traction. There were long automobile trips into 
 the country, there were tally-ho parades and golf 
 games, and when it rained she varied the 
 
 277
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 monotony with trente et quarante, and a miniature 
 but quite wicked roulette table. This last was 
 immensely popular and came to be played on fair 
 days as well as foul. For Edith the golf course 
 proved a growing habit. Every day when it 
 was possible she and Channing led a party of 
 players over the links, and she was not satisfied 
 until she had gotten up a tournament among the 
 guests. She told her plan to a little group on 
 the club-house veranda. " It is a good idea," 
 declared Mrs. Jewett. " We can get some 
 splendid costume effects. What do you think, 
 Mr. Gotham ? " 
 
 Gotham was watching Mrs. Castle and Mrs. 
 Thompson, red-coated and elderly, going the cir- 
 cuit. 
 
 " It is a battle of the grenadiers," he answered, 
 absently. 
 
 " Mr. Gotham," said Mrs. Jewett, with sharp- 
 ness, " you are wandering, and it is dangerous. 
 Edith suggests a tournament." 
 
 " Oh ! pardon me. I don't see why it should 
 not be very brilliant." 
 
 "That is what I tell Edith. We could get 
 colour effects." 
 
 Edith looked bewildered. " I thought the 
 scores counted for something," she said. 
 278
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " They do," said Gotham, " the tailors' scores." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett paired the couples with discretion, 
 and the tournament was a success. It also gave 
 Gotham a chance to place the Cameron name again 
 before the public. 
 
 On the evening of the dance Beatrice sprung 
 the first of those electrical displays which she had 
 prepared as material for the newspapers. When 
 the special train bearing the guests from the 
 city reached Excelsior, they were met with auto- 
 mobiles, and the company started for the house 
 in procession. The night was happily dark, so 
 the surprise planned by the engineers was quite the 
 shock she anticipated. 
 
 Leaving the wood, there was a strip of open 
 road, perhaps a hundred yards in length, which 
 made straight in through the great gates of the 
 estate. From either side of the gates a hedgerow 
 stretched away along the entire front of the 
 grounds. Just as the last vehicle emerged from 
 the wood, the gates and the whole front of the 
 hedgerow leaped into a dazzling wall of light. 
 While the guests still gaped at the brilliant appari- 
 tion it vanished. A second later a point of golden 
 light appeared at each extreme of the hedgerow, 
 and with startling rapidity swept along the face 
 of the wall until the first blaze was restored, and 
 
 279
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the gates all aflame with pin-points of effulgence. 
 As if the curtain had risen on some gorgeous 
 stage-setting the visitors broke into a storm of 
 hand-clapping. Then as they ran closer to the 
 entrance, they saw over the granite arch in letters 
 of fire the words : " Bye bye, Lent ; so sorry," 
 which ribald adieu, so far from disturbing their 
 reverential sense, moved them to a roar of 
 laughter. 
 
 Inside the grounds another exhibit of the elec- 
 trical wizards marked their progress. Running 
 along the ground ahead of them on both sides 
 of the drive thin lines of fire etched the way. 
 Radiating from these in fantastic convolutions 
 were other threads of tiny lights which appeared 
 and disappeared, until the whole park seemed the 
 playground of writhing, glittering serpents. The 
 guests had ceased to applaud they watched in 
 wonder. Beatrice viewed the spectacle from the 
 great balcony. 
 
 " Mr. Gotham," she said, gently, " is it copy? " 
 
 " Half a column in the deadest paper ever 
 printed," he cried, " and the New Yorkers will 
 double that. You force us to follow you." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett looked on and smiled. 
 
 " Money," she murmured, " oh, money, money, 
 money ! " 
 280
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 But the triumph did not end out-of-doors. 
 When the ballroom was thrown open the tributes 
 began all over again. The great room was a hall 
 of wonders. At regular intervals throughout its 
 length Beatrice had built in ground glass panels, 
 through which came the radiance of hundreds of 
 lights. The effect was a dainty white and yellow 
 glow that fascinated the eye and stirred the imagi- 
 nation. To help the appearance, the chandeliers 
 were lighted only enough to support and render 
 practical the mystic gleams from the walls. It was 
 like dancing in a white sunlight. At each end 
 of the room circular pools of light shone through 
 glass-covered openings let into the floor, and the 
 dancers in their rounds swept over and over these 
 ghostly wells of illumination. Altogether by the 
 use of familiar materials, Beatrice had created a 
 dance-room novelty destined to be imitated all 
 over the country. The New York papers were 
 enthusiastic. Gotham showed himself much 
 moved in his account, and Beatrice's name was 
 bracketed with another discovery in decorative 
 entertaining. From the standpoint of advertis- 
 ing the affair paid cent per cent, and she had 
 occasion to appreciate it some time after, when 
 she added to the roster the woman who held the 
 
 281
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 premiership in New York as an original enter- 
 tainer. 
 
 " If I am to lose my sceptre I might as well 
 be on good terms with my successor," said this 
 woman, with a frank smile. " I fancy that elec- 
 trical device was suggested to you by Fouquet." 
 
 " No," said Beatrice, who knew nothing of 
 Louis XIV.'s finance minister, " it was suggested 
 by MacDonald, my chief electrician. He's not a 
 Frenchman, but a Scotchman." 
 
 " Indeed," said the visitor, politely, but crimson 
 with unruly merriment. " I knew of course that 
 Fouquet had no electricity, but his outdoor fete 
 was so remarkable I thought it might have been 
 the inspiration. If I were you," she added, trying 
 to change the subject, " I would give your engi- 
 neer a chance to decorate a yacht. He might set 
 fire to the Sound." 
 
 By the middle of April there had been almost 
 a complete change of guests at Bellamore, as 
 Beatrice named the estate, and of the original 
 group but Royer and Gotham remained. Gotham, 
 indeed, had practically taken up his abode there, 
 going to New York at intervals, and as he was 
 widely known to society he found the life con- 
 genial and useful. There were, of course, critics 
 
 282
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 who accused Beatrice of maintaining a press 
 agent, but even these admired her audacity. 
 
 Some of these sarcasms reached Gotham, but 
 he could not bring himself to go. The fascination 
 with which Beatrice inspired him had grown into 
 a smouldering attachment, the more disturbing in 
 that he guarded it carefully. For this reason 
 alone he wished to remain near her. In a general 
 way Gotham knew of the tragedies with which 
 Beatrice's name was linked, and at first he had 
 tried to draw from them a lesson. But he found 
 her mere physical presence a magnet, and he 
 succumbed day by day to the mounting tide of 
 passion. That he had any reason to hope was 
 doubtful, but on this point her conduct puzzled 
 and misled him. There was a caressing note in 
 her manner which seemed to justify ambition; 
 he could not tell. His self-deceit arose from blind- 
 ness to his professional strength. As dean of the 
 New York society editors he was just as necessary 
 to Beatrice as money, and she was always fearful 
 he might desert her cause. For the future she 
 had no concern; neither had she thought for 
 the possible damage to Gotham; her ideas 
 centred on making him bondman to her ambition. 
 Mrs. Jewett noticed it and sent up a cry of 
 warning. 
 
 283
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Be careful," she admonished, " if he falls in 
 love with you it will be embarrassing." 
 
 " So it will," admitted Beatrice, " but if I can 
 retain him until fall I shall not need him so badly. 
 I think we ought to cultivate some one else as a 
 protection. We rely too much on Willie." 
 
 " Well, see to it that he has no delusions. 
 When he does go it is important that he goes as 
 a friend." 
 
 Channing had gone with the others, called 
 away on special service for the government. 
 Edith made no attempt to hide her regret. It 
 was an end to her holiday, and she frankly begged 
 his return as soon as he might. 
 
 " Believe me, Miss Cameron," he said, " it is 
 like going back to exile. I shall return, and also, 
 if I may, I shall write you of my whereabouts." 
 
 Royer stayed on because, unlike Gotham, he 
 was an open seeker for Beatrice's hand. There 
 was little discretion in his method and less finesse. 
 He pursued Beatrice openly and with vigour. 
 
 Edith watched the chase anxiously. Now was 
 the time to see how much the disasters of the 
 winter, and her own appeals, had altered Beatrice. 
 It was a clear-cut situation. Beatrice did not love 
 the man, she even mocked his passion ; and Edith 
 could see no excuse for keeping him in doubt. 
 284
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Personally, Royer filled her with distrust. She 
 would have sympathised with Beatrice had she 
 checked him at the outset, and she even wished 
 she had done so. To play at coquetry with such 
 a man struck her as intolerable. His whole cast 
 was saturnine. Black hair, black eyes, and a 
 sombre spirit warned her that this was dangerous 
 material to ignite. When she watched him trail- 
 ing Beatrice around with his gloomy gaze, com- 
 mon sense breathed of evil. He was not at all 
 the person to accept trifling. He might kill 
 himself, of course, but he would probably decide 
 to kill his tormentor first. In her dread she sought 
 Mrs. Jewett. 
 
 " Alice," she said, " I had hoped that sister 
 would learn from experience the crime of coquetry. 
 It seems not. We had Trexler, and we had Holt, 
 and now we are to have Royer. Can nothing be 
 done to stop her ? She does not care for him, yet 
 she is deceiving him and sowing another harvest of 
 trouble. Why cannot she be honest?" 
 
 " Because she is, in one sense, a moral degen- 
 erate," answered Mrs. Jewett, with real sadness. 
 " To any other woman the woe she has caused 
 would blacken a lifetime Beatrice has forgotten 
 there was any woe. Neither you nor I have any 
 influence. I believe the exercise of her power is 
 
 285
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 a passion she employs it as another would 
 hypnotism." 
 
 " It is a crime," said Edith. 
 
 " It is baser than crime," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 sternly. " Crime may be punished, but who is to 
 punish the woman who murders with false love, 
 and wrecks with deceitful invitation? You have 
 not noticed a worse case than Royer's ? " 
 
 " What is that? " asked Edith, quickly. 
 
 " Willie Gotham. She is preparing for him 
 both a fool's paradise and an eviction, and 
 knows she is doing it. I think he deserves better 
 treatment." 
 
 Edith's eyes filled with slow tears; her lips 
 quivered pitifully. 
 
 " I cannot bear it, Alice," she whispered ; " it 
 is like torturing. He is vain, he is shallow, but 
 we have had from him only kindness and aid. 
 It seems strange she should not remember." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett smiled faintly. 
 
 " Do you think it possible, Alice," went on 
 Edith, with a little eagerness, " that Beatrice can- 
 not help herself ? May she not be pursued ? " 
 
 " No," answered Mrs. Jewett, firmly, " a 
 woman need not be bothered by unwelcome suitors 
 if she will be honest. I believe that with Beatrice 
 
 286
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 it is emotional vivisection; she exposes a nerve 
 to see it quiver. She told me herself that until 
 a man flushed at her approach she did not feel 
 she had properly stimulated his interest." 
 
 " Then we will continue until what? " asked 
 Edith, sadly. 
 
 "That's just it what?" 
 
 The talk with Mrs. Jewett depressed Edith to 
 the last degree. It showed how vain was the hope 
 of restraining Beatrice by normal methods. If 
 Mrs. Jewett, able and clever, abandoned Beatrice, 
 how was she to supply the needed check? Her 
 sole influence was moral suasion, and that had 
 proved no influence at all. Yet she could not 
 remain passive; her religion called on her to act, 
 her humanity moved her to effort. She prayed 
 for light, for power, and the very absence of a 
 method weighed her with sorrow. She fell to 
 watching her sister, noting at close range those 
 arts which worried her, yet had in themselves an 
 interest. Everything she saw favoured Mrs. 
 Jewett's charge; Beatrice was a mistress of deceit. 
 The thing that puzzled Edith was how such 
 imposture triumphed. Beatrice was an actress 
 who had played a part so long that to be artificial 
 became second nature. It was clear to Edith, 
 
 287
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 and it should have been plain to any one with 
 vision unclouded of passion. But the men seemed 
 never to see at all. 
 
 Underscoring Edith's trouble came the news 
 of Mrs. Lambert's death. She had passed away 
 as the result of a slow decline, a breaking up of 
 the vital energies dating from the night Holt 
 went mad. 
 
 The announcement awoke in Edith all that 
 dormant horror of Beatrice which of late had been 
 replaced by mere anxiety. She saw laid at her 
 sister's feet the wreckage of still another life; 
 the winding-sheet draped her shoulders as a 
 mantle. 
 
 Edith went to the funeral of her aunt alone. 
 Beatrice refused to attend, and there had been a 
 painful scene over the matter, in which Edith dis- 
 played something of the family temper. But 
 Beatrice had been firm. 
 
 " I shall not only stay away from the funeral," 
 she said, angrily, " but I think you insult me by 
 going." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett had offered to accompany her, but 
 Edith, with no wish to involve this good friend, 
 asked her to remain. While in the city, Edith 
 made some inquiries about the unfortunate Holt. 
 
 288
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 She learned that he was still confined in an asylum, 
 but of his progress she could discover nothing. 
 
 When she returned to Bellamore, Edith at once 
 sought peace with Beatrice. She did so not from 
 contrition, but because it had become a settled 
 belief, made clearer by Mrs. Lambert's death, that 
 upon her alone depended Beatrice's conversion. 
 She had less hope than ever before, but in place 
 of hope there was the spur of duty, and if any- 
 thing were to be gained she must sink her resent- 
 ment. 
 
 The reconciliation was very heavy. 
 
 " If you wish to remain on a friendly footing," 
 said Beatrice, distantly, " you will have to show 
 respect for me and attend more strictly to such 
 affairs as may interest you. Mrs. Lambert treated 
 me outrageously." 
 
 " Beatrice," said Edith, with sudden resolution, 
 " if I did not think you were still pursuing the 
 same folly that indirectly killed auntie, I should 
 not have been resentful." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " You are preparing another season here at 
 Bellamore. Mr. Royer Mr. Gotham " 
 
 " That is enough," interrupted Beatrice, flush- 
 ing. " I have told you over and over that I 
 wished you to let my sentimental affairs alone. 
 
 289
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 If you continue this annoyance, I shall ask you to 
 go home to New Orleans. You have been very 
 odd ever since we left New York. It is getting 
 intolerable, and you worry me almost as much as 
 you do yourself. If you cannot enjoy it here, be 
 honest enough to take your departure. I suppose 
 Mrs. Jewett supports your fancies, a woman 
 who is trying to balance her moral ledger at my 
 expense. I advise you to let her severely alone." 
 Saying this, Beatrice left the room. 
 
 290
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Y the middle of May Beatrice's position had 
 improved until, if not actually accepted by 
 society, she at least held its letter of credit. 
 The guests who returned to the city made much of 
 the lavish hand at Bellamore, and showered the 
 bud of reputation with the dew of favour. Grati- 
 tude made of them heralds. The newspapers, too, 
 had come to look on Beatrice as a purveyor of 
 things original, and watched closely for the rise 
 of the curtain. She had less need of Gotham than 
 she imagined. The problem of guests was a 
 problem no longer at least, it had resolved itself 
 into detail. Invitations to Bellamore were gen- 
 erally welcome. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett handled the lists cleverly. She 
 did not let success invite rebuff. The chase of 
 the smart set compassed the hunt. That august 
 body, the conservatives, were left for another 
 day. 
 
 The shifting of guests had brought together at 
 this time a notable group. The Sloanes had re- 
 
 291
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 turned, and Royer, after a week in the city, was 
 also back, but otherwise the recruits were new- 
 comers, with the younger element in control. 
 
 Of this last was Miss Muriel Williard. She 
 was a perfect type of the domestic ingenue. Her 
 spirit was impish and her days a record of mis- 
 chief. She did things which in any other woman 
 would have been " hoydenish," and her talent for 
 annoyance was only limited by the patience of her 
 victims. Her social eminence brought her license. 
 
 The special target of Miss Williard was a Mr. 
 Forest Laner, whose sponsor was Wetmore. Mr. 
 Laner was a mosaic of dismal traits. He had 
 the long discarded drawl, tiresome affectations of 
 manner, and a conceit that was an affront. Miss 
 Williard missed no occasion when she might irri- 
 tate him and dispel his calm. Her lightning play 
 of satire found him helpless and left him confused. 
 
 " Do you know, Mr. Laner," she would ob- 
 serve, sweetly, " I think you are a perfect example 
 of the modern society man." 
 
 " That is very kind of you." 
 
 ; ' Yes, you say so little, yet look so much." 
 
 " Er meaning, I suppose, the poise." 
 
 " Just so. I doubt if I ever saw anything just 
 like it." 
 
 " I do try to be original." 
 292
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Well, you are. I question whether there is 
 another man in New York who could be just 
 as you are if he tried." 
 
 He looked at her gravely. "It is a matter 
 of detail," he said, with some uncertainty. 
 
 " I suppose so ; if a man stopped to view the 
 whole effort he would be appalled." 
 
 "'But it is no effort to be correct." 
 
 " I never believed there was much effort on 
 your part. Your attitude, I imagine, is natural 
 and not artificial." 
 
 "O, entirely so." 
 
 " A case where truth is stranger than fiction." 
 
 Miss Williard found a strong ally in a Mr. 
 Dixon, a man of sympathetic spirit. His was 
 the suave and ironic temper born of experience, 
 and he refused to tolerate Mr. Laner for an 
 instant. 
 
 " I have had much charity for fools ever since 
 I went into Wall Street," he explained to Miss 
 Williard, " but I heard this man say once that a 
 certain kind of manly beauty was irresistible. 
 Then he walked over to a pier mirror to see if 
 the kind were still there." 
 
 "Was it?" 
 
 " I presume not. He changed his clothes 
 shortly afterward." 
 
 293
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Nothing pleased Mr. Dixon so much as to 
 wedge the offending Laner in between himself and 
 Miss Williard and bombard his dignity. And 
 nothing pleased him less than the failure of these 
 assaults to chill the man's conceit. Mr. Dixon 
 longed for some special humiliation. Therefore, 
 when one day Miss Williard outlined a plan, he 
 not only gave it support, but he urged its 
 immediate trial. 
 
 Two mornings after, Miss Williard rode 
 over to Greenwich on a shopping tour. She 
 was careful that her only companion should be 
 Mr. Laner. When they reached the town, she 
 gave the chauffeur secret orders, and to Mr. Laner 
 announced that they would go from shop to shop 
 on foot. The automobile, she said, needed some 
 trifling repair and would be at hand later. 
 
 In the shops she bought a multitude of small 
 packages. Then she appealed to the gallantry 
 of her escort. " I cannot get a messenger," she 
 pleaded, " and if you will only carry these to 
 the next store I am sure we shall meet the auto- 
 mobile." He complied, with the utmost gloom, 
 and even Miss Williard had to admit that as a 
 porter he made a sorry figure. In the last shop 
 she bought several more packages and added these 
 to Mr. Laner' s decoration. " Now if you will 
 294
 
 stand here a moment," she said, when they were 
 outside, " I will go to that drug store and tele- 
 phone for James. I cannot imagine why he is 
 not here." Mr. Laner took up a position near 
 the store door, and Miss Williard raced away. 
 She had hardly gone when, to his horror, Mr. 
 Laner saw the dreaded Dixon moving slowly 
 down the street. When opposite the squire, Mr. 
 Dixon stopped, backed off to the curb, and looked 
 him over with a leer of absolute amazement. 
 Then with great care he adjusted his glasses and 
 stared again. Laner moved uneasily and his face 
 reddened. 
 
