BHE SPOKE HALF DREAMILY . . . GAZING AT THE CARTOON WITH GLIMMERED EYES. (P. 49.) BOOK 8TORF M PACIFIC A rmtfux T.Of/G fMACU. CALtf. ALIDA CRAIG BY PAULINE KING WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BT T. K. HANNA, JR. NEW-YORK GEORGE H. RICHMOND & CO. 1896 COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY GEORGE H. RICHMOND & CO. Press of J. J. Little f blue plates and copper kettles. " Miss Mason," he remarked airily, " I hope you are getting a few points in housekeeping. ' ' "I've been taking cooking lessons for two years, " in great dignity, which was rather upset by finding that in her interest at his arrival she had for- 157 ALIDA CRAIG gotten to turn the toasting-fork and her muffin was a cinder. Mr. Ashley took the fork from her hand and insisted upon toasting the muffins himself; with the handy fin- gers of a college boy used to making ! all kinds of messes in his room, toast- making was a fine art. Dorothy watched him, with a high degree of respect creeping into her mind as she contrasted his golden-brown circles with her cindery ones. Mr. Ashley and Alida had become warm friends during the past few weeks ; he admired the plucky little artist with all the amazement of a man who was unused to see a lady work for her bread. He hoped that she would persuade Dor- othy to have their engagement an- nounced, but so far no persuasion could move that romantic young person. 158 ALIDA CRAIG When the muffins were toasted Mr. Ashley turned violently around in his chair, took a newspaper from his pocket, and looked sternly at Dorothy. ""What do you suppose I read in the Town Tattler to-day," he cried, his voice ringing with anger and in- dignation as he read the obnoxious paragraph. ' ' ' Miss Dorothy Mason is, we are told, the fortunate young lady whom the Duke of Axminster will bear away to Chilworth Castle. ' Oh, Dorothy," he said, rumpling up his thick hair, that he had spent good- ness knows how long reducing to a perfect polish, "I can't stand your being spoken of publicly in this way. I feel crazy, quite crazy; I didn't sleep a wink last night." In his agitation he waved the toasting-fork wildly around. Dorothy's teasing nature was highly 159 ALIDA CRAIG pleased; the more her faithful lover fumed the more light-hearted she got. " Of course the Duke has paid me a great deal of attention," she said mockingly. Mr. Ashley's honest eyes flashed indignantly. " He'd no right to pay you atten- tion. You should be ashamed of your- self, an engaged girl. It's all great fun for you, I suppose, but a man can't stand it. I'm haunted at night think- ing you are dancing with some other man; I can't eat my dinner thinking of you sitting at the other end of the table smiling at " "Some other idiot," retorted Dor- othy calmly. Her enraged lover glared at her fiercely. The bell rang again, and Alida slipped from the room, hoping 160 ALIDA CRAIG that they would come to some kind of an understanding. "I'm going straight down to the Town Tattler office," he said, getting up out of the chair, his big figure seeming to fill the entire room, " and I'm going to say to them, You've got to contradict that report; she's en- gaged to me me me and I was captain of the football team at Yale." He looked so funny and determined that Dorothy could scarcely keep from laughing. At the same time her amour propre was pleased by the evi- dent earnestness of his affection for her. " Oh, Jim, how much you do love me," she said, suppressing a giggle. "Do I?" said Mr. Ashley, sarcas- tically. "Do I indeed?" His face was hard and determined. Like many another patient soul, when his amiabil- 161 ALIDA CRAIG ity had come to an end, he was perfect- ly remorseless. l ' ISTo, Dorothy Mason, I don't love you." And as Dorothy, taken by surprise, put up her pretty red lips to be kissed, he seized her by the arm in anything but a gentle grip. "Kiss you! Indeed I won't," he said, with withering scorn. "I'm not in the habit of kissing young ladies to whom I'm not engaged. Come along to the studio; it's most improper our being here without a chaperon." Dorothy was so surprised she couldn't speak; she picked up the plate of muffins with lamblike meekness and followed her irate lover into the studio. Alida was standing in the centre of the room, looking startled and per- turbed, while not far from her a somewhat flashily dressed young man was talking rapidly in rather loud 162 ALIDA CRAIG tones. "This is the most extraordi- nary thing," cried Alida, turning to Jim. " I don't exactly understand it, but this gentleman and a newspaper and Jenny Brady seem very much mixed up." The man turned, in- stantly including Jim in the conver- sation. "There's an article about Miss Craig just been set up at the Evening Budget, where I'm employed oh, I'm not a member of the staff, I don't mean that," he went on frank- ly, ' ' but we manage to know a good deal that goes on. I was walking up- town just now with a particular lady friend of mine, Miss Jenny Brady, and I told her about it. She blazed right up and said, ' Miss Craig would object to it, and she'd never speak to me again if I didn't try to stop its being published.' So I thought the 163 ALIDA CRAIG best thing I could do was to come and ask Miss Craig about it myself." "Well, I don't care for newspaper articles much," said Alida, "but as long as I exhibit my work publicly I don't quite see why I should object to its being noticed." "The public don't care much for pictures, begging your pardon," said Mr. Blair. ' ' But 'tis reported that you are engaged to Mr. Philip Her- ford; that's what brought the matter up." Poor Alida; her face went ashy and wan. That her secret must be dragged forth into public criticism to furnish a newspaper item seemed the very last straw. "Not that it's anything to have your engagement anounced when it's not true," said Mr. Blair, with rough kindness. " Lots of young ladies " 164 ALIDA CRAIG But Jim, broad of shoulder and thick of head, realized what the girl was suffering. "Mr. Blair," he said, "I don't think Miss Craig or her friends can ever thank you enough for coming and letting us know of this. I think, perhaps, I can prevent the article being published; my father owns some stock in the Evening Budget^ and one of my cousins is on the staff Tom Ashley, perhaps you know him ?" " Oh, yes; he's the sporting editor. I guess he could fix it for you." " Thank you very much, Mr. Blair," said Alida, putting out her hand as the young man, his errand now accomplished, was making for the door. Mr. Blair shook it with a hearty grip. ' ' You won't let on 'twas me ? ' ' he said knowingly to Jim. 165 ALIDA CRAIG "No, indeed, and thank you for coming." "Wasn't it good of Mm?" cried Dorothy, when the door closed. "I just hope he will get to be a reporter and an editor and everything else that is fine." " Do you really think you can stop the article ? " said Alida breathlessly. Despite Jim's comforting assurance she connected the making of a paper with things unalterable, like the solar system and gravitation. Jim's kindly heart held an immense amount of con- sideration for all feminine creatures. Alida in distress appealed to every fibre of his being. " I'll do the best I can, only " he stammered, trying not to hurt her "you must excuse my asking the question, but are you engaged to Mr. Herford or not? " 166 ALIDA CRAIG Alida simply shook her head in denial. " Then I'm off; I'll tell them they can print anything they like about your pictures or studio, but nothing personal. Now don't worry one bit. Tommy Ashley will fix the whole thing up for me in a jiffy; he's the best sort. Dorothy will stay with you until I come back." " Oh, go, do, you dear, good, big boy," cried Alida, tears of relief springing to her eyes. "Yes, go," cried Dorothy. So without another word Mr. Ash- ley seized his coat and flung himself down the hall, while the girls stood looking after him, dazed with astonish- ment at the whole scene. An unfor- tunate love affair might have attrac- tions for Dorothy's romantic mind in theory, but to know that in real life 167 ALIDA CRAIG her dear friend was suffering was an- other matter. She knelt down beside Alida, wrapping her in her strong young arms, and for a few moments the two girls sobbed together, shed- ding tears of sympathy that brought relief to poor Alida' s troubled heart. 168 CHAPTEK VIII PHILIP was very much alarmed at the news of the closing of the theatre. He went immediately to the Plaza Hotel, but Margaret could see no one. Barnes met him in the little perfumed sitting-room, and told him, with per- fect frankness, the terrible condition of health her mistress was in, and that this attack was no worse than many she had had. Barnes, who per- fectly adored her mistress, yet had little patience with the folly of a per- son who, to finish out a theatrical engagement, would delay marrying either a duke or a millionnaire, wished that either of the men would insist on 169 ALIDA CRAIG marrying Madame Fremiet then and there. She exaggerated her mistress's condition with this object in view, and Philip went away troubled and torn with anxiety. The Duke came in a few minutes later and Barnes went over the same scene with him. Being an English- woman, she naturally felt that a woman who might be a duchess, and wouldn't, was flying in the face of Providence. It was Sunday morning ; a warm, fresh, spring-like day, the sun sweep- ing over Fifth Avenue, blazoning the bonnets and gowns of pretty women on their way to church. As Philip went along he bowed continually to right and left; every one seemed abroad. Mrs. Beckington flitted by, and Dorothy and Mrs. Mason, carrying their prayer-books, to St. Thomas's. 170 ALIDA CRAIG At last he met an old college friend, "Tommy" Barlow, as he was still called by his contemporaries, though he was now junior member in the im- portant law firm of Renwick, Rains- ford & Barlow. It had been through this firm that the official announce- ment of her husband M. Bonaven- ture's death and of the disposition of his property had come to Madame Fremiet. With that wonderful in- sight that comes to lawyers and physi- cians, making their consciences strong- boxes to hold the secrets of others' lives, Mr. Barlow had very quickly realized the intimate connection of his old friend with the celebrated actress. He was so charmed with the dig- nity that Margaret showed in abso- lutely repudiating any wish to share in her husband's estate or to derive any benefit from one who, in his life- 171 ALIDA CRAia time, had never been anything to her but an influence for evil ; that he ad- mired Margaret as much for her womanly dignity as for the magnetic attraction which she had for all who came in contact with her. Mr. Barlow was a notable pedes- trian, and the two men soon struck out of the fashionable crowd, and keeping step as they had done in col- lege marching, covered block after block, exploring the border-lands of the new parks and discussing appro- priations, etc., as though their lives depended upon the solution of the city problems. Then they went back for lunch to Philip's house in Forty- seventh Street, where, after the man- ner of bachelor households, the meals were very much at the whim of the master. It was a beautiful house, full of rare and lovely things, and the 172 ALIDA CRAIG dining-room where they sat was fur- nished with old carved Italian chairs from some Genoese palace, and rich hangings in shades of peacock, while a frieze of the sacred birds ran around the wall, painted by a famous artist's hand in a glory of gem-like color. Mr. Barlow could not help think- ing how well Madame Fremiet would fit into such a beautiful setting ; how she would look, with the regal poise of her head and her magnificent shoul- ders, seated in one of the great chairs at the head of the table. Philip was thinking the same thing too, as he had thought it so often since the night of his majority, when he had allowed no gayeties, no guests, but had sat alone in the beautiful room, with one other place set opposite his at the table, with a bunch of marguerites laid beside the plate. Then, when the 173 ALIDA CRAIG butler had left the room, he had stood up and drank to Margaret, who was hundreds of miles away. Perhaps it was fantastic well, youth may be forgiven for its fantasy; it passes quickly enough, and then there is no more poetry in the calm reason that