BARONESS VON HUTTEN ARABY Araby. ARABY BY Baroness von Hutten Illustrated by C. J. Budd 1904 The Smart Set Publishing Co. New York London COPYRIGHTED March, 1902, by ESS ESS PUBLISHING CO COPYRIGHTED 1904, by THE SMART SET PUBLISHING CO First Printing in MA RC H CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGB I. A MARMOSET . . . . .13 II. YELVERTON is REMEMBERED . 21 III. OF ARABY AND MRS. COPELAND. 33 IV. IN THE STEERAGE .... 43 V. "PADDY" 57 VI. Two ON DECK 71 VII. AT GIBRALTAR .... 85 VIII. MAL DE MER 97 IX. ROCK ISLAND CURIOSITY . . 109 X. ARABY ASKS A QUESTION . .119 XI. LOST LIBERTY .... 129 XII. CHAMPAGNE FOR ONE . . . 143 XIII. ADVICE TO JOE C 157 XIV. HIGH WORDS 173 XV. FOUNTAIN CONSULTED . . . 189 XVI. AND THE LAST . 203 2228507 "As a weed Flung from the rock, on ocean's foam to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail." Byron. ILL US TRA TIONS "Araby" - Frontispiece to look up Fountain, who had done a great deal of very audible dying in the last few days, and had subsisted chiefly on chocolate. Fountain dispatched to her mis- tress, Araby took a walk with the girl of the common-sense figure, and learned what a perfectly elegant time young ladies have in Rock Island. Araby, who did not possess much sense of humor, listened gravely. "You'd ought to come out there and 112 see for yourself," the girl informed her, cordially. "The boys would give you a splendid time." "What boys your brothers?" asked "My brothers! Heavens, no! All of the fellows, I mean. Say, your sister's a widow, isn't she?" "She's my cousin. I suppose you mean Mrs. Copeland. No, she's not a widow. Do you know what time it is?" she added, hastily. "After five, some time. I thought she must be one. Or perhaps he's her brother," she added, vague but hopeful. "Mr. Bax-Drury? You are rather curious, aren't you?" The girl stared. "Well, yes, I sup- pose I am. But where's the harm? Is he?" "No; Mr. Bax-Drury is no relation." "Then why in kingdom come is she trailing round with him?" Araby turned on her like a tigress, and then was silent for a moment. She was nineteen, and the girl from Rock Island was twenty-three or four, but Araby felt all the bitterness of world-worn experience as she look- ed into the unsuspicious face beside her. "We have known him for years," she answered, quietly, choosing her words, "and he is a great friend of Mr. Copeland." 114 Araby had lied to spare that bony face a blush. The blush was on her own cheeks as the girl nodded, sympathetically. "I see. You're in his care sort of." "I am going in now. I am tired," returned the younger girl, her voice very kind. ''Aren't you glad it's go- ing to clear?" The sun came out only to go down, but it went down in a glow of deter- mined glory, scattering the last of the clouds and bringing gleams of hope to lusterless eyes. Araby established Allegra just out- side the door, ordered her dinner, and then started down-stairs. As she went in Yelverton came out. " Good-evening ; how are you?" he asked, with a dumb show of utter weakness. "I am a wreck, a poor worm." He was embarrassed, and carried it off by flippancy. It is very irritating to have been seasick for four days. "Come and lean your head on my shoulder and let us mingle our tears," called Mrs. Copeland, new life in her voice. " We will share each other's sor- rows and extra dry." He sank down by her, still feigning the utmost helplessness, kissing her hand. Araby went down to dinner, gnawing her lip. There are moments when health is not all in life. 116 ''Doubt them the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love." Shakespeare. x ARABY ASKS A QUESTION SCHIMMELBUSCH, too, made his ap- pearance the next morning. The fat woman, apparently fatter than ever, reappeared in another sweater red, this time in which she looked like a peripatetic tomato. Tales were told, notes compared, and the man from Mars, had he been there, and simple- minded, would have believed that sea- sickness consisted of violent headache and a lack of sea-legs. Yelverton lay back in his chair all day and talked to Mrs. Copeland and Araby. Once in a while he looked at the girl, which was enough for her, but not for him. Something about her upset him as he had never been upset in his life. He could not see her without wanting to kiss her. He dared not be alone with her. He loved her, but he had 110 intention whatever of marking her. He was not the man to make a husband. He was a grand amoureux, and a grand amoureux he believed himself destined to die. Now it may be possible, but it certainly is not advisable, for a grand amoureux to marry. Yelverton knew that Araby transformed into Mrs. Yelverton would pall on him after a certain length of time, and that was bound to be hard on him and harder on her. He knew that she loved him in a way that would last. He could trust her, he realized, with a half-audible groan, but he could not trust himself. Araby pitied him. She believed that he was too weak to walk; she waited on him and, he knew, longed for the moment when he could take her in his arms. Curi- ously enough, this did not bore or irritate him. She was anything but unmaidenly, yet hers was a primi- tive, straightforward maidenliness that charmed him. In the afternoon Mrs. Copeland went 121 in for a. nap, and Araby and Yelver- ton were comparatively alone. "I wish I could put your head on my shoulder and rest it," she said, promptly. "My poor head would like nothing better, but think of the poor sensi- bilities of all these dear souls!" "Yes. I think Miss Babbitt would die." Miss Babbitt was the girl from Rock Island. Araby laughed as she spoke. "She believes," she went on, nibbling a bit of candied ginger, "that Allegra and I are traveling in Bax- Drury's care. First she thought he was her brother." "The deuce she did!" "Yes. She is very simple-minded. 