 " I think you are somewhat insolent, Mr. 
 Dixon," he said. 
 
 Mr. Dixon continued his inspection. " I cannot 
 understand it," he replied. " You led us to believe 
 at Bellamore that you were a man of position." 
 
 " What ! " gasped Laner. 
 
 " I say we were given to understand that you 
 were everything that is correct, yet here I find 
 you carrying bundles." 
 
 " I am not carrying bundles," spluttered the 
 victim, " I am merely holding a few packages 
 until Miss Williard returns." 
 
 " Permit me to correct you, Mr. Laner. You 
 are not holding a few. I see eight myself, and 
 
 295
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 I fancy the one you are holding so loosely is a 
 er bottle of Florida water, perhaps. I really 
 did not expect it of you." 
 
 Mr. Laner did not answer. He merely glared. 
 
 " I don't think your club friends would like 
 this," went on Mr. Dixon, gravely. " It does 
 seem that in all Greenwich another porter might 
 have been found. If you are really acting as Miss 
 Williard's escort, I have nothing to say. But if 
 not, if you are actually carrying bundles, then, 
 of course, we can hardly be quite as before. I 
 do not favour carrying bundles myself. It is 
 wretched form." 
 
 " But I tell you I never did such a thing in my 
 life before ! " cried Laner, excitedly. 
 
 " At least I have never seen you," observed 
 the critic, coldly. " To me it is a deplorable 
 spectacle." He raised his glasses again and stared 
 sadly. Almost on the instant Mr. Gotham and 
 a Mr. Vincent of the Bellamore circle stepped 
 briskly around the corner and ran into the tableau. 
 Mr. Dixon affected the greatest surprise. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Gotham. "What are 
 you staring at ? " 
 
 " I am looking at Mr. Laner there. Heretofore 
 I have regarded him with the utmost respect, but 
 now see the bundles ! " 
 296
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Great Heavens ! " exclaimed Gotham. " It is 
 a spring-time Santa Glaus." 
 
 " I have counted no less than eight packages," 
 continued Dixon, " and I fear he has something 
 under his hat. It is tilted." 
 
 " For my part I think Mr. Laner is very indus- 
 trious. He could hardly be weighted more." 
 
 " It looks to me like experience," said Dixon. 
 " Possibly at some time he has been a commuter." 
 
 " No," Gotham cut in, " an experienced com- 
 muter would never risk such a cargo." 
 
 " Why does he stand in one spot? " demanded 
 Dixon, resentfully ; " he has not moved since I 
 came here." 
 
 " Perhaps he is advertising the store," sug- 
 gested Vincent. 
 
 "That can't be so, is it, Laner?" asked Gotham. 
 " That is nonsense, but truly I never expected it 
 of you. What does it mean ? " 
 
 " I told that man once I was helping Miss 
 Williard," stammered Laner, hotly. " He sees 
 fit to make game of gallantry." 
 
 " Not so," declared Dixon; " I merely said that 
 it did not fit with your station." 
 
 "That is true," assented Gotham. "I think 
 myself you owe something to dignity." 
 
 " Perhaps if you moved away from that corset 
 
 297
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 model you would be less conspicuous," said Vin- 
 cent, kindly. " I must think this thing over." 
 
 And while they were preparing themselves for 
 a fresh assault Miss Williard and the automobile 
 intervened. Her first sight of Laner's face told 
 her the plot had triumphed. She talked breezily 
 to the tormentors, and Laner, white and silent, 
 stowed away his bundles in the automobile. They 
 had ridden a mile from the scene of his torture 
 before her victim spoke. 
 
 " Miss Williard," he began, sternly, " you have 
 to-day marred my entire life." 
 
 " Is it possible? " she said, with great interest. 
 " How ? When did it happen ? " 
 
 " You left me standing in the street with an 
 armful of packages. I was discovered." 
 
 " Do you mean by the trio we have just left? 
 What if you were? They were respectable 
 bundles!" 
 
 " The shame of it will follow me everywhere. 
 Those men will tell it in every club in New York." 
 
 " They will be laughed at." 
 
 " I will be laughed at. It is a lasting disgrace. 
 I shall have to leave Bellamore, but before I go 
 I should like to have it out with that wretched 
 Dixon." 
 
 ' " Would you ? " cried Miss Williard, eagerly. 
 298
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I am sure he would accept. There is a lovely 
 wood near the house." 
 
 " Unfortunately I know nothing of firearms." 
 
 " That need not matter. You can challenge 
 him, and just as you are about to fire I will rush 
 on the scene and demand peace. It can occur 
 at sunrise when no one else is about." 
 
 " No," said Laner, coldly, " you might over- 
 sleep." 
 
 The next morning Mr. Laner took an early 
 train for New York. 
 
 Toward the end of May Edith received a letter 
 from Channing. He had just gotten back from 
 the West, and he spoke of his eagerness to return 
 to Bellamore and his happiness at having her 
 standing invitation. He promised to leave the 
 city within a week. Incidentally he mentioned 
 having met Morgan, who had likewise drifted 
 back to the metropolis after a visit home. Edith 
 instantly despatched a note in which she urged 
 that Morgan accompany the captain. This Chan- 
 ning laid before the lieutenant. " You will be 
 manly, Wilbur, and go," he pleaded. " It is the 
 most delightful place in the East." 
 
 " Very well, I will go," answered Morgan. " I 
 cannot stay away." 
 
 When Beatrice learned of the soldiers' coming, 
 
 299
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 she was disturbed. " Captain Charming is pos- 
 sible, of course," she said, " but I am not sure 
 of Lieutenant Morgan. We have advanced, 
 Edith. We must not be looking backward." 
 
 " Nonsense," declared Mrs. Jewett, briskly. 
 " Most army officers have social passports any- 
 where. They are like naval men." 
 
 " Besides, Beatrice," reminded Edith, " Lieu- 
 tenant Morgan is a nephew of the vice-president. 
 The Morgans are one of the great Southern 
 families." 
 
 " O, well, I am not convinced, but if it pleases 
 you, Edith, I shall make him welcome." 
 
 So in a few days the officers made their way 
 down from the city, and life, which of late had 
 been so dull for Edith, took on a new colour. 
 Almost at once the trio found themselves back in 
 the gay comradeship of the winter. They talked 
 together and walked together, and Edith revived 
 all those distractions which had made Channing's 
 first visit to Bellamore such a time of delight. 
 Morgan made himself immensely popular with the 
 guests, and this was a thing Edith could in no 
 wise understand. Why they should prefer a 
 dealer in jests to the wearer of bay leaves 
 puzzled her. Also it made her a trifle indignant. 
 
 300
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 The guests gave twice the heed to the impudent 
 sallies of Morgan that they did to the more 
 important but less entertaining views of the 
 hero. 
 
 " Mr. Morgan disappoints me very much," she 
 whispered to Channing once. " He falls in with 
 every breeze of nonsense that blows along the 
 veranda." 
 
 " My dear Miss Edith," said Channing, " Mor- 
 gan is trying to get down to their level. Most of 
 the time he is poking fun at them." 
 
 " Mr. Morgan may feel at home in their 
 depths," she answered, earnestly. " I am sure 
 you could not." 
 
 The subjects thrashed out by the veranda 
 meetings were never by any chance uplifting, nor 
 were they handled with sincerity. Indolence is 
 a foe to wisdom, and it was because he guessed 
 the embarrassment they would cause that Morgan 
 tried daily to launch abstract topics. He was 
 always discouraged, but one morning he involved 
 the company in the most profound snarl that his 
 soul could long for. 
 
 Rising to his feet he looked about him solemnly. 
 " At one time or another," he began, " we have 
 reviewed every question that might interest 
 
 301
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 society, yet during all that time we have neglected 
 the one problem which occupies more attention 
 than any other." 
 
 "Love?" queried several auditors. 
 
 " Not at all. Love has nothing to do with this 
 question. I mean marriage." Then, knowing 
 that he had fired the train, he sat down. A hub- 
 bub of voices sounded at once. 
 
 " Marriage is a matter of self-defence ! " 
 "Marriage is the penalty of civilisation!" 
 " Have you any substitute handy? " they volleyed, 
 and Morgan rose again. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you echoing the satire of 
 the music halls," he said. " I had hoped for 
 serious review of a dreadfully serious subject. 
 By the way, why is it that any theatre audience 
 will applaud a shot at matrimony ? " 
 
 " Because the majority of theatre-goers are 
 married people ! " " Because they would like to 
 say the same things, only they never thought of 
 them ! " came random answers. 
 
 " That is possibly so," said Morgan, " but why 
 are there not dissenters? One-half the audience 
 should hiss? " 
 
 " They don't want to they believe it is true," 
 chirped a woman notoriously well married. 
 
 302
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " The dissenting half don't dare to admit their 
 contentment," ventured Royer. 
 
 " There isn't any dissenting half," cried sev- 
 eral, and then there was laughter and a chorus of 
 applause. 
 
 " There you see," said Morgan, gravely, " you 
 are imitating the audience. This is a most inter- 
 esting subject, and I believe the only way in which 
 any light can be gained is for pleaders to champion 
 the issues. I will myself attack marriage, because, 
 knowing nothing about it, I can imagine the 
 worst. Who will defend ? " 
 
 No one replied. The laughter was general. 
 Finally Edith, who sat on the outskirts of the 
 group with Captain Channing, rose and bowed 
 to the self-constituted chairman. Her face was 
 white, and a curious brilliancy of the eyes told 
 of a gravity all astray from the mood of the 
 others. The importance of the debate had pushed 
 aside her timidity. 
 
 " I will not let the argument go by default," 
 she said, bravely. " I am as well equipped as 
 Mr. Morgan in the matter of ignorance. It is, 
 therefore, a contest of imagination." 
 
 " That is better so," replied Morgan; " no one 
 marriage is like another. Our views are uncol- 
 
 303
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 cured. We can be idealistic. A married person 
 would interpret the whole institution by his or 
 her experience." The auditors settled back ex- 
 pectantly. 
 
 " We cannot consider special cases," continued 
 Morgan, sonorously ; " we must use as our text 
 the very question why a theatre audience always 
 applauds any speech in discredit of marriage. It 
 would argue that there is no such thing as a happy 
 marriage, because those who combat the senti- 
 ment are quite as much at liberty to dissent as are 
 the others to applaud. Is it not possible, then, 
 that marriage is overrated? Instead of seeing it 
 as a bond of affection, are we not educated to 
 believe it a material paradise where joy reigns 
 and sorrow cannot enter in ? Recall how the fairy 
 tales end ' and they lived happily ever after ' 
 in other words they were married. How absurd 
 that sounds ! Look back at the divorce record of 
 a week; dissect the fearful statistics. Think of 
 the thousand and one causes, each and all some 
 infamy or failure of conduct. Is the basic princi- 
 ple of marriage right? Why should men and 
 women be forced to live together when incom- 
 patibility shows they should dwell apart? Why 
 should men and women who wish separation be 
 forced to a slavery of contact, or else break a law 
 
 304
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 to escape? It is mandatory that, no matter how 
 uncongenial, they must stay together or face the 
 shame of a court. How many gentle souls have 
 withered and died rather than take the legal way 
 out? How much sorrow has been borne? How 
 many lives have been wrecked because men and 
 women tried to live up to impossible conditions? 
 Think how few chances there are for happiness 
 in marriage. Responsibility grows irksome, 
 beauty fades and passion dies, wisdom is yoked 
 to ignorance, jealousy dogs the footsteps, and 
 cruelty springs from familiarity. I am not now 
 speaking of the marriages of passion. Their 
 number is legion they always find their cure. 
 But think of the unions designed to hold and make 
 fast real affection. These are sought honestly, 
 yet they too furnish their percentage to the courts, 
 and the principals mean well and try hard. Does 
 it not show that we are substituting an artificial 
 plan for a natural one? Are we not imposing 
 greater burdens than humanity can bear? If we 
 are," wound up Morgan, jestingly, " what are 
 you going to do about it? " 
 
 Edith leaped up quickly. 
 
 " The secret of your calamities," she cried, " is 
 lack of affection. The remedy for unhappy mar- 
 riage is love." She sat down abruptly. 
 
 305
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Is that all you have to say ? " asked Morgan, 
 wonderingly. 
 
 " It is all that is necessary," replied Edith. 
 
 A sudden hush fell on the laughing group. 
 They seemed to realise that Edith had bowled 
 Morgan over in one sentence more surely than 
 with showers of argument. Truth informed her 
 utterance and made it strong. To some the 
 remedy was known, to others only inferred. But 
 to none had it come with such appealing force. 
 Love the cure? Why, certainly, and not the cure 
 alone but the preventative, which was better than 
 cure. If love measured the trials of marriage, 
 if love tempered intercourse, if love clasped hand 
 with duty and defied discord, why with one 
 impulse the whole company voiced its applause. 
 
 " Morgan, you are beaten ! " they cried. 
 
 " You did not take love into your calculations." 
 
 " Marriage without love is a self-swindle." 
 
 " If people mistake interest for affection no 
 wonder they fail. It is not the fault of marriage." 
 
 " Let us all resolve to fall in love with our 
 wives." 
 
 So they rattled on, and Morgan, who saw Edith 
 moving off down the walk with Channing, sighed. 
 
 " I have to admit," he answered, " that I denied 
 
 306
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 love as a factor. I ought to have known better 
 myself." 
 
 Channing praised Edith warmly. " You were 
 splendid," he laughed. " I don't suppose any of 
 the company thought of love as the corner-stone, 
 and poor old Morgan was floored. You see he 
 is a cynic, and cynics are always one-sided." 
 
 Edith looked at Channing with shining eyes. 
 " I believed what I said," she replied, quietly. 
 " Marriage with love is the way God intended it." 
 
 " You regard marriage then as a higher friend- 
 ship." 
 
 " Well, hardly that. Friendship is material ; 
 love, real love, I mean, the kind that should bring 
 marriage, is spiritual." 
 
 " But do you not think that from friendship 
 may spring the most enduring love? Is it right 
 that the chance for growth should be denied? " 
 
 " It is a doubtful experiment." 
 
 " Well, let us suppose that two good friends 
 were forced to a decision parting or marriage. 
 Don't you think they are justified in chancing 
 the mutations ? " 
 
 " It is possible that love might flourish in pre- 
 pared soil. It is also possible that the bond of 
 mere friendship could not withstand a strain. 
 
 307
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Marriage, you know, is very intricate. For my 
 part, I believe in affinity, in the spiritual essence. 
 I would prefer a mutuality of heart, even to start 
 with." 
 
 "But would you make it a condition?" he 
 insisted, curiously. " A wife may fall in love 
 with her husband." 
 
 A sudden flame lit up Edith's cheeks, and she 
 looked at him with shy, wavering eyes. 
 
 " No," she said, " not if the man were worthy 
 the trial. If he were good and kind and brave I 
 might try. Almost any woman would." 
 
 They walked on in silence. Edith could not 
 guess the purpose of his queries, but a small hope 
 found life in her heart, and had spoken to him 
 in her answer. She realised that for her the 
 friendship of which he talked had given place 
 to something new and strangely wonderful, that 
 her heart had been touched, and that from the 
 very unfamiliarity of its signs this new emotion 
 was love. If Channing had meant that they 
 should try life together, that he, the lover, should 
 convert her, the friend, then both of them had 
 misinterpreted. Edith could hardly believe that 
 this was so. The record of their acquaintance was 
 clear. On Channing's part, at least, it had been 
 prosaic, and if any one's heart lay on a coat sleeve 
 308
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 it had been hers alone. His query puzzled her 
 while it gave delight. 
 
 In their long stroll down the walk she reviewed 
 his words again and again. At one time they 
 struck her as philosophic, at another as merely 
 casual, but in either case they had a personal ring 
 which flooded her soul. If he regarded her as 
 a subject for conquest it meant that she held in 
 reserve a sweet surprise. 
 
 Channing hardly suspected the winds of promise 
 he had fanned. He, too, reviewed his speech, and 
 while he saw it was a straight road to a declara- 
 tion, he did not believe Edith would note its 
 import at all. He was not ready to call his 
 admiration love, and in his own mind he set down 
 his queries to curiosity stirred by the debate. He 
 left her at the club-house to join a stag boating 
 party on the Sound, and the strange shine in her 
 eyes, the caressing quality of her smile when she 
 said adieu, appealed to him for the first time as 
 possible legacies of their talk. He tried to test 
 the suspicion. 
 
 " Your readiness to experiment," he said, with 
 a smile, " would suffer in our service. You would 
 hardly see enough of a husband to fall in love 
 with him." 
 
 Edith smiled at him kindly. 
 
 309
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " It is a part of love to be patient with a 
 soldier's wife it is a duty," she replied. 
 
 Edith made a tour of the links and scored 
 wretchedly. One round was enoug-h, and she 
 retired to the porch, where she made quite as vain 
 an effort at reading. She felt lonely. Then she 
 sent a messenger to Bellamore for an automobile, 
 and experienced relief when, instead of a servant, 
 the machine whirled up in charge of Morgan. He 
 was full of repentance. 
 
 " Let me play chauffeur," he said, gaily, " and 
 I will atone for my heresy. You know I am not 
 so opposed to marriage, after all. I never could 
 be with you. As it was, you scored." 
 
 "How so?" asked Edith, falling in with his 
 mood. 
 
 " Well, you made all the single men feel their 
 mistake. Also you comforted the benedicts. 
 Anything that does that is real charity." 
 
 " I see you are only half converted." 
 
 " Then you should finish the task. You can do 
 it, you know personally conducted." 
 
 They were rolling along the road that skirted 
 the Sound, and Edith forgot his banter in watch- 
 ing the sparkling highway. She sought out the 
 spots where sails marked the progress of yachts, 
 
 310
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 and her eyes dwelt on one familiar patch in 
 reverie. Morgan was not discouraged. 
 
 " I don't blame your abstraction," he said, " but 
 I do wish you would listen while 1 make a pro- 
 posal. It is very embarrassing to say the thing 
 over twice." 
 
 Edith smiled. "What proposal?" she asked. 
 
 " Why, the usual proposal. I want to assure 
 you that I was very insincere this morning." 
 
 " Well, you were interesting." 
 
 " Yes, possibly, but I want to prove how little 
 I fear my own phantoms. I am quite willing to 
 be married." 
 
 " I do not see why you should not be happy." 
 
 " Neither do I if I can be assured of your 
 receipt." 
 
 " You ought to know your own heart." 
 
 " So I do," he answered, with eagerness. " I 
 do not know yours." She turned to face him with 
 a look of extreme surprise. 
 