experience has taught. Philip's train of thought was inter- rupted as his eye caught the glint of a gold frame that hung in the picture gallery, opening out of the room where they sat the frame that he knew so well, on Alida's little picture, which had been the cause of their meeting and friendship. For a mo- ment he almost envied Mr. Barlow the recollection of a quiet grave up among the New England hills, where they had laid his sweetheart many years before. "Whose loss had cut deep lines and thinned his hair long 174 ALIDA CRAIG before his time, and made him the most confirmed of gentle bachelors. " I've just had some new Elzevirs sent over from the Due de Komar- teau's sale at the Hotel Drouot. Won't you come up to the library and see them? " he said. It was a long day in spite of the Elze- virs. Philip had been cut to the heart by Barnes's description of her mis- tress's sufferings. He wanted to see Margaret, to assure her of his devo- tion, and he thanked heaven that he had not laid an extra burden of sor- row on her shoulders through any selfishness in his love for Alida. The concealment of her illness touched him infinitely. Brave Margaret, striv- ing to keep up her queenly regalness. " God be merciful to me a sinner," he thought. He went up to the Plaza in the evening again, but the physi- 175 ALIDA CRAIG cian had absolutely forbidden Marga- ret seeing him; she sent out a little note by Barnes, playful and gay as ever. " I am better, but so lazy and tired. Don't worry about me. I shall be up to-morrow, and will be able to finish out my engagement. " Good night. "MARGABET. " Philip went on to Mrs. Beckington's, for he knew she would be anxious to hear the latest report from the sick one. The house was crowded with guests, assembled for an informal Sunday night musicale. He was not in the mood to be gay or even decently civil to the beautifully gowned women who were scattered about in groups of exquisite color pictures. After whis- 176 ALIDA CRAIG pering a few words to Bertha, he was going away, when she said : " Don't go; Paderewski is going to play. Kim up in the library, it will be perfectly quiet there. Stay, Philip, do ; you look so white and ashy that I can't bear to have you go. I'll turn all the women out first." He saw that her soft, sympathetic little heart was really troubled, and gladly went upstairs out of the chat- ter and din of high feminine voices, to the dim, cool library, where he dropped into a big leather chair, wearied in body and mind. The chatter of gay voices that reached his ears suddenly ceased; the big house was silent. Philip listened as the first tones of the melody began. Paderewski was playing, and after the disturbance of the past weeks the notes fell like balm on his sore spirit. 177 ALIDA CRAIG I am. not going to devote much space to a description of the great pianist's art; only let any one whose soul is distraught and vexed with the cares of the world look back to the exquisite simplicity, the sincerity of nature, with which he interprets the Schubert melodies. They took Philip away to the healing influence of green woods, full of cool, gray, summer shadows, where the piping of little birds is the only sound and the light of lovers' eyes the only speech. He crouched in the corner, hiding even from the dim light. Then applause and a chatter of voices reached him, then quiet and the clear, joyous tones again. A cool breath seemed to be passing over his fevered soul; he was coming out into the calm after the storm and stress of the past weeks. 178 ALIDA CRAIG The library was a quaint place, lined with shelves and made into small alcoves by low book-cases, so that several people, in their nooks, might enjoy the privacy of their fa- vorite volumes. When the music ceased, Philip sat crouched in his chair undisturbed for a long time, and was so absorbed in thought that he scarcely noticed the gentle swish of a skirt that passed him by, and settled itself in another alcove. The room was so still that the new- comers, evidently thinking that they were the only occupants, soon forgot to cautiously lower their voices. The couple were no other than Dorothy Mason and Mr. Ashley, who had stolen away after the music was over to snatch a moment's tete-a-tete. The tete-a-tete, however, having been snatched, did not seem to bring that 179 ALIDA CRAIG unalloyed happiness with it that they had anticipated. Dorothy was looking bewitchingly pretty, but she was also bewitchingly teasing. Lately she had been flirting so wildly that Jim's heart was quite broken. He had come to Mrs. Beck- ington's firmly resolved to master his lady love, but his courage quite failed him at her sweet looks, and he would have put off his scolding until the morrow had not Dorothy, nestling like a glowing rose in the arms of the big leather chair, begun a series of pin-picking teasings. He answered her at random for some time, which only increased her naughtiness. Final- ly he arose and stood towering over her in an attitude of great dignity. Utterly ignoring the air of persiflage with which she had been treating him for the past half hour, he began a long, 180 ALIDA CRAIQ stammering monologue which finally conveyed to Dorothy's astonished mind the idea that she had been brought up to the library that Jim might break to her as gently as pos- sible the fact that their engagement was at an end. He was so quiet and determined that Dorothy could only look at him with horror-stricken eyes. His face twitched nervously, an evi- dence to Dorothy of deep emotion ; he was embarrassed, grieved, but evi- dently bent on separation. " You see, Dorothy, you wouldn't have it announced," he stammered, " and I " it went to Jim's kindly heart to even make believe care for any other woman ' ' I'm ' ' He was unable to get any further, but took out of his pocket a copy of the Town Tattler and began to read from it: "Mr. Ashley, member of the Calu- 181 ALIDA CRAIG met, etc., is reported to be engaged to Miss Alma " He got no further. Dorothy sprang from her chair wildly and took hold of his arm; her voice rang through the ears of the occupant of the next alcove. " You ought to be ashamed of your- self, Jim Ashley, flirting so when you know I love you with all my heart and soul! Oh " and in a torrent of tears she threw her engagement ring at him and flew out of the room, a whirl of flowing tulle and ribbons. Jim stood petrified. His careful- ly thought-out plan hadn't succeeded very well. There was a great lump in his throat as he picked up the ring, which he had bought with a great slice of his sophomore allowance, and which Dorothy had worn so faithfully ever since. Philip, roused by the 182 ALIDA CRAIG girl's flight, thought it was about time he should make his presence known. He rose, and looked over the top of the dividing book-case, and there stood Jim gazing blankly at the little gold circlet that lay in his broad palm. " May I ask, Jim," he said kindly, " what is the meaning of your corral- ing my sister's guests and scaring them into hysterics ? " Jim started at seeing the sudden apparition of Philip's face looking at him over the book-case. There was a moment's pause, and then he went around into the other alcove and talked about Dorothy. Jim had been a very little boy when Philip was a big one, and the younger man still looked up to the elder with the admiration, if not with the awe, of his childish days. He poured out his whole 183 ALIDA CRAIG heart about his engagement and Dor- othy's foolish, romantic notions. Jim was not particularly brilliant, but when he had an idea he had it strong. He confided to Philip that it had struck him after he had reproached Dorothy for the article that had appeared in the Town Tattler, announcing her engagement to the Duke of Axmin- ster, that if such an article should ap- pear about himself, it might make her jealous and bring her to terms. But, alas for his cleverly concocted plan, it had been carried out most disastrously. In their two years' engagement they had had many quarrels, but never one so serious as this, for Dorothy had returned him his ring. He held out the little circle pathetically to Philip, the poor little ring that had been so faithfully worn for two years. Philip listened sympathetically. 184 ALIDA CRAIG "If I were you," he said, "I shouldn't be the least bit discouraged. I'd go right downstairs now and find Dorothy; she's probably nearer giv- ing in than she's ever been before. I'd run right along." Jim went. He found Dorothy in her pretty evening cloak, ready to go home; the carriage was waiting for her, and she went swiftly downstairs past him, followed by her mother's middle-aged maid carrying her flowers and fan. Jim followed them out to the carriage; it was a clear moonlight night. He laid his hand masterfully on Dorothy's arm. "Wait a moment," he said; then he helped the maid into the carriage. The Masons' house was only a few blocks away. "We are going to walk around," he said, with such an air of authority that the servant, who 185 ALIDA CRAIG was, as all good servants are, highly interested in the affairs of the family, thought something must have hap- pened. Jim drew Dorothy's hand through his arm. Her face was tear-stained and gentle, and she looked bewitch- ingly pretty with her curls blowing in the wind, as they escaped from the lace fichu that was tied around her head. We will leave them walking through the moonlit streets. Only half a dozen blocks, but what a difference it made! When they reached the Ma- sons' house the engagement ring had mysteriously found its way again into Dorothy's possession, only this time it was on her finger. "I'll come and see you to-morrow morning," said Jim, as the footman bustled down from the carriage to let 186 ALIDA CRAIG Dorothy in, as though she had come home quite as she should have. He went down the street with long, rapid strides, down the street that was so different now that there was no Dorothy walking beside him, bunched up in her long cloak and making his steps slow and irregular as she pattered along in her fur boots. There are romances yes, though we grow rich and well dressed and keep a carriage; aye, even in our nineteenth century, and our Dorothys and Mr. Ashleys still walk in the moonlight, and the maid whispers to the coach- man, and he drives the carriage around by the side street to meet them at the door, as though every- thing were quite regular. When the last guest had gone and the last carriage rolled away quite early, too, only twelve o'clock, for it 187 ALIDA CRAIG is a law that Sunday entertainments are early Mr. and Mrs. Beckington went up to their rooms for the night. Bertha's eyes were bright with excite- ment and the joy of the great pianist's music. As she began unfastening her bodice, her husband, noticing the sweet expression that her face wore, bent down and kissed her reverently. He had been married too long to be surprised, or in fact to have it detract from his worshipful love of her, that her little rosebud mouth, upon return- ing his kiss, murmured sweetly : 11 Oh, Clarence, I'm so hungry." ' ' Are you, dear ? I'll go down and see if there isn't some supper left." "No, I don't want salads and things ; I wish oh " she pursed up her mouth into the most delightful red button "how I wish I had a pie! " 188 ALIDA CRAIG No wonder her husband adored Mrs. Beckington: she was the most delightful creature, she looked like a cunning cherub, was hungry and wanted pie. "Go down and forage, that's a dear, ' ' she said coaxingly ; ' ' get some- thing good, we can eat it up here. I don't doubt the servants have pies and all sorts of good things that we never have." Thus urged, Mr. Beckington put on his coat and went downstairs, and Bertha slipped out of her dress and into a charming pink negligee. Early in the course of her married life this little fragile woman had utterly sub- dued her husband by the indigestible things that she could eat at midnight. Never a large eater, salads, pates and party suppers were nothing to her. She slept like a top after coffee; "Welsh 189 ALIDA CRAIG rabbits never made her turn in her sleep, and once she had confessed that her favorite midnight dish was hard- boiled eggs and crackers. It always tickled Mr. Beckington's sense of humor to go prowling around with a candle in his own house, steal- ing eatables from his own butler's pantry. He returned to his wife with a bottle of champagne and a pie a big, handsome mince pie. They set the tray on a little Louis Quinze table, and Mrs. Beckington ate her piece with such a relish that her example was quite infectious, and her husband could not forbear helping himself to one too. They had a good time to- gether, these young married people, sitting in their cosey chairs drinking their champagne and talking over the evening and their friends; Mrs. Beckington, as a woman will, ex- 190 ALIDA CRAIG pecting her husband to take a deep interest in how well Miss R. looked, and what an ugly gown Mrs. J. had on, etc. , for nothing passed unnoticed by her bright eyes, despite her duties as a hostess and her enjoyment of Paderewski's playing. The pie be- came quite a wreck of its former self during their talk, and it was nearly two o'clock before they thought that it was getting late, and Mr. Becking- ton rushed off to his dressing-room. At last Bertha laid her pretty head on her pillow, and before she dropped into the dreamless, childlike sleep that comes to those so healthy in mind and body, she thought how happy all her life was, how good her husband was, how much every one loved her. She had noticed, during the music, tears in Alida's eyes, which the girl tried to choke back. It seemed to Bertha as 191 ALIDA CRAIG though her tears were different from the pearly tribute that so many of the other women shed in homage to the great pianist, and she had put out her hand and held Alida's under the cover of her tulle skirt. "I hope poor little Alida will be happy some day too as happy as I am," was her last thought as she fell asleep. 