122 Patrick, do you wish I were simple- minded?" She had never called him by this name before, and no one on earth called him Patrick. He started. "You? No. You are, in a way, dear child, as far as that's concerned." "But I mean in her way," insisted the girl. Yelverton shuddered. "God forbid that you should resemble the excellent Miss Babbitt in any way!" "I am glad. Still, it would be nice not to to know things." "Ignorance isn't innocence," plati- tudinized the man, at a loss. "No. And knowing things hasn't hurt me. I know it hasn't, because I 123 hate it all. Oh, if you knew how I hate it the lies, the false charity, the deliberate unseeingness ! Do you think I'd have come at all, if he hadn't asked me to?" "He? Who?" "Anthony, of course. He said I was better than no one, to to keep up appearances. Anyhow, I don't think appearances matter. No one minds what anyone else does, because they all do it themselves." She was incoherent, but he under- stood, and sighed. He pitied her for her poor little half-knowledge, which she believed so comprehensive. "The worst of it is," the girl went on, sucking the sugar off another piece 124 of ginger, and speaking as calmly as if the subject had been the weather, "that I don't believe they either of them care a straw. It has been go- ing on for years, and they are used to each other; that is all. The girl in the steerage that the other one killed was better than she, in one way, be- cause she did love the man. She died in his arms. The doctor told me. It made the doctor cry." "Ah, he looks rather tearful, the doctor." "Don't laugh, dear," she said, sol- emnly. "It was a tragedy. And he loved her I mean Gaetano. He prom- ised to send me the papers with the account of the trial. They will let her I2 5 off, the doctor says. They always do, in Italy, for a crime of passion." "Poor devils! But I thought you were glad that the wife arranged mat- ters as she did ; and here you are pity- ing the other one!" Araby looked up at him, that glow in her eyes which always bowled him over. "I do pity her. What if some- one should stab me, and I had to stop loving you." "You won't stop?" he asked, the words coming of themselves. "Shall I stop?" That was all she said, but it was enough. 126 1 The moods of love are like the wind ; And none know whence or why they rise." Patmore. XI LOST LIBERTY THE next night there was a dance. The girl from Rock Island appeared in a muslin frock, cut low and adorned with rosettes of green ribbon, in which she looked, unfortunately, more sensible than ever. Schimmel- busch was in evening clothes, and wore a checked silk handkerchief tucked coquettishly in his waistcoat. Mrs. Copeland, Araby, Bax-Drury, and Yelverton sat together and watched the dancing. Mrs. Copeland wore a 129 pink gown, and Araby yellow. Yelver- ton had bought a stiff fan of some kind of quill-feathers, mounted in ivory, at Gibraltar, and then refrained from giving it to the girl. When he saw her in the yellow gown he went below and fetched the fan. " Carry this," he said, carelessly, thrusting it into her hand. "It suits your gown. Doesn't it, Mrs. Cope- land?" Allegra laughed. "It does more; it looks like her herself, somehow." "Brown and stiff, eh?" suggested the girl, laughing. "Thanks, Mr. Yelver- ton." She looked older to-night. He had seen but little of her all day, and she 130 'Schimmelbusch . . . ivorc a checked silk handkerchief tucked coquettishly in his waistcoat." showed her resentment in a. prim, grown-up way. She was good-humor- edly indifferent to him, and he hated it. He danced twice with Mrs. Cope- land, and then asked Araby, who re- fused. "May I ask why?" She looked at him. "For no par- ticular reason only, I'd rather not." And Schimmelbusch making his bow just then, she finished the waltz \vith him. Yelverton was furious. What had got into her? How dared she treat him in that way? He put it down to childish caprice, ignoring the fact that under his guidance the girl had grown into a woman, with a woman's instinctive ruse. Araby, seeing the anger in his eyes, was delighted, and danced indiscriminately with everyone. At length Yelverton could stand it no longer, and going up to her said, shortly, "Dance with me." She obeyed without a word, still smiling. The waltz was from "The Singing Girl." He never forgot it. "How dared you treat me that way?" he whispered. "Didn't you like it?" "For a tuppenny-bit I'd punish you this minute. You deserve it. Do you know what I've been enduring?" She looked into his eyes. "Yes, I know. That's wiry I did it. I wanted 134 you to know ! Why do you make love to Allegra?" "Do you call that making love? If that is, then this isn't. I can't get you talked about. Don't you under- stand that?" Her face darkened. " That's not the reason. I don't believe you." "Then what is the reason?" He thought that perhaps she could tell him, for he was beginning to doubt whether there was any reason, after all. "The reason is, I think, that you are half-sorry you love me. You are afraid of something afraid !" They stopped dancing as the music ceased, and passed out from the cur- tained space into the open. "You are right," Yelverton said, slowly, his hands in his pockets, his head bent. "I am half-sorry, and I am afraid." The girl watched him, the old frown settling again on her face, darkening her eyes. "Then now's the time to end it. I suppose, in plain English, you're not a marrying man. Very well, good- bye." He was startled by her measured voice, by her curiously keen insight. She was right; now was the time to end it. He could be offended with her lack of faith, or he could own up frankly. Which was the better way? In silence he tried to decide, while 136 she stood and watched him. Either might be the better way, but neither of them was possible. "I love you!" he said, suddenly, catching her head and holding it to his heart. "You are crazy!" "Say that again." "I love you! You know it. Feel my heart beat. I can't touch you without changing color. You are mine and I am yours, Araby!" She gripped his hand, fiercely. "I wish," she said, hoarsely, "that all those people were dead, that I might kiss you and kiss you " Schimmelbusch, with a shawl, was an anti-climax. Araby walked off with him, without trusting herself to speak, and Yelverton, after a few minutes of staring at the stars, went back to the dancing. It was done, then. He, Pat Yelver- ton, aged thirty-six, grand amoureux and wanderer, had engaged himself to a miss of nineteen. He did not consider her lack of fortune, though he was not rich himself; he thought only of the great fact that his liberty, after numberless hair-breadth escapes, was gone. He was not sorry. His objections to a future Mrs. Yelver- ton were gone with the freedom, and he was happy. Only, he was dazed as well. In the smoking-room, where he went for a drink, he met Bax-Drury. "Miss 138 Winship is an orphan, isn't she?" he asked, abruptly. Bax-Drury stared. "No; worse luck, poor girl. Her father's mad. Been shut up somewhere for fifteen years. Thinks he's a mule and kicks every- body." "Disagreeable for his attendants, I should say," returned Yelverton, ab- sently. 