 " I mean it, Edith," he hurried on. " I am 
 quite serious. I implore you to believe me. Can 
 you not promise to teach me to let me teach you 
 your own sweet lesson of happiness. Is it is 
 it beyond your heart ? " 
 
 She did not answer for a full moment. Then,
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 with a singular agitation, three parts anxiety, she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Tell me, Lieutenant," she asked, " has there 
 been anything in my actions which suggested to 
 you encouragement ? " 
 
 " Nothing. It is a matter of adventure." 
 
 " Thank God ! " she gasped, with quick relief. 
 "I you I was thinking of my sister Beatrice. 
 I have so often reproached her for the crime 
 I would not care to be myself guilty. For the 
 rest I can only say that I am sorry. I know you 
 will forgive my failure to second your wishes. I 
 am grateful, the compliment is kind, but " 
 
 " Do not distress yourself, Edith," interrupted 
 Morgan, quietly. " One cannot quarrel with 
 Fate. As it stands, I am very much your debtor." 
 
 " I do not know why I cannot love you," she 
 said, impulsively. " You are everything that a 
 man should be." 
 
 " Except a good lover," he replied, lightly. 
 
 " I am not even sure of that. It is my first 
 proposal." 
 
 " Which smashes another adage first come, 
 first served." 
 
 " Second thoughts are always best," quoted 
 Edith, soothingly. " You make it very easy for 
 me, Lieutenant. I thank you sincerely." 
 312
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I am making it easy for myself. I do not 
 care to say what I am suffering." 
 
 " Console yourself by thinking of my poor 
 judgment. I believe with nine women out of 
 ten you would be accepted gladly." 
 
 " Do not flatter me, Edith. It does not sound 
 like you, and it is not needed. I am more your 
 friend than ever. The captain has a heavy wind 
 to beat home in, has he not? " 
 
 " Is that the Nortna? I trust he is perfectly 
 safe." 
 
 " For your sake I trust that he is." 
 
 313
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ^yAPPINESS crowned Edith's days and 
 
 I I nights. Happiness spoke from her eyes 
 
 and dwelt in her words and deeds. 
 
 Doubt had disappeared. She loved. That small 
 
 flame lit at the altar of her ideals glowed now 
 
 strong and high and pure, and bathed heart and 
 
 soul in its radiance. The gray hand of death had 
 
 stirred the embers. She had been yachting with 
 
 Channing when the accident occurred that welded 
 
 into romance the fragments of sentiment. 
 
 Early in the summer a fine catboat had been 
 placed at the disposal of the guests as a fore- 
 runner of the steam yacht. It became a popular 
 plaything, and because of rumoured skill Chan- 
 ning was made skipper. Morgan fell into place 
 as chief mate. Marine picnics became a standard 
 outing, and the cruises were varied by runs along 
 the shore with al fresco spreads on the grassy 
 tables of the glades. Afloat or ashore these excur- 
 sions had for Edith a perpetual charm. She liked 
 to sit and watch the skipper play hide and seek
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 with the winds, and sometimes she would herself 
 take the wheel and luff, come about, and travel 
 before the breeze, happily conscious all the time 
 that Channing noted her dainty seamanship. Then 
 when she wearied of this Morgan was always 
 there to relieve the deck, and she would go and 
 talk over with Channing all the shifts and 
 variations of the run. 
 
 One brilliant morning they were beating up the 
 Sound in a humming breeze, and Morgan was at 
 the wheel. The waves were thumping the counter 
 and cascading the half-buried lee rail, and at every 
 dip into the smother the deck was swept with a 
 volley of spoondrift. So heavy was the lean of 
 the hull that the company had to cling to the 
 elevated weather side, and Morgan's every second 
 was occupied in persistent luffing. Channing had 
 just risen and seized the sheet to drop the peak 
 when a savage gust ripped the big mainsail and 
 heeled the boat over until the water gushed into 
 the cockpit. It was only a second's spill, for 
 Morgan brought her into the wind in one jamming 
 thrust of the wheel, and saving a jibe had the 
 staggering craft on her course again, but the dip 
 had sufficed to shake Edith from her balance and 
 hurl her out of her seat. When she felt herself 
 plunging down the slanting deck she clutched 
 
 315
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 wildly at the edge of the cockpit. The angle was 
 too great, and the next instant she had gone over 
 the side. Channing saw her falling and realised 
 that the boat must instantly race far away before 
 coming about. He followed her in a single bound. 
 When he rose he saw fifty feet away the despair- 
 ing signal of a hand, and he went after the sinking 
 girl with all the speed and power that he could 
 summon. It was a desperate piece of swimming. 
 The waves boiled and pounded into his face, and 
 he felt the handicap of clothing with every stroke. 
 He reached her to find her beating the waves with 
 unpractised hands and blindly fighting to stay 
 the last awful plunge. Death looked out of her 
 eyes. When he slipped his arm about her she 
 became quiet. 
 
 " What shall I do? " she gasped, and even in 
 the smothered whisper there was confidence. 
 
 " Lie flat on your back," he answered, " and I 
 will support you with my left hand. It is our 
 only chance." 
 
 She obeyed instantly, and even assisted him 
 by a downward sweep of the arms. With Chan- 
 ning it was a frightful struggle. He could see 
 the yacht sweeping down before the wind, but 
 he knew the battle was to be measured by seconds 
 
 316
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 only, and the cruel play of the waves in his face 
 exhausted him quite as much as the strain on his 
 limbs. Every instant he expected collapse. 
 Lights played before his eyes and his breath came 
 in heart-breaking gasps, when he heard suddenly 
 the hissing fall of a rope, and felt the strand 
 strike him squarely across the shoulders. The 
 yacht lay head on to the wind about five yards 
 behind them, her canvas echoing with every leap 
 of the hull. Morgan stood in the bow handling 
 the rope and calling directions to the wheel. 
 
 As soon as Channing grasped the rope the yacht 
 filled and forged up alongside the swimmer. 
 Then she came into the wind again, and Morgan 
 and his companions took in the slack of the rope 
 hand over hand. Channing slipped his arm about 
 the now unconscious Edith, and they were slowly 
 towed to the yacht's side. 
 
 The accident, with its climax of thrilling rescue, 
 caused a great stir at Bellamore. Beatrice was 
 mortified that for once she had missed the lime- 
 light, but she proceeded to get out of it all the 
 reflected glory that was to be had. She gave Mrs. 
 Jewett Edith's best photographs, and detailed her 
 to meet the correspondents, while she and Gotham 
 collaborated on a strong story for the Age. Not 
 
 317
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the least emphasised point of this story was the 
 fact that the half-drowned heiress was a sister 
 of Beatrice Cameron. 
 
 " Barring the inconvenience to Miss Edith, this 
 affair is downright lucky," observed Gotham. 
 " Channing, remember, is already a well-known 
 figure, and you are his hostess. I wish we had 
 a picture of the yacht and a diagram map." 
 
 " Why the map ? " asked Beatrice. 
 
 " Well, you see we could fill it full of little 
 Maltese crosses marked Here is where Miss 
 Cameron went overboard Point at which the 
 rescue was effected Point where the yacht came 
 about. It gives the story a finish, you know." 
 
 " That's so. Telegraph your office to draw 
 one from description." 
 
 " I'll do it. We'll make this a two-column 
 feature." 
 
 Edith lay twenty-four hours under the care 
 of a doctor and trained nurses, fighting her slow 
 way out of the shadow of death. When she could 
 remember, she sent for Captain Channing and 
 tried to thank him. It was restrained, and, to her, 
 unsatisfactory, for her wish was to throw her 
 arms about his neck and press her lips to his 
 brow. A little of her mood escaped censorship. 
 
 " You are my hero again," she whispered, " my
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 hero now, and not the nation's." He searched for 
 some innocuous gallantry. 
 
 " Then the nation loses nothing, and I gain 
 everything," he said. 
 
 " I had resigned myself to die when you came," 
 she continued. " I think that with any other 
 man I should have failed in the struggle." 
 
 " I will not believe that. Yours was a gallant 
 contest," he stammered. This was disconcerting. 
 
 :< You inspired me," she insisted. " It was your 
 voice in my ear and your hand on my arm that 
 told me to hope. Fear cannot live in your pres- 
 ence. My life is yours. I consider that so far 
 as may be it should be dedicated to your interests." 
 Channing felt the electric atmosphere. He tried 
 to tone her ardour. 
 
 " You will undertake no such contract as that," 
 he laughed ; " we may never meet again after I 
 leave." 
 
 " I shall not follow you to the wars," she said, 
 smiling responsively, " but you can hardly escape 
 my gratitude this side the firing line. You must 
 reap what you sow." 
 
 Their association after the accident was even 
 closer than before. It gave the romance builders 
 of the veranda food for thought. They noted 
 the caress of Edith's manner, the way in which 
 
 319
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 she claimed Channing's society, and several aston- 
 ished observers left Bellamore convinced that she 
 was making love in the most abandoned fashion. 
 Her honesty was Edith's guard. She did not 
 dream of criticism, because she saw no reason 
 for it. Her passion took the form of exalted 
 friendship, and it was so true and so pure that she 
 gave no thought to outside impressions. 
 
 Charming had come still further beneath the 
 spell of her warm, if subdued, regard. He was 
 beginning to surrender to its charm, and he did 
 not shrink from the possibilities. If his own heart 
 waxed plastic to her gentle moulding, he would 
 accept it as a desirable outcome. 
 
 Meantime Edith was happy as the butterfly is 
 happy. She dealt in dreams and permitted hope 
 to paint on the canvas of the future. One by 
 one the troubles of the household circle, the 
 phantoms of the winter, and the torturing fears 
 of Beatrice's coquetries dropped away. She 
 became selfish in her abstraction, and forgetful. 
 It was a festival time of smiles. 
 
 At the very high noon of her summer day Mrs. 
 Jewett, friend and defender, the one, the only 
 henchman of her happiness, invoked the storm 
 cloud. 
 
 320
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 She called Beatrice's attention to Edith's joy. 
 
 It was the dooming of her vision. 
 
 " My little girl lives on a mountain-top," she 
 said, fondly, idly, " and I think Channing is pre- 
 paring to follow her up. He is a fool to delay." 
 
 They were seated alone on the veranda. 
 Channing and Edith were walking down a sunlit 
 path that wound away to the hill overlooking the 
 Sound. Mrs. Jewett followed them with her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Edith loves him wonderfully," she went on, 
 " and I cannot imagine what induces him to 
 stand off. He will never get another woman to 
 view him so at least, not another like Edith. 
 The man must be an egotist." 
 
 " Do you mean that Edith is infatuated with 
 Captain Channing?" asked Beatrice, curiously. 
 " Edith has never loved anything in her life except 
 cats and beggars." 
 
 " She has discovered her heart." 
 
 " I had regarded it as a hand-in-hand enter- 
 prise. I have been busy with Royer, you know. 
 Tell me more." 
 
 " She has burned her bridges behind her. I 
 dread to think of a lack of reciprocity." 
 
 " Do you think this is a gamble ? Has she no 
 assurance? " 
 
 321
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " How could she? There has been no calcula- 
 tion, nothing ordinary or regular. She has given 
 him her whole heart, hoping apparently that he 
 might find it well to exchange. I pray he may. 
 She deserves it." 
 
 " He is a very remarkable man," observed 
 Beatrice, absently. 
 
 " Very courageous, you mean. If he were 
 remarkable he would be sensible, and if he were 
 sensible he would marry Edith in a moment." 
 
 " I confess I cannot see your penchant for 
 Edith. She is a colourless sort of girl." 
 
 " Hers are the neutral tints. You can imagine 
 they are very appealing to one dazzled by scarlet." 
 
 " Why does he not seek an affinity ? A man 
 of such gallantry should demand a stronger 
 nature." 
 
 " I am surprised you admit his virtues," re- 
 marked Mrs. Jewett, suspiciously. " You were 
 very apathetic." 
 
 " That rescue converted me. I have become 
 interested." 
 
 " You are starting late," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 coldly. ' To Edith belong any discoveries that 
 can be made. I advise you to keep hands off." 
 
 Beatrice laughed unpleasantly. " In the begin- 
 
 322
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 ning," she said, " I had some trouble keeping his 
 hands off. He cannot have changed so greatly." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett glared at her in open alarm. 
 
 " What do you mean? " she asked, sharply. 
 
 " Nothing," answered Beatrice, but her eyes 
 belied the evasion. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett bent forward and tapped Beatrice 
 with a warning finger. 
 
 " It is very plain," she began, " that you think 
 it would be a clever and diverting exploit to step 
 in and attach this man to your chariot. It would 
 be a demonstration of that power you are so fond 
 of using. But, I implore you, select some victim 
 other than your sister it is upon her the annoy- 
 ance, the shame, would fall. You cannot be so 
 cruel." 
 
 " You are philanthropic," mocked Beatrice. 
 
 " Not so. I did not wince over Trexler and 
 Holt, but Edith why, it is not to be believed ! " 
 
 " Alice, such an idea never occurred to me until 
 you suggested it." Beatrice smiled at the quick 
 dismay of her companion's face. 
 
 " Then be generous and forget," said Mrs. 
 Jewett, sternly, " and if you can't forget," she 
 added, with a snap of temper, " consider that I 
 am enrolled against you." 
 
 Beatrice rocked to and fro gently. 
 
 323
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Which means what? " she asked. 
 
 " Well, I could retail history for one thing 1 . I 
 believe that I could show that you have killed 
 nearly as many men as he has." 
 
 " It is his trade to face danger." 
 
 " Or I might claim that you got him for Edith 
 and feared he would not answer." 
 
 " That is crafty, Alice, and very tricky. You 
 need not be afraid. Just at present I am busy." 
 
 But this lackadaisical assurance did not reach 
 Mrs. Jewett at all. She left the veranda dis- 
 gusted and alarmed. That she should, through 
 lack of the most ordinary judgment, have imper- 
 illed Edith's romance, bit into her conscience. For 
 the moment she felt herself an assassin of the 
 girl's hopes, and the fabric of trouble had been 
 woven in chatter idle and useless. An enemy 
 could not have attacked Edith with better pros- 
 pects of success. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett had no hope that Beatrice would 
 neglect the hint. It was a bait to her perversity. 
 " The very fact of its being Edith," murmured 
 Mrs. Jewett, " will induce her to act. She cannot 
 bear the thought of Edith's success, and I have no 
 doubt she has already lashed herself into resent- 
 ment. It is my place to redeem the error." 
 
 So she began a close watch for the first signs 
 
 324
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 that might confirm her fear. There was nothing 
 in the earlier moves to cause alarm. They con- 
 sisted of little personal attentions cloaked as hos- 
 pitality, and so demure and subtle that not even 
 Mrs. Jewett saw their importance. Even if she 
 had, they forbade criticism. They were quite 
 within Beatrice's province as hostess. But Mrs. 
 Jewett was not long in doubt. From general 
 entertainment in Channing's behalf, Beatrice 
 passed to personal advances. She took him on 
 walks along the shore, opposed him charmingly 
 on the links, went yachting, and one by one 
 usurped the routine formerly assigned to Edith. 
 It was done smoothly, and Edith hardly felt the 
 pressure of the hand which pushed her aside. 
 Indeed, she went so far as to thank her sister for 
 her belated interest. 
 
 " It is good of you to pay so much attention to 
 Captain Channing," she said. " He seems to 
 enjoy every moment of his stay. I know he is 
 grateful." 
 
 And in very fact he seemed to appreciate the 
 offerings as special generosity. His response was 
 marked. Mrs. Jewett noticed it long before Edith, 
 and it gave her an insight as to the quarter from 
 which the break might come. Her analysis was 
 damning. 
 
 325
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Edith did all this in the beginning," she 
 reasoned, " and won a kindly smile. Beatrice 
 moves, and he discovers for the first time he is 
 being entertained. Poor Edith ! " 
 
 It was Mrs. Jewett, frantic now with reproach, 
 who turned on the light. She told Edith the truth 
 with bald, inflaming detail, painted Beatrice as a 
 plotter, and begged her to fight for Channing, not 
 as a matter of sentiment but as a protest of out- 
 raged confidence. Before going to Edith she 
 made sure of her facts by a curious stratagem, 
 using the roulette wheel as a medium, and Morgan 
 as her informant. Morgan was one of the few 
 guests who dodged the lure of the coloured board. 
 His love was the open air. Therefore, when Mrs. 
 Jewett begged for a brush he scented a hidden 
 interest. It looked like a subterfuge. When his 
 guess was verified he was glad. 
 
 " You play croupier," said Mrs. Jewett, lightly, 
 " and I will woo the tiger. I want fifty dollars' 
 worth of chips. The game I am playing is 
 worth it." 
 
 "Which game?" said Morgan, blandly. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett smiled like a child. " Roulette, of 
 course," she said. 
 
 Morgan's use of the marble was erratic and 
 clumsy, but it sufficed to beat Mrs. Jewett at 
 326
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 every bet she laid down. When half of the fifty 
 was missing she suddenly swept her chips 
 together on the red. 
 
 "That," she said, "is Edith!" 
 
 Morgan nodded and pushed his winnings on 
 the black. 
 
 " It is pure formality, of course, as I must 
 bet black," he remarked, " but that represents 
 Beatrice." 
 
 He whirled the marble on its fitful course. It 
 sped around and around as though eager to pro- 
 long the suspense. 
 
 " Why did you take red ? " asked Morgan, curi- 
 ously. 
 
 " Because it was not black." 
 
 " You thought Miss Cameron entitled to her 
 personal shade? " 
 
 " Yes," she responded, crisply, and watched the 
 marble. The little sphere left its tilted shelf, 
 bounded here and there against the compartments, 
 and finally settled in one niche with a bump. 
 
 " Black ! " observed Morgan. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett rose and looked at the marble. 
 
 " Black! " she cried. " It is like fate! " 
 
 " It is fate," he answered. 
 
 She settled back, her face grave and her glance 
 plainly anxious. 
 
 327
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Why are you so sure? " she queried. 
 
 " The marble says so." 
 
 " I respect your opinion more." 
 
 " I cannot see any other outcome, and mind 
 you, I love Edith myself, and it is heart-breaking 
 to think so." 
 
 " Does Beatrice love Channing ? " 
 
 " I do not know. It is not material. I believe 
 Channing loves Beatrice." 
 
 " Then his only reason for neglecting Beatrice 
 was her own attitude. With encouragement he 
 commits himself." 
 
 " Quite so. If she had let them alone I believe 
 in time Channing would have returned Edith's 
 love. He could not have withstood such affection. 
 Now he will never go back." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett listened to the measured words in 
 distress. Her responsibility took on shapes of 
 dread. She stammered dissent. 
 
 " You take no account of honour," she pleaded, 
 " nor of manliness and gratitude. He cannot 
 permit himself an infamy like that." 
 
 " His obligations are second to his senses. 
 Even if this were not so, I doubt whether Chan- 
 ning is committed to Edith. What can halt 
 him?" 
 
 Mrs. Jewett flushed wrathfully. 
 328
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 ;< You and I may for one thing," she sug- 
 gested. " Edith is diffident and helpless. You 
 must convert your friend while I do what I can 
 to force Edith to fight." 
 
 Morgan clicked the chips together absently. 
 " You are setting me a hard task," he observed. 
 " I am to attack an infatuated man with argu- 
 meht. We cannot succeed." 
 