192 CHAPTER IX ALTHOUGH the objectionable para- graph concerning Philip did not ap- pear in the Evening budget, the unpleasant circumstance did not pass quickly from Alida's mind. The article, illustrated by a badly drawn sketch of herself and one of her pic- tures, came out in the course of time, and a copy was sent to her. She read over the list of her charms and accomplishments with some amuse- ment, wondering why people should care for such trivialities. Dorothy and Mrs. Beckington were quite pleased with the article, only they did not think that it praised her work 193 ALIDA CRAIG quite enough. Jenny Brady loved it ; she read it to all her friends and dilated upon it enthusiastically. One day she confided to Alida that a par- ticular gentleman friend of hers had written it. Alida never had the heart to tell her the annoyance of the interview; she was very glad of her forbearance, as Jenny's confidences concerning the "particular gentleman friend" grew more and more frequent, until she finally announced that she was going to be married and to whom but Mr. Blair, the sturdy reporter of the Evening Budget with whom we have a slight acquaintance ? Let no one look askance at the mundane love of a chorus girl, eking out her pittance posing for angels, and a young man connected with the mysterious inner workings of the 194 ALIDA CRAIG blurredly printed and unreliable Even- ing Budget. Probably no woman ever took a deeper interest than Jenny in the details of her modest trousseau, and surely there is a senti- ment about wedding clothes, even though they be bought at bargain sales in cheap shops. As for the narrow Harlem house that they were having fitted up on the installment plan by an Eighth Avenue furnishing house, it was "home" to them, and they took a tremendous amount of pride in it; and though it was only a vulgar little place, with bright carpets and Nottingham lace curtains, I doubt, if judged from a really aesthetic stand- point as, for instance, from the standard of even the lowest caste of Japanese it would have been con- sidered any worse taste than some of our wealthiest houses. 195 ALIDA CRAIG When Jenny's father from his downtown liquor saloon heard of his daughter's approaching marriage he had not taken the slightest notice of her for years he sent her word that he had heard of the great mar- riage that she was going to make with the literary gent, and that he was quite willing to give her a fine wed- ding, hire Minerva Hall and do every- thing in great style. Truth to tell, the real meaning of these magnificent overtures on the part of Jenny's father was to be laid to the fact that his rival, on the opposite corner of Hester Street, had just married off his only daughter in great style, with the ceremony in the cathedral, and a wedding breakfast which had been attended by four or five hundred people, as had been duly reported in the papers the following day. 196 ALIDA CRAIG There had been the severest rivalry between the opposition shops for many years. Mr. Brady never felt that he had been gotten the better of until the wedding. He could scarcely be married himself, having a middle- aged and devoted wife, but he really thought of hunting up his daughter and seeing if she wouldn't marry somebody to put the nose of "that Donovan " out of joint. Maggie Donovan had only married the bar- tender in her father's saloon, and when Mr. Brady heard of Jenny's approaching marriage to Mr. Blair his paternal bosom swelled with pride. But Jenny was not to be tempted by a list of the magnificent presents that the politicians had sent to Maggie Donovan, nor by the vast quantities of champagne that Mr. Brady guaran- 197 ALIDA CRAIG teed should flow. She had not associ- ated so long with Alida without gain- ing some elements of refinement. "I'm going to be married like a lady," was all she said in reply to her father. And so she was, quietly one morn- ing in church, in a gray travelling dress that fitted her magnificent fig- ure like a skin. But we are going ahead too fast: Jenny Brady will not be married for many days yet ; she is still posing for Alida, who, as long as daylight lasts, is working as usual. The cartoon of the angels has long since been finished, and now all her energies are bent on the completion of her picture for the Society. It is a quaint mediaeval canvas glowing with rich aesthetic color, a dream of sad, pale languor, that had caught Alida's fancy in reading Swinburne's 198 ALIDA CRAIG adaptation of " How Lisa Loved the King." Jenny was the most sympathetic of models ; she could look like a powerful avenging angel, or limp and clinging as a flower, as the case might be. The quaintness of her mediaeval robes pleased her fancy, and she liked lying back among soft pillows, one hand stretched out as though just lightly passed over the strings of a tall Flor- entine lyre. She would talk some- times, sometimes half dream, and often, weary with late hours, go fast asleep, her trained muscles keep- ing the pose. She had been asleep the most of one afternoon, and started awake with surprise when Alida said: " Jenny, time's up." She unwrapped the draperies in which she was bound and uncoiled her long hair from its "platters," as she 199 ALIDA CRAIG called the large plaits in which medi- aeval ladies did their hair on the sides of their faces. Refreshed by her long sleep, she was gorgeously hand- some; her white shoulders gleamed from above her chemise and her glori- ous mane of auburn hair threw out the milky whiteness of her skin. Alida looked at her, thinking for the thousandth time what a glowing bit of color and form she was. " You'll come and pose for me now and then after you are married, won't you, Jenny? " she said; " just to keep my eye for color up to the mark." Jenny laughed; she enjoyed being admired. Marriage in her station was a good deal more of a game of give and take than in higher circles. She didn't think Mr. Blair would mind her doing anything she wanted to do, and even if he did he surely wouldn't 200 ALIDA CRAIG object to her posing for Alida. Alida had given much thought to what she should give Jenny for a wedding gift. She thought the girl might like to have one of her sketches, but she wasn't sure; she sounded her, and found that it was the one thing more than all others that she craved. Jenny had no interrupting shopping to do this afternoon, so Alida gave her a big portfolio of water colors, telling her to pick out one she liked. She watched the girl bending over the portfolio, and made a hasty sketch on the side of the canvas of the back of her head and her superb Angelesque shoulders. Jenny looked through the portfolio and selected two or three to choose from. " I can't decide a bit," she said at last, raising her head almost shyly. " To tell the truth, Miss Craig, there's 201 ALIDA CRAIG one I'd like to have better than any of these, but I don't know as you'll like to give it to me. It's that woman on the wall. You see I've always had to keep my eyes on her when I've been posing; I thought she was aw- fully ugly at first, but somehow she kind of growed on me. It had a look of you, some way, and it would kind of remind me of you and the posing." She pointed to a photograph on the wall as she spoke; it was a beautiful Braun print of Mona Lisa. Alida caught her breath ; it was one of the happiest moments of her life. Had she really been such a good influ- ence in the girl's life had she really unintentionally led her to think the Mona Lisa beautiful ? 11 You can certainly have that; it's a photograph, and I'll get you one like it," she said warmly. "You can 202 ALIDA CRAIG have a water color too ; " and Jenny selected a little coast scene because Tom was fond of the sea. The possession of the two pictures was a crowning glory of the Blairs' house, and they were hung in con- spicuous positions in the little parlor, which was otherwise ornamented by a suit of red plush furniture and some gilt chairs and tables. When Jenny had gone, Alida curled herself up, tired out, in a cushioned and pillowed corner by the fire. She lit a little lamp that was fastened into the woodwork at the head of her couch, and prepared for a happy hour with "The Newcomes." The soft light on her book grew indistinct as she read over the last chapters, which she almost knew by heart. She closed the book before she came to the chap- ter where the Colonel says " Adsum " 303 ALIDA CRAIG her heart was too sore to read again those pathetic chapters. Her thoughts ran away to the old Grey Friars school, where she had gone one murky morning when in London. The little marble cloister, lined with tablets to its talented sons, the old building, the little chapel where Pendennis saw the old Colonel's bowed head at prayer, all came back to her. The children are gone from Grey Friars now, moved away into some more healthy locality; the place is very quiet save for the old pensioners. There was scarcely a sound in the building save the clatter of Alida's feet following the slow-paced old verger; he was a nice old man and had not hurried her, letting her sit for a moment in the old pew that Thackeray might have sat in when he was a boy. She had given him half a crown when she 204 ALIDA CRAIG went away, and he had told her to come to afternoon service, that the singing was very fine. She never went she liked best to think of the place peopled by the memories of those who, though they existed only on paper, were more real to her than the crowd that would come to listen to the Sunday music. Ordinarily, cuddled up as she was in a nice warm corner, tired out with her day's work, Alida would have put her hands up under her chin, a baby- ish habit that she had never outgrown, and gone to sleep. But lately her fine nerves had become strangely out of her control, unless she was at work or with others. The glory of the pic- tures in the Louvre, of the Rem- brandts and Yelasquezs, was just the same, but somehow she could no longer dream of them by the hour, or 205 ALIDA CRAIG be absolutely happy in the artistic working out of her pictures. She would take up a book as of old, but her thoughts would soon stray away from the printed page to other things, and then suddenly her whole soul would be crying Philip! Philip! Philip! She never imagined or thought that anything could possibly change, but as she had lived she ex- pected always to go on, apart from the joys of ordinary life, the ties of home and of family love. In the rev- elation of her lover's first kiss she had realized the desolation of her lot. Night after night she sobbed herself to sleep, not in bitterness or complain- ing, but because something was lost, something which for twenty-four hours had brought her in touch with the world of men and women, mak- ing her