139 "Drink to-day, and drown all sorrow; You shall perhaps not do 't to-morrow." Fletcher. XII CHAMPAGNE FOR ONE YELVERTON sat down at a table in a corner and ordered a cocktail. When he was a child of ten his mother had married for a second hus- band a stock-broker named Clancy. This man Clancy made a fortune, set- tled it on his wife, and they bought a home in the country and prepared to enjoy life. Instead of enjoying life, however, Clancy went mad slowly, decorously, a trifle madder each day. Yelverton remembered the horrors of 143 the three years at "The Anchorage," before the day when Clancy caught him in his strong arms and held him out of a second-story window, trying to teach him to fly, the mother see- ing all from the garden below. "Spread your silry arms, my dear, and go through the motions of swim- ming," the madman had said to him, kindly enough, for he was fond of the boy. "When I let go, you'll be off like a bird!" Yelverton could feel the warm sum- mer breeze blow his hair back as his stepfather swung him gently to and fro, and encouraged him to make the attempt. He could see his mother's rigid upturned face, and hear a 144 distant gardener whistling over his work. He drank the cocktail absently and ordered another. He rarely drank, and was by taste a temperate man, but this was an occasion, he decided, when he must get very drunk. He remembered his mother's scream when, by some strategy, his old nurse induced his stepfather to postpone the flying-lesson, and he was laid on a sofa just within the window. A week later Clancy was taken away. He had never seen the man again, as the poor wretch killed himself before the year was out. The smoking-room was empty save for himself. A ship was passing, and most of the men were out watching the signaling. "Look here, steward; bring me a bottle of dry champagne." "Ja whol, sir." The man obeyed, and then he, too, went out on deck. The smoking-room steward on an ocean steamer grows very blunted to surprise over the drinking capacity of the pas- sengers. Julius put Yelverton down as making up for the time lost during his two days' seasickness. Yelverton remembered his mother's face after her periodical visits to the asylum. That face was one of the things he could never forget. Then came the worst. His half-brother was born Cecil, they called him. Cecil was 146 never quite right, and the mother and the brother knew it, but never acknowl- edged it even to each other, until the day when Cecil set the house on fire, when he was twelve, by way of cele- brating Guy Fawkes' Day. Fire was his passion. Twice he tried to burn down the house, and then, at fourteen, soaked his own clothes in petroleum and set fire to them. It killed his mother as well, and the tragedy was the direct occasion of Pat Yelverton's first leaving Europe. He went to India, and, join- ing an exploring party into Thibet, was absent about two years. Coming back, at the age of thirty, he had met Mrs. Carberry, the second of his great loves, and to be near her he had 147 wandered about through Europe and America for months, following her and her invalid husband. He poured out another glass of champagne. It was going to take a great deal to make him as drunk as he felt it necessary he should be. His hand was as steady, his brain as clear, as before the first cocktail. He had re- trograded a good deal morally since the days of Hilda Carberry, but physic- ally he was perfectly fit. "I'll jump overboard rather than marry her," he said, under his breath. " Hereditary insanity has no charms for me." Some of the doctors had attributed Cecil's madness, not to heredity, but 148 to his mother's terror over the flying- lesson, and to her general nervous condition before his birth, but Yel- verton had never believed this. He sat for an hour drinking and dreaming, and then, rising, looked at himself in a mirror. He was pale and looked ill, but he did not look what he was drunk. The steward came back and took away the bottles and glasses, and Yel- verton paid him, counting the change deliberately. "Solitary spree, eh?" a man said to him, laughing, as he reached the door. Yelverton was surprised, for he had not seen the poker players come in, 149 but he announced quietly, turning up his collar: "One bottle of cham- pagne. The other bottle someone left, and that Dutch steward neglected to take it away." Then he went out. Mrs. Copeland stood at her cabin door, saying good-night to some people. It was eleven o'clock. "Come and walk," Yelverton began, abruptly. "It is too fine to turn in." "I'm game!" She turned to the open door as the sleepy women left. "Araby, chuck me out a cloak, will you? I'm going for a walk." Araby pulled back the curtain and looked out as she handed her cousin the cloak. Yelverton did not look at her, and as he wrapped the shawl about the older woman's bare shoulders he bent and kissed her ear. "You beast!" cried Mrs. Copeland, dodging away and laughing. "Are you mad?" "Perhaps I am. Come, let us walk." Araby had seen, and he was glad. He had no conscience, no remorse. It had made him glad to hurt the girl who hurt him. Marry a woman with a mad father? Not he! He had had enough of lunatics in his life. They paced up and down the de- serted deck. Mrs. Copeland let her cloak slip back on her shoulders. She was very animated and exceed- ingly pretty prettier by far than Miss What's-her-name, the