 " Do you think there is any chance of my 
 making love to Captain Channing? " 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " I say do you believe if I threw myself at his 
 head it would divert him long enough to defeat 
 Beatrice?" 
 
 Morgan surveyed his companion in astonish- 
 ment. But she answered his look with a poise that 
 was a challenge. It boasted of power. And as 
 he ran his eyes over her tall, graceful figure, her 
 perfect modelling, and the strong, beautiful face, 
 youthful and yet illumined with knowledge, he 
 could not doubt that many and many a man would 
 welcome the favour of such a woman. 
 
 " What do you think ? " she asked. 
 
 " If you tried you might complicate matters," 
 he replied, admiringly, " but I do not see why 
 we should hatch any more trouble. Remember, 
 
 329
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 too, that Channing is my friend. I would not 
 help make his heart a football." 
 
 " Then you do not deny that I might do some- 
 thing if I tried ? " she asked. Morgan laughed. 
 
 " Certainly not," he said, bowing. " If you 
 threw yourself at my head I would not promise 
 restraint, and I am much colder-blooded than 
 Channing." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett beamed in acknowledgment. 
 
 " Do what you can," she wound up. " It may 
 be that if his attention is drawn to the matter 
 he will see his error. If not, you will have played 
 a man's part." 
 
 From Morgan Mrs. Jewett hurried straight to 
 Edith. She did not believe the girl appreciated the 
 situation, and she did not intend that ground 
 should be lost through lack of defence. Edith 
 would be so long awakening that her chance 
 might be gone before she could protest. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett was violent and pitiless. 
 
 " You love Channing," she cried, " and it is 
 because she resents your happiness that Beatrice 
 interferes. The woman has been making love 
 to him for a week. He belongs to you and she 
 plans a theft." 
 
 For a long time after this speech Edith made 
 no reply, but every line in her features told of 
 330
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the shock. They were seated in her room over- 
 looking the Sound, and she revolved the charge 
 in slow, painful reverie while Mrs. Jewett studied 
 the shipping and wondered what she would say. 
 
 " Do you know this to be so, Alice," she asked 
 finally, "or do you mistake courtesy for flirta- 
 tion?" 
 
 " Of course I know," said Mrs. Jewett, roughly, 
 " and so would you if your trust were not blind- 
 ness." 
 
 " Possibly I have no right to keep a lookout." 
 
 " I insist that you have. You are entitled to 
 protect yourself." 
 
 " Are you sure of her motive? " 
 
 " She is poaching." 
 
 " Do you believe Captain Channing lo-loves 
 her ? " she stammered. 
 
 " She has no right to make him. I am con- 
 vinced that if she had let you alone he would in 
 time have fallen at your feet." 
 
 Edith's face lit up happily. 
 
 " I should like to think so, Alice," she said, 
 wistfully. Then the reserve and girlish embar- 
 rassment went down before a sudden craving to 
 unroll to this friend the scroll of her dreams. 
 The need of help came upon her and a wish for
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 sympathy, and she longed for the aid of judgment 
 untouched by sentiment. 
 
 " I do love him, Alice," she hurried on, frankly. 
 " I love him so that my whole life seems to have 
 felt its influence. We were so happy together; 
 it was such a pleasure to have him near me that 
 I shut out the future through joy of the present. 
 Beatrice cannot love him. It simply means that 
 she has marked him for those attentions which 
 have their rise in vanity and their end in woe. 
 That is all. And how strange it seems, Alice, that 
 I, who have so wished to save others, should fall 
 under this very same blight. Virtue is again called 
 upon to reward itself." 
 
 " You take it too calmly, Edith. You do not 
 mean to step aside?" 
 
 " No, no, I cannot." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so. We will see 
 whether this sneak thief of hearts is not to be 
 met with her own weapons. You owe her no 
 fidelity. She is a sister only so far as the family 
 records go, and I believe she hates you, anyhow." 
 
 "Why, Alice?" 
 
 " Because you are everything that she is not, 
 and she knows you despise her morals. The only 
 motive under heaven that has sent her after Chan- 
 
 332
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 ning is pique. You should fight her for this 
 reason alone." 
 
 " Very well, Alice," said Edith, quietly, " we 
 will fight. If I find, however, that Maurice's heart 
 and not his senses are involved, I shall withdraw." 
 
 " Certainly. I would not ask you to debase 
 yourself. Only find out first." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett went from the interview eager for 
 conflict. " If we can only beat that miserable 
 raider this time," she murmured, " I shall die 
 happy or leave Bellamore." 
 
 So closely following the compact began a hidden 
 and deadly struggle. Mrs. Jewett led the fray. 
 She had as a stimulus Edith's happiness, but 
 above and beyond that was a strong desire to 
 put down the devil which she conceived dwelt in 
 Beatrice's nature. The long months of their 
 union, barren of gratitude, had excited in Mrs. 
 Jewett a disgust which served now to spur her on. 
 She threw in Beatrice's way every obstacle she 
 could invent, or that was suggested by the situa- 
 tion. She did it, too, with such care that at no time 
 was Beatrice in a position to demand an explana- 
 tion. 
 
 Edith's aid was trifling. She seemed never to 
 realise that her sanction of the war called for a 
 sacrifice. Instead of supporting the general, she 
 
 333
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 stood to one side hoping that Channing's glance 
 might rove that way. Mrs. Jewett protested. 
 
 " You should help me, Edith," she said. " I 
 do not expect you to be forward, but show him 
 that you are capable of loving. His nature is 
 romantic. He demands an atmosphere of senti- 
 ment." 
 
 " Alice, I cannot," Edith answered, proudly. 
 " It is degrading. He would despise me." 
 
 " At least," retorted Mrs. Jewett, " you might 
 go as far as your sister." 
 
 Morgan's talk with Mrs. Jewett left him full 
 of a chivalric wish to assist. He did not think 
 of the ethics, and he did not think of himself. 
 His love for Edith was such that he desired her 
 happiness without reference to his own, and the 
 mood was neither heroic nor theatrical. There- 
 fore he went to Channing and boldly pleaded her 
 case. He sought him one night in the privacy 
 of his room and declared his errand without 
 apology or delay. 
 
 " Maurice," he said, " I have come in for a 
 moment's serious talk. It will probably kill our 
 friendship, but I am none the less determined 
 that you shall hear me. You are breaking Edith's 
 heart." 
 
 Channing flushed, but his restraint was admi- 
 
 334
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 rable. He said nothing and seemed waiting for 
 Morgan to go on. The lieutenant did not hesitate. 
 
 " You are turning from a woman who loves 
 you to chase a phantom," he continued, slowly; 
 " you are discarding an angel for Beatrice Cam- 
 eron who who is not an angel. You have 
 disappointed me, and I believe you have done 
 worse by Edith." 
 
 Channing looked at him with a black frown. 
 " May I ask whom you represent? " he queried. 
 
 " That is an insult, Maurice," replied Morgan, 
 quickly ; " you do not mean that. If Edith knew 
 I had spoken of the matter it would kill her. I 
 am here on my own assignment. Let me be 
 plain. Edith Cameron loves you, and you prize 
 this wonderful thing so little that you can regard 
 the coquetries of her sister. I ask of you that you 
 halt; I ask of you that you do not pursue an 
 error that may destroy Edith and that in the 
 end will destroy you. If you are not serious, I 
 have made a fool of myself ; but if you are, then 
 you are the fool, and, in my eyes, Maurice, almost 
 a criminal." He stopped, white and agitated. 
 Channing walked away once and then came back, 
 plainly fighting down his wrath. After an inter- 
 val he spoke. 
 
 " I see what you mean, Wilbur," he said, " but 
 
 335
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 in the natural order of things I cannot answer. 
 It would be unmanly, no, worse than that, it 
 would be egotistical." 
 
 Morgan rose and walked to the door. 
 
 " I have no right to dragoon you," he replied. 
 " If you accept my interference as a friendly 
 appeal I shall be grateful." 
 
 " You can carry away one satisfaction, Wilbur," 
 said Channing, wearily, " you have made me 
 ashamed." 
 
 " I was sure that I would." 
 
 As Morgan turned to go, Channing stopped 
 him. "You will leave Bellamore, I suppose?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Of course. I could not stay after what I 
 have said. I shall go as soon as it can be done 
 without comment." 
 
 When the door closed Channing's calm dis- 
 appeared. He walked up and down the room, his 
 face clouded and full of pain. The lieutenant 
 had brought out boldly the lurking problem which 
 each day was making harder to face. How could 
 he tell another what he did not know himself? 
 Childish as it seemed, he was a plaything of 
 emotion. One hour Edith absorbed him, and he 
 thought of her grace, of her sweetness, and was 
 filled with joy at the knowledge of her favour. 
 336
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 The next, memory had fled, and he was prostrate 
 before her sister. He saw Beatrice's deficiencies, 
 but against her charm they were without influence. 
 It was the ancient conflict between the spiritual 
 and material. His heart was a battle-ground 
 where impulses, pure and impure, fought for 
 mastery. He had been heartily ashamed, but not 
 even this goad had sufficed to point the way. At 
 times he wondered whether he had not always 
 loved Beatrice and whether his heart had merely 
 awaited the summons. Then he would strike 
 a contrast between the two and be dismayed at 
 the mere physical nature of her appeal. 
 
 " I can only drift," he whispered, " drift and 
 play feather in the currents. Edith is the dearest 
 of women, but the other " 
 
 Mrs. Jewett did not ask Morgan for a report. 
 She saw gloom in his face and guessed that he 
 had failed. She redoubled her efforts. Almost 
 she made good her thought of ensnaring Chan- 
 ning herself. Certainly her attentions fell little 
 short of love-making, and their tenacity was not 
 to be equalled. She was in his vision and at his 
 elbow. The long walks were entrenched upon, 
 there was interference with the rides and the 
 yachting, and while she found it ever harder to 
 involve him with Edith, she nevertheless diverted 
 
 337
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 him from the influence of her scheming sister. 
 Beatrice felt the pin-pricks of opposition, but 
 instead of a protest she tried to match the moves 
 and make strategy do what might be less success- 
 fully accomplished by crude force. Her success 
 was limited. Mrs. Jewett thought quicker and 
 moved swifter, and she had the advantage of 
 being unsuspected by the soldier. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett saw that the coarse animal spirit 
 of Beatrice touched in Channing a responsive 
 chord. It was an affinity dependent on contact, 
 and this encouraged her to persevere. Outside 
 the immediate sphere of Beatrice's influence his 
 devotion lost force, and it was Mrs. Jewett's aim 
 to keep them apart as much as possible. Her 
 success in this direction represented her success 
 in fighting the drift toward Beatrice. 
 
 It was while matters stood thus, practically 
 dead-locked, that a brace of events occurred which 
 diverted the rivals and furnished material for a 
 new period of unrest. 
 
 338
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 x^yOMING from her room one morning Edith 
 f ran into an amazing tableau. The door 
 of her apartment opened on a wide semi- 
 circular landing, and opposite was the first room 
 of the suite occupied by her sister. At the entrance 
 Beatrice was standing, cold, impassive, but with 
 astonishment on every feature. Before her was 
 young Mrs. Sloane, strangely attired and still 
 more strangely agitated. It was early in the day, 
 she was scheduled for a long visit, yet she wore 
 a travelling dress, and at her feet rested a hand 
 bag. Edith heard her voice raised in reproach, 
 and her hands beat the air before Beatrice's face 
 as she talked. 
 
 " You robbed me," came to Edith's ears, " you 
 robbed me because you hated my happiness, and 
 both he and you conspired to make this visit a 
 cloak. I decline to be duped. Take him and keep 
 him. I never want to see him again. When he 
 gets dismissal I'll finish his misery with a divorce. 
 I never want to see him again, you understand." 
 
 339
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Neither do I," said Beatrice, impassively. 
 
 " You don't ? I think you lie." Then, on the 
 echo of the speech, Edith saw one of the fluttering 
 hands swing away in a half-circle and come back 
 with a stinging slap on Beatrice's face. An ugly, 
 creeping patch, half crimson, sprung out on the 
 white skin. Edith ran forward with a cry, but 
 Beatrice did not relax her pose of indifference. 
 
 " I am glad to see you have your travelling- 
 bag," she said, addressing her assailant, " because 
 it saves me the trouble of calling on the butler. 
 I think I will keep your husband. I have paid the 
 price." Then, with an incidental glance at Edith, 
 she opened the door behind her and went within. 
 
 " You should not have struck sister," exclaimed 
 Edith. "What is the trouble?" Mrs. Sloane 
 turned on her slowly. The anger, the resentment, 
 was crumbling in a mist of sorrow. She looked 
 out of eyes filling with tears. 
 
 " Edith," she whispered, wretchedly, " that is 
 a wicked woman. She is she has taken George 
 away from me. She has separated us for ever. 
 And for what ? Why ? He loved me. We were 
 happy until we came here. I " She broke 
 down and sobbed hopelessly. Edith looked at the 
 little figure, doleful, unattractive, yet smitten by 
 calamity, and the memories she had set aside came 
 340
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 back heavy with rebuke. She had started on a 
 mission of rescue, she had set herself to restrain 
 Beatrice, to lead her in higher ways, and to make 
 such suffering as this she looked on impossible, 
 and in the first blush of happiness the whole effort 
 had been thrust aside. Those splendid intentions 
 fire.d by the fate of Holt, the injunctions of Mrs. 
 Lambert, what had become of them? They had 
 fainted at repulse, and, in the atmosphere of her 
 own romance, vanished, and now before her was 
 another victim to point her neglect. 
 
 Mrs. Sloane's sobs dwindled to shaking gasps. 
 
 " George is susceptible, you know, Edith," she 
 murmured, wearily, " and she saw this and wished 
 to make sport of his sentiment. I don't believe 
 she intended to go so far. Maybe it was only 
 amusement, but it has lost him to me. What 
 shall I do? What shall I do? " 
 
 Edith drew her into her room and closed the 
 door. 
 
 " You had better go to the city for a time," 
 she said ; " it is the best thing for both of 
 you. When he finds you are gone it will revive 
 his affection." Edith spoke tenderly and wisely, 
 because she pitied the woman, and she hoped in 
 some fashion to restore the links, fractured, as 
 she knew, in wantonness, but not yet severed.
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I want to go, I ought to go," wailed Mrs. 
 Sloane, " but it is very hard, and I hate to leave 
 him with her. They might might kiss each 
 other." 
 
 " Have you ever seen them making love? " 
 
 "No." ' 
 
 Edith smiled bitterly. " Then you have nothing 
 to fear. Beatrice never kissed a man in her life. 
 Beatrice has been coquetting with your husband 
 instead of playing billiards. This outburst means 
 that he will now be scorned." 
 
 Mrs. Sloane's face lit up with kindling hope. 
 
 " But won't they be glad to be alone? Is not 
 my going just what they desire?" 
 
 " For the moment it may be what he desires, 
 but Beatrice why, Mrs. Sloane, there are sev- 
 eral other men in the house whom I had set 
 down as victims. I never even thought of your 
 husband. Are you sure of the facts ? " 
 
 Mrs. Sloane nodded sadly. " He told me that 
 Beatrice was the kind of a woman any man might 
 admire ; that she had blood and fire, and that she 
 made the ordinary female look wooden. He was 
 very brutal " the memory brought on the tears 
 again. Edith comforted her as she might a 
 grief-stricken child. 
 
 " Go away," she urged, soothingly. " Go to 
 342
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the city and leave the situation to me. Your hus- 
 band has been foolish; I do not believe he has 
 been criminal. I will do what I can, and make 
 you a faithful report." With this consolation 
 Edith gradually beat down the hysteria, and in 
 the end Mrs. Sloane went away convinced that 
 somehow Edith would restore to her the recreant 
 husband. For this she thanked her in advance. 
 
 When she had seen the wretched wife depart, 
 Edith crept back to. her room unstrung and 
 dispirited. Her mind travelled in one circle of 
 reproach. She could not free herself of the belief 
 that had she done her duty she might have stayed 
 the evil which Beatrice worked. The fugitive 
 humour in Mrs. Sloane's woe did not touch her. 
 She pitied the woman, and she knew that no 
 matter whether she brought the man back or not, 
 his infidelity would discolour their lives. She 
 tried to retrace her steps, to see where she had 
 failed and why, but this proved wearing and 
 fruitless, because she knew that she had practically 
 abandoned her mission. She had been unfaithful 
 to society. 
 
 " I have not influenced Beatrice," she thought, 
 gloomily, " because I have never shown her that I 
 loved her. My interference has been officious. 
 Somehow I might have touched her heart." 
 
 343
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Her mind ran solely on the danger to others. 
 From her own peril she turned aside. It was 
 no time to be selfish, and this very reflection 
 brought her thoughts into a new channel. If she 
 had been so honestly eager to benefit society, why 
 had she not made some personal sacrifice ? What 
 had she ever done beyond nagging and imploring 
 Beatrice? Even if right in the abstract, it was 
 no way to impress her, and now, when she had an 
 opening, she was fighting selfishly against either 
 loss or setback. If Beatrice really loved Chan- 
 ning, then her capture of him meant a focusing of 
 sentiment. Her own love blocked the way. 
 
 She sent for Mrs. Jewett. 
 
 " Alice," she began, solemnly, " Mrs. Sloane 
 has joined the unfortunates. I blame myself 
 because if I am not to interfere no one will. I 
 have tried moral suasion and failed. I propose 
 now that if Beatrice really cares for Maurice she 
 be allowed to have him without further contest." 
 
 "Nonsense! Why?" 
 
 "If she loves him as she pretends, she will 
 marry him. If that occurs it will put a stop to 
 these dreadful sorrows." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett's lips settled in a thin, unhandsome 
 line. 
 
 " You will do nothing of the kind," she said, 
 
 344
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 with a metallic note ; " you do not know that she 
 loves him, and you cannot be sure of either sug- 
 gestion you make. It is your happiness against 
 the field. What do you suppose I care about 
 any one else ? " 
 
 " O Alice ! you must these things are heart- 
 breaking. It is my place to meet the problem." 
 
 ^ By making yourself wretched? You would 
 kill your own heart, and maybe lose after all. 
 I say no." 
 
 "What else is to be done? She will listen 
 neither to me nor to the call of morals." 
 
 " Let her alone, then, and perhaps one of these 
 sufferers will rise up some day and destroy her." 
 
 " That is not charity. Besides, letting her 
 alone has failed already." 
 
 " It is the only thing that will ever relieve 
 society. By the way, I have been forced to use 
 ugly weapons to-day." 
 
 "What now?" 
 
 " I hinted to Channing that she drove Holt 
 insane." 
 
 " I am sorry for that, Alice. It seems hardly 
 fair." 
 
 " You need not worry. He was not greatly 
 upset." 
 
 " What did he say ? Did he make any reply ? " 
 
 345
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Indeed, yes. He said he thought Beatrice in 
 certain aspects might drive a good many men 
 insane. I did not ask what aspects." 
 
 Edith's brow clouded. She sighed patheti- 
 cally. " It would seem that I propose sacrificing 
 that which is not mine," she said. 
 