half break from the spell 206 ALIDA CRAIG which her rapt life had woven, mak- ing her personality quaint and inter- esting, but scarcely more of the nine- teenth century than some faint lady on a faded tapestry. The intensity of her emotion prevented her keeping still any longer; she walked up and down, trying to stop thinking, thinking. It was a relief at last when she heard the door of the next apartment close and a brisk step come down the hall. "I can't be alone like this," she thought. "It just kills me. There's Miss "Wells going out to din- ner, and it's such a rainy night. I wonder if she won't stay with me. Miss Wells ah, Miss Wells ! " she called, running and thrusting her head out of the door; " won't you come and dine with me ? You'll cer- tainly melt away if you go out in this pour. Chloe is concocting the most 207 ALIDA CRAIG delicious gumbo; please come and share it." "ISTo reasonable offer refused," called back Miss Wells in a lively tone. " But just wait for a moment until I put away my umbrella and gums. You'll excuse evening dress, I presume, but if not I'll put on a white tie." " You needn't mind about the tie." "How jolly this is!" said Miss Wells, standing before the fire with her hands in her pockets, and gazing at the pretty table which Chloe had drawn up comfortably near the blaz- ing logs. "I'd like to keep house myself if only I could find a twin sis- ter of the invaluable Chloe. But the nine maids in one month, which was my last effort in the domestic line, have made me very well content with cheerless restaurant dinners. After 208 ALIDA CRAIG all, a woman can't do everything. Sometimes I think it would be real nice to have a quiet, domestic little husband who would look after things while I was downtown. I'd make him feel real self-respecting why, I'd give him an allowance. Gumbo! " as Chloe set a soup plate down in front of her. " Young woman, if you don't appreciate the blessing of a woman who can really make it, you deserve, late in life, to be catered for by a raw Swede my ninth was a Swede." Miss Wells was about forty, of large and awful proportions ; her dress fitted to a nicety, and though severely plain in design, was of the handsomest ma- terial, and showed the cut of a first- rate tailor. Her jacket opened over an immaculate shirt front and a doe- skin waistcoat. " You should just see me once in a ALIDA CRAIG tea gown," she had remarked to a friend who criticised the style of her dress. "I look like a baby elephant in a pillowcase." Her round red face glowed with good health and spirits, and her smooth hair was cut in a severe bang across her forehead and rolled in a small club behind. She had held for years an important position in one of the large publishing houses, where her desk and all her affairs were always as thoroughly up to the mark as her appearance would suggest. "Won't you carve?" said Alida, as, after some "fillet of sole" which Chloe had a habit of compounding out of plain American flounder, a nice little roast duck was brought on. " I carve so badly." If Miss "Wells had a weakness, it was her carving and her play at chess. 210 ALIDA CRAIO She laid the duck out now with the perfection of skill. " A dinner of two and a duck is perfect, ' ' she said, ' ' because every one gets the best piece. You artists are so delightful," she went on, as she filled up her beautiful Venetian glass again ; "your things never match. Now I always used to have my things in sets until I came to live here; now I'm perfectly content with the debris the nine left me. Won't you ask your- self to have another piece of duck, as you are hostess? " " No more, thank you," said Alida. " You look pale do you know it, my child ? There are great rings under your eyes; you've been working too hard, I suppose. Is that the picture you're doing ? Is it done ? I always like an artist to tell me when things are done; one's never sure, especially 211 ALIDA CRAIG lately; you wouldn't really think that things were commenced. I'm not really a judge, but I should suppose that it was very fine if one knew. I'm sure I hope that some one will buy it, and that you will get a real good price." "It's not done yet, nothing like; there are lots of things to be done to it. Now, although you carve so well, I know you can't dress a salad. Wait until you see how this one turns out ; I think you will like it ; " mixing the oil and vinegar with great care, and tossing the contents of the great gold medallion bowl about thoroughly. " There, is that just right ? " "Perfection. A little more salt, please; there's nothing suits me quite like a Eussian salad." They finished dinner, and Alida made coffee in a little, shining brass 212 ALIDA CRAIG coffee-pot that turned upside down in the most delightful way. She enjoyed Miss Wells 's racy, good-humored accounts of her friends and their doings and sayings ; for Miss "Wells knew everybody, and her plain face was welcomed in all sorts and condi- tions of houses. "Have you been downstairs lately to see Mrs. Bohm? " she said, as she rose to go. "Katie, who chores for me, said this morning that her little boy was terribly sick. You know her, don't you?" Alida's conscience smote her ; wrapped up in her own sorrows, she had scarcely taken thought of those under the same roof. "Know Mary Bohm of course I do; we were students together in Paris. Oh, why haven't I been down to see her?" she cried, reproaching 213 ALIDA CRAIG herself. " Do you think it is too late to go now?" ""Well, Katie said the child was terribly sick; it's awful her being there alone with him. I wanted to go myself, only I was afraid of intrud- ing. You can see if there is a light in the room, and if there is, knock softly. If there is anything I can do, call on me. I sleep like a log, but I'm not afraid and I'll leave the door un- locked. Good-night, dear little girl. ' ' Then, as Alida sped downstairs to Mrs. Bohm's apartment, and Miss "Wells unlocked her door, she said to herself: " Dear me, how slight and frail she is; she's fallen away in the last week; she ought to have some- one to look after her. How I wish I was her mother. "Wouldn't it be fine to have a great girl like that to come home to?" 214 CHAPTER X ALIDA knocked softly twice on Mrs. Bohm's door; she could see that the gas was still lighted, but there was no answer. Something impelled her to turn the handle of the door, which was unlocked, and she opened it noiselessly and went in. As she stood for a moment in the passage- way that led into the studio, she could hear the little boy crying pite- ously. "Mary Mary Bohm," she said softly; "it is I, Alida Craig." Mrs. Bohm came out of the studio ; her black dress emphasized the pallor of her face and the great rings under 215 ALIDA CRAIG her eyes; she was very handsome, though, in spite of her disordered gar- ments, and the fact that her wonder- ful yellow hair was half falling down her back. " I'm all in disorder, " she said, put- ting her hand up to her head. " But Tommy's been so ill that I've been up night and day; I'm half sick for sleep." She spoke in pretty, soft tones that were yet oddly marked by a decided Western accent. " I'll stay and sit by Tommy while you get some rest," said Alida, and walked down the hall to the studio. She started back on the threshold almost involuntarily, and then went in. Mrs. Bohm followed her. "Yes," she said, looking around at the room, that was absolutely bare of furniture save for a big easel on which stood a 216 ALIDA CRAIQ large canvas, and a paint box, "I've had a hard time this winter. I've sold all my pretty things. I don't mind your knowing it now. I sup- pose I haven't any pride left, though I've kept quiet and not answered your knock lots of times this winter, for fear you'd know." The child broke out again in a wail- ing cry, and Alida went into the bed- room where he lay. He was without fever now, but wasted and worn, and kept moaning. "Make him another poultice, Alida, ' ' said Mary, sinking down into a chair beside the bed. "It's pneu- monia, and there's nothing to do but keep up the poultices. I'm so worn out that I forgot it, and the last one must be cold." Alida was thankful that she had had her experience with nursing Chloe 217 ALIDA CRAIG to rely upon. She lighted the little gas lamp and soon had the nice hot poultice, not too hard or too soft, according to the best directions, all ready. The child breathed easier when she had put it on his chest, and closed his eyes in comfort and satisfaction. " Mary, keep your eyes open just a moment," she said ; "I must go up- stairs for something." She fled up to her own apartment, and unlocking the sideboard found a bottle of good old port ; then she cut some nice thin slices of bread and some cold duck, and in less time than it takes to tell was back in the bed- room again carrying a nicely arranged little tray. "Have some port, Mary, and eat some of those sandwiches ; there's no use trying to take care of Tommy by making yourself ill too." 218 ALIDA CRAIG Tommy was fast asleep now, breath- ing hard and heavily, and the poor tired woman gladly drank the wine. The color began to creep back into her cheeks, and the sickening faint feeling left her. "I was faint, I guess," she said. "Alida Craig, you've come like an angel." " Go out in the studio and lie down ; we can put this cot out there, and then if Tommy wakes he won't disturb you. Come, I'U fix it." The weary woman lay down on the little pallet, and Alida sat beside her, looking into the room beyond, where the child was asleep. For a little while all was quiet, then Mrs. Bohm began to talk. The wine had rested her body and the terrible sleeplessness had left her. She needed to talk, to tell some one of her sufferings about 219 ALIDA CRAIG the winter. "When her husband died she had come home from Paris, and settled in New York. She had taken this apartment in the Sherburne studio building because she knew it was one of the best buildings, had sent her pictures around to the exhibi- tions, had sent word about that she would give lessons, etc., and had waited. If the exhibitions hung her work, which they did not always do, her pictures never sold, and day by day she had used up her small capital until now it was almost gone. Her family had written her again and again to come out to them, but she still lingered, hoping that something would yet turn up. "Where do your family live?" said Alida, a thrill at the thought of going home passing over her. "Washburn, Indiana," bitterly; 220 ALIDA CRAIG "and they don't know a painting from a chromo. I'd rather die than go back there. You're the strangest girl, Alida; you've always been so lucky; the way you used to have number one in the concours month after month, and the luck you've had since you came home; yet I've always felt that you never cared half so much about your work as I did. Why, I've half starved to stay here these last two months and paint a picture for the Society. It's almost done there on the easel." Alida did not speak; she went into the next room and made another poultice for Tommy. Poor, pretty Mary Bohm ! she remembered her at Julian's working night and day, ab- solutely devoured with ambition, yet always failing miserably. "Is Tommy all right?" 221 ALIDA CRAIG "Yes, dear." " I'll go to sleep in a moment; I'm beginning to be quite drowsy. I want you to do something forme." "Yes." " Light a candle there's one on the mantelpiece and look at the picture. I'd sleep easier if I really had some one's opinion." She sat up with wide-open eyes while Alida steadied the flickering light to see the canvas. It was a madonna and child, more poorly than badly painted; the color was tinged with a soft, unpleasant but- teriness, and there was not one line of interest or originality about it. "I think it's the best thing you have done, but I don't want to say any more until I have seen it by day- light," was all Alida could say to the anxious, inquiring face awaiting her decision. 