girl with the mad father. A sailor turned off the electric light, and it was dark. "This is vile. I can't see you," Yelverton said, and Mrs. Copeland laughed. "When the saloon is dark I must go in. Araby would slay me. Poor, dear Araby is so proper." "Send poor, dear Araby to bed." Then he told Mrs. Copeland that he loved her, that she was driving him mad, that he wished to God he'd never seen her. He did it well, for it was not the first time. Her manner was perfection. She did not snub him beyond the point 152 of peace-making, for there were still three days to New York, but she told him he mustn't talk that way. She said that she, at thirty-one, was far older than he at thirty-six; that he must find some nice young girl and marry her. By way of encouraging him to find the nice young girl, she let him kiss her once. And she half- acknowledged that her life was not all roses, and that, perhaps, had things been different which they were not And then he kissed her again, without being allowed. He slept, without stirring, until noon. "But I love you, sir: And when a woman says she loves a man, The man must hear her, though he love her not." Mrs. Browning. XIII ADVICE TO JOE C. WHEN he came up on deck about four o'clock Yelverton thanked the gods that he had had the courage to offend Araby the night before, as he could not have done it to-day. She was pale and fierce-looking, as she sat holding Fluffy Daddies on her lap so pale and so fierce that poor Yelverton almost went down on his knees then and there and told her that he didn't care if all her forebears had been gibbering idiots almost, but not quite. And he had not the courage to go to her and tell her why he wouldn't marry her. It was Thursday, and Saturday they would reach New York. For that length of time he could keep away from her, and a little wholesome anger on her part would help them both to get over it more quickly. He hoped she would be most unpleas- ant that would harden him. So he passed her with a bow, and sat down by Mrs. Copeland, who smiled sadly at him and then looked down. He could keep away from Araby, but he really was not equal to love-making, so he took refuge in a very effective, gloomy silence. He was pale, and 158 'She was pale and fierce-looking, as she sat holding Fluffy Daddies on her lap." Mrs. Copeland enjoyed his pallor. She called him her poor boy, and gave him a powder to cure the headache. "I didn't sleep much myself," she admitted, in a low voice. Yelverton did not move from his chair until dinner-time, and after that meal, at which the hasel-huhn was more reviled than ever, and the un- happy doctor was made to confess that they had run short of ice three days before, he took a walk with Mrs. Copeland. Bax-Drury watched them with an amused expression in his pale eyes. " Seems to be rather bad, doesn't he?" he asked Araby. 1 'No. It looks to me as though 161 she were leading him on to amuse herself." "That doesn't in the least prevent his being rather bad, my dear." "I wish you wouldn't call me 'my dear' ! I'm not your dear, and I hate it!" retorted the girl, furiously. Bax-Drury studied her. "What a brute of a temper you have ! It'll make you old before your time. Look at Allegra, thirty-one and not a wrin- kle. And why? Because she never was angry in her life because she has no temper." Araby looked at him, her face sud- denly calm. "And no heart and no feelings. Besides," she went on, "she has the inestimable advantage of pos- 162 sessing you." Then she turned and left him. An hour later Yelverton found her, coiled on a rug in a dark corner of the deck. "What are you doing there?" he asked, surprised out of his self-posses- sion. "I was asleep," she lied. "Araby you have been crying." He sat down in a chair by her. "I have not," she answered, shortly. "I never cry. I howl and shriek some- times. I wish you'd go away and leave me." He was silent. He was tired out, and afraid to speak lest he should say words he did not wish to say. 163 "You must think me & beast," he began, at length, lighting a cigar. She laughed. "No, my dear man; not a beast." He paused, the lighted match, half- burnt down, still in his fingers. "Then?" "Since you ask me, I think you a fool," she returned, promptly. "A fool!" He tossed away the match with a flirt of the wrist. "Yes. Even you can't resist Alle- gra. You love me, and }^et you must make love to her because she chooses to have you." "So that is it you think I can't resist Allegra. At least, you must own that Allegra is very seductive." 164 "But you love me!" she sobbed suddenly, rolling over and hiding her face in her arms as a child does. "Me, me, me!" He was glad she cried, for tears made him angry. They would stiffen his moral backbone. "If you're going to howl and scream," he said, rising, "I shall clear out." Scraps of a poem of Hugo's came into his mind as she clasped him about the knees, so fiercely as nearly to throw him down Va, laisse-moi te suivre, Je mourrai du moins pres de toi; Je serai ton esclave fidele "No, no; don't go! Don't leave 165 me alone, or I shall die. What have I done to you? I have only loved you!" Her voice was not the voice of a child, childish as was the action. It was deep, rough, husky, as if it hurt her throat such a voice as the sav- age princess would have had and the light, as she moved, fell on her face. "For God's sake, get up, Araby!" he said. "Someone will come. And don't don't be so excited. After all, I can't be rude to your cousin." She rose obediently, and stood before him with quaintly folded hands again as the savage princess might have done at a kind word from her master. 