 " Not so. I tell you he belongs to you. Such 
 a speech indicates that he realises her wonderful 
 magnetism nothing more. If I can keep him 
 away long enough, his interest will lapse. What 
 happened to Mrs. Sloane ? " 
 
 " Beatrice has oh ! let us talk of a saving 
 move, Alice. You will think her case ludicrous 
 it has reduced me to the depths." 
 
 " I will talk of no move that involves your 
 surrender." 
 
 " You are harsh, Alice." 
 
 " Sensible, you should say. I have more cor- 
 rectly gauged your sister's character than any one 
 else in the world. You understand her but feebly, 
 because you have no guide rules of comparative 
 wickedness. If the good God gives me victory 
 over Beatrice Cameron, I shall consider myself 
 quit of the past. Do not believe for an instant 
 that any sacrifice you could make would divert 
 her. It would be just the same if she were 
 married." 
 
 346
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Edith was not convinced. Mrs. Jewett's venge- 
 ful spirit destroyed her truisms, and when she 
 had gone Edith fell back on the belief that within 
 her power lay the only sure check to her sister's 
 mischief. Every other method had failed, but 
 this new plan had the virtue of being practical. 
 Its success might induce Beatrice to hang up for 
 ever the scarlet vestments of the coquette. To 
 win such a result seemed to Edith warrant for 
 any loss she might be called on to bear. The 
 death of her precious enchantment meant agony, 
 but not greater agony than further neglect. She 
 prayed for the needed strength. 
 
 The reclamation of Sloane proved a harder 
 task than she had thought. He was not very well 
 known to her, and the aspect of the man was dis- 
 couraging. Everything about him bespoke a 
 meanness of soul. 
 
 First she tried pathos, and she used all the 
 arts of a special pleader ; then she tried warning, 
 and hinted that a public divorce suit was a certain 
 sequel, but when to all her endeavours he opposed 
 a wondering smile, she lost her temper. 
 
 " You think it a matter of humour," she cried, 
 " and I think it is much more humourous that you 
 should imagine that Beatrice cares whether you 
 go or stay. Beatrice thinks more of any one of 
 
 347
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 three other men that are now in the house. I 
 can't imagine why your wife wants you, but 
 if you will not go to her you cannot stay here. 
 I order you to go, and if that is not enough, I 
 will make it an issue and leave myself. Beatrice 
 also will tell you to go. You are a little criminal 
 and a big fool." Turning about, Edith marched 
 from the room, but not until her eye had caught 
 a total collapse of the man's effrontery. 
 
 He was gone in twenty-four hours. He had 
 raced to Beatrice for protection, and his last state 
 was worse than the first. Beatrice not only denied 
 him, but she made him also feel the weight of 
 anger aroused by his wife. He fled to the train, 
 appreciating for the first time in his life the woman 
 he had wronged. 
 
 It was while the dregs of the miserable Sloane 
 incident still poisoned Edith's peace, while the 
 problem of conscience still weighted her thoughts, 
 that the doubts and delays had their execution 
 through a disaster blacker and more ghastly than 
 any that had gone before. It was like a divine 
 command imposed to check the shrinking from 
 the sacrifice. 
 
 From the day when the sentimental currents 
 began their swirl about Channing the other figures 
 at Bellamore had fallen into the background. 
 
 348
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Gotham, ready-witted and full of pride, stepped 
 aside to nurse his defeat in silence, but Royer 
 cloaked under submission an active hunger for 
 revenge. He watched the play calmly while his 
 soul was racked. Every hour the black brows 
 knit closer together, and with each fresh proof 
 of his loss the iron in his heart bit deeper its 
 inflaming point. He regarded Beatrice as his 
 chattel of romance. He had made love to her, and 
 she had responded, and now the dear and pas- 
 sionate record was as if it had never been. Over 
 night he had been dropped from her notice, and 
 he neither understood the change nor accepted 
 it. For some time he studied the Channing affair 
 to confirm his fall. When no longer uncertain, 
 he threw his whole soul into an effort at recovery. 
 The things he said to Beatrice were not in 
 themselves alarming. His nature was coarse and 
 powerful, but his self-control operated to hide 
 his anger. Still, had she been a woman of finer 
 instinct, the very tone of his protest would have 
 warned her. It held a minor chord of menace. 
 He was quiet, and she thought this quiet, resigna- 
 tion; he was deferential, and she took this to 
 mean weakness, so she did not even try to explain, 
 which with nine men out of ten would have 
 
 349
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 soothed the sting. Instead she was frankly 
 unkind. 
 
 " We are friends, Mr. Royer," she said, with 
 studied apathy, " we are friends. I never said 
 we were anything else." 
 
 " You never did," he acknowledged, " but, 
 Beatrice, all falsehood is not with the tongue." 
 
 " Indeed not," she answered, coolly, " nor is all 
 self-conceit founded on reason. You misread 
 your invitation." 
 
 After this he should have followed in the foot- 
 steps of Mrs. Sloane. There was nothing else 
 to be done, and, in justice to his dignity, he made 
 several half-hearted efforts to go. But with 
 every thought of retreat there came a desire to 
 leave behind him something of the sorrow he 
 must take away. He was a Southerner, he 
 remembered it, and the idea of suffering affront 
 was against both education and instinct. Had 
 such a weight of indignity come from a man he 
 would have killed him. So over and over again 
 he sought to find a way by which, if Beatrice 
 might not die in the flesh, she should feel lasting 
 pains of regret. His love for her had not a 
 single spiritual element. It was passion unleav- 
 ened by sweetness or grace, and when he figured 
 on revenge there was no call of devotion to stay 
 
 350
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 his hand. Had he fled from his torment he might 
 have survived, but with defeat brought home in 
 endless reminder there was no chance for peace 
 or for resignation. 
 
 One bright and shining morning Royer rose up 
 to cast aside his burden. He knew that with it 
 must go life itself, for only thus was ease to be 
 had, but he did not shrink, and the resolve bred 
 in his soul the joy that comes with final decision. 
 Beatrice had gone down the path with Channing, 
 and he had watched them as a stimulus to his 
 plan. Each trifle of companionable contact ab- 
 sorbed him, and like trip-hammers pounded on 
 the wreckage of his heart. He had needed just 
 such a scene to clinch hard and fast his tragic 
 intent. 
 
 Beatrice was returning along the path now, and 
 instead of Channing, Edith walked by her side. 
 
 " What luck," thought Royer, " she shall see 
 it all. Edith will remember when the other for- 
 gets." 
 
 He left the great veranda and walked down 
 the flower-bordered walk to meet them. His face 
 was smiling and his eyes pleasing in their antici- 
 pation. 
 
 " You look like divinities of the morning," he
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 cried, gaily, " and I think those gowns are quite 
 the most charming feature of the landscape." 
 
 " They don't match the temperature, though," 
 said Beatrice, drily. " I think white would be 
 more appropriate to such a piping hot day." 
 
 " Men never think of details," said Edith, 
 sweetly ; " it's the picture, is it not, Mr. Royer ? " 
 
 " Quite so, Miss Edith ; we would applaud a 
 dance gown in a snow-storm." 
 
 They had wandered up to the mansion. Royer 
 paused. 
 
 " The shore shines like the emerald frame of 
 a sapphire," he said, looking at the winding green 
 line. " It is an invitation. Won't you go up 
 to the little cliff near the inlet? Not to walk is 
 to deny our rhapsodies." 
 
 " I think it would be a pleasant move," said 
 Edith, heartily. " You must go, Beatrice. You 
 walk too little for your health." 
 
 Beatrice nodded. " If you will get parasols," 
 she said, " we will go." 
 
 When Edith had gone, Beatrice turned on 
 Royer abruptly. 
 
 " I trust this is not a revival of the chase,'* 
 she said, maliciously, " you have been so retired 
 of late." 
 
 " No," he answered, promptly, " it is merely 
 
 352
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 a walk." There was not a trace of bitterness 
 in his tone, and he smiled kindly. 
 
 " I am glad of that," observed Beatrice. 
 " Otherwise," she added, with an irritating laugh, 
 " it might be less a walk than a run." He declined 
 to reply. 
 
 Along the shore their ramble was an exhilarat- 
 ing progress. On one side the Sound rippled and 
 whispered to the impulse of a soft wind out of 
 the south, lapping the shingle in quick, melodious 
 invasions and hissing away again; on the other 
 the green and red land of summer spread a feast 
 of perfume and colour. Once they moved away 
 inland to view a wonderful show of flowers, but 
 they hurried back to the Sound, unwilling to 
 lose the chilled wind of its bosom. For nearly a 
 mile they went ahead without stopping to rest. 
 When they did so it was at Royer's suggestion. 
 
 " The old quicksand is just behind that mound," 
 he said, pointing to a tiny elevation a few rods 
 back from the water ; "we can go up there 
 and rest and see the sand at the same time." 
 
 " Quicksand ? I thought quicksands only 
 existed in special localities," said Beatrice, curi- 
 ously. 
 
 " That is so," answered Royer, " but the sub- 
 stratum of the shore here is clay. This quicksand 
 
 353
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 was an immense hollow, I believe. It became 
 filled with sand and water, and is so saturated that 
 it cannot bear any weight." 
 
 " I have heard of the quicksand," said Edith, 
 eagerly, " but I have never seen it. Let us go 
 up at once." 
 
 " I abhor quicksands," remarked Beatrice, fear- 
 fully ; " if this were my estate I would see to it 
 that it was filled and planked over." 
 
 They reached the mound, and all three peered 
 curiously over the edge at the ominous patch of 
 unstable soil. It lay at the very edge of the 
 mound. 
 
 " Not too near, Miss Edith," cried Royer, anx- 
 iously, " the edge might crumble, and nothing 
 under heaven could save you, falling from 
 this height. I wonder myself that the authorities 
 do not fill it up." 
 
 " It looks like the sand of the Moonstone," said 
 Edith, in a hushed whisper ; " see, you can notice 
 the tremblings in its bosom. It is scrawled with 
 little malignant quivers. I wonder, has it a his- 
 tory?" 
 
 " No," answered Royer, calmly, " no one has 
 ever fallen in. That is why it has been allowed 
 to remain. Besides, you know, this part of the 
 
 354
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 shore is little frequented. I venture to say we are 
 quite a mile from the nearest house." 
 
 " Then it is certain death to be caught in its 
 meshes?" observed Edith. 
 
 " Quite so. If one of us fell from this mound, 
 for instance, it would hardly require five minutes 
 for the unfortunate to smother. You can imagine 
 the chances for bringing help." He glanced over 
 at Beatrice as he spoke, and her cheek paled. 
 
 " Come away," she burst out, fretfully; " can 
 we find nothing more cheerful to linger over than 
 this death-trap? I thought we were hunting the 
 sunlight." 
 
 For an instant after her exclamation quiet fell 
 on the group. Edith gazed thoughtfully at the 
 quivering death below, Beatrice moved down 
 toward the shore, and Royer ran his eyes around 
 the horizon in an earnest, searching fashion, as 
 though he wished to absorb every detail of the 
 brilliant panorama. 
 
 " It is a beautiful day," he murmured, absently, 
 to Edith. " I don't think I ever saw the world 
 look so fair." 
 
 Wandering slowly down the mound, Beatrice 
 turned once and saw them standing side by side. 
 He had joined Edith in fascinated contemplation 
 
 355
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 of the sands, and the sight seemed to hush them 
 into silence. 
 
 A few feet further on she turned again, and a 
 quick spasm of horror shook her from head to 
 foot when she saw Edith's form silhouetted 
 sharply against the sky above. Royer was no- 
 where to be seen. 
 
 In the same instant she saw Edith collapse on 
 the grass as though smitten by a blow, and a pierc- 
 ing, dreadful shriek a shriek such as she had 
 once heard echoing through the halls of the Lam- 
 bert home rang in her ears. Its message of 
 fright and agony twanged her nerves like harp 
 strings, but she recovered and leaped up the hill 
 with a sure realisation of the scene that lay beyond. 
 What she saw was a triumph of death. Royer 
 was sinking slowly into the heart of the sand. 
 
 He was immersed beyond the waist when she 
 looked down ; his face was pale, but without dis- 
 tress, his hands burrowed into the sands as though 
 to hasten his descent, and she thought she saw 
 the flitting of a smile, ironic, ghastly, and full 
 of meaning. 
 
 Edith was pounding the grass at her feet and 
 crying hysterically. 
 
 " It is suicide," she gasped. " I tell you it is 
 suicide! He leaped off the mound. He did not 
 356
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 fall. Look! He is trying to dig his own grave. 
 Oh! what shall we do? He did it for your 
 sake. I know he did ! " 
 
 Beatrice turned on her fiercely. 
 
 " Be quiet," she cried, " and here, stand up 
 loosen my skirt break the hooks there is not 
 a moment to be lost." 
 
 The sharp, commanding orders steadied Edith 
 at once. She stumbled to her feet and tore at the 
 fastenings. The skirt loosened and fell to the 
 ground. Beatrice stepped from its folds, and, 
 grasping the light, fluffy material, in one desperate 
 wrench, tore it down its length. She then flung 
 herself face down on the mound and tossed an 
 end of the strip fairly at Royer's breast. 
 
 " Go for help, Edith," she cried ; " race for your 
 life, and I will hold him up until you return. We 
 must have men and ropes. Grasp it, Royer," she 
 called to the prisoner, " grasp it and rest your full 
 weight on the strip. You must not sink any 
 further; it is death." 
 
 Even as she spoke she saw that the clutching, 
 smothering sand had made its way almost to his 
 armpits. When the improvised life-line struck 
 in front of him Royer made no effort to avail 
 himself of its aid. Instead he seemed to bend 
 forward, and the convulsive working of his 
 
 357
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 shoulders left no doubt that he sought death, and 
 not the life that was held out to his hand. The 
 movement killed every nerve in Beatrice's body. 
 
 " Take it," she screamed, frantically, " take it, 
 and I will hold you until O, Royer ! what are 
 you doing? The sand is over your shoulders! " 
 She rose to her knees and reached down both 
 hands pleadingly, begging his life that her own 
 might escape the blight. Edith hovered at her 
 elbow, watching for the move that should speed 
 her away for succour, yet feeling, almost knowing, 
 that he would not touch the rope. 
 
 He looked up drearily at her cry, and the brows 
 drew together in a scowl. 
 
 " You know why I am here," he said. " I did 
 not fall in. I jumped in. I think you will 
 remember me." 
 
 The welling sand buried his shoulders, and a 
 tiny saffron patch licked at his chin. He threw 
 his head back slightly, and the sun beat down on 
 his face, illuminating every scrawl and wrinkle of 
 its involuntary agony. 
 
 " It is my revenge," he went on, evenly; " so 
 long as you live you will not forget this grave and 
 the man who fills it. I intended that you should 
 see me, and I intended that Edith should serve as 
 a perpetual witness and reminder. I could not 
 
 358
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 go away. I placed life and soul in the balance 
 of your love, and I lost." 
 
 The lapping, reaching fluid splashed into his 
 mouth. He threw his head back still further and 
 coughed. 
 
 " If you had played fair," he said, jerkily, " if 
 you had been honest, I would never have persisted. 
 I want Edith to know that. You have been cruel 
 and base, and yet I feel that I am squaring ac- 
 counts after all. I am stilling my own agony, and 
 I am giving you a burden to bear all the days of 
 your life. Best of all, Edith will not let you 
 forget. You " The words trailed off in a 
 choking gasp. They saw a horrible splutter at 
 the man's mouth, they saw him throw his head 
 back again in a desperate effort to finish his speech, 
 then the neck seemed to give way, and the face, 
 purple and convulsed, dropped forward into the 
 sand. The crown of shining black hair, the white 
 skin at the base of the neck, these alone were 
 visible. The two women crouched over the pit 
 watching in a trance of agony the last work of 
 the creeping death. The neck disappeared, and 
 then strand by strand, it seemed, the black mop 
 on the quaking surface faded from view. One 
 little patch remained, hung there, spread out in a 
 flaccid, irregular circle, and was gone. The whole 
 
 359
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 pit seemed to move in a strange and violent 
 tremble the next second the sun beat down on 
 a surface unruffled, smooth, and full of a shining 
 evil. 
 
 And still they waited and watched, lingering 
 above the grave as though expecting its rejection 
 of the victim who sought its mercy. Edith 
 moaned once or twice, but Beatrice gazed down 
 impassive and silent. She did not move when 
 Edith, creeping to her side, touched her arm. She 
 did not even look in her direction. 
 
 " Why do you not go after him? " whispered 
 Edith. Her voice was strained and harsh. 
 
 " Why do you not go after him? " she repeated. 
 " Are you to stay always in the world to drive 
 others out ? Will you play vampire until one day 
 you die first and some poor victim afterward? 
 Royer now, and before him Holt and Trexler, and 
 Sloane and Gotham. If this be your best in life, 
 you were better dead." 
 
 She reached forward and shook Beatrice by the 
 shoulder. Her eyes were agate hard and merci- 
 less. 
 
 " I am going to Bellamore," she said. " If you 
 do not come after, I shall know that you have 
 asked the mercy of God." 
 
 She did not wait for a reply. She did not 
 360
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 expect any. Instead she rose up, adjusted her 
 skirts with a curious, unconscious care, and mov- 
 ing down the mound, walked straight off across 
 the fields. Her step was heavy, and once or twice 
 she staggered blindly. She did not look behind.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 rHE " accident " to Royer caused a great 
 and unhappy sensation. The body was 
 recovered, and the authorities, urged by 
 public comment, closed the deadly pit for ever. 
 At Bellamore the event wrought a profound 
 change. Edith retired to her rooms and was seen 
 only at intervals. When she did appear the 
 plain marks of her distress constituted a damper 
 that the guests were prone to dodge. Mrs. Jewett 
 isolated herself to attend on Edith, and as Bea- 
 trice dignified the tragedy with unbending gloom, 
 the visitors were thrown on their own devices. 
 This, together with the need for restraint, broke 
 up the company rapidly. They began dropping 
 out one by one until none remained but Morgan, 
 Channing, and Willie Gotham, and it was not 
 long before the last named decided to escape the 
 scene of his troubles. 
 
 No one at Bellamore lifted a hand to stay the 
 migration. Beatrice seemed to recognise that a 
 period of repression was in order. She saw, too, 
 362
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 that Edith's attitude was likely to prove embar- 
 rassing. So far as she could, her sister avoided 
 her entirely. If they met in the halls, Edith 
 viewed her with a face of loathing and of scorn. 
 If they entered a room together, Edith made no 
 delay of leaving. Before guests this would have 
 been intolerable, and Beatrice was glad there were 
 none to see. Just at present she was too much 
 shaken by Royer's death to fend the buffets, but 
 she promised herself a long memory when the 
 shock had worn away. She could hardly account 
 for her failure of nerve. Her personal grief was 
 nothing, and for horror Royer's end might well 
 be matched by the memory of Holt's. But she 
 was depressed and afraid, and she could credit it 
 only to a presentiment of other evils still to follow. 
 Meantime she turned to Channing for relief. 
 