222 ALIDA CRAIG That was enough, however; it was treating the picture seriously, and Mary soon fell asleep, satisfied that the child was doing well, and that this last picture would bring the suc- cess she craved. "Poor Mary," thought Alida. "Why did she ever go away from the farm in Indiana ? Why did she have the art fever ? I'm going to see if Bertha won't persuade Philip to establish a scholarship to send girls home to America who will give up studying art. It's the only thing for most of them to do. ' ' It was hard work for Alida to keep awake; she was not used to watching, and the room was so still that she nearly dropped off without thinking ; then she roused herself with a start and made the poultice again. She began to be afraid that she would not be 223 ALIDA CRAIG able to hold out much longer, and she thought she would wake Mary soon, and run up and call Chloe. She thought it must be nearly morning, but just then the clock struck one. Rosamond Wells, for such was the title that her godparents had bestowed upon that plain and cheery damsel, was awakened in the middle of the night by some one shaking her vio- lently. "My watch is " she began. " Oh, it's you, Alida Craig. Is the child worse what can I do ? " "His mother's afraid he's dying; he's suddenly taken worse. "Would you go out with Chloe for the doctor ? Chloe, you know, can't find her way around New York one bit." "Where is it?" "Fifty-eighth Street." " Don't you mind about Chloe, I'm 224 ALIDA CRAIO not one bit afraid to go by myself; only wake her up and have her go down to Mrs. Bohm's. There's some whiskey in that closet ; you'd better give me a drop and take some your- self; you're a ghost." As she spoke, Miss "Wells was drag- ging on her clothes, and it speaks well for her style of garments that they were as easily gotten into as a man's; and at half -past two in the morning, with only five minutes at her disposal, she looked as neat and trim as ever. " You ought not to go alone," said Alida, distressed. " Suppose some one should stop you ? " " Nonsense, child ; at the rate I'll go they'll think I am an escaped lunatic. If they did stop me, I'd just say, ' I'm going for the doctor ; wait here until I come back and I'll blow your head 235 ALIDA CRAIG off.' Good-by, I'll be back in ten minutes. ' ' And fastening on her billy- cock hat as she went along, Miss "Wells sped away faster than from her girth one would have deemed possible. The sick-room was now a serious battle-ground, where the conflict of life and death was being fought out. The doctor came, bringing his healthy, comforting presence to sustain their fainting hopes. He turned every one out of the room excepting Chloe, and the three women sat in the bare studio, looking at the weak "Ma- donna and Child," hour after hour, until the cold gray dawn crept in at the great north window. "I'll make some coffee," said Alida at last, rising. But she was so stiff and tired that she could scarcely move. Miss Wells sprang to her feet. 226 ALIDA CRAIG " I'll make it ; and, Mrs. Bohm, do light a fire, it's perishingly cold." In a few minutes the doctor came out of the sick-room. " The child is doing well now," he said gravely. " Unless something unforeseen arises he will get along now. Thank you, Miss "Wells," as he took the cup of coffee from her hand and seated himself beside the blazing fire. "This is indeed comfortable after being up so long." "You are sure that Tommy will get well? " said Mrs. Bohm. " Yes, quite sure ; only when he is recovered I should advise a country life. He's rather a delicate child. I wouldn't try to bring him up in the city. Now, ladies, good-morning; go to bed and sleep as long as you can, as I am going to do. I'll be around in the afternoon ; your maid will stay 227 ALIDA CRAIG with the child until I can send a nurse, I believe. Good-morning. ' ' Now that the strain was over, Mrs. Bohm let Alida take her upstairs, and they breakfasted in strange pot-luck fashion and went to bed, excepting Miss Wells, who was due down-town, and who, having taken a cold plunge and put on a fresh shirt front and col- lar, appeared at her work at the usual hour as immaculate and trim as ever. " Up since three in the morning and I've never turned a hair," was her comment as she locked her desk when evening came, not one second earlier than usual. But among all these studio people we must not forget the other train of our story, and that we have another invalid who has been getting better while we have been talking about others. In truth, Madame Fremiet's 228 ALIDA CRAIG illness was of short duration, and in a few days she appeared again at the theatre, to all appearances as well as ever. Those, however, who knew her intimately realized that a great change had come over her. Mixed into her Creole blood there was an odd strain of super-nervousness, call it what you will, that resulted in a sixth sense amounting almost to second sight. It was not the ordinary presentiment of a nervous woman no, only two or three times in her life had the veil of everyday events been wiped away, and she had seemed to see into the future; once just before she had taken the momentous step of leaving her home to go upon the stage. Now she saw nothing clearly ; she only felt a negation of all her future wishes and desires. Even when she had recovered her health to 229 ALIDA CRAIG all outward seeming, her mind was in a dream, groping about for some vague clew the mystery of she knew not what which she realized she might stumble across at any moment. Her lips were closed on the subject of her inward emotions; she could not speak of them even to Philip; her manner toward him was the same as before, though she absolutely refused to speak with any decision of their wedding day. Philip, seeing how agitated she be- came at the pressing of his suit, spoke of it no more. In the languor that had crept over her in her days of con- valescence, she seemed more charming to him than ever. He little realized that she received each token of his love and devotion with a pang of sad- ness ; that firmly rooted in her mind was the feeling that their attachment 230 ALIDA CRAIG was almost over ; that their seven years of waiting was in vain, and that they would never be man and wife. The better Margaret's physical con- dition became, the more firmly rooted grew all these ideas. Her engagement at the theatre was drawing to a close, and she still seemed no nearer the realization of her vision than be- fore. The Duke of Axminster had not returned to England, as he had in- tended to do on hearing of Margaret's engagement to Philip Herford. As soon as she was well enough, Mar- garet sent him a little note, and the following morning he came up to the Plaza. Their interview was very try- ing, and required all Margaret's tact ; yet somehow and it was a difficult thing to do, for Axminster was not famous for flights of the imagination 281 ALIDA CRAIG she made him understand just how she felt. "Don't feel," she said, "that I am throwing Mr. Herford over for you, or that I shall marry you be- cause I do not marry Mr. Herford. I just know that this thing will be ; that it is my fate, and that we must all accept it. But time must work out the problem as it will; I cannot hurry it; I don't know anything." The Duke walked up and down the room slowly ; it was the intensest ner- vousness that his phlegmatic tempera- ment could show. " It's all very wonderful," he said. " I don't understand it, and I do. It's an awkward position for me, but since you say Herford would gladly be re- leased, I do not see that I am harm- ing him in any attitude that I take. I am good at waiting, and I might 232 ALIDA CRAIG just as well go up to the Adirondacks to shoot for a little while as go home to England. Besides, it will be easier to get back from there; all you will have to do is to wire, ' Come. ' ' The simplicity of his almost boy- ish affection touched Margaret, as it had done many times before. " Oh, Duke," she said, "why can- not I love you in return ? Why am I giving myself to you so coldly? I despise myself ; it is sacrificing you. I ought not to marry you." There was a certain tightening about his mouth, that those who had seen him in the thick of battle, when he was a cadet of his house and Lieu- tenant of the 9th , might remem- ber. " You don't know at all," he said. "I accepted it so long ago that it's more than I ever hoped or dreamed ALIDA CRAIG for that you would be my wife at all. I'nr happy, happy do you under- stand? I don't care whether you love me or not; I don't want to think of it or talk of it; I love you, that's enough, that's all." She was not yet very strong, and the talking had wearied her; her beautiful face was pale. He longed to take her up in his arms and carry her away, his possession, captured by right of strength and devotion. In- stead, he bent down, kissing her hand. " Good-by, my duchess," he said. 234 CHAPTER XI THESE were busy days for Alida. Tommy progressed but slowly, and all the time that she could spare was devoted to amusing him and helping to cheer up his mother. Mrs. Bohm had relapsed into her old, hard, sullen manner ; she relieved the nurse and wrote a good many letters, but she had not touched paints and brushes since the night of the child's crisis. The dreary "Madonna and Child" still stared blankly from the easel, unfinished and unvarnished, although the time was nearing when pictures for the Society were to be judged. Miss Wells had been, as from the 235 ALIDA CRAIG first, a well-balanced guardian angel. She brought the newest toys for Tommy, took no notice of Mrs. Bohm's mood, and finally, like an electric shock, started the subject of the "Madonna," about which the poor woman was eating out her heart. "I suppose it's finished now," she said one evening; for, truth to tell, she knew no more of painting than a bat, and had never noticed the picture particularly. Mrs. Bohm looked up from her sewing and then she began to cry, to Miss "Wells 's great distress. "It's never going to be finished ; I haven't worked on it for a long time," she said at last. "Perhaps you don't know how bad it is, but it's awful. I saw it just as plain as day the night Tommy was so sick. 286 ALIDA CRAIG All my things have been bad straight from the start. I used to hate Alida when she was in Julian's, the way she got ahead. I wanted to succeed so, to get ahead of every one, to be ad- mired. That isn't Art, and I don't wonder I didn't do any better. I've never had the least notion of the real thing, like that little creature upstairs, who lives in her work." " She's a good girl and gentle and modest," said Miss Wells, for lack of anything else to say ; and she listened patiently to the poor woman's story, of the petty jealousies and triumphs and excitements that she had thought made up an artist's life, never see- ing that she was thinking of nothing but herself. Now, thank heaven, she was wiser, and all her plans were ready to take Tommy home to the old farm in Indiana. The tears 237 ALIDA CRAIG came into her eyes, and perhaps into Miss "Wells 's too, as she finished her confession. "I've thought my painting very fine," she said, "but I don't believe it's any too good for Indiana. They're proud of me out there, and I guess, after all, home's the best place for most women." So, as soon as Tommy was able to be moved, he was taken down to the Grand Central Station in a carriage, with Alida and Miss Wells on the front seat, and toys and picture-books enough to last a journey around the world. "It will seem lonely without them," said Miss "Wells, as the train moved out of the station. " Though I declare, for all the tramping up and down stairs and bearing with that poor girl's temper, you look stronger 238 ALIDA CRAIG than you did. You needn't worry about her; she's taken off her black, I notice, and when a girl starts off on a journey with as well-fitting a gown as that, it shows that she is beginning to pick up. Now, you'd better come and lunch with me. If I've money enough left after buying that leaping kangaroo we'll go to Del's. And I've two seats for the Lohengrin matinee. I'd like you to come with me ever so much that is, if you're not so musical that you want a score. I hate a score." " No," said Alida ; " I don't know one note from another, but I should love to hear Lohengrin again." ' ' Come along, then ; there's nothing like the opera for me. I go and blub- ber, and I love it all straight up from the swan. As for the dragon in Siegfried, I'm devotedly attached to ALIDA CRAIG it. Let's walk down, the sunshine is so inviting, and I have my best neck- tie on, which always makes me feel a cut above the Fourth Avenue car." The sunshine was truly so enticing that many other people were tempted out. Among them Margaret went out, on a round of