166 " Forgive me. Tell me I am a fool, and that it is I whom you love." " You must know that," he answered, roughly. She recognized the sincerity of his voice and drew a deep breath. "Then it is all right. Sometimes I think I am going mad, when I see you with her." He had laid his arm across her shoulders, but, as she spoke, drew back as if she had stung him. "What is it?" "Someone is coming. I'll go this way." He rushed through the nar- row passage to the other side of the steamer and went below at once. He was behaving like a cad and a 167 brute, and he knew it, yet lie could do nothing else. He took Joe C. in his arms and sat for an hour on the edge of his berth, thinking and abus- ing himself. He loved the girl more than he had ever loved before, but as he could not marry her there was a certain relief in the thought that, after all, his freedom was not gone. He loved her for her beauty, her strength of feeling, her firm char- acter, but fierce passions easily grow to be manias; moreover, they are not to be sought in one's wife. He would love her madly for a year or two ; then some day he would fall in love with another woman, and Araby would lead him a horrible 168 life; she would be jealous, exacting, in- sufferable. He rubbed Joe C. against his cheek and groaned. He was not proud of himself, and he disliked the mood, for as a rule he considered himself, not without reason, rather a good sort. "Never fall in love with a young damsel, Joe," he said aloud, as he rose; "it's fatal." 169 "Nor jealousy Was understood, the injured lover's hell." Milton. XIV HIGH WORDS "WHY do you insist on Mr. Yelver- ton's making love to you?" Mrs. Copeland looked up from her book and stared. " Insist on Mr. Yelverton's making love to me ! My dear child, you are dotty." "I am not dotty. Why do you want to have every man you meet? Why do you?" "Why do the heathen rage and the geese imagine vain things? You grow rather vulgar when you are vehement, Araby. You know, I have told you that before." Araby had gone at once to the cabin when Yelverton had left her, and with the savage directness that character- ized her, spoke straight to the point. Mrs. Copeland had put on a dress- ing-gown and sat with her high-heeled feet on the edge of the divan. The girl stood before her, her hands hang- ing by her sides. "I don't care whether I'm vulgar or not. I want you to let Mr. Yel- verton alone." "Oho! So we are to have a scene de jalousie! Poor Bax, I wish he didn't have to miss it!" Then she added, kindly enough, for she had a 174 good heart of its kind: "Sit down, child, and don't excite yourself. What's all this about my Paddy?" But Araby did not sit down. "I am not excited, and I won't have you call him your Padd}'. Paddy is not his name, and he is not yours." "You. are right; he's not mine. Good old Anthony is mine, and no other. As to Yelverton, I hope to goodness you haven't fallen in love with him, Araby." The girl was silent for a minute, then she sank into a chair, as if too tired to stand. "Yelverton is charming, and, I should imagine, a very decent sort," went on the older woman, "but he's not a, man for a girl to fall in love with." "Why isn't he?" Mrs. Copeland watched her with a certain amount of concern in her blue eyes. Araby was queer and uncom- fortable, but Araby was her cousin, and useful as well. "Why? Because a girl should never fall in love with a man she can't marry." "He isn't married." "Then you are in love with him. Poor little thing! Never mind, dear, we land the day after to-morrow, and you'll see lots of men at Newport." "I'll see him," the girl answered, defiantly. 176 "See Yelverton? But he's not going to Newport at all. He's going to be in New York with a lot of the racing men." "He will come to see me. He loves me. He is going to marry me." Mrs. Copeland stared. "Yelverton loves you? My dear, don't you be- lieve it. What makes you think he does?" "He told me so. He kissed me." "Then," exclaimed Allegra Cope- land, rising, with a flash of indigna- tion in her eyes, "he is a beast, and ought to be tarred and feathered ! Are you sure?" The girl laughed. "Am I sure? Am I a fool? Of course I am sure. And you needn't abuse him." 177 "I don't wish to abuse him. It is my fault, I suppose. Only, I am so used to having you chaperon me that it never occurred to me to chaperon you." "I didn't need to be chaperoned, thanks," retorted Araby, shortly. "A man has a right to love a girl, and to tell her so." "Oh, you idiot! He has the right if he means to marry her, but not un- less he does mean to. Yelverton has no more idea of marrying you than he has of marrying " "You, perhaps!" Mrs. Copeland hesitated for a mo- ment. She knew perfectly well that Yelverton was not seriously in love 178 with her, but she knew, too, that he had no intention of marrying Araby. Had he had such an intention his tac- tics would have been quite different. She was distinctly sorry for the girl, in whom she vaguely felt there was a capacity for suffering that she herself had not, and here was a knife put into her hand by the man, with which she might possibly operate in time. " Listen, Araby," she said, laying her hand on the girl's roughened hair, "and don't bite my head off. Yel- verton is a very charming and agree- able man, and I like him. But, like a great many charming and agreeable men, he's a hopeless flirt. He can't help making love to every pretty 179 woman he meets. Lots of men are like that Bertie Ailing, for instance, and Lord Carstairs." "Bertie Ailing!" "Yes. Oh, he isn't a splendid blond giant like Pat Yelverton, but they're the same inside. Now, just to prove to you that I am right, I'll tell you that Yelverton has been making love to me, too." She paused. "I know it," answered the girl, with a laugh. "Isn't that exactly what I said in the first place? He makes love to you because you are prett}^ and attractive, and because you like it." "I may have an unregenerate fond- ness for being made love to, but if 180 Yelverton loved you he wouldn't care a hang what I wanted ! Can't you see that?" "I can see that he loves me, and that you tempt him!" Mrs. Copeland burst out laughing. "Tempt him! My dear, your lan- guage is something classic ! You make me feel like Ninon with her grandson. Pat Yelverton tempted!" "Yes, tempted," persisted the girl, doggedly. "Perhaps you think I don't know enough of the world to understand. Well, I do. He loves me, and yet one side of him can't re- sist you." "Rot! The man makes love to me just as he'd make love to any attrac- 181 tive woman who happened along. He can't resist me because he doesn't try doesn't want to. After