 The flight of the guests and the strained rela- 
 tions that divided its occupants bred in the big 
 mansion a procession of joyless days. There was 
 an air of restraint, of uncertainty, and, in some 
 degree, foreboding. Only a company welded 
 together by vital interests could have faced its 
 gloom. Channing fell more and more beneath 
 the enchantment of Beatrice, and stayed because 
 he wished to be nowhere else ; Morgan, forgetting 
 his promise, stayed to watch Channing, and Mrs. 
 
 363
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Jewett lingered on account of Edith. During 
 this time Channing made several efforts to carry 
 Edith off on one of their old jaunts, but her indif- 
 ference was so pronounced that he gave it up. 
 It was a spasm of conscience. He had drifted 
 away from Edith, and his advances were to stifle 
 reproach. Also he pitied her ; the " accident " 
 seemed to have broken her down. When she 
 refused him he attended on Beatrice with easier 
 mind. 
 
 Edith had noted his flicker of kindness and had 
 discouraged it with a motive. Her last doubt 
 was gone. She would give up Channing, and 
 she wished no reviving interest to check the sacri- 
 fice. The memory of the sands wiped out reluc- 
 tance and made her strong. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett heard the whole story of Royer's 
 doom from Edith. It awoke in her a fearful 
 anger. She wished to confront Beatrice, she 
 wanted to cry her infamy in the highways and in 
 the byways. But Edith interposed. 
 
 " Of what benefit is it that we furnish society 
 the truth ? " she asked. " Beatrice is shocked now 
 and subdued, but in a few days the tragedy will 
 constitute an ' affair.' She is a moral pervert. 
 There are but two ways in which she may be 
 made harmless. One is to engage her heart ; the 
 
 364
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 other is " she paused and looked at Mrs. Jewett 
 strangely " the other is death." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett did not start. 
 
 " I can appreciate your feelings," she said ; 
 " you have my sympathy." 
 
 " I am going to see whether the first is possible." 
 
 '"How?" 
 
 " I suggested it before, but I was hardly in 
 earnest. Now I am ready to abandon my only 
 happiness to throw a life-line to sister." 
 
 "Channing?" 
 
 " Yes, she shall have him. You must stand 
 aside. It will be a final effort. He is the best 
 of men. If she cannot love him, then love is not 
 in her nature. If she does love him, I expect him 
 to reform her life." 
 
 " She will treat him as the others. What reason 
 have you to expect anything else?" 
 
 "If she does, if she destroys that splendid life, 
 her own shall pay the forfeit." 
 
 " What do you mean, dearest ? Surely you " 
 
 " Yes, with my own hands." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett sat for a long time studying the 
 face of the girl she loved so well, and as she 
 looked a chill dread enveloped her. She searched 
 for anger, and there was no anger; she thought 
 of nerve disorder, and could see nothing but placid 
 
 365
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 exactness. The very absence of feelings matching 
 her threat was a sinister fact. It made Mrs. 
 Jewett very uneasy. She ran over in her mind all 
 that had happened, to see whether the record could 
 warrant such deadly reform as Edith suggested. 
 Also she began to recount the weight her own 
 course had had in bringing Edith to her present 
 state of mind. The review was disturbing. 
 She remembered that she had never lost a chance 
 to call down anathema on Beatrice, and it was 
 painful to think that every attack had helped 
 widen the girl's distrust. The sequel promised 
 black regrets. 
 
 " I would not talk like that, Edith," she ven- 
 tured, weakly ; " you cannot possibly mean it, and 
 it only adds to your bitterness." 
 
 " I have ceased to think of myself," answered 
 Edith. " I believe myself to be an agent." 
 
 " Why are you called upon to sacrifice yourself 
 for an intangible society ? " 
 
 " It is not intangible. We have the gravestones 
 to remind us." 
 
 " There is nothing to be gained by adding two 
 more hers first and your own afterward. I 
 have talked foolishly about Beatrice myself, but 
 while I think her death might profit the world, 
 I prefer the stroke to come from God." 
 366
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Edith did not answer. She moved restlessly 
 about the room, her distress reflected in absent 
 eyes. The quiet alarmed Mrs. Jewett more than 
 violence. It argued a settled conviction, a finality 
 of reasoning that made her threat real and shut 
 her in from argument. 
 
 "" Do you think there is a chance for a bar- 
 gain ? " asked Edith, suddenly. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Is it possible for me to offer her Channing? " 
 
 " Why, I don't know," replied Mrs. Jewett, in 
 confusion, " they have been very much together 
 since you shut yourself in these rooms. Still, 
 you can threaten to expose the Royer matter. It 
 ought to be an inducement." 
 
 " I don't think it is necessary. She must know 
 that he loves me some. But after all there is no 
 need for a bargain. I shall make it an issue with 
 life on one hand and death on the other. I want 
 her to marry him." 
 
 It was two nights after this talk that Mrs. 
 Jewett, answering a knock at the door, found 
 Edith standing on the threshold. Her appear- 
 ance was surprising. From head to foot she 
 was gowned and groomed as she had not seen 
 her since the night of the great ball. Mrs. Jewett 
 
 367
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 found no puzzle in the display, but she waited for 
 her to speak. 
 
 " I am going to see Beatrice," announced Edith, 
 grimly. 
 
 "About Channing?" 
 
 " Channing and the future." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " You are to go with me. If I am forced to 
 act I want a witness for conscience's sake." 
 
 " You are exposing yourself to ridicule to 
 insult." 
 
 " I am past that, Alice. I want you to go." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett beat about for warning and appeal, 
 but she did not know what to say. That dead 
 level of calm which had baffled her before dis- 
 mayed her now. She felt that Edith had acquired 
 a strength that scoffed at influence. It might 
 be desperation, it might even be insanity, but 
 whatever it was she was sure the girl had passed 
 beyond her control. Her spiritual nature was 
 dominant, and this was a force not subject to 
 manipulation. 
 
 She observed the white face, the newly etched 
 lines down the mouth, and the red spark which 
 lit now and again in her eyes these were signs 
 of acute disturbance of surrender to ideas 
 strange and overwhelming. As she stood by the 
 368
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 doorway, Mrs. Jewett knew in her heart that Edith 
 meant for Beatrice a clean life or in its stead 
 death. The angel in her nature had been thrust 
 aside by a very devil of conceived duty. For 
 herself, the best she might do was to stand ready 
 to intervene. 
 
 " As this is to be so formal," she said, with a 
 play of lightness, " I will change my waist. I 
 think the enterprise is foolish, but I will not 
 desert you." 
 
 They found Beatrice in the great drawing- 
 room, and evidently waiting the arrival of Chan- 
 ning. Morgan had gone to the city, and Bea- 
 trice's toilet and pose of formality could have 
 no other meaning. Her amazement at the appear- 
 ance of the two women was sweeping. 
 
 " I have come to see you about Mr. Channing," 
 announced Edith, coldly. Beatrice stared at her. 
 She was clearly annoyed. 
 
 " If you wait a few moments he will be here 
 to listen," she said, sharply. Her recovery from 
 Royer had begun. 
 
 " Mr. Channing was, I thought, my lover," 
 began Edith, in a slow, declamatory fashion, " and 
 I still think that did I care to contest I could hold 
 his affections. You should not smile. I am a 
 beautiful woman ; I am a rich woman ; I have all 
 
 369
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the equipment which you possess except immod- 
 esty. If I abandoned myself as you do, there is 
 no reason why I should not be your rival. Mr. 
 Channing is a good man, a man of noble qualities. 
 If anything will stop your ravishing of hearts 
 and slaying of bodies it is to be the wife of such 
 a man as he. In the interest of society I have 
 decided that he shall become your husband." 
 
 Beatrice threw back her head and laughed a 
 slow, oily laugh meant to irritate. Edith did 
 not notice its beginning nor did she await its 
 end. She went on, her voice measured yet sting- 
 ing with emphasis. 
 
 " I will stand aside," she said. " He shall be 
 yours, but yours to hold. I am betraying him, 
 of course, but the sacrifice is demanded. I know 
 no other way in which you may be restrained." 
 
 " You do not take into account my personal 
 desires," said Beatrice, her voice full of satire. 
 
 " Your personal desires have not been counted. 
 This is an ultimatum." 
 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 " You are to marry Mr. Channing because your 
 infamies are no longer tolerable." 
 
 Beatrice turned to Mrs. Jewett. 
 
 " What is this, Alice? " she asked. " Is Edith 
 ill, or is she struggling with a jest? " 
 370
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " I suppose she is thinking of Royer," answered 
 Mrs. Jewett, dryly; "she saw him die, you 
 know." 
 
 " I think of nothing else night or day," cried 
 Edith, with a quick and passionate sob, " and 
 why do not you ? " She leaned forward with 
 trembling hands held out before her. " Cannot 
 you remember that dreadful cough? Don't you 
 recall when his mouth filled with sand the little 
 piping noise he made? He was trying to cry 
 v Beatrice ! Beatrice ! ' and yet you forget. You 
 you forget ! " 
 
 Beatrice rose to her feet, white and shaking. 
 
 " If you have any other absurd propositions," 
 she said, " make them and go, but I will not 
 listen about Royer. Royer is dead. I wish to 
 forget." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett checked the hysteria. 
 
 " Speak, Edith, and let us go. We would not 
 like Mr. Channing to know." 
 
 " There is only the alternative. You must 
 marry Mr. Channing or dismiss him at once. If 
 you receive his attentions I shall take it that you 
 intend to fulfil my wish. But if you be not 
 honest, if he, too, is marked for pastime, then 
 I am going to accomplish your death." 
 
 Beatrice stared, bewildered but serious. Mrs.
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 Jewett stood to one side like a witness of judg- 
 ment. 
 
 " You are ridiculous," stammered Beatrice. 
 
 " I am an agent of God," answered Edith. 
 
 The trio hung for an instant in silence. Then 
 the soft beat of footsteps was heard in the hall. 
 Mrs. Jewett touched Edith on the arm, and the 
 two hurried out through another door. 
 
 " In the morning," thought Mrs. Jewett, sol- 
 emnly, " I will pack up my things and go." 
 
 But in the morning her selfishness seemed rather 
 shameful. If she left Edith now she took flight 
 at the one moment when she might be of service. 
 The crisis which had arisen, and which instinct 
 told her was grave, sounded alarms, but these 
 had less weight than her sense of duty. So she 
 resolved to stay, although she knew her part 
 could only be that of spectator. Edith had set 
 her aside, had ruled her with the same sweeping 
 strength which in a measure beat down the un- 
 concern of her sister. At the moment the girl 
 reared a giantess of possibilities. 
 
 " I will see it through," she repeated, over and 
 over. " It may mean a flash of hysteria, or there 
 may be madness, and in the end death, but my 
 place is here. God grant the other woman real- 
 ises. I must nourish her love now as much as 
 372
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 I fought it before. Channing shall think her 
 everything she is not." 
 
 But despite her resolves she found it trying 
 work. A gloom seemed to have settled over 
 Bellamore and all within its gates. The little 
 company moved in a circle of artificial intercourse. 
 Beatrice absorbed Channing, Edith watched Bea- 
 trice, and Morgan and Mrs. Jewett viewed the 
 play and waited the climax. 
 
 Edith passed from one strange aspect to 
 another. The laugh had gone from her eyes and 
 speech from her lips. She roamed about the great 
 house with every hour showing its new record 
 of unrest. The girl's face lost its glow, her body 
 paid in flesh and grace its steady tribute, and she 
 went through the routine of living, mechanically. 
 So far as possible she watched her sister night and 
 day. The espionage was candid and constant. 
 Beatrice saw it and laughed in her face. At 
 times, when the relentless scrutiny crossed a 
 gloomy mood, she would flash out in a devilish 
 gust of anger. But neither jest nor blast drove 
 Edith back. She turned deaf ears, and the sys- 
 tematic spying wrapped Beatrice about as in a 
 mantle. 
 
 Channing was saved from annoyance by his 
 passion. He did not see the by-play, and he would 
 
 373
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 not have understood it if he had. His conscience 
 stifled by Edith's reserve, he allowed his love for 
 Beatrice full swing. Now that it met no secret, 
 strangling opposition, his devotion was bounded 
 only by her desires. He fulfilled to the letter the 
 part Edith wished him to play, although every 
 evidence bit into her pride and compounded her 
 agony. Once she rushed into Mrs. Jewett's room 
 and threw herself into her arms shaking with 
 tearless sobs. 
 
 " I could not bear it, Alice," she cried. " He 
 took her hand and smiled, and I was near enough 
 to see his face." 
 
 "It is what you want, is it not, dearest?" 
 asked Mrs. Jewett, gently. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Alice, but if only I might not see." 
 
 " Don't you think it is wrong to follow her 
 don't you think it is better to leave this matter 
 to adjust itself naturally?" 
 
 " No, Alice, she has tricked men before. I 
 must watch her to see that she does not make 
 wreckage of his hopes. She must feel that ven- 
 geance not vengeance, justice hangs over 
 her head." 
 
 " Edith, you are killing yourself. You have 
 set an impossible task." 
 
 374
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 "If it makes him happy and her happy ; 
 and frees society ? " 
 
 " Plan what you will, but do not attach a threat 
 as an alternative. You offend Providence." 
 
 " I sacrifice myself, Alice. I have given love, 
 and after that life seems but a little more." 
 
 " ' Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.' You 
 are not my executioner. There is nothing, there 
 can be nothing, that demands you shall be a 
 murderess." 
 
 Edith walked away with a dry laugh. 
 
 " Let us hope the alternative is not needed," she 
 said. " If it is, I shall remember myself last 
 of all." 
 
 Once only did she speak to Beatrice. The latter 
 had halted her on the stairway, and scourged her 
 with words of flame. When she paused, Edith 
 gazed at her sternly. 
 
 " He loves you," she said, " you should love 
 him. You are delaying, and there is no reason to 
 delay. Remember that I am Nemesis." 
 
 "You are a fool." 
 
 It was Morgan who noted the beginning of the 
 end. " I think Channing is falling behind," he 
 declared, in one of his many conferences with 
 Mrs. Jewett. 
 
 375
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " What do you mean? " she exclaimed, startled 
 and afraid. 
 
 " Something has happened to check the har- 
 mony. A trifle, perhaps, but still Channing is 
 such a weather-vane that he betrays every shift of 
 the wind." 
 
 "Has this been long?" 
 
 " A day or two." 
 
 " I trust you are mistaken. In any case, say 
 nothing to Edith." 
 
 " She has not spoken to me for a week. I some- 
 times think she does not recognise me." 
 
 " Edith should be in a hospital." 
 
 "Or " 
 
 " No, no, not that Let us talk of something 
 else." 
 
 It soon became evident that the harmony, if 
 not broken, had in it a thin, discordant note which 
 meant trouble. Channing had but poorly dis- 
 guised his frequent irritation, and the progress of 
 his suit was to be noted in his shifting moods. 
 Mrs. Jewett saw that he was undergoing the usual 
 mutations of Beatrice's love-making. The great 
 question lay in results. If the romance lived, all 
 would be well, except for Edith. If it did not 
 seeing so much herself, she wondered how much 
 more Edith had seen. Nothing of change could 
 376
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 escape that deadly watching, and these minor 
 proofs of Channing's setback would be magnified. 
 But closely as she looked, there was in Edith 
 no sign that marked discoveries. She was whiter, 
 more distraught, but always quiet. Her confi- 
 dences had ceased, also, and Mrs. Jewett could 
 only guess at the state of her plans. 
 
 At the end of a week Morgan shocked her by 
 saying he was to leave. She had come so to 
 depend on his advice and opinions that she 
 dreaded to be alone. 
 
 " Rats desert a sinking ship," she said, with 
 a mournful smile. 
 
 " That is rather a dismal quotation all around," 
 he answered, " but the truth is my conscience 
 must be met." 
 
 " How ? I thought it was the cleanest of all." 
 
 " I have attacked my hostess, and although my 
 motives have been good, I do not feel like any 
 further abuse of hospitality. What I have done 
 has been from love, but the deceit weighs on 
 me." 
 
 " You have as much right to protect Edith 
 as I." 
 
 " Not quite. In a sense, you are one of the 
 family. Besides, Channing is unbearable." 
 
 " He visits on you the fruits of uncertainty." 
 
 377
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Just so. And it is this uncertainty which 
 shows me his failure. He is like any other 
 thwarted man." 
 
 "Is it so bad as that?" 
 
 " I tell you, Mrs. Jewett, Channing's case is 
 hopeless. Beatrice took him at first to annoy 
 Edith; afterward it was distraction; now it is 
 nothing it is weariness." 
 
 " It amazes me that she should fly in the face of 
 Edith. She does not realise her peril." 
 
 " How could she ? Edith has always been a 
 small, slight thing in the view of Beatrice. She 
 cannot dignify her desperation, because she does 
 not grasp it." 
 
 " She can see what is visible to you and me." 
 
 " Not so. Beatrice is far too selfish to accept 
 anything that violates her egotism. She does 
 not dream that Edith is stronger than she." 
 
 "You believe it?" 
 
 " Yes, and I am more fearful than I seem. It 
 is Edith's grief, too, which is driving me away. I 
 love her so much that I wish to spare myself." 
 
 " It is a great pity these women could not have 
 fastened on you, a strong man, Morgan. I shall 
 see you in the city. This air must clear soon. 
 Meantime you have nothing to regret." 
 
 With the exit of Morgan, Mrs. Jewett felt the 
 378
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 cloud settling denser and less endurable. She was 
 in fact a lonely derelict amid the current of events. 
 Edith slipped here and there, watching, observing, 
 but seeing only the objects of her espionage; 
 Channing was lost in his passion, and Beatrice 
 noticed her only to sneer. 
 
 " Why, it is Mrs. Jewett ! " she mockingly ex- 
 claimed once. " I rather thought you had gone." 
 
 " If I were more indifferent to your safety I 
 would go," said Mrs. Jewett; " you have to deal 
 with a half-crazed evangel of reform, and you act 
 as though she were an unruly child." 
 
 " You mean Edith," scoffed Beatrice. " Yes, 
 of course, Edith." Then she shrugged her shoul- 
 ders and passed on. 
 
 One night shortly after the dinner-hour Mrs. 
 Jewett heard voices in the main hallway raised 
 in petulant interchange. She stepped from the 
 reception-room, in which she had been seated, just 
 in time to see Beatrice and Captain Channing enter 
 the room adjoining. Mrs. Jewett started up the 
 stairs leading to the second landing, and, glancing 
 back at the first landing, she was surprised to 
 see Edith make her appearance near the foot 
 of the stairs, coming, apparently, from the 
 deserted music-room across the hall. The girl 
 stood an instant looking down the wide way and 
 
 379
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 listening. Then with quick, stealthy tread she 
 passed into the apartment deserted by Mrs. Jewett 
 and closed the door. 
 
 Mrs. Jewett turned away sick at heart. 
 