shopping. Coming home, as she passed the tall building where Alida had her studio, it re- minded her of her former visit to the little artist girl. Her illness com- ing so soon after had driven all thought of the portrait, and the ab- surdity of the anonymous letter, quite out of her mind. She had promised Miss Craig to sit for the portrait when she stopped playing; now there was only a week longer of her en- gagement at the Fifth Avenue, and it seemed a very good opportunity to arrange for the sittings. No sooner 240 1 ALIDA CRAIG thought than done : she stopped the carriage and went up the long flights of stone stairs that led to Alida's apartment. Margaret wore, as she often did when she went about alone, a thick, dark veil, and all the way going upstairs she was struggling to unfasten its tangled ends. Miss Craig was not at home, the old colored woman said who opened the door for her; perhaps she would leave a mes- sage. Margaret was tired from mount- ing the stairs, so she said she would come in for a moment and write a note. Chloe went to Alida's desk, found a sheet of paper and a pencil, and while she was getting them Mar- garet at last succeeded in unpinning the reluctant veil; she took off her right glove too, and sat down in a chair which happened to be placed directly under the broad, sweeping 241 ALIDA CRAIG glare of the skylight. It took Chloe some time to find the paper, and as she turned around, murmuring many apologies for her mistress's absence, her face became suddenly ashen gray ; the paper and pencil fell from her trembling old hands. " Lor' sakes," she murmured, with chattering teeth. " Lor' sakes, it's Mam'zell Margaret." Margaret arose from her chair. Twenty years had gone by, changing Chloe from a buxom, strong woman to an old one with bent figure and white wool, but Madame Fremiet would have known the voice any- where the voice of the negress who had been her nurse, who had dressed her on her wedding day, and who had gone with her to the new home ; the one link that bound her to her happy childhood in the stormy 242 ALIDA CRAIG years of her life with Monsieur Bon- aventure. " Chloe, Chloe, my dear, dear Chloe! " she cried, enthusiastically clasping the old woman. For a few moments they clung to each other, murmuring an unintelli- gible babble of patois, words long for- gotten. Baby phrases that Chloe had taught her rushed upon Margaret's lips ; the old negress sobbed with joy. Madame Fremiet at last released Chloe's clinging hands and sat down again in the chair. "How beautiful you is!" mur- mured the old woman, feasting her eyes on her nursling. " You isn't a day older than you was, 'pears to me. There weren't never no one as pretty as you. Old Chloe never thought her old eyes would see you again." The genuine love that shone in her 248 ALIDA CRAIG faded orbs brought tears to Mar- garet's bright ones. She asked the old woman about her life, and what she had been doing all these years, wondering how she happened to be in service with Miss Craig. "Won't you come back again and be my maid ? " she said ; " you know you really belong to me." She was surprised that Chloe looked grave, almost pained, for a moment. "I can't leave Miss 'Lida," she said. "I b'longed to you sure 'nuff, Mam'zell, but I can't leave Miss' Lida; she belongs to me, I've had her ever since she was born." "Ever since she was born ! " re- peated Margaret. The words died on her lips, and to hide her confusion she broke out in a torrent of ques- tions. "When had Chloe left New Orleans ? 244 ALIDA CRAIG What had she done all the time? "When had she met Miss Craig ? She asked everything excepting the ques- tion that was nearest her heart. So this was Chloe, old and wrinkled, the Chloe she had seen last sitting in the big, low nursery at Los Portos. How many nights since then the picture had come back to her, and she had wakened from troubled dreams of the little toddling white baby on Chloe's knee, who had crowed and laughed and clutched at the diamonds on her neck when she had gone in to say good- night, decked out in all her jewels and finery to receive her guests on what proved to be her last night under her husband's roof. " Chloe, do you remember my last night at home? " she said. ' ' Yes, ' ' said Chloe gravely. There was a ring of reproach in the old 245 ALIDA CRAIG woman's words that stung Margaret ; she arose, pacing the room in excite- ment; she tried to explain and excuse her departure, but before the simple black servant her motives appeared inadequate. "Chloe," she said, "you know how miserable my marriage was ; I was so excited and happy with my success in the play that night, that I fairly forgot how terrible Monsieur Bonaventure could be, and I went to him, radiant with success, thinking he would sympathize with me and let me go on the stage. He was terrible, and we had a most fearful quarrel; we had had so many quarrels and had said so many bitter things that I suppose he thought he could say any- thing he liked, but he went a little too far that night, and I was so angry that I walked straight out of the house." 246 ALIDA CRAIG Chloe knelt down beside Margaret and patted one of her hands as she would have done a baby's. She was a very ignorant old woman, who had been taught a certain sense of right and wrong. She had been abroad and travelled with Alida, but her New Orleans patois had never changed into good Parisian French, and she still spoke very Southern English. For twenty years she had nursed a perfectly just resentment against Margaret for deserting her child, but now that she saw again her beloved mistress, her old love got the better of her convictions. That's what these good black creatures are made for ; they are all heart and warm affection. She didn't exactly comprehend why Margaret should choose to desert her baby, but then, since she had chosen, why shouldn't she ? 247 ALIDA CRAIG "There, there," said the old woman, patting her hand, "did you ever think your baby would be a woman grown now if she had lived ? " " If she had lived ! Chloe, did she live ? Do you know anything of her ? I've never heard a word of my old home since that night. At first my thoughts were full of my studies and my successes, but lately I've not been well, and it's all come back to me fancies that I would like to see the old place again, to see you and to hear of my daughter. Perhaps I could tell her, and she could under- stand, that I was unhappy and re- pressed at home, that I was born for the stage and could no more help going than the birds from flying. Perhaps she would forgive me, and even be proud of me." "Did you never hear from Massa 248 ALIDA CRAIG all this time? " said Chloe in amaze- ment. "Certainly he was a hard man." "Hard and unforgiving. But he is dead; he sent me a message from his death- bed, thanking me for never having played in New Or- leans." "So he's dead," said Chloe. She had always hated her old master, and her judgment upon him was propor- tionately severe. "So he's dead. He was a hard man ; he turned me out of doors with the baby, Mam'zell, the day after you went away ; he was like the devil himself. I thought he'd kill me and the child, and they said he burnt up every scrap of your dresses and things that you left. He gave me a little bit of money every year to take care of the child, but he swore me never to tell her who she 249 ALIDA CRAIG was ; he even made me give her an- other name." Margaret's eyes met the old wo- man's ; she looked at her firmly for a moment, then she put out her hand, steadying herself against the arm of a chair. "My baby's name was Margaret, like mine." "I called her Alida," said Chloe huskily. Her words reached Margaret faintly. " Alida ! Alida ! " she cried. The terrible pain at her heart was grip- ping her with exhausting agony ; a feeling of suffocation arose in her throat, and she fainted in Chloe's arms. Chloe was too good a nurse to be frightened ; she chafed the poor cold hands and poured brandy be- tween the clenched teeth, working 250 ALIDA CRAIG over her with untiring zeal. At last the color crept back into Margaret's face; she opened her eyes. " Tell me all about her, ' ' she said. And Chloe told her all about Alida : tales of her childhood that went to the poor mother's heart poor Margaret, who had never seemed to have a mother's heart until now. She listened enraptured as Chloe told how, from a baby, Alida was always draw- ing pictures, and how when she was only twelve years old she had painted some Christmas cards for a little book-shop, and how, when Chloe and Alida had gone to get the money for them, the kindly shopkeeper, amazed at the diminutive artist, had told her that she should study in an art school. Then the little maiden had studied up the question of art schools until kindly fate had led her footsteps to 251 ALIDA CRAIG the Art Students' League. Chloe told, too, of their going abroad, and of her having pneumonia and how Alida nursed her ; besides many other things which were like a strange story to Margaret's ears. As I have said, Chloe was ignorant, so ignorant as to be absolutely honest. "When Monsieur Bonaventure had made her swear never to tell Alida her real name, Chloe had never thought of disobeying his injunc- tions. She thought of him as so nearly one remove from a demon that she believed if she broke her word he would surely fulfil his threat of no longer sending the thousand dollars a year for his daughter's support. Perhaps the bitterest drop in Margaret's cup was that, while she had had hundreds of thousands of dollars, jewels, rich 252 ALIDA CRAIG dresses, every luxury, her child had grown up half fed, half clothed, on a miserable pittance, eked out by what her nimble fingers and clever brain could supply grown up as the lilies grow to be a lily in the midst of common weeds ; to catch her educa- tion somehow, and to be indebted, save for the breath she drew, to no one but her own good impulses, and one old, loving servant. But Chloe, having told all the de- tails of her nursling's life, was not yet done; in the old woman's slow brain there had stuck fast one fact : the coming and strange departure of Alida's one lover ; and she poured out all her hopes and fears for Alida's marrying Mr. Herford. Margaret listened as in a dream as Chloe re- counted his daily visits, and his good- ness, and how he had suddenly ceased 253 ALIDA CRAIG coming, and that she could see under all Alida's singing and working that something was wrong. "I am judged," thought Mar- garet. She felt that her presentiment had come to be fulfilled ; she did not know what she should do; the com- plication was too terrible to be thought out quickly. "Chloe," she said, rising, "you have kept your promise to Monsieur Bonaventure very faithfully. I want you to keep a promise to me. You must never, never let Alida know that I am her mother." But Chloe could not understand. It was the dream of her life to see her two charges together ; she begged Margaret to let her tell Alida at once ; but Margaret was so earnest that the faithful old woman promised at last. "And you so sick, too, Mam'zell," 254 ALIDA CRAIG was her only reproach. " She'd be such a comfort to you." But Mar- garet only kissed her and turned away, her face growing very white, and there was a queer dim smile hang- ing around her lips as she went down- stairs from Alida's studio. Her dress, sweeping the floor, seemed to be whispering good-by to the little daughter she had seen but once. For days Margaret could come to no solution of her difficult position. On one point alone she was decided. She had abandoned her baby, and left her unloved and uncared for during all the years of her young, tender life ; for that there was no reparation, and, she felt, no forgiveness. But in the future Alida must be happy ; the child must marry Philip. Yet even in the thought lay subtle difficulties that baffled her penetration. Margaret 255 ALIDA CRAIG longed for her daughter ; she did not feel herself capable of carrying out her first intention, which she had told Chloe, of never disclosing her identity to Alida ; for Margaret was a strict Catholic, and the church requires of its daughters an accounting of their children and their children's children. She spent many hours at herprie Dieu looking for light and strength, and yet her duty was such a divided one that she could come to no decision. It would be a shock