all, why should he? I sha'n't do him any harm, little woolly lamb. He'll never think of me again when we've parted, probably with a few appropriate tears and that is perfectly satisfactory. Only, you would better realize at once that he'll never think of you again, either." Araby caught the speaker's arm with both hands and held it tight. "That is not true ! Not a word of it ! I know; I've seen him struggle. He loves me whether he wants to or not, and I mean to have him. All I ask of you, Allegra Copeland, is to let 182 him alone and not work against me." "Have you no pride?" asked the older woman, curiously, watching her. "No; where he is concerned, not one bit. I will fight for him, and I'll win him, for the best of him is on my side. If you weren't blinded by your own conceit, you'd have noticed long ago how his voice changes when he speaks to me, how his eyes " She broke off, giving Mrs. Copeland's arm a little jerk. "Will you let him alone in the future? You don't care for him. You have Bax-Drury. Will you promise?" "I wish you'd go away and leave me in peace!" retorted Mrs. Cope- 183 land, a little crossly. "You look like a perfect demon, and yet I can't help being sorry for you. I never heard a girl talk so in my life." "Will you promise?" " I'll promise nothing, and if you have any sense you'll forget all this nonsense as soon as possible. Let go my arm ! " Araby dropped the arm and stood staring at the older woman for a mo- ment. "You're much worse than that poor girl the woman stabbed. You don't care for anything; you couldn't if you tried. I can; I can love and I can hate. Once more I tell you to let Yelverton alone." She turned away abruptly and went out. 184 'Once more I tell you to let Yelverton alone.'" "I pray thee cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve." Shakespeare . xv FOUNTAIN CONSULTED ALLEGRA COPELAND had been really amused by Araby's onslaught, and the girl's evident fear of her charms both flattered and surprised her. She was vain, but she had a sense of humor, and knew perfectly that she was no siren of the gigantic propor- tions attributed to her by Araby's jealous mind. She was sufficiently clear-eyed to see that Araby herself contained more of the material from which modern sirens are made 189 and the material has changed since Ulysses's day. The modern siren has no tail, and wears rather more clothes than her old-fashioned sister, but she must possess mysticism and a certain depth of nature. Arab} 7 had both, while Mrs. Copeland considered herself, not without reason, a very attractive doll. Bax-Drury's attach- ment had lasted, to be sure, but had settled long since into a sort of mar- ried affection, and that Yelverton was not in love with her she knew quite well. She had meant kindly in telling her that Yelverton had made love to her. She believed in heroic treat- ment for heroic patients. She was sorry the thing had happened, and de- 190 termined to avoid further trouble. Araby's row would be a hard one to hoe if the girl were going to take every little flirtation seriously. It was a pity, for flirtation, as an art, is so instructive and agreeable. As she dressed the next morning, Mrs. Copeland pondered the subject between remarks to Fountain and fleeting caresses bestowed on Fluffy Daddies, and decided that everything would turn out well things always did. Only, she wished there hadn't been a look in the girl's eyes that reminded her of Mrs. Patrick Camp- bell in her tragic roles. She wouldn't mention the matter to Baxy. He had a trick of scolding her once in a while, 191 in a way that good old Anthony never ventured on. If Anthony had been there she would have told him. " Fountain," she said, "I've just read such a funny book!" "Indeed, mum." "Yes. A man in it makes love to two women at once that is, to a young girl and to her friend, who is married. The girl, takes it seriously and well, cuts up rough." "Indeed, mum." Fountain was af- flicted with a perennially red nose and a broken heart. She was not sympa- thetic, but she could dress hair, and she never talked. "The friend there's where I left off doesn't know what to do; whether 192 she ought to speak to the man or ignore him. I wonder what she'll de- cide? It is a very well- written book." " Indeed, mum." Fountain, whose one folly was novel-reading, knew per- fectly that there was no such book in the party, for she had read every one there was, but she said nothing further. "I think she will speak to the man," went on Mrs. Copeland, rubbing her nose with a bit of chamois skin. "What do you think?" "I should say it depends on her character, mum. If she likes amuse- ment, she will. Particularly, if he's a fine man." Mrs. Copeland laughed. "Oh, yes, 193 he's a fine man. You see, she is puz- zled as to whether it would be quite fair to the girl." "Indeed, mum." Mrs. Copeland decided that she must really give Yelverton a piece of her mind, and in order to do it effectively she put on a gown that he did not know, a rather demure brown gown, suitable to a serious interview. It was sure to be a very serious interview. She found him with Joe C. in his arms, reading " Reflets sur la Sombre Route." "I have it in for you, young man," she began, frowning and smiling at him. 194 "For me?" He rose, pocketed the marmoset and Pierre Loti, and gave her his whole attention. "I think, however, that I have behaved very well." "Oh, do you?" They had reached the end of the promenade deck, and now went over the bridge to the second cabin. " Oh, do you ? " she repeated. ' ' Then what about Araby?" Luckily for Yelverton she was in front of him. "Araby?" he asked. "Don't slip there. What do you mean?" "I mean, you wretch, that I'm sorry you've been making love to her." They found the chairs where he and 195 the girl had sat a few nights before, and sat down. Yelverton took Joe C. from his pocket and held him to his face. "Did you hear that, mudder's pudgums?" "I never call Fluff mother's pudg- ums!" exclaimed Mrs. Copeland, with a superior sniff. "And I never said you did. So you think I've been making love to Miss Winship? Also to the virgin from