 " Eavesdropping ! " she whispered, " my poor, 
 poor Edith ! " The incident oppressed her terribly. 
 She dragged along to her rooms full of sorrow 
 and keenly alive to the chill of a premonition. 
 If this were Edith's method, it pointed an even 
 greater desperation than she had thought. It 
 was her first view of the girl's tactics, and the 
 shock of seeing was in no wise relieved by knowl- 
 edge of their operation. 
 
 The boudoir of Mrs. Jewett's suite was the 
 last room of a wing, which, in the unsystematic 
 architecture of the whole house, ran at an angle 
 from the main building, boxing it in, and forming 
 a light well between the two portions. All the 
 windows of Mrs. Jewett's suite looked directly 
 into the windows of the rooms occupied by Bea- 
 trice in the main building. The distance between 
 was not fifteen feet. The dressing-room, with 
 its cheval mirrors, its dainty toilet-tables and 
 friendly couches, was the favourite lounging-place 
 of Mrs. Jewett, and she went there now, hoping 
 to win from its solitude some plan of profitable 
 action. 
 
 380
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 The night was close, and she drew up a chair to 
 the open window to catch the light, fanning airs 
 that blew in from the Sound. After a time the 
 silence and the weight of the atmosphere beat 
 down her mental activities, and she nodded, then 
 passed off into a doze. She was roused suddenly 
 by a flash of light from the room over the way. 
 Beatrice had entered, and stood in a curious 
 attitude of waiting, her eyes fastened on the hall 
 door. Mrs. Jewett's numbed faculties were inat- 
 tentive, but they revived at once when she saw 
 the door fly open and Edith step into the room. 
 She closed the door, and Mrs. Jewett noted her 
 hand reach backward and fumble with the key. 
 Then in a moment she was at her sister's side, her 
 voice coming through the window in a thin, 
 piping stream of pleading and rebuke. The 
 watcher heard the name Channing once or twice, 
 but could make nothing of what she said. Mrs. 
 Jewett forgot her hate of eavesdropping. She 
 recognised that the hour of climax had struck, and 
 she leaned forward in the darkness, eager to catch 
 each fragment of dialogue. 
 
 The answer Beatrice made came through the 
 silence snappily. 
 
 " Yes, I sent him away," Mrs. Jewett heard 
 her cry. " I told him to go to New York, because
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the man is a dreary sentimentalist. I never ad- 
 mitted that he had a lien on my affections. I told 
 him the truth." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett did not hear Edith's retort. It 
 was long and passionate, marked with gestures 
 and full of threatening. Beatrice walked away 
 from her, but Edith followed closely. They trav- 
 ersed the room in a bitter war of words; then 
 the silent watcher saw something which brought 
 her to her feet quivering with fright. Beatrice, 
 passing before the window, turned suddenly, and 
 with one hand reached out and pushed her sister 
 roughly backward. As though the aggression 
 signalled an uprising of every chained devil in 
 her soul, Edith's attitude changed to deadly 
 reprisal. She staggered a trifle, clutched at sup- 
 port, and then with one cat-like sweep bounded 
 toward her sister. Mrs. Jewett saw her hands 
 fly up together and meet around Beatrice's throat, 
 and a struggle, silent and desperate, whirled the 
 figures stumbling across the little room. 
 
 The palsy of horror held Mrs. Jewett prisoner 
 only for an instant the next, she was racing 
 madly through the rooms toward the hallway. 
 There was some delay at the door, which she had 
 locked on entering, but she won through, and a 
 few flying steps brought her to the theatre of 
 382
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 tragedy. With some vague idea that scandal 
 might yet be saved, she did not cry out; instead 
 her fists beat a frenzied tattoo on the panels of the 
 barrier. Terrible moments passed without an- 
 swer. Then she heard slow footsteps crossing 
 the floor, the key rasped around, and Edith stood 
 before her on the threshold. 
 
 Her dress was ripped away until the white of 
 her heaving chest lay bare; down her shoulders 
 her hair hung in a disordered cataract ; a scratch 
 ran aslant her face from mouth to temple. 
 
 " It is all over, Alice," she whispered, weakly. 
 " I have killed the cockatrice. It is peace for her 
 and peace for the world." She moved backward 
 into the room, wavering and shaking. One finger 
 pointed to a spot near the window. 
 
 " I told her the truth, Alice," she went on, 
 numbly. " I told her long, long, long ago. The 
 wages of sin is is what you see there." 
 
 In a crumpled heap lay the body of Beatrice. 
 
 383
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 7j y/'RS. JEWETT laboured mightily to stay 
 /m/i the hand of the law. She hired 
 lawyers, looked up witnesses, and called 
 to her aid the influence of society. So when the 
 day came that Edith faced a jury, charged with 
 first degree murder, Mrs. Jewett felt certain the 
 scales were weighted in her favour. She had been 
 able to do a great deal, for the campaign of 
 Beatrice had restored her, and, although society 
 was inclined to let the Cameron tragedy work out 
 its own fruits, Mrs. Jewett managed to get some 
 powerful aid. Thus she impressed the judge, 
 thus also two of the twelve men who were to 
 pass on Edith's fate, and money placed here and 
 there ensured the close hobbling of the prosecu- 
 tion. Her most powerful helper was public 
 opinion. By the time Edith was brought to 
 trial, hardly a man, woman, or child was 
 unfamiliar with the strange and terrible story of 
 her vengeance. One by one the facts of Beatrice's 
 career came upon the public dissecting-table, and 
 
 384
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 the result was just what Mrs. Jewett wished 
 if there was not condonement, there was at least 
 a feeling that the infamies of the dead woman 
 might readily have crazed such a gentle and relig- 
 ious character as Edith. The whole public set her 
 down as demented. But, after all, it was Edith 
 herself, flying in the face of the defence, who slew 
 the trifling chance of conviction. She had sat day 
 after day in stony indifference to her fate. Noth- 
 ing aroused her, nothing interested her, except the 
 attack made by the prosecution on the career of 
 Mrs. Jewett. Then she listened to the cross- 
 examination with streaming eyes. But when her 
 own counsel, in summing up, based his whole plea 
 upon insanity, she rose in her place and stopped 
 him. 
 
 ;< You have no right to say that aberration was 
 the cause of this trouble," she cried. " I killed my 
 sister, yes, and I have suffered a thousand more 
 agonies than it is within the power of this jury 
 to inflict. But I killed her because the welfare of 
 society demanded it. I sacrificed my life and 
 soul for society. My doom lies in my own 
 memory; my punishment is eternal. When this 
 verdict, then, is so trivial, let us not offend with 
 falsehoods." 
 
 From that moment the jurymen made up their 
 
 385
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 minds Edith's madness was not to be ques- 
 tioned. She was sent to be an associate of 
 the State's criminal insane. At the end of a year 
 the never-ceasing pressure which Mrs. Jewett 
 put on the authorities won. Edith was again 
 examined and discharged as cured. 
 
 When the day came for her release, Mrs. 
 Jewett dreaded to see her. She expected a wreck- 
 age of mind and body. She was at the matron's 
 office early, and questioned the guardian to the 
 last detail. 
 
 " She has lived the life of a broken-hearted 
 woman," explained the matron ; " the things 
 about her were almost unknown and unthought of. 
 I have seen her sit by an open window five hours 
 on end, thinking and staring and thinking. When 
 she did show any interest in her surroundings it 
 was her most cheerful time." 
 
 " Was she in fear of the other inmates ? Did 
 they depress her ? " 
 
 " Not in the least. The few times when she 
 seemed to escape from her gloom she gave to 
 helping anybody and everybody about her. She 
 was full of plans to make these unfortunates have 
 a good time, and she offered me any financial aid, 
 that I might not have to worry over the institu- 
 386
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 tion funds. I gave the women several little enter- 
 tainments on her money, but, generally speaking, 
 her misery seemed to absorb her completely." 
 
 When Edith entered the room Mrs. Jewett was 
 pleased to see that the changes she had feared, 
 whatever else, had not extended to her physical 
 being. There was the prison pallor, and her hair 
 had thinned, but these were the only marks, while 
 the features had acquired a strange repose. 
 
 She did not cry out, nor did she weep. Neither 
 did she smile. She clung to Mrs. Jewett and 
 kissed her repeatedly, but the emotion was passing 
 and succeeded by reserve. Almost all the way to 
 the city she was silent, but in the quiet of Mrs. 
 Jewett's hotel a reaction born of familiar environ- 
 ment changed her. The words came in a rush. 
 
 " I am a murderess, Alice," she said, sitting 
 down before her companion and taking her hand. 
 " It came to me in the asylum the presumption, 
 the blasphemy the crime. I killed Beatrice be- 
 cause she robbed my heart, and not because my 
 conscience drove me to act. I affronted God, and 
 yet I am here. Don't you think it is because I 
 am to be given a chance ? " 
 
 " What do you mean, dearest? " 
 
 " I mean that if I devote myself to His work, 
 
 387
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 if I abandon the world and all it holds for me 
 what do you think, Alice?" 
 
 " I cannot quote the Bible to you, I do not 
 know it, but, Edith, remember the thief on the 
 cross, and think also of the countless pleas for 
 sinners to return. The Bible holds not merely 
 hope for such as you, but promise." 
 
 " Yes, Alice, but it it was murder." 
 
 " Then try for the one life you have taken to 
 make a thousand others brighter. Who can say, 
 Edith? You will never be the same here, and 
 you must fasten your thoughts on expiation. 
 That in itself will give you the only happiness 
 you may know. I say, yes, do the thing you 
 suggest, and leave the judgment with God. But 
 if you elect otherwise, you can seek joy in another 
 place. I am ready to go with you." 
 
 " No, no, not that. I only ask for hope ; I do 
 not seek happiness." 
 
 " Then stay here where the field is wide. With 
 work will come hope in your case, dearest, hope 
 will mean peace." 
 
 It was the first of many such talks, and in the 
 end Edith rose up and went down into the heart 
 of the vineyard where misery and crime sowed 
 the seeds of an endless harvest. She became a 
 medium of hope to legions without hope, and her 
 388
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 charities knew no limit. To all the world except 
 this wretched section, her identity was a thing 
 dead. It was never indicated except on the thou- 
 sands of checks which she scattered like manna 
 in the deserts of the poor, and even Mrs. Jewett 
 almost lost sight of her in the endless calls of her 
 work. One time she found her leading the singing 
 in a street band of Salvationists, another time she 
 was distributing gifts in a hall to a company of 
 urchins, and still again she caught up with her 
 just when she was leading a band of little ones 
 off for a week's jaunt in the country. There was 
 colour in her cheeks and on her lips almost a 
 smile. 
 
 " I have promised them visions of real, live 
 cows," she whispered, happily, " and straw rides 
 and a trip on the lake, and the poor little things are 
 nearly crazy at the prospect." 
 
 " Let me go with you," said Mrs. Jewett, 
 impulsively. 
 
 " Certainly, Alice. They will all love you, I 
 know, and you can help me explain the mysteries." 
 
 So they went along together, and Mrs. Jewett 
 had a strange, fascinating time, in which she told 
 back alley waifs why a mountain was a mountain, 
 and what induced little chickens to leave their 
 shells, and why a duck could live on land as well 
 
 389
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 as water, and in the end she thanked Edith for 
 a proud experience. 
 
 Nor did Edith's work end with mere personal 
 service. She put into effect a hundred schemes 
 for the benefit of the suffering. Grocery stores 
 were opened where pure goods could be had at 
 cost; tenements were built, homes of light and 
 conveniences, and filled at small rentals; ice was 
 distributed over a wide territory, and the spectre 
 of medical aid was banished by the service of 
 doctors who looked only to Edith for their pay. 
 
 In summer Edith leased several steamboats and 
 took thousands of women and children for a day's 
 jaunt up the river, and in winter there was a 
 periodical distribution of useful gifts. Then she 
 tried here and there to teach a lesson in spiritual 
 growth. She talked of God where the hills and 
 fields made His hand manifest, and she strove 
 to show these unfortunates the need of higher 
 ambitions and more elevated desires. It was 
 fierce, disheartening labour, but when she saw 
 signs of uplifting, the victory filled her with a 
 great joy. 
 
 Edith avoided the regular charities, because she 
 wished for all the work she could find to do, and 
 she wished also to be unknown. Her incognito 
 was successful. Not one of her old associates 
 
 390
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 identified her with the angel of the slums. Edith 
 Cameron, except to her bankers, had become a 
 pitiful memory. 
 
 When she had reached a point in her labours 
 where a vast body of people graded her almost 
 divine, a calamity, swift and terrible, snatched 
 away the blessing of her work. Wall Street was 
 shaken by one of its blind panics, and in the 
 wreck of values the Cameron estate suffered ruin. 
 Edith saw the bulk of her fortune hopelessly 
 involved. For herself she cared nothing her 
 life was the austere routine of a missionary but 
 when one charity after another had to be given 
 up, her regret was almost a madness. She called 
 on the great philanthropists for help, but some 
 were suspicious and others favoured the regular 
 societies. Her one supporter was Mrs. Jewett. 
 In the end Edith drew together what remained 
 of her fortune and created a trust fund for the 
 support of the tenements and the doctors, but the 
 rest of the bounties fell to the ground, and she 
 could not bear to view the contrast between the 
 present and the glory of the past. 
 
 So one day, Mrs. Jewett coming from a shop- 
 ping tour, found her sitting in her room full of 
 a new plan and eager for endorsement. 
 
 " I am going to the Philippines," she explained,
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " and I must lose no time in getting away. The 
 rains are over, and I expect there will be hard 
 fighting at once. Of course I know, Alice, that 
 my work here should not be left, but I need the 
 change. I feel that I can come back to it with 
 a new vigour when I have recovered from my 
 loss." 
 
 " I am delighted, Edith. You have certainly 
 won rest." 
 
 " But you do not understand. I am going out 
 as a volunteer nurse. It is a transfer of labour." 
 
 "In the army?" 
 
 " Yes, the army." 
 
 Mrs. Jewett moved over to Edith and clutched 
 her arm. 
 
 " Edith," she exclaimed, tensely, " it is not 
 Channing? Tell me it is not Channing." 
 
 " O, Alice ! how can you be so cruel how 
 can you think " 
 
 Mrs. Jewett slipped her arm about the shrinking 
 form. 
 
 " Say no more," she pleaded. " I hope so for 
 your future that I could not bear to think of it 
 being marred by reviving passion. You had best 
 never see him again. He is there and you may 
 meet, but remember, Edith, you are given to other 
 things. Put away the past. Let us remember 
 
 392
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 its people no more than its deeds, and then only to 
 draw lessons from one or the other. You are 
 forbidden to love, dearest, but in its place will 
 come that peace which passeth all understanding." 
 
 All through the blazing morning the men of 
 the Forty-first Regiment had been chasing acro- 
 batic brown men who exploded Mausers. From 
 one inferno of jungle maze to others more infer- 
 nal, the khaki hunters had struggled on, shooting 
 some, charging some, and resting only when 
 movement meant sunstroke or insanity. Behind 
 every bullet was an oath, and before each man 
 visions of water and of sometime rest. And 
 always the little brown men were just beyond 
 that rise of hill, just through that patch of wood, 
 just out of reach of leaden missile, except at inter- 
 vals when a warm and twitching body encouraged 
 them still to press onward. Crackling ripples of 
 fire ran along the lines, and once or twice when 
 the enemy made a halt, the regular crash of volley 
 firing gave dignity to the combat, but generally 
 the shooting was pot-luck and directed widely at 
 the scenery. But the colonel would not give up, 
 and the curse of midday sun only brought him to 
 know that he was killing fewer Filipinos than 
 
 393
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 he was Americans. Then he turned the column 
 and followed the hateful trail backward. 
 
 The regiment had come through from Manila 
 before dawn, and had reached the little town which 
 they were sent to relieve just in time to march 
 through one end and out at the other in instant 
 assault on the natives. For weeks the Filipinos 
 had circled the town with a ring of fire, and 
 boxed up the single company guarding its pre- 
 cincts until they cried for relief. Their defence 
 had become historic. The merciless snipping that 
 went on from every quarter of the compass, and 
 that never ceased six hours out of the twenty-four, 
 had laid out man after man. But still the point 
 must be held, as it was the strategic centre of a 
 hostile district, so the general sent down Colonel 
 Channing and the Forty-first to save the remnants, 
 and to clear up the jungle. 
 
 As he marched through the world of blasting 
 heat, Colonel Channing appreciated the heroism 
 of the garrison in a way hearsay had never allowed 
 him to do. The natural terrors of the country, 
 coupled with the fighting, the failure of food, and 
 the need of eternal vigilance, bred in him a mighty 
 admiration. " And to think," he murmured, 
 happily, " old Morgan is the hero of it all." 
 
 The major of the regiment rode up alongside 
 
 394
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 of him, his face a lake of moisture, and his teeth 
 clinched hard. 
 
 " Pardon, Colonel Channing," he said, fiercely, 
 " but I think this new station of ours is quite the 
 most damnable strip of the whole damnable 
 country. I am thinking now of the Luneta. I 
 can smell the breeze over the bay." 
 
 Channing smiled with encouragement. 
 
 " I think for awhile, Thurston," he said, " we 
 had best forget the Luneta. Think of poor 
 Morgan and his people. Four months of this 
 thing, and every stray breeze full of bullets." 
 
 " I will swap the heat for the bullets." 
 
 " I imagine that is the general choice. Our 
 records show which is worse." 
 
 " They tell me there is a wonderful woman 
 locked up with the garrison, a nurse, who is 
 credited with the nerviest feat of the war. Have 
 you heard of her? " 
 
 "Miss Locker, you mean? Indeed, I have. 
 All Manila is talking about her. The general 
 says she ought to have the thanks of Congress." 
 
 " Tell me about it. You know I was down at 
 Corregidor last month, and I am a bit shy on the 
 details." 
 
 " I know them pretty well, because you see 
 Morgan is an old friend, and I looked them up. 
 
 395
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 It appears Morgan sallied out one day to beat 
 up the underbrush, and she went along as a spec- 
 tator. The men struck the brownies close up to 
 the town, and there was Hail Columbia for a 
 few minutes all along the line. The men were 
 lying back of a bank, and were doing nicely when 
 Morgan thought he would push out and occupy 
 the ridge held by the natives. He walked forward 
 about twenty feet when he got a bullet in his 
 shoulder and went down. The place where he 
 fell was a bit of clearing, and as he lay there the 
 men could see the Filipinos were making a target 
 of him. The bullets were chipping the ground 
 all around. I don't say the men would not have 
 gone after him; undoubtedly they would, but 
 before any one could move this woman came flying 
 through the firing line and dashed right up to 
 where he lay. She leaned over and grasped him 
 under the shoulders. Then while the whole 
 Filipino outfit was firing at her she actually tried 
 to drag him back to safety, and you know, Thurs- 
 ton, Morgan is nothing in the way of a fairy." 
 
 " Gad, the pluck of it ! and what did the men 
 do?" 
 
 " Why, they jumped after her pell-mell. She 
 knew they would, I guess, when she went after 
 
 396
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 him. By the time they arrived, though, she was 
 lying alongside the captain." 
 
 " Too bad, Colonel, too bad. She was hurt, 
 I believe." 
 