to any girl to dis- cover that her husband had formerly been affianced to her mother, and to a girl as delicate and poetic as Alida the idea would be ghastly and hor- rible. These circumstances turned themselves over and over in the poor mother's brain, and she might have put herself at last in the hands of her amiable father confessor in which 256 ALIDA CRAIG case this story might have had a somewhat entangled ending had she not received an opportune visit from her lawyer, Mr. Barlow. Mr. Barlow's errand was one from which he shrank, and which he felt required the utmost delicacy. In set- tling Monsieur Bonaventure's estate, which had been left to the Jesuit Monastery just outside of New Or- leans, he had come across the records of a daughter born to Margaret and Charles Antoine Gabrille Bonaven- ture, but beyond that there was no mention of the child's death, nor any trace in Monsieur Bonaventure's effects of her existence. Mr. Bar- low's legal mind refused to accept as dead any one whose burial certificate was not registered ; and at the risk of stirring up sad, long-buried memo- ries in Madame Fremiet's heart, he 257 ALIDA CRAIG had felt obliged to come and ask her to clear up the mystery, which, if from no other point of view, affected the titles and estates of Monsieur Bona- venture's princely gift to the monas- tery. The kindness of Mr. Barlow's tone, the absolute fineness of his feel- ing for her, and the gravity of his face, as he told her very simply the object of his visit, soothed Margaret's aching heart into a clear knowledge that she must act now, once and for- ever. " The fathers, what do they say ? " she said inquiringly. " That the child is dead. Monsieur Bonaventure told them so on his death-bed; her existence would in- validate their bequest. ' ' Margaret rose, walked wearily up and down the room once or twice, then seated herself again opposite Mr. 258 ALIDA CRAIG Barlow, with the clear light from a window falling full on her face. "Mr. Barlow," she said, " there is no record of the child's death that I know and yet she is dead. If the fathers are content with their posses- sion, very well ; strengthen them in the belief that the child died shortly after I left New Orleans. I am will- ing, if necessary, to add to the legacy if it will aid in keeping the very sad events of my early life undisturbed in their oblivion." Her tone was so grave and full of sorrow that once more Mr. Barlow was touched by her simple womanly dignity. He rose to go, feeling that before the wounded heart of a be- reaved mother there was little place for the law of codes and courts. 259 CHAPTER XII MARGARET'S mind was made up: the church had its due in the rich estate of Monsieur Bonaventure ; her one duty now was to make Alida happy. She spent the night thinking and planning, for she had decided that not only must Philip leave her, but he must leave her without a pang. She was too great, if the sacrifice must be made, not to make it utter and com- plete. She would have no sentiment- al parting with her lover. She lay awake that night trying to think what was the surest way of making the break between them final. Evi- dently the night brought a solution 260 ALIDA CRAIG of her difficulties, for she slept toward morning, and when she arose the weight of care was gone ; she looked better than for many weeks, and Barnes noticed that she displayed a wonderful interest in her toilet. When Philip came to pay his daily visit, he was delighted at her evident improvement in health and spirits. He had been much troubled by her depression and unhappiness, and by a feeling that she was shutting herself away from him; now she was again her old self. She wore a long, flow- ing gown, of burnished-copper color, that showed glimpses of her white arms and neck, and a bit of copper- colored ribbon in her dark locks added a touch of coquetry to her ap- pearance. Margaret had thought out her plan deeply and well. She was a 261 ALIDA CRAIG woman, therefore more or less able to conceal or control her feelings ; and beyond that, she was a great actress, and in entering the room she had taken up a role which she intended to play through. Now that the struggle of her decision was over, she felt perfectly calm; quite as she would have felt at playing a new part. As Philip watched the charm of her languorous beauty, and thought her every movement exquisitely graceful and unstudied, Margaret was bring- ing every inch of her artistic training to keep within the lines that she had laid down for herself. Mr. Howells has cleverly stated the axiom that no man can be in love with more than two women at once. I don't know whether or not he goes on to state that those women must appeal to very different sides of the 262 ALIDA CRAIG man's nature, and that, as in this instance, there is never the slightest doubt of which is the overwhelming passion. Philip would have been something more than human if he had not felt the delicious charm, half co- quetry, half regalness, which blended in Margaret's manner. She was more at ease with him than for many a long day, and chatted away with the abandon of a happy child. The scin- tillating brilliancy of her dark eyes shone with a soft, alluring light, and when she laughed it was with the gay, happy ring of one who is content and at peace. She was herself, her best, richest, most captivating self, exert- ing carelessly and idly the strong magnetic influence that had made whole theatres of people acknowledge her magic, before which princes and people bowed alike. She was as 263 ALIDA CRAIG beautiful as in the first days when Philip had come on his wooing. "You seem in a melting mood to- day, Margaret," he said at last. " You've only three more nights to play, and yet we seem as far from our wedding day as ever. I would not have thought you would be so coquettish ; tell me when you will be mine?" Margaret leaned back, and looking at him with dreamy, half -closed eyes, she smiled a delicious, mischievous smile. "Never ! " she said. Philip thought it was some jest, and yet there was a ring in her voice that was very far from joking. "Margaret, what do you mean?" he said. "I mean what I say, Philip. We have been such ideal lovers, why 264 ALIDA CRAIG marry and have all the romance taken away ? I really don't mean to marry you ; I'm in earnest. In fact " she arose and stood looking at him with grave dignity "I don't think you have cared for me much lately. You know things travel so easily ; I've heard all about Miss Craig and your devotion to her. Ah, Philip," she said mockingly, "you always had such good taste in the fine arts ; hav- ing wearied of the footlights, have you found fresh charms in the palette and brushes? " Philip's position was a terrible one. A weaker man would have defended the position, have explained, and . Philip said nothing for a few seconds, then he spoke very quietly. "Margaret, this is unworthy of you. It's not like you to be jealous; you are my affianced wife; you have 265 ALIDA CRAIG had all my love and devotion for years; why should you be jealous? " " One often doesn't possess qual- ities until occasion develops them." Flippantly: "I have never had any cause to be jealous until now." " Trust me now, dear." Philip went toward her, intending to solve the difficulty of the position by an embrace, but she moved a little away ; then she seemed to have a quick repentance, and leaned against his shoulder, slipping her soft hand into his. "Philip, do you really love me? Tell me so once more, won't you?" she murmured. Philip raised her hand and kissed it. " I love you, Margaret," he said. For a moment they were silent and stood together, Margaret quite car- 266 ALIDA CRAIG ried outside of her part by the warm pressure of his kiss ; then she snatched her hand away, and looking up into his face mischievously, said : " Well, I don't love you ; I'm tired of you. I didn't know how tired until it came to my taking the irrevocable step of marrying you." It sounded simply vulgar as she said it, and she threw into her face an expression of vulgarity. For the first time it struck Philip that her large features were handsome to coarseness, and that her figure was voluptuous and sensuous. Margaret went on, speaking hurried- ly : " It is better to hurt your vanity and mine than to go on and find that we have made a terrible mistake ; you know that we all have two sides to our natures. I don't think that you have ever quite realized the other side of mine. You have appealed to 267 ALILA CRAIG what is best in me, fostered it, brought it out ; but the other side is there, and lately it has come upper- most. I love power and fame and glory ; and just as years ago I walked out of my home without a pang, and left it to go on the stage, so, now that my stage life must come to an end, I cannot settle down to the dull round that you call society in JS"ew York ; I must have more power and position than you can give me. I can leave you as easily as I took that other step, to have what I most desire in my new life. Love you ! " there was a ring of scorn in her voice ' ' I love you ! I love myself. I think it is better to have a real coronet of strawberry leaves than a crown of withered senti- ments. Will you be the first to con- gratulate the future Duchess of Ax- minster? " 268 ALIDA CRAIG Philip's quietness surprised even himself. He had noticed lately a hardness in Margaret that was new to his knowledge of her. Had it all then been merely a preparation for this extraordinary revelation of her char- acter ? She had always been moody and variable, changing as a chame- leon from one point of view to an- other. Had it not been for the in- tensity of her passionate utterance, he could scarcely have thought her in earnest. " Margaret, my dear," he said quietly, " I do not think you quite mean that being my wife wouldn't somewhat palliate the dulness of New York society. I don't know exactly what you mean, except that you have taken some jealous freak about Miss Craig. As you say, my dear, we all have two sides to our ALIDA CRAIG natures, and I can scarcely think that one so generous-hearted as yourself would think it the worst side of mine that I befriended a little, helpless, hard-working girl, whose chief attrac- tion, when I first met her, was that she reminded me vaguely of you." "We may talk all day, Philip," said Margaret, folding her large arms over her bosom to hide the wild beating of her heart, "but it cannot change the fact that I am tired of you, and that, to tell the truth, you are tired of me. As long as I thought you adored me, I fancied myself indis- pensable ; you see even in me there remains a vestige of the eternally feminine unnecessary sacrifice. "When I heard of your devotion to Miss Craig I saw clearly that I had worn out my charmingly aesthetic but hard- ly human passion for you. Do you 270 ALIDA CRAIG think that my heart, which has beat to the admiration of thousands, would be content with the perfunctory atten- tions of a husband who had wearied of me as a lover?" She sat down wearily in a chair. " Go and marry your little artist and live in Arcadia, and I will go and be a duchess" with a graceful wave of her hand, as though the subject was dismissed. That was the one point in the ques- tion that Philip could not understand; she certainly would not go to the length of saying that she was going to marry Axminster unless she was in earnest. " Margaret, you have never been heartless ; if you have decided that you do not love me, and that you do love Axminster, say so ; let us part, if we must, in kindness and respect." It was the crowning touch of her 271 ALIDA CRAIG sacrifice. Her nerves were like fine steel, tense and strong. She stood silent, fluctuating emotions chasing over her face, that would have told Philip even better than words that her heart was no longer his. He felt what she wanted to tell him, even before, with a little gesture of shame for her weakness, she came toward him and laid her hand on his arm, looking into his eyes with her beauti- ful ones, that seemed full of humilia- tion at her confession. " I do love Axminster, Philip ; I was glad when I heard that you had grown attached to Miss Craig. We have lived in a dream of a vague poetic fancy, but that is not the way I love Axminster." And a tender and beautiful smile fluttered around her lips as she spoke. So it was dead their passion ; 272 ALIDA CRAIG dead ; never to be revived. The bare branches leaf out again in the spring ; but a worn-out passion nothing can revive it. " I hope you will be happy, dear," he said, and for the last time he bent and kissed her hand. "Good-by." Margaret remained motionless, standing where he had left her, kiss- ing the cold hand that his lips had pressed. " I shall never act so well again," she thought. 