Connecticut?" He looked at her nar- rowly, under his cap, as he spoke, and saw that she required no emo- tionality from him at present. "And I was under the impression that I'd been trying, in my humble way, to make love to you," he went on. 196 She laughed. " Oh, me ! Yes, and I must in justice say that you've done it very well. Only, I'm in earnest now. I suppose it never occurred to your worship that it was hardly fair to whisper soft nothings in such a youthful ear?" "I'm being asked my intentions, Joseph," he murmured, confidentially, to the marmoset. "No, you're not," she retorted, promptly, "for no one knows better than I that you have none. But let me tell you that I think it was rather nasty of you." "May I ask whether you confided to Miss Winship your intention of blowing me up?" he asked, suddenly, 197 plunging the marmoset into his pocket and turning to her. She was a little frightened, as he meant her to be. "No; certainly not." "Then let's call it off. I've had enough, and it would surely be most offensive to her. As far as that's con- cerned, she strikes me as being per- fectly capable of taking care of herself. You may be sure that if she had found me presuming, she'd have known how to turn me down.*' Allegra was disappointed. "I'm sure I hope so," she said, rising, "and no doubt I was mistaken." "No doubt you were. Shall we drink the cocktail of peace together?" 198 "No, thanks. I must look up Mr. Bax-Drury and finish our arrange- ments about landing." He looked down at her with an amused smile. "Don't be so fierce. When you are fierce you are too de- licious." "I don't feel in the least delicious, I assure you." "You are, nevertheless, and in one minute I shall lose my head. Going, going " 199 "I hear a voice you cannot hear, Which says I must not stay; I see a hand you cannot see, Which beckons me away." Tickell. XVI AND THE LAST YELVERTON passed a most unpleasant afternoon. It never occurred to him that Mrs. Copeland's attack was due to anything more than a formless suspicion, touched with a little jeal- ousy ; but it had annoyed him, and the thought of leaving the girl the next morning and never seeing her again was almost unendurable. He went below immediately after dinner and tried to sleep anything to pass the 203 time. But he could not sleep, and went through a very creditable amount of mental pain, considering his capaci- ties and the unheroic role he had adopted. "I'm. behaving like a scoundrel," he told himself, "but I'll be blessed if I see any other way out of it. If I tried to explain to her, and she looked at me, I'd be lost." It was some slight satisfaction to him to see that he looked ill. What he wanted was Araby. He couldn't have her without forfeiting not only his liberty and his pecuniary comfort, but also the determination, which had grown with his growth, never to marry a woman in the re- 204 motest danger of insanity. It was absurd, the strength of his love for the girl. She bowled him over com- pletely, made fiddle-strings of his nerves, and could wind him round her finger, when he was with her. But once away from her and the places associated with her, he would be all right. He told himself this, but it changed nothing. He was wretchedly unhappy; he had never been so un- happy before. It was unbearable, he told the unsympathetic Joe C. ; and it was. At about five the steward brought him a book, with Miss Winship's com- pliments. The note within it was short: 205 Allegra says that I am a fool to believe you; that you do not wish to marry me. Is she right? I know you love me, but you must tell me in so many words whether I have misunderstood you. ARABY WINSHIP. Yelverton rose and swore. So they had been talking it over! The girl was impossible. Who ever heard of a girl writing such a note? Yet he kissed the paper frantically then threw it out of the port-hole. It was another chance. He tore a sheet out of his memorandum book and scribbled on it: God knows I love you with all that is de- cent of me. But I can't marry you. I shall never marry anyone. Forgive me. P. Y. He sent the note in another book. 206 Afterward he lay down and wished he might die. If the steamer would only go faster ! A man can distract himself in a big city. She had the note now she had read it she He buried his face in his pillow. Araby read the message quietly, out on the forward deck. Then she tore it up and dropped the bits into the writhing foam under the prow. They were due at Hoboken the next morning at ten o'clock. The voyage was over; everything was over. The girl sat, her chin in her hand, her wide, dry eyes fixed on the sun- set into which she seemed to be fly- ing. She looked like some uncanny 207 figurehead, a figurehead of ill-omen. And she did not move until the first bugle-call for dinner startled her. Then she went and dressed. It was the captain's dinner, an unusually long, unusually bad repast, ending with speeches and illuminated ice- cream. Yelverton did not appear. At last it was over. As they reached the deck Araby left Mrs. Copeland, to whom she had not spoken during dinner, and went up to Yelverton, who was smoking by the rail. "Thanks for your note," she said. He groaned. "There's no use in my trying to explain but you may pity me." "Pity you?" 208 Yet, truly, he was to be pitied, pos- sibly more than she. "Yes," he answered. "Please go." She looked at him for a second. "You think that I don't understand," she said, slowly, "but I do. It is not your fault." "Then in heaven's name, whose fault is it?" She laughed a little. "Allegra's." "It isn't her fault. She is perfectly innocent. Please go," he repeated, turning his face from the passers-by to the sea. "Yes, I'm going." And she left him, going to her cabin. Mrs. Copeland joined him shortly afterward, a cigarette between her lips. 209 "Oh, what ails you? Seasick?" "No." "Ah, then it's conscience. Have you seen Araby?" "Yes. She tells me that you have been meddling. In God's name, what was it to you?" He turned on her fiercely, and, before she could answer, left her. She was a little frightened. She loved making mischief, though she was not malicious; she