 "Oh, she was terribly cut up! There was a 
 frightful gash along the cheek, and both arms 
 were struck. She lost one of them, I think. Had 
 to amputate it at once." 
 
 " How was Morgan? " 
 
 " He escaped with his original wound." 
 
 " The woman is splendid, colonel, and I am 
 going to tell her so the minute we get to town." 
 
 " So are we all," said Channing, earnestly. 
 " Every man in the regiment is burning to see 
 her, and between you and me, we will do some- 
 thing handsome in the way of a tribute when 
 I get my bearings. The sad part of the story is 
 that she was a beautiful woman, but now " 
 
 " O, never mind that, colonel. The scar is 
 a badge that makes beauty of its own kind. I 
 am heart and soul in your tribute scheme, and if 
 you want anything done give me preference. But 
 how did she come to be in this hole?" 
 
 " Asked to be attached to Morgan's command. 
 Said she knew him in the States. I have never 
 seen him to ask about it." 
 
 " There is the town now. If you don't object 
 
 397
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 I will pass your word long that if we meet Miss 
 Locker the men are to march by her at salute. 
 They will all turn out to see us, I guess." 
 
 " Go ahead, Thurston it is a happy thought. 
 I only hope she is on her feet again." 
 
 When the stricken outpost saw the column 
 straggling up the trail, down which it had raced 
 in the early morning, the whole community turned 
 out to welcome its saviours. The natives had 
 made a particularly vicious assault at dawn, and 
 in the hurry of action the new regiment had not 
 even had time to exchange greetings, so that their 
 arrival now was practically their first meeting 
 with the garrison. 
 
 Every man not on his back in the hospital was 
 gathered on the south side of the village, Filipinos 
 and Americans alike. The friendly natives and 
 their wives were just as much interested as the 
 soldiers, and the arrival of eight hundred odd men 
 carrying Krags and wearing decent uniforms 
 threw them into a high fever of excitement. 
 
 When the first of the long, irregular line came 
 into hailing distance, the ragged mob let fly with 
 a storm of welcome. The half-dead defenders 
 hurled their hats in the air, waved rifles abroad, 
 and danced on the ground, while the natives, 
 
 398
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 seized with the festival spirit, followed suit and 
 clapped their hands like children. 
 
 Channing gazed on the scene with swimming 
 eyes. 
 
 " You are right, Thurston," he said, huskily. 
 " The whole town has turned out, and the poor 
 fellows are evidently glad we came." 
 
 " Yes, and, by Jove, there is the lady see, 
 she is leaning on Morgan's arm." 
 
 " So she is well, march by the crowd and 
 give her a salute." 
 
 As the soldiers filed into the village there was a 
 hasty effort to bring them into company forma- 
 tion, not very serious because the men were 
 crazy with fatigue and the murderous heat, 
 but the movement bunched the fighters somewhat, 
 and gave the regiment a look of regularity. 
 
 When directly before Morgan, Channing leaned 
 from his horse to shake hands, but he saw first 
 the face of the woman by his side, and in an 
 instant he stiffened in his saddle His hand flew 
 up in an awkward salute, and he rode by without 
 stopping. He viewed the blazing desolation about 
 him, he heard the pounding of his horse's hoofs, 
 but the material world seemed vague and unreal 
 under the numbing influence of the shock he had 
 received. 
 
 399
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Edith Cameron ! " he murmured. " My God, 
 Edith Cameron ! " 
 
 And then as he rode stonily onward, he heard 
 behind him the sudden explosion of a roaring 
 cheer, a wild harmony of tribute and joy that 
 began at the head of the ecru column and jour- 
 neyed backward like a thrilling echo. He turned 
 in his saddle and saw every man in the ranks 
 looking toward the little, broken figure by Mor- 
 gan's side, cheering his loudest, and darkening 
 the air with hats waved in frantic salute. And 
 as he moved on to maintain the march he saw 
 the next company break out in a fresh thunder of 
 applause, and on and on down the whole line of 
 eight hundred men the vocal ovation rose and fell 
 like the trumpeting of a mighty wind. Capping 
 the splendid compliment of their huzzas, the men 
 fell to porting arms as they passed, and the gleams 
 struck by the shifting Krags made of the move- 
 ment a pretty and stirring spectacle. 
 
 When the first salvo swept to the ears of the 
 nurse she looked up at Morgan with a start of 
 amazement. But when the cheers went on from 
 man to man, and from company to company, and 
 plainly directed at her, and when the rifles began 
 to shift in emphasis of the cheers, she slipped her 
 hand from Morgan's arm and brought it to her 
 400
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 forehead in a dainty military response that, more 
 than anything else she could have done, pleased 
 the soldiers and marked her pride. 
 
 So it continued from one division to another 
 for every chorusing shout the little gesture 
 of acknowledgment, while on her face was 
 a strange, transfigured radiance, and in her eyes a 
 glory they had never known before. She made a 
 pathetic figure standing there in the pitiless noon- 
 day sun, but a figure impressive, nevertheless, by 
 very reason of its sadness. The left arm was 
 gone, and the wide flowing sleeve of her habit 
 had been pinned to her breast. A red furrow 
 marked the trail of a bullet across her cheek, and 
 the emaciated form, the hollowed eye-sockets, 
 and the waxen, trembling hand told all too cer- 
 tainly the long siege of a hospital cot. 
 
 When the last hallooing straggler had passed, 
 she turned and walked slowly away, Morgan by 
 her side. They were silent for a time, and he 
 saw the tears well up in response to her thoughts, 
 but near the great hospital tent she paused and 
 gazed at him appealingly. 
 
 " Tell me, Wilbur," she said, slowly, " do you 
 think it was God ? " 
 
 :< Yes, Edith," he answered, quickly and gently, 
 " I think it was God." 
 
 401
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 'You saw Channing?" she asked, solemnly. 
 
 " Yes, and still I think it was God. Under- 
 stand, Edith, I have no sympathy with your 
 crime. I have never told you that I thought con- 
 donement possible, but, Edith, you have saved a 
 life for the one you took, and not mine only, but 
 scores of others. I ask you to think of one great 
 truth God teaches us, that mercy is the next 
 thing to love. Edith, God spoke through those 
 men." 
 
 " O, Wilbur! I want to believe so I want 
 to believe so, but it is too like presumption. I 
 am afraid." 
 
 " Then wait, Edith, wait and work on. Peace 
 must come to you, after all, from within." 
 
 She said no more, and they entered the tent 
 whose short history held for her such a record 
 of suffering. There were several patients on the 
 cots, and these she visited with deft attention to 
 their wants. Then she rejoined Morgan." 
 
 " You will see Colonel Channing? " she asked. 
 
 " Of course," he answered, gravely ; " he is 
 in command of the post." 
 
 " I suppose that I too must see him. It will 
 be very hard, Wilbur." 
 
 " It cannot be avoided. He will, though, I pre- 
 
 402
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 sume, remember otherwise I lose my com- 
 mission." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Otherwise I shall make him remember." 
 
 " Wilbur, I think you know what I am striving 
 for. It is not conceivable that Colonel Channing 
 will persecute me. But if he does, you must say 
 nothing. It would be the last straw if I should be 
 the medium of a breach between you two. He 
 loves you." 
 
 " We shall know before sunset. I am going to 
 see him now." 
 
 He had hardly gone when she heard at her 
 elbow the voice of the Spanish priest, who from 
 the day of her arrival had been Edith's adviser 
 and aid. He was a very old man, a man who 
 had spent years in the jungle, and she knew 
 no world but this about him. He had seen war 
 here and peace and war again, but he had gone 
 his simple way with kindness stronger in his 
 heart than creed; and his service to the ill and 
 w r ounded had won him the love of the whole 
 garrison. For Edith, he had a strong affection. 
 They had been companions in the work of relief, 
 and their long talks in mingled French and Span- 
 ish had cheered her and given her courage. Day 
 by day her story had slipped from her, and when 
 
 403
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 he knew all she found in him the spirit of a 
 father. She invoked this now when she was so 
 sorely troubled. 
 
 "He is here, padre," she began, impulsively; 
 " he came to-day at the head of the troops." 
 
 He looked at her puzzled. Then he remem- 
 bered. 
 
 " The man for whom you sinned ? " he said, 
 gently. 
 
 "Yes. What am I to do?" 
 
 " You have not seen him, my child ? " 
 
 " No, father, but it must be soon. I would 
 have your advice." 
 
 The old priest looked away to where the new 
 camp was springing into being. He was silent 
 for a moment, and Edith watched him anxiously. 
 Then he spoke. 
 
 " We know not how he comes," he said, slowly, 
 " but of this we are sure : if he conies in anger 
 you must accept it as part of your punishment; 
 if he comes in love " 
 
 " No, no, father, not that ! " 
 
 " Ah, my child, strange things happen to the 
 heart, we cannot tell, but if he comes in love 
 you must not waver; you must remember that 
 you are a ward of God." 
 
 She leaned forward eagerly. 
 404
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 "Do you mean it so, father? I, a ward of 
 God? Do you say that it is right for me to 
 think of Him as watching my penitence?" 
 
 " Yes, and forgiving as well." 
 
 She did not speak further, and in a little while 
 he too left her. She watched him walk away in 
 the direction of the camp, and she repeated his 
 phrase over and over again. It was as though 
 Heaven had spoken to her through a wise servant. 
 
 She went into the tent and passed restlessly 
 from one cot to another. Then she seated herself 
 in the draught of the sodden breeze at the entrance. 
 
 The memories excited by Channing crowded 
 on her thickly. The parade-ground faded away 
 before the woods and walks of Bellamore, and far 
 in the distance she saw the flash of the Sound and 
 the white canvas of yachts. And at the end of 
 every vision there came another, that black 
 night in the silent house when the patch of sun- 
 light at the entrance vanished ; she looked up 
 in the opening stood Colonel Channing. 
 
 She was on her feet in an instant, her single 
 hand clutching at the chair for a support. Doubt 
 and wretchedness informed her features. 
 
 " Maurice," she stammered, "I you you 
 have come to reproach me. Be merciful." 
 
 405
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 He gazed at her with the long, interested stare 
 of one who looks on a resurrection. 
 
 " No," he said, a gentle kindness making his 
 speech musical. " It is not reproach. I am seek- 
 ing peace myself." He paused, and she waited for 
 him to go on. " I should like to hear from your 
 own lips the story after that forgetfulness. 
 Can you not leave the poor fellows awhile? I 
 will detail a sentry." 
 
 She nodded, and waited as in a dream while 
 he summoned a guard. Then, with never a 
 thought of the searching Morgan, she walked 
 away by Channing's side. They traversed the 
 blazing field to the partial coolness of a little 
 wood near the camp. Here he found for her a 
 seat on a grassy mound and stood before her in 
 an attitude of waiting. His manner was tender 
 and easy, and expressed a state of mind altogether 
 at odds with her fear. He seemed to be glad to 
 see her, and all these weary months she had 
 thought of him as an avenger if not that, then 
 a man despoiled and broken. She had not seen 
 him since the day when on the witness-stand he 
 lied for both living and dead. 
 
 " You hate me, I suppose, Maurice," she said, 
 with sudden curiosity. " I robbed you." 
 
 " No," he said, frankly. " I do not hate you, 
 406
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 nor is my feeling what it should be in justice 
 to my romance. I think sometimes there must 
 have been less of love than magnetism. I recov- 
 ered too quickly." 
 
 " Maurice, you are trying to be kind." 
 
 " I do not know. After the first rebellion my 
 only thought for you was pity." 
 
 She looked away from him, her eyes filling with 
 slow tears. He seemed so generous, so noble, that 
 the sorrow of her personal loss touched her. She 
 had expected bitterness, wrath, all the resentment 
 that rages against a grave, but instead he had 
 spoken of pity. 
 
 " I am afraid you do not understand," she 
 began, hopelessly. " I said at the trial, if you 
 remember, that I acted to save society." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I was wrong. Afterward the truth came to 
 me. I killed Beatrice because I loved you. I 
 am a murderess." 
 
 " How did you know that? " 
 
 " I was more sorry for you than for Beatrice." 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 " Now ! O, Maurice ! how can you ask such a 
 question? it is cruel." 
 
 He reached forward and took her hand in his, 
 pressing it gently. 
 
 407
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Suppose I were to say, Edith," he whispered, 
 " that I was not robbed, but released from a pas- 
 sion that depended for its life on physical con- 
 tact? Suppose I were to say that I have waited 
 this day for months and months to tell you that 
 you are the only woman in the world I have 
 ever loved ? " 
 
 Her hand shook in his, and she leaned back 
 with a deadly faintness. 
 
 " Too late," she murmured, " it would be 
 crime. O, Maurice ! why not before ? why 
 now, why now ? " 
 
 " Because now I am better prepared to love you 
 than before." 
 
 " That would be happiness. I have no right, 
 my life is given to repentance. I have no right, 
 Maurice, no right." 
 
 He saw her exalted state and fell in with the 
 mood. 
 
 " Realise that I, too, am not free of reproach," 
 he pleaded. " Let me help you to work out 
 retribution." 
 
 "What does it mean?" she asked, slowly. 
 " You see before you the wreckage of soul and 
 body. If it was not appealing before I cannot 
 understand it. You are sure, Maurice," she asked, 
 quickly, " that you are not Quixotic ? " 
 408
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " No," he said, simply, " neither is it pity. I 
 love you." 
 
 " I fear the judgment of God." 
 
 " I may be the sign of forgiveness. You love 
 me, Edith; why not believe that from the ashes 
 may spring a new life? " 
 
 He moved to a seat by her side. One hand he 
 slipped gently about her waist, and with the 
 other he drew her head down on his shoulder. 
 
 " We will remember the past as the night before 
 dawn," he murmured. " We will love, and forget 
 as we love. I think it will be pleasing in the 
 sight of Heaven." 
 
 She made no effort at demur, and the light of 
 question faded from her eyes. Her mind was 
 a confusion of happiness. Past and present were 
 forgotten. Joy dawned in the smile that trembled 
 on her lips. Then, like an echo of doom, the 
 words of the old priest swept back to serve their 
 warning, " If he comes in .love you must not 
 waver ; you must remember that you are a ward 
 of God." 
 
 And she had forgotten already. She who had 
 forfeited happiness was reaching for it now as 
 the child for a plaything. She who had forsworn 
 the world was wrapped up and lost in a worldly 
 
 409
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 passion. She had denied Heaven, was ready to 
 profit by her crime. For one terrible moment she 
 suffered the agony of renunciation; then very, 
 very gently she disengaged his arm and rose to 
 her feet. 
 
 " No, no, Maurice," she whispered, " it cannot 
 be." She looked at him through tears. " I have 
 tried I am trying still for pardon. Nothing 
 else in this world can give me peace. I have 
 no right to love, and I dare not, Maurice, I dare 
 not profit by her death." 
 
 " My heart offers you that very haven of 
 peace," he cried. 
 
 " It is not yours to offer," she said, softly, 
 " such a union would be condemned by God. It 
 would undo all the sacrifice." 
 
 " We are past romance," he urged, " this is 
 love that is spiritual." 
 
 She raised his hand and pressed it to her cheek. 
 
 " I love you, dearest," she murmured, " but 
 there it must end. God has pointed the way, and 
 you would not ask me to turn aside. We are not 
 proof against nature, Maurice; Beatrice would 
 walk with us to the altar; Beatrice would live 
 with us day by day sometime you would re- 
 mind me, and it would break my heart afresh." 
 
 410
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 " Edith, you are wrong, you are cruel. I 
 pledge myself." 
 
 She looked at him strangely, and her lips trem- 
 bled. " I would like to go with you and forget," 
 she answered. " I should like to creep into your 
 arms and put behind me the past. But, 
 Maurice, even if I could, there is still the future, 
 the day of reckoning. You are asking me to 
 trade my soul for my heart. I cannot." 
 
 His awakened love faded before this victory 
 of conscience. He was suddenly ashamed. In 
 place of Heaven's favour he had offered her his 
 own. He had forced her to say which was 
 greater, his belated passion or that spiritual love 
 which uplifted her and which gave her hope. It 
 w r as thoughtless and almost puerile. 
 
 " Forgive me," he stammered, slowly. " I am 
 selfish. I have sought joy at the price of your 
 peace. Another day, perhaps, Edith, but I shall 
 wait until you are ready." 
 
 She heard him earnestly and with a brighten- 
 ing face. Her hand was in his and a half-smile 
 parted her lips. 
 
 ; ' You are kind, Maurice, and noble," she an- 
 swered. " My work is not done the rest not 
 yet mine. Some day, perhaps, when God for- 
 
 411
 
 A SOCIAL COCKATRICE 
 
 gives, but not now " She paused, and fought 
 back the last sting of surrender. " Come," she 
 whispered, tenderly. " I must go to my soldier 
 boys they may be suffering we will, go to- 
 gether." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 412
 
 The Master of Warlock 
 
 By GEORGE GARY EGGLESTON, Author of "Dor- 
 othy South," "A Carolina Cavalier/' Six Illustrations 
 by C. D. Williams. J2mo. Dark red cloth, illustrated 
 cover, gilt top, rough edges. Price, $1.50 each. 
 
 THE MASTER OF WARLOCK " has an interest- 
 ing plot, and is full of purity of sentiment, charm of 
 atmosphere, and stirring doings. One of the typical family 
 feuds of Virginia separates the lovers at first ; but, when 
 the hero goes to the war, the heroine undergoes many 
 hardships and adventures to serve him, and they are hap- 
 pily united in the end. 
 
 Baltimore Sun says : 
 
 " No writer in the score and more of novelists now ex- 
 ploiting the Southern field can, for a moment, compare in 
 truth and interest to Mr. Eggleston. In the novel before 
 us we have a peculiarly interesting picture of the Virginian 
 in the late fifties. We are taken into the life of the people. 
 We are shown the hearts of men and women. Characters 
 are clearly drawn, and incidents are skilfully presented. 
 
 A Carolina Cavalier 
 
 A STIRRING TALE OF WAR AND ADVENTURE 
 
 Philadelphia Home Advocate says : 
 
 " As a love story, ' A Carolina Cavalier ' is sweet and 
 true ; but as a patriotic novel, it is grand and inspiring. 
 We have seldom found a stronger and simpler appeal to 
 our manhood and love of country." 
 
 Lothrop Publishing Company - - Boston
 
 The Captain 
 
 By CHURCHILL WILLIAMS, author of "). Devlin 
 Boss." Illustrated by A. I. Keller. J2mo. Dark red 
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 TVTHO is the Captain ? thousands of readers of this fine 
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 J. Devlin Boss 
 
 A ROMANCE OF AMERICAN POLITICS. Blue 
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 The Life Within 
 
 J2mo. Bound in green cloth, decorative cover, 
 rough edges. Price, $1.50. 
 
 'T'HIS is a striking story in which Christian Sci- 
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 The wonder-workings of this new faith which have 
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 this able novel. 
 
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 Cliveden 
 
 By KENYON WEST. t2mo. Brown cloth, rough edges. 
 Price, $t.50. 
 
 " f^LIVEDEN" is an historical romance by Kenyon 
 ^^ West, favorably known as the author of sev- 
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 000 
 
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