278 CHAPTER XIII To all readers who object to the chapters regarding Alida, beginning with the fact that she was at work, I would like to say that they show great ignorance concerning the ways of artist folk, for what should a self- respecting artist be doing save paint- ing as long as the daylight lasts ? It is true that an artist's time is his own, and that when the mood strikes him he will lie fallow for long days ; but especially in the winter, with exhibi- tions coming on and orders dropping in, their hours are pretty regular, and " No admittance before four o'clock " ALIDA CRAIG minds for sociability or any kind of in- terruption. After all, is not an artist's life a pleasant one ? is it not a true life to be able to indulge one's fancies and paint one's pictures all day long? Even the illustrating and stained-glass windows bring lots of fun. There is a pride and power of doing and see- ing the thing grow. Blessed be these means of bread-winning, and the papers and cheap magazines which give young authors and artists a chance to cut their teeth and live. I once heard a weak, artistically in- clined lady promulgate a theory that all artists should be supported by the state. Save the mark ! What did she know of the enthusiasms inspired by an earning money to pay a gas bill, of cartoons finished to pay the rent, of verses written to stay the clamors of the coal man, of the flush of joy 275 ALIDA CRAIG over a big, big check ? If our enthusi- asms, our ideals, are so slight that the breath of the world dissipates them, let them go; it is only an amateur's mood that must be coddled carefully ; the true artist is the journeyman carving the gargoyles and pinnacles of the cathedral into beauty ; nothing is too small for his hand. Lay com- fort to yourselves, ye who make your daily bread out of your studies of the beautiful ; did not Thackeray write his lines, "At the Church Porch," for a lady's annual? Alida, then, had been working all day, and was tired, as she was every day ; she had scraped up her palette and put her things away, but her eyes and thoughts were still full of her pic- ture. " How Lisa Loved the King " was finished ; the name and the date were signed in the corner; on the 276 ALIDA CRAIG morrow the carters "would take it away to be judged by the jury of the Society of American Artists. Then would come the supreme, the palpi- tating week before she knew if it was accepted, or if it was in the doubtful list, and might possibly be hung, if there was room. Several of the men who had studios in the building were on the jury, and she knew they would come and tell her the picture's fate as soon as it was decided. "When her door-bell rang she thought it was Dorothy, and called out gayly from the chair where she sat behind the big canvas : " Come, Dorothy, and see the pic- ture ; it's signed and finished." There was a man's quick step on the floor ; Chloe had gone away quietly; Alida rose, her face flushed with surprise to see Philip. She 277 ALIDA CRAIG thought something terrible must have happened 'to Mrs. Beckington or Dorothy. "What is the matter? Why did you come? " Come ! The sight of the familiar studio, the pictures, Alida's smooth palette with the dirty brushes sticking through it, brought a lump into Philip's throat ; he scarcely dared look at her ; everything was swept away ; it seemed as though he had never been separated from her. Why explain, why talk ! She was there. " I I came for some tea. What a glorious picture ; are you going to send it to the Society?" He could look at her now ; he saw surprise and almost fear written on her face. A light seemed to break through his brain ; he knelt down beside her chair and took her hands ; there was a curi- 278 ALIDA CRAIG ous break in his voice as he said : "I've come to tell you that I am free to marry you, Alida." This book is full of love-making. Love-making is so easy to imagine up to a certain point. I can tell you what Jones said to Miss Smith ; what Jack said to Jill ; but I cannot tell you what Philip and Alida said to each other, because I do not know. The clock striking five awoke Alida to a sense of her duties as a hostess. "Why, you haven't had that tea you came for, yet," she said. "I must make it. Dorothy will be com- ing along in a minute, and she always clamors for something to eat." They both laughed merrily at the remembrance of Philip's odd en- trance, and Philip watched Alida set- ting the little table, and delayed rather than helped her with his mas- 279 ALIDA CRAIG culine suggestions. In fact, the preparations would never have been complete had not Dorothy and Mr. Ashley arrived. Their arrival was not a noticeable fact, because where one went the other usually ar- rived ; but on this occasion they came together, and there was about the two an air of submission and meekness that suggested that some- thing had happened. While Dorothy was taking off her pretty wrap, she whispered to Alida in a despairing tone : " It's all over ; we're engaged." Alida wanted to laugh, but she sympathetically patted her friend's broad shoulder. "I'm so glad, dear," she said. " "Was your mother much upset? " "Upset ! no," in the utmost exas- peration. "No; it's perfectly dis- 280 ALIDA CRAIG heartening. It seems she wanted us to marry all along. Did you ever know anything so commonplace ? I hoped at least she'd refuse her consent." Since the musicale at Mrs. Becking- ton's when Philip suddenly became Jim's confidant, matters had been carried by her lover with a high hand. Dorothy was labelled "en- gaged" at last, and bore her new honors with much wailing to her intimates, and a great show of dig- nity to the outside world. Some water was needed for the tea, and Alida, kettle in hand, went into the kitchen to get it; and as a tea-kettle full of water is a heavy and un- pleasant thing for a young lady to carry, of course Philip naturally fol- lowed her. Dorothy and Mr. Ashley were left alone for a moment in the studio. Dorothy heaved a deep, 281 ALIDA CRAIG lugubrious sigh and sank sadly into a chair as far as possible from her fiance. "Everything is so dull and com- monplace now, isn't it, Jim? " Mr. Ashley laughed as he sat down on the arm of her chair and put his arm around her. " Is everything so dull and common- place now? " " Yes ; it isn't like the old times, when you used to have to snatch a kiss when no one was by." "No one is by now," kissing her pink cheek. " I hoped mother would refuse her consent, but you're so disgustingly eligible. Just think if you had been penniless or not in society, or any- thing terrible, and we should have had to elope ! " " But really, Dorothy, I don't 282 ALIDA CRAIO think your mother would have liked you to elope." " What a silly thing to say! " rising with much scorn. " You haven't a spark of romance in you." " Very well, then ; I don't think my mother would have liked me to elope. Now, Dorothy, don't let's quarrel. I'll be married in a balloon, or up a tree, or anywhere that strikes you as romantic ; I'm awfully senti- mental about you." The peal of the door-bell stopped any further speech, Alida and Philip coming back at the same time, as though they had only taken the usual time to fill the kettle. It was Mrs. Beckington, utterly exhausted. She sank into a chair by the door. "Don't speak to me; and you needn't shut the door Clarence is coming. Oh, I'm so tired ; I've got 283 ALIDA CRAIG the tea shakes. I've drank six cups of tea. Tea ! concoctions of every- thing in the world that is calculated to shatter the nerves. Dorothy, whatever form of enjoyment your mother wishes to take for announcing your engagement, don't let it be a tea. I've been to three announce- ment teas this afternoon such jams ! Eeally, I can't remember whether Mabel Hawkins, in light blue, is going to marry her cousin who is in the army, or whether it is Louise Pome- roy. Madame Calve sang at the Lawrence's, only their house was so crowded you couldn't get near the music room." Alida, all sympathy, flew to Bertha's rescue; she took off her hat and gave her a glass of sherry. Mrs. Beckington suddenly caught sight of her brother ; she was so tired that 284 ALIDA CRAIG she quite lost her head; no ingenue could have been guilty of a more fear- ful remark than hers. "Why, how did you come here, Philip?" in a tone of the most intense query and interest. A dead silence followed. Mr. Ashley alone, usually more remark- able for muscle than brains, came to the rescue. He ignored her last remark entirely. "Yes, Mrs. Beckington, I entirely agree with you ; Dorothy and I are firm on one point : we won't have a tea. Mrs. Mason may do her worst, but I positively refuse to be the only man in a tea fight, shaking hands and having congratulations showered upon me by thousands of women who don't know me from Adam or I them. I hate tea " Dorothy's opinion of him rose as 285 ALIDA CRAIG he went on. She too would have liked to know why Philip was there, but she hadn't thought it good man- ners to ask when he was looking so absurdly happy. Luckily, before Jim's ideas and breath gave out, for l the rest of the party seemed abso- lutely prostrated by Mrs. Becking- ton's extraordinary question, a wel- come interruption came in the shape of Mr. Beckington and Gordon White. "Heigho, Dorothy," was Mr. Beckington's cordial greeting, "I've just met your mother around at Tiffany's, ordering the cards for your announcement tea." " Jim, be firm," said Dorothy, com- ing and standing beside her fiance. ' ' I won't marry you if we have to have it. ' ' Jim felt that he must rise to the occasion ; his recent success had elated him. 286 ALIDA CRAIG "If your mother insists upon it, I'll tell her I'll jilt you," he said with such earnestness that every one went off in shrieks of laughter. It was the first time that Mr. White had been to Alida's studio. He thought it very charming; he looked around at the bits of color studies that she had up on the wall with the ad- miration of a connoisseur. Then there was the picture to be seen the just- finished picture of " How Lisa Loved the King." They all grouped about it, the beautiful, richly colored picture into which Alida had worked so many of her cares and troubles, and which was finished. Finished ! Yes, as this chapter of her life is finished. To the others it was only a beautiful picture, but to Alida and Philip it was more ; and as her friends talked among themselves and admired all its 287 ALIDA CRAIQ beauties, Alida turned to Philip and looked at him with a glad light shin- ing in her eyes; the light that told that she had indeed found her king. And so we are going to leave Alida among her intimate friends and with her lover, for lovers and friends are a woman's life after all, however clever she may be with her brush or pen. Alida has lived thus far the life of a modern girl, in a position unique and peculiar to the nineteenth cen- tury ; her future will lie in an entirely different one, which is neither unique nor peculiar to the nineteenth century, but which has been the highest sphere that a woman can hold since the world began, and will be until its end. She has served her apprentice- ship nobly as a girl bachelor, and she will fill nobly the sacred position of wife and mother. 288 ALIDA CRAIG The years will go by ; Dorothy and Jim will marry, Mr. Beckington will go on adoring his wife, who will for many years have a faithful devotee in Gordon "White. And what of Margaret? "Word will come across the seas of the "American Duchess," for so she is called in love and honor by all who know her. She is noted far and wide for her goodness and charity, the light of her glorious charm and her devotion to her husband. She has reclaimed the name of her nation from that scorn of women who marry for position and title, and is happy as those are happy who live to be at peace with themselves, thankful that Providence in its mercy has allowed them to repair with their own hands the evil they have wrought. A 000 036 389 5