detested being found out. Araby was a clumsy idiot to reveal her part in the affair. Araby might have known that she meant well. She only hoped neither of them would tell Bax-Drury. She walked for an hour with a man 2IO she had discovered that morning, played cards for another hour, then walked again. Araby was nowhere about, and Schimmelbusch was look- ing for her. He had the wishbone of a hazel-hen for her as a keepsake. Mrs. Copeland began to yawn. The fat woman insisted on exchanging cards with her. The girl from Rock Island wanted her picture. Then the lightship appeared far off, low down against the horizon. The crowd drew to the rail. Mrs. Copeland watched for a moment, and, having found it like any other light, walked round to the other side, with a view to get- ting into her cabin without tiresome good-nights. Yelverton came out as she appeared. She stopped, and he came up to her, his face white, his hair ruffled. "Where is she?" he said, roughly. "I can't do it. I've got to tell her. Go and fetch her." "You mean Araby?" she stam- mered. "Yes. Send her to me here." "I won't. I don't believe you'd make her happy." She was really frightened and conscience-stricken. Someone passed, and he drew nearer to her, laying his hand on her arm. "Come, be kind to me. I've had enough of this." There was a whirr of skirts, a hurry of footsteps, a flash in the light 212 from the saloon window; then, an instant later, someone a woman leaped over the rail, down into the coil of waters. There was a splash, a cry. At the same moment Allegra Copeland fell heavily to the deck. " She has stabbed me ! " she screamed. Yelverton asked no question. He understood all the truth. Silently he let them carry the wounded woman into her cabin; silently he watched the throwing of the explosive buoy, its lurid receding, the lowering of the boat. He heard the regular splash of the oars, felt the throb of the engines as they were reversed. He heard someone saying with a strong German accent : 213 "Only a slight flesh wound. She is conscious." Bax-Drury came out of the cabin, half-fainting, and leaned over the rail beside him. "No use," he said, thickly. "Araby was sucked under immediately. They always are." Yelverton nodded. The boat was coming back; the buoy, miles away, went out; the ship was still. Something soft touched Yelverton's cheek. He put up his hand to the mute caress of sympathy. It was Joe C. FINIS. Jfawcett THE VULGARIANS IN this story the author has achieved the best expression of his genius. 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" In New York they (the vulgar- ians) fared better, and the reader may be interested in observing how its civilizing influence transformed them, and how, with the assistance of a charming woman, they were steered clear of many pitfalls." IIXT7STHATED BY AHCHIK GTJJOT $1.0O Smart Set pubUsbins Co, 452 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK Cecil Cbarles " A POWERFUL N OVELi." Baltimore Sun MISS SYLVESTER'S MARRIAGE v MlSS SYLVESTER, the niece of a society leader in New York, has some of the wild blood of the South American Span- iard in her veins, and she is fascinated by Count Geraldina, a daring adventurer, who claims to be worth millions as the beneficiary of a pearl-fishery concession. The story of their sensational marriage and its strange results is told with great realism and admir- able art. Philadelphia Press. " An uncommonly inter- esting story . . . told in an exceptionally interesting way." N. Y. Press. "A clever tale, clothed in good English." Globe-Democrat." The story is enjoyable." 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"Cleverly told, and the vol- ume capably enacts its allotted r&le of furnishing light entertainment for the reader. " St. Louis Republic. "A laugh invariably accom- panies the reading of nearly every paragraph." Town Topics. " I hailed them with joy for their originality and irresistible drollery." IM.TTSTHATKD BT HT. MATEB $1.0O NET Smart Set publfsbfns Co. 482 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK Ueresa 2>ean 1 THE WIDOW ON THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF TOWN TOPICS ' AUTHOR OF "REVERIES OF A WIDOW" "THE WIDOW" IN THE SOUTH ; A PHENOMENAL BOOK."V. O. Picayune " One of the best things that could happen to the South would be to have every man, woman and child in the country read this charming work. The author's style flows as pellucid as a piney woods brook, all the clearer for the shining sand and humor at the bottom." New Orleans Picayune. ' ' Written with a breezy cleverness that will well repay perusal." Richmond Times-Dispatch. "A good work, written by a woman who evidently has brains as well as sympathies." Globe-Democrat. "'The Widow' writes honestly, without heat or prejudice, but as she is and has been a practical woman of affairs and on the staff of great papers, she is able to extract the kernel of sentiment regarding the South. She drops telling sentences." Courier- Journal. Now published in book form in response to widespread demand. FOR SALE EVERYWHERE, OR SENT FREE ON RECEIPT OF PRICE Cixxra, 75 CENTS; PAPER, 25 CENTS. Ube Smart Set publisbfng Co. 452 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK A Puritan Witch o# Romantic Love Story By MARVIN DANA This is a romance that abounds in the best qualities of the best fiction: action that is essential and vigorous, senti- ment that is genuine and pure, a plot that is new and stir- ring, a setting that is fitting and distinctive. The artistic conception of the story happily unites realism and romance. 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OSBORNE A SATIRE _L HIS novel narrates the adventures of two charming young women who escape from tiresome country relations and take an apartment in London under the fictitious chaperonage of MRS. OSBORNF. Their es- capades, their many devices to avoid detec- tion, and their final disposition of MRS. OSBORNE, are highly diverting. BY HAT ABU JONBS Paper, 5Oc. Special Cloth Edition, 75c. Ube Smart Set publisbina Co. 